The dark lord pointed his wand at Harry’s head with little regard for the battle surrounding them. Harry stood frozen, the point of the wand inches from the scar that had been touched by Voldemort’s wand before. The chaos of the battle faded, the shouts and screamed curses and blocks evaporating back into the ether, Voldemort and Harry stood alone in their moment. Harry could see Voldemort’s eyes narrow and lips start to turn upwards into a cruel smile, and the beginning of the final curse being formed by his lips.
And in that moment, Harry knew there was nothing he could do. It was over. Avada kedavra had no block, no counter curse, nothing. He knew he would be joining his parents, Dumbledore, Sirius, Hermione, and all those that fell because of the relationship between himself and Voldemort.
Then, like a shout from some deep place in his heart, it hit him. There was a counter. There was a way to block the killing curse. And he knew he had to let it strike him. He dropped his wand and looked into the slitted eyes of his horrid brother in fate. Harry smiled.
Voldemort noticed.
“Avada Kedavra!” screamed Voldemort. The rage, the hatred, the pure desire for power leaped from the tip of the yew wand in Voldemort’s hand and struck Harry in the chest. The power should have sent him flying, sent him flipping through the air. But he stood there, the green energy crackling around him, jumping across his skin, not wanting to touch him, but not able to leave or dissapate. The curse was coursing through his veins, running through his body, trying its all to stop his heart, his brain, and all that made Harry live.
Harry closed his eyes and let the deadly fire dance through him… the counter had worked. The relationships, the love, the very thing that defined Harry’s opposite from Voldemort was the saving grace from the unforgivable curse. All those faces of the people he loved charged through his mind. Ron’s goofy smile, Hermione’s comforting words, Dumbledore’s gentle teaching, his parents images in the aftershock of the priori incantatem looking down on him, the last hug with Sirius, Mrs. Weasley’s food and kind admonishment, the kiss with Ginny, the proud looks that McGonagall gave him during Quidditch, the brotherly love that Hagrid so deeply was willing to give. All those moments wrapped around him. His mom had found the counterspell in her death. Harry just had not seen it. The old magic, the human magic, the friendships, the love… All of it bridging together to form the new magic that surrounded what made Harry the person he was. More than love. More than death.
“Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort was shaking with rage throwing each curse after killing curse. Each green bolt joined the others, slowly forming a solid green aura around Harry. The silence was no longer in Harry’s head, the moment had broken. Everyone had stopped. The Order had stopped fighting, aghast and waiting for Harry to fall. The Death Eaters were staring in shock at their master, seemingly unable to kill his greatest underestimated foe. All eyes were turned towards the two, locked each in their own relative anger and peace.
Harry opened his eyes and raised his arms from his sides. The death energy radiated outwards from his finger tips, arcing through the air back towards his body, the bolts running through his hair, his scar burning bright green in the soft darkness around him. Voldemort’s eyes were wide. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Harry looked at his adversary in the eye and whispered.
“You have no power over me.”
The curses shot out from Harry’s hands and hit Voldemort’s wand. The wand smoked for a quick moment and then it shattered spectacularly. Splinters went flying, the burst sent Voldemort’s arm flying upwards, skin and cloak on fire, trailing dark smoke. Voldemort took a step back and screamed at his Death Eaters.
“Kill him! Kill him, now!”
Harry felt the bursts hit him and return to the wands that casted them. He heard screams as arms were bent, broken, burned, wands shattering and the death eaters falling to their knees. Voldemort shook his head. The dark lord couldn’t understand.
“I thought of everything! There is no magic to protect you! I have your blood! You have no wand in your hand! How?!?” Voldermort said.
“You have no power over me.” Harry said. “Or anyone else. You are nothing but a sad old man.”
“Impossible. How?!? Why won’t you die?” Voldemort held his broken hand under his other arm, cradling the smoking remains. His voice kept raising towards a scream then back to his normal hoarse voice. “HOW?!?”
“Your horcruxes are broken, Voldemort, or they are mine now. Your wand is destroyed. Your followers have fallen.”
“Then kill me, stupid child! Or… are you not the man that Dumbledore was?”
“I am.” Harry stepped forward and picked up his wand. He walked right up to Voldemort and looked him in the eye. “And you are not.”
“You are not.” Harry repeated, and touched the wand to Voldemort’s chest. “Tom.”
Voldemort screamed in agony and crumpled to his knees. His skin turned ashen, his eyes yellowed, and Voldemort aged fifty years in a second. Harry turned to the members of the Order. Everyone’s eyes were on him. Harry smiled as best he could.
“It’s over.”
“What about the prophecy?” asked Ron. “Aren’t you supposed to kill him?”
“I did. Voldemort is dead.” Harry turned and pointed his wand at the old man sitting on his knees, shaking his head. “There sits Tom Riddle. Old, sad, Tom Riddle. Nothing more. Everything about Voldemort is gone. Death eaters, curses, fear, hatred, everything that he was is gone. All that is left is an old man to be pitied.”
“How did you do it? How did you defeat the curse?” Ron asked in shock.
“Hermione. My mom. My dad. My uncle. Dumbledore. All of them. Thank all of them.”
“I don’t understand, Harry.” Ron said.
Harry put his hand over Ron’s shoulder. “You will, Ron. You will.” Harry took a deep breath.
“Everyone will.”