Harry staggered as he felt his wounds catch up to him, unwilling taking a knee as the watched the battle before him, and he knew.
They were losing.
Even reinforcements from other countries hadn’t been enough, such was the size of Voldemort’s army, Harry momentarily despaired as giants, lesser vampires and other magical beings battered at the Wizard’s forces, inhuman strength and speed compensating for their lack of magic.
And the magicals on Voldemort’s side, so many of them, Harry had seen many of his friend’s fall today, too many that he knew thinking on it would drown him in despair, so he didn’t, he soldiered on, kept casting, screaming orders and encouragement as he saw the second line being broken by the giant’s charge and retreating.
But Harry refused to give up, no matter what, he was no longer fighting only by those that were at his side, like her, blonde hair and blue eyes came to his mind as he kept going, barely noticing the deep cuts on his body, he also thought of the future, of those that would come next, maybe not his children, but children, the next generation, it should grow up free and happy, and his country, his people, should too, even if he had to sacrifice himself for it, as he had already done in the forest.
So much was his determination, that he didn’t notice the rather large shift in the magic as his own dreams and hopes synchronized with those of many warriors, soldiers, and heroes throughout time and space, past, present, and future they shared the same goal of protecting those they love, their ideals, their country, their peoples.
So strong was his will he merely grunted as a particularly nasty curse cut at his leg, making him kneel again, his wand taken from his hands by another spell, as his allies close ranks around him.
Harry wished he could grab at this dream, this deepest of wishes, and wield against those who fought for evil.
As many gazes close and distant, gazed at the battle, Harry believed that he could.
Motes of golden light began rising from the ground itself, the tress, the plants, the people, coalescing in Harry’s hands, Hogwarts itself shuddered as it lent a considerable amount of magic to power what could only be called a miracle.
Said miracle began crystalizing in Harry’s hands, from a faraway time, what was broken, was repaired, and it chose a new wielder, removed not from stone, but from the very soul of Britain itself, again to protect the land and the people from tyranny.
Harry rose as a beautiful sword materialized in his hands with pure white light, many magical beings, more aligned with the esoteric, widened their eyes at seeing magic of older ages, of another planes manifest so clearly.
The Sword in the Stone finished materializing, now as solid and real as any weapon there, perhaps, even more so, being a concept giving form and substance, and Harry knew it’s name, and how to use it, as power coursed through veins, power beyond anything he had ever felt, he felt the strain on his body as he raised it, the motes of light still coalescing around the blade, having a single target in mind.
Said target was gazing at him in naked surprise, fear, and anger, and quicker than a snake cast a terrible, familiar curse at him, only for the curse to fizzle out before a golden, utopian light as yet another miracle crystallized at Harry’s hip, of it’s own volition, choosing to afford him it’s protection for this battle.
The Dark Wizard screamed in frustration, and ordered all his forces to converge on him, Harry’s own forces rose to oppose them, but Harry knew, somewhat, that their defense wouldn’t be enough for him to gather the necessary magic, his defense taking a lot of it.
”Oh, what is this, a True Hero, in this day and age? How fascinating.”
A somewhat arrogant, regal voice, said in his head, it sounded young, yet Harry knew it was old, very old.
The giants led the charge and crushed the haphazard constructs put in front of them, Harry desperately putting all his effort into gathering enough magic to attack.
”A noble hero, fighting for justice, with strong morals, and the love of a maiden, hmm, not much of a maiden anymore is she? Not as pure as others are you? But it’s the thought that counts, and you have all the rest in spades, young man.”
Harry saw his forces buckle at the desperate, overwhelming attack of Voldemort’s Army, they have collectively guessed that his attack wouldn’t be good for them.
”And yet the paltry magic of your world can’t power your heroism fast enough for even such miracle to matter, through no fault of your own, no, Harry Potter, you did everything right, but your people failed you, how familiar...”
Harry didn’t even have the energy to reply, all his focus on manipulating and gathering the magic the best he could, realizing he had been converting the magic of his world, to whatever the Sword used.
He managed to send a pleading thought, something he had rarely done.
A chuckle, and a sigh as if the speaker was being magnanimous by merely communicating.
“Ah, well, a good King always helps his subjects in their time of need, especially the competent and brave ones, and you Harry James Potter, is very much my subject.”
Harry felt an incredible amount of magic come to him, from where he wasn’t certain, but he was certainly, very, very grateful.
”Oh, would you look at that, and for this I shall give you a clear shot, rejoice, for your King has deemed you worthy enough, to help you in the apex of your Legend.”
A giant broke through, batting aside a group of German Aurors, he raised his club to strike at Harry, only for a large golden spear to impale him through the eye, and then another, a blue one, through the other.
A sword whistled past Harry and impaled a werewolf, who immediately caught on fire, and another sword, a dagger, an axe, and soon a veritable storm of weapons of all kind and make went past Harry, as if coming from behind him, avoiding his allies and striking his enemies with swift and brutal precision.
The path was clear, and Harry saw Voldemort, along with none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, the latter trying to release her Master from golden chains that wrapped around him.
Harry knew what to do, knew what name to call so that the miracle in his hand would manifest it’s power and erase Tom Riddle’s evil from the Earth.
He raised the sword higher, and a column of white light emanating from it and reaching the clouds, opening them and letting the ground be lit by moonlight.
Voldemort balked and with swift, frantic motions, raised shields upon shields, physical and magical between him and the devastating attack.
It was for naught.
Harry bellowed, his voice is joined by others past, present, and future, that had called upon this Sword to help them.
“CALI-”
He struck, and saw only white light.
“BURN!”
An inexorable column of pure white light struck down the almost clear path between Harry and Voldemort, vaporizing all of the latter’s army in it’s path, before doing to same to all the defenses the Dark Lord set up, including his most loyal follower and his familiar.
Pain was all the Dark Lord knew as his body was reduced to atoms, for even if he still had his soul anchors they wouldn’t be enough to shield his soul from being sent to the torment that awaited him by the purifying light of all the righteous fury of uncountable warriors.
When Harry came to, he was on the ground, Caliburn still at his side, but the scabbard he had felt on his hip was gone, it’s job done, for now.
Yet, he felt wondrous relief at seeing the beautiful blue eyes of the one he loved, looking down at him, only, they were crying, Harry raised his hand to brush away the tears, wincing at the terrible pain the simple movement brought him.
He could hear snippets of conversation, frantic and resigned.
“Too much Magic…”
“Burned himself out…”
“The weapons are gone…”
But his mind was only focused on her.
“Fleur” he rasped.
She shushed him, and kissed him with tender love and care.
“I love you.” he told her, with such certainty and strength that belied his current state.
Fleur sobbed, hugging and repeating his words back to him in both his and her native languages, before cradling his head.
“I love you, ‘Arry, We love you, and we will meet again.” she grabbed his hand and placed it over her stomach, and Harry’s eyes widened.
Yet, he somehow knew her promise would come through, was certain of it.
He felt it then, the familiar chill of when he used his Cloak for too long, it should make him uncomfortable, but the contrary was true, he felt said Cloak being drapped on his shoulders, felt a Wand slip in his hand, and Ring on his finger, and his vision was drawn to a young woman, of pale skin, and black hair, dressed like a rock star, standing out from the wizards around them wearing robes, the woman’s sympathetic eyes met his, there was a mischievous glint to them, conspirational even, as if they had played a great big prank, the woman smiled softly him, and winked.
Harry turned to Fleur, who seemed unaware of the whole exchange, even of the items he now had on him, Harry looked into her eyes, Green meeting Blue, smiled his lopsided grin that she huffed so much about.
“We will” and Harry’s last thought as he was engulfed by darkness was of a small girl, with silver hair and green eyes, running through a green meadow.
The Magic Circle glowed and from it, he emerged, dressed in armored robes, A Cloak that seemed to be made of starlight on his shoulders, Caliburn in one hand and a notched Wand on the other. Green met Blue again, and he smiled.
“Upon your summoning, I came forth, and I ask of you,” his smile turned lopsided, mischievous even, “Are you my Master?”