Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


Chapter Nineteen: The End :) :)

Harish had no idea how long he stood there, faced away from the two fallen sorcerers, trying to let it sink in that his father was gone. Everyone was silent, watching him to see what he would do next. Finally, the silence was broken by a loud gasp of breath and wracking coughs. Harish could hardly believe his ears.

He turned to see Voldemort on his hands and knees, face down, coughing and gasping for breath.

"You're all right!" Harish cried, running forward and launching into a hug.

His father let out an "oof!" of surprise and staggered back slightly. Harish let go and helped his father to his feet. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord did not protest. Instead, he said wheezily, "Of course I am all right. Did you expect me to just leave you here?"

Harish let out a shaky laugh, wiping the tears from his face. Voldemort observed the crowd of people, watching him. Then, he turned and saw Dumbledore lying on the ground.

"Ah," he said. He turned to his son. "I imagine you did that."

Harish nodded.

Bellatrix broke away from the crowd and joined them. The three walked away, and once they were alone Harish asked, "So what will happen now?"

"We join together and rebuild our society the way it was meant to be," Voldemort replied evenly. "And we'll do it together."

He looked from his son to Bellatrix. At that moment, he could not believe he had ever valued power over love, for what would he be without love?

THE-END—OR-NAH?

Harish sat on one of the green couches in the living room at Slytherin Manor, reading the Daily Prophet with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Beside him, Sirius sat with his own feet propped up on the table, charming a small child's collection of pebbles to dance around the floor, flashing different colors. The child in question, Matthias, was about three years old. He watched the pebbles with a fascinated, lopsided grin. Across the living room, Voldemort sat in a chair, watching their surroundings. Children from the ages of three to seventeen littered the manor, which had been expanded quite a bit.

All of the family was over for the Christmas holidays. The twins were not there, however, because they had just orchestrated the opening of a new version of their joke shop in Venezuela. Hopefully they would be back by that evening, as the family was going to be eating their annual Christmas Eve dinner.

Suddenly, a gaggle of boys from the ages of nine to thirteen ran into the previously peaceful room, arguing heatedly.

"He is too!"

"Is not!"

"You're a liar!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"ARE TOO!"

"Boys!" Voldemort suddenly snapped. "What have I said?"

"No arguing in your presence, Grandfather," one of them piped up.

"Yes," Voldemort replied. "Now you should do best to remember."

"Yes, Grandfather," they all chimed, bowing low.

"What were you arguing about in the first place?" Sirius asked with curiosity.

"He said that Father was over a century old, Padfoot," one ten-year-old said, pointing to Harish, who looked not a day over twenty.

Harish laughed.

"What does century mean?" the nine-year-old asked.

"It means a hundred years," Sirius replied.

"Well?" an eleven-year-old asked.

"Well what?" Harish questioned.

"How old are you?" another ten-year-old answered.

"One hundred and eighteen," Harish replied, before pausing. "I think."

"I told you," the thirteen-year-old whispered as the boys began walked back out, and by the time they had left the room they could be heard shouting, "SHUT UP!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

Harish laughed again, and then returned to his paper. It had been a hundred years since the war and the death of Dumbledore. Their family reached over fifty persons and almost all were still alive, living off the Elixir of Life.

All was well.


Goodbye my lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed the story.