Author's Note: This is a oneshot. For some reason, they seem to be the only things I can write... From Harry's POV, in case you were wondering.

Disclaimer: I DO not OWN HARRY POTTER.


Smile for me?

Please, just… smile. It's been so long since I've seen a smile on anyone's face. Sirius is dead-- he smiled, despite twelve horrific years living with his worst memories, despite everything that's happened in his life. He still smiled. The twins smiled, too, until George died in a Death Eater raid. Fred committed suicide the next day. No one in the Weasley family smiles anymore.

There's the keen of steel blades sliding home into their sheathes as I check my multiple daggers and hide them on my person; one on each upper arm, two in my belt, one in each boot, one each strapped to either thigh, one in the small of my back.

Dumbledore doesn't smile anymore. His eyes have lost their twinkle. He's an old man, and it's beginning to show. Hermione's cried since Ron died. It was the day after their marriage. Death Eaters attacked them on their honeymoon; not that you could call it that. They were just sharing a room at the Leaky Cauldron. That was the day Diagon Alley went up in flames.

Twin wand holsters find their homes on each wrist, along with a spare wand hidden in one dragon-hide boot.

We've tried to rebuild it, but the Death Eaters just keep destroying it each time we try. Hagrid's dead too. He doesn't smile anymore.

A simple blue hairband ties back hair grown long over the years.

Remus hasn't smiled since Sirius's death… or spoke much for that matter. The death of his only remaining childhood friend hit him hard. He's been wasting away since the Ministry…

Next come the heavy black steel gauntlets over my wrists, and shinguards on my legs.

The Ministry's gone too. Fudge used to smile, nervous little smiles that made it clear that he had no idea what he was doing. He's dead too, and the Ministry annihilated.

An enchanted earring goes into my left earlobe, protecting me from most minor curses.

Darkness swept the land. Death Eaters run almost everything, but for a token resistance group; the Order of the Phoenix lives on, for now.

Next the Sword of Gryffindor slides home into its sheathe harnessed to my back.

I'm the only one that smiles anymore. I don't really mean it…it's a mask I developed to try to bring up morale. There're only ten of us left, including myself. Dumbledore says I'm the light's last hope. But is darkness really that bad? Can we really call ourselves 'light' when we still kill and cause pain? Is there really any light and dark?

Finally, my battle robes, the front hanging wide open for easy access to my weapons, go on over my ensemble. Light, but sturdy and enchanted to reflect most spells, but for the really dark ones.

Nah. I betcha there's no light or dark, same as no heaven or hell. There's just death, and those lucky enough to avoid it for a while. I've avoided it, but it's only a matter of time. We'll all die soon, it's the way of the world.

But you can bet your ass I won't go without one hell of a fight. Which is why I'm here now, standing in the doorway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. I might die, I might (though it's improbable to the point of impossible) live. I might take out Voldemort at the least. No one knows I'm doing this. They'd stop me, even Snape. They'd tell me it's stupid, impossible, a suicide mission. Hell, maybe it is. I don't fear death. But I know; I know I have to do this.

It's time for my last stand. And I'm going with a smile.