The sequel to The Secret Past. I'm trying not to spoil too much, and besides, the ship concerning Harry doesn't exist. However, the dead are still dead. It isn't completely necessary to have read The Secret Past, but if you're immensley confused but like the story and want to keep reading, please, feel free to ask questions in your reviews... yes, I do like those. As a disclaimer, no, I'm not posing to be J.K. Rowling, and no, I'm not getting paid for this. My pay is your reviews. And so, with out further ado, I bring you Skittles.

Prologue

'I've destroyed all of your Horcruxes,' Harry hissed at Voldemort as they faced each other across the entrance hall of Hogwarts.

Voldemort laughed. 'Not all, Potter,' he spat. 'One remains, and Dumbledore isn't here to help you destroy it.'

'Who said I needed help?' Harry asked, somewhat conversationally. At the mention of Dumbledore's name, all fear had left Harry.

Voldemort laughed again. 'You will not be the one who defeats tonight, Potter! You will be the one defeated!'

'Think again, Tom!' Harry shouted, drawing out his wand.

Voldemort disarmed him easily, no longer laughing.

'You will thwart me no longer, Potter,' Voldemort hissed, advancing upon him. 'You are utterly defenceless. No father, no mother, no godfather, no Dumbledore. Don't waste your breath,' he snapped as Harry drew a breath to speak. 'The prophecy will be fulfilled tonight, and no longer will Harry Potter save the day.'

Harry grinned.

'You underestimate my power, Potter?' Voldemort hissed.

'On the contrary, Tom; you underestimate mine.'

With those words, Harry drew out the ruby encrusted sword of Godric Gryffindor.

'You will now know how it feels to die, Tom,' Harry hissed, the images of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Kit, Hermione, the Weasleys, and Remus flashing through his mind, distorting the vision of Voldemort in front of him. 'And it will only require the magic of love.'

Voldemort's eyes widened as Harry sank the sword through the Dark Lord's middle.

'The seventh Horcrux,' Harry whispered as the scar on his forehead burned more painfully than ever before. As the blood of Tom Riddle stained the ancient sword, Harry felt himself becoming weaker. There were voices around him; gasps shouts and cries punctuated Voldemort's last gasps for breath. They fell to the ground as Voldemort died, as did a part of Harry. The volume of the people around him increased suddenly, and Harry could finally see the crowd, however misted, pushing forwards. But one voice punctuated them all.

'Daddy?'

Harry looked up to see his son, James Nathaniel Sirius Potter, fighting Kit's restraints upon him. Kit was white, tears silently streaming down her face.

'Daddy!'

Harry smiled. Kit let out a sob, letting their son down on the tiled floor. He rushed forwards, stumbling over his feet. He reached Harry and sat down in front of his face. Reaching forwards, he placed a small hand on Harry's throbbing scar.

'Owie?'

'Owie,' Harry whispered, trying and failing to push himself up.

'Owie?' the one year old asked, pointing at Voldemort's bleeding form.

Harry nodded. 'Big owie,' he breathed, smiling.

'Really?' asked a small voice, and Harry looked up to see Kit standing there.

'Yeah,' he said. 'He's gone. It's over.'

Kit clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

'And you –?'

'I'm here,' he whispered.

'We're safe?' Kit asked quietly. Harry nodded.

'Yay?'

Kit laughed and Harry smiled at the youngest Potter.

'Yay,' he whispered as Kit sat down next to him and kissed the cheeks of her two boys.