Harry Potter was close.

So close that he could almost feel it, feel the sensation pulling him closer and closer to his end.

Death.

The one and only thing that would reunite his parents and him again. It was in reach, and then he could finally be at peace.

Someone else could kill Voldemort. His job would be done, over. He wouldn't have to do anything for anyone else anymore.

He could be free.

Of course, if by chance everything went completely and totally wrong, then he'd be fine with people blaming him.

And knowing his luck, that would happen.

No matter how many times Ron and Hermione has tried to convince him, it was his fault that Voldemort had come back to life.

If he had struggled not in his bounds, if he had tried to cast a spell on Pettigrew, if he'd done something, anything, then Voldemort wouldn't be terrorising the world now.

Whatever his two best friends said, Harry was convinced of it, and therefore determined to kill Voldemort.

He would. And he'd win.

Even if it took his life.

Besides, Ron and Hermione could kill Voldemort when he died. It's not like Harry had anything really special about him, after all. Any normal person could kill Voldemort, they just had to believe they could do it.

Even Neville could do it. The boy himself was shaping up to be an extremely good wizard now that he'd gotten over the fact that believing himself is all it takes.

It's a true fact, after all. That's all Harry needed to help Dumbledore by apparating back to Hogwarts, and that's all Neville would need to defeat Voldemort.

As well as the fact that Harry had entrusted the task of killing Nagini to the boy (or rather, man), so if anything happened to Ron or Hermione, then Neville could be a hero.

Think of that. A hero. Neville Longbottom.

The shy kid in class who was picked on by Professor Snape, who blew up his cauldron too many times to keep count, a hero.

Neville definitely deserved it, for sure. More than Harry deserved his fame, more than Harry deserved anything at all.

Sometimes, Harry got the feeling that Neville should get his fame. Maybe to take the weight off his shoulders, or to just give him some confidence.

Some self-confidence would really boost Neville's self-esteem.

And anyway, even if Ron and Hermione missed him, it wouldn't really effect their lives too much.

Those two were destined for each other. If they refused, that was their loss, not his. Although by the way they were bickering like an old married couple for most of the years they'd known each other, Harry was certain they knew.

If Neville couldn't help (but Harry believed that he could, that all he had to do was believe in himself just that little bit more) then they could kill Nagini. They both knew that Nagini was the last Horcrux.

Those two could even kill Voldemort. They could accomplish anything, if they put their minds to it - even the impossible.

Although the impossible isn't saying much, considering they lived in a world in which magic was real.

Perhaps, when Ron and Hermione killed Voldemort (and he'd never doubt for a second that they would) they would do it in his honour.

Think of that. Their way of saying thanks.

He hoped - with all of his heart - that they knew how much he cared for them. Every single one of them.

Ron, for all of his quirkiness and love for chess. How even when he was under pressure, he'd soon find a way out, whether it was help from Hermione or not.

Hermione, for how smart she is and how she never loses her cool, even when Harry and Ron have completely lost it. How she knows the answers to everything, and if she doesn't, she'll spend days looking for the answers so you'll know it.

Neville, because he's made the biggest transition of them all, from being a shy, nerdy kid to a strong, proud man.

Ginny, for being his one true love. For not being angry with him when he said he wanted to break up. For understanding his decisions.

All of them, they were his family. They'd most likely be angry with his decision (he wasn't happy with the idea yet, if he was honest - but it was too late now), but they'd eventually understand why.

They showed him how a family acted, behaved. His first, true taste of family love.

He hoped they knew. Because he wouldn't be able to tell them now.

Not now that he was going to die.

Not when he was going to allow himself to be defeated, killed by the enemy he's been fighting against his whole life.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Lord Voldemort.

He was ready. He found it surprising, but he really was ready. He used to even look forwards to this day.

He was hated, cast out. Nobody liked him, nor did they care.

But then he met them. His friends. His family.

Rubeus Hagrid.

Hermione Granger.

Ronald Weasley.

Albus Dumbledore.

Sirius Black.

Remus Lupin.

Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Fred and George Weasley.

Neville Longbottom.

Ginny. Ginny, Ginny, Ginny.

So maybe he wasn't really ready to die. Maybe he wanted to stay alive a little longer, to say his last goodbyes. But what did it matter?

Since when did Harry Potter get what he wanted? He never got to choose what he wanted, so why should he choose his death date?

Voldemort wouldn't be able to die. He wouldn't be able to die until Harry died.

Of course, he didn't want Tom to kill him. If that happened, he would most likely brag about it. Tell stupid, ludicrous stories about how it happened. Each one would be more exaggerated than he last.

Most likely, the wizarding world would be told that he'd tried to run away, run away from the battle, run away from his problems.

Run away.

If he was honest, he didn't really care what they thought of him. If he did, then he would've hidden away a long time ago.

It was time for a change. A time without the Dark Lord or his followers.

Harry was going to inspire that change. There was only one simple thing he needed to do to make it real.

He just needed to die.

He took a deep breath, stepping forwards slowly.

"Do it," he whispered hoarsely, his throat sore from yelling so many spells. "Just do it, Tom."

"Don't call me that," Voldemort hissed, red eyes peering into his, seeing all of his secrets, all except that one, the one that would reveal his downfall.

Kill me, and you kill yourself, Tom Riddle.

You'll be your own downfall.

Voldemort pointed the wand at him.

Harry closed his eyes in anticipation, trying to ignore Hagrid's screams, ignoring the rushed, "Silencio!"

For some reason, he didn't enjoy the quiet either.

Then, Voldemort finally said the dreaded words that had ended many witches and wizards lives.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The last thing Harry saw before his world went completely black was the flash of green light that haunted his nightmares. He collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Dead.

Hey guys! So, you might know that I stopped posting stuff on my account. Yeah, that's because I lost my password. Whoops. But now I've got this! And I'm rewriting my stories since, quite frankly, they were horrible. In my opinion, anyway. See, this ones even longer! Proof in front of your eyes!

I'll be posting this every week, on Saturdays, so please read and look forwards to then! That DOESN'T the Saturday coming up, as nobody will have read it by then - please tell me if you DO.

Edit: I know, I know, I was about to post this, when I thought... I'm gonna edit it again. I literally edited it in, what, September?

I didn't think it was good enough and I think this is way better and has much more detail. So yeah, comment, vote, tell me if you enjoyed this!

- WriteCrazyForLife