Harry defeats Voldemort, but pays the ultimate price.
The sky was blue. Not just any blue either. A bright vibrant colour that was almost painful to look at for more than a few seconds. Small clouds floated across the sky, playing tag with each other.
Harry could see the sky. He felt like he was floating, but he knew he was lying on grass. Strange... he couldn't feel the grass. He couldn't feel much aside from wonder at the sky above. There were shapes and lights flashing around him. His eyes wandered across the people around him. They were moving as if dancing, but a small detached part of him screamed at him to get up and help.
A shadow blocked the sky. Harry's eyes focussed on the silhouette looming over him. The only feature he could make out was a pair of red slit eyes that were looking at him with malevolence. The voice in the back of his mind was screaming for him to get up, move, and do anything.
Time was slowing down. The shadow's arm was raising up to point a wand at his head: The lightning bolt scar on his forehead to be exact. It would take some time for the hand to be completely pointed. Harry's eyes wandered to some of the other people around him. To his left, he could see Ron pummelling Lucius Malfoy as he sat astride the man's chest. His face pulled back in a snarl of primal fury. Hermione lay on the ground a few feet away, bloody and broken, still in death.
Harry rolled his eyes to the right, and could see Neville sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs and head resting on his knees beside the obviously dead Bellatrix LeStrange. Her body was twisted, and broken. Neville's wand was protruding from one of her eye sockets.
The hand of the shadow had moved halfway into position. Harry could see the mouth beginning to form words. Coldness had started creeping across his body.
A flash of red hair pulled his waning attention away from the shadow. Ginny was in a full sprint towards him. Harry could tell she wouldn't make it to him before the shadow finished the spell it was casting. A fleeting smile flashed across his face as he remembered the day before when she had cornered him in a broom closet. His lips had been numb for hours afterwards.
His chest contracted, and adrenaline flushed through his body. He knew he was going to die, but he would not allow Ginny to die. He could not allow Ron to come to harm! He would make sure Hermione was avenged before he left this world.
Harry concentrated; using occlumency techniques Snape had tried to teach him. His mind came into a sharp focus, the screaming voice in the background changed in intensity, and joined with him in refining his concentration.
The world around him sharpened into focus.
Voldemort was over him, a sickly green light of an Avada Kedavra was just starting to crawl along the wand clutched in his hand. Ron was crying and still beating an obviously dead Malfoy. Neville simply stared in horror at Voldemort.
Ginny.... Ginny's hair was flowing away from her face, and forming a crimson halo. Her arm was pulled back as if she was going to throw something. And her face... All of the emotion and hurt Voldemort had ever visited upon another person was formed into a single expression that showed on her face. Magic was cascading from her in waves that could be felt as actual pressure. Harry smiled. Harry had seen some artwork that tried to depict a Valkyrie, but nothing came close to how she looked now. HIS Valkyrie. She would escort his spirit from the mortal realm, and serve as a conduit to ensure his legacy as the Boy-Who-Lived was not wasted.
The green light of Voldemort's spell was just reaching his head now. He could feel the electric hot, soul chilling cold of the magic as it snuffed the life in his body. In his last moments, he gathered all that he was, life, soul and spirit, and pulsed through the conduit of worship he had formed for Ginny in the last few moments.
Ginny saw the unforgivable hit Harry. As the spell flashed into him, she felt something break inside of her. It was as if some floodgates had opened and infused her with a pure energy. The power had a distinctly "Harry" feel to it, full of sadness, and sorrow, but with strength to do what needed to be done.
For years, poets and bards tried to describe the visage of the Ultionis Angelus, or Avenging Angel spell that infused Ginny. They tried to put into words how her hair had a life of its own, wrapping around her and flowing as if the blood of the fallen. Prose could not capture the nimbus of righteous rage that enfolded her like a shield of living magic, deflecting any spells that were sent her way, and slashing out to protect others around her. Only in their daydreams could young romantics visualize the palpable passion that struck out and ripped Voldemort's spirit and soul from his body.
Her eyes shone with unspent energy. Power struck out and tore the soul of Tom Riddle apart to spread across nature's elements and dissipate. As the last vestiges of the Dark Lord were destroyed, and the Valkyrie's flight diminishing, Ginny turned to her brother. Ron sat, feebly holding Hermione to his bloodied chest. Wracking sobs tore from his throat, torn and raw from the primal screams of wrath he had bawled only moments before.
A voice spoke to her, fading to a whisper as it spoke, "My warrior witch... Always know I loved you. I loved all of you. Go to him... your family. My family. Hold them tight, and show them my love as a final gift...."
Ginny half walked, half floated to Ron, still holding Hermione. Ginny wrapped them in her arms and wept; her tears running freely down her face and across Hermione's forehead. The last of the Ultionis Angelus magic flowed flashed, and disappeared, leaving only a long roll of thunder to mark its passing.
Hermione gasped, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, and blood rushing to fill her cheeks with a fresh blush. Her wounds closed, bones knitting as they held her. Ron looked at his sister, tears finally falling in relief. They both glanced over to the boy who was lying on the grass, a peaceful smile on his face. His sightless eyes staring at the sky. The sky was blue.
Author's Note: I wrote this story today, while I was at work. I was feeling a bit depressed by the seemingly never-ending winter we're having, and this seems to be the end product. I've always like the thought of Valkyries. It just seems right to have an escort for the fallen soldiers as they go to the afterlife. The mythology is such that these warrior women honour and protect them from any further violence as they move to Valhalla. If Harry were to fall, I think he would deserve such an escort.