Sorry folks this might be a bit long. It's the ending I'm planning to use for my fanfiction for the seventh book. Bit of a spoiler, really.
Harry stood in front of the dais, and stared down, not up as he normally would have. Down at his mortal enemy.
Lord Voldemort screeched, and visibly struggled against the ensnaring curse that Harry had emplaced upon him.
Once he might have felt fear, but not now. Once, his resolve would have shattered and left helpless to the Dark Lord's fury, but it was not now.
Now....he felt rage.
Rage towards all the atrocities that Voldemort and his minions had committed.
His parents. The insanity of the Longbottoms, Sirius, Lupin, and countless others had fallen to the Dark Lord's cause.
His agony mingled with hatred and anger in his heart to produce a raw, brutal emotion, one that made Tom Riddle's eyes bulge with fear. Harry felt a moment of satisfaction for this, but it was pale in comparison to the burning desire to hurt, to kill.
He raised his wand, and Voldemort rose a little higher in the air, unable to move.
Harry was still nearly blind with anger at him, but when he spoke, it was of a calm, ice-cold demeanor.
"Do you know what Lupin told me before his life departed? He told me that a warrior dies only once. A murderer dies a thousand times. And here we stand, with you, the murderer, at my mercy. Tell me, Voldemort, how does it feel to be stripped of your power, to have no supporters to defend your cause? So I will say this to you: The spirits of all those who you have caused pain, suffering, and finally death to, that they only wanted to defend the light are here. They are watching us, Lord Voldemort. And they will rest in peace now to know that you have died as you have lived. A coward to the last!"
Harry's wand rose. Voldemort screamed, a long, toneless sound of panic.
Despite themselves, Death Eaters and Aurors alike stopped to watch.
With a final movement, Harry flicked his wand.
And for the last time, Voldemort's body and soul were cast into oblivion. The dark veil, under its crumbling arch, fluttered once. And disappeared.
For a long time, no one dared move. Even Harry.
And then at long last, Snape came over and rested his gnarled hand on Harry's shoulder.
"It's over now, Harry."
Harry felt so tired. Tired enough that he wanted to sleep for a hundred years.
He gazed at the Death Eaters. They looked blank. Somewhere between relief and shock.
"Let's go back," Harry said. "To Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts." Hermione smiled, through bright tears. "Home.
***
In the following month, Harry had yet to get over everything. Warring emotions in his soul. Whispering voices in his brain.
He was a murderer. Even though that his best friends had assured him that it was for the better, it still made Harry shiver to know.
"I'm no better than Voldemort." he had told them one day, as they were getty ready to pack.
"No way." Ron said firmly. "No way, Harry. He killed people for fun, Hated Muggles. Tortured, killed. He's scum of the earth."
That had changed Harry's mind very quickly.
Harry felt an hint of nervousness, the first real, human emotion every since the end of May.
"Where will I live? The Dursleys know this is my last year here. Where will I go?"
"Well, I expect mum will always be glad to have an extra son." Ron said, smiling.
Harry turned to Hermione, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Where will you go, Hermione?"
"Oh, I've bought a place in London." she said non-commitally. "It's a lot closer to work. Please visit me sometime, you two."
"Will do." Ron and Harry said together.
***
When Harry boarded the train yet again, a time-honored ritual, there was a hint of sadness about it. After all, they were no longer students, but fully certified wizards and witches now. They would miss their castle terribly.
"We'll make sure to visit." Neville said, joining their compartment.
**
Halfway through the trip, Harry spotted Pig outside the window, who was nearly impossible to distinguish from a flying tennis ball with wings.
"Suppose it's for you, Ron." Harry grunted, passing the owl to him.
Ron opened it, and read it with a big grin on his face.
"What?" Harry asked.
For answer, Ron threw the envelope to Harry.
Dear Harry, here is the deed to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Please do not hesitate to ask for assistance if you need it.
From Tonks
Harry laughed.
"It'll still need cleaning."
"We'll help." Hermione said at once.
Harry sat back and yawned, brushing aside his hair.
Hermione froze, staring at him.
"What?" Harry asked, alarmed. "Do I have a pimple on my forehead or something?"
Hermione passed him a mirror. He looked inside it, and saw his own puzzled reflection, unaltered.
With one exception.
He had no scar.
"CRUCIO!!" Volemort shouted. Harry was aching all over. He can't give up though. He just can't. "AAARGH!!!" Harry let out a scream of frustration. He can't die. He has to avenge Ron's death. Hermoine lay on the floor beside him. Almost lifeless, but still breathing. "What's the matter, Harry?" Voldemort said in his icey cold voice. "Too much for you? Can't handle a little HEAT?" Harry felt like he was going to explode. It burned! He could see his skin turn different colors, peel off, and all he could do was watch. Harry started to scream. He couldn't take it anymore. He struggled and struggled. He fell to the floor with a dull, echoing plop. He reached out a shaking hand for his wand. Voldemort stomped on it with all of his might. "AAAAAAAAAARGH!!!" Harry screamed as loud as his lungs would let him. This was the most pain that he had ever gone through. He lay in his own blood. Just then, he couldn't breathe anymore. His hear stopped beating. He stopped breathing. He couldn't even feel his scar...
Yeah, I know it sucks, but the prophecy said that one of them had to die, and that means that either one of them can.