The world was glass.

   All around him, he could see it sparkling, shards of every shape and size. Some were jagged, and scored fine lines of blood across his skin. Some were blunt and just tumbled away, vanishing into invisible particles upon contact with any hard surface.

   All he saw when he looked up was broken glass. Some was suspended by sputtering, failing magic, and some was drifting down in a gleaming cloud, sizzling with the residue of the souls it had contained.

   The orb was broken. The spirits were gone, and even as he heard the murmurs behind the veil grow in volume, he knew there would be no cry to split whatever was on the other side. Nothing but the tinkling of broken glass.

   He heard screams – Tonks’, he realized faintly – and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brilliant flash of green.

   Someone is dead.

   One more soul gone. Beyond the pale, beyond any reach of any magic he could cast –

   In the back of his mind, something had broken. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he vaguely knew that there should be a part of his mind that was screaming with rage, at a magnificent plan falling and shattering upon the stone.

   But there was no rage. Not from him. It was as if he had just finished playing a long game of chess, every move fraught with peril… and now the opponent had moved a single piece and had placed him in checkmate.

   But even that was an inexact metaphor, because the poltergeist wasn’t the enemy… Voldemort’s plans had been foiled too…

   I ran across Bifrost, a bridge of ice and rainbows… and before I could reach Asgard, the trickster broke the bridge, already weakened by the heat of my footsteps…

   I fall through glass and rainbows, but where will I land?

***

   The first thing Harry saw was darkness – but it wasn’t completely dark. There was a light behind him – a dingy, sputtering light bulb, casting a grimy light, barely cleaving the darkness.

   He staggered to his feet, the back of his mind relieved that gravity was once again restored, but he had the feeling that something was wrong. Voldemort used the Killing Curse… so where the hell am I now? Did my simulamancy somehow save me… but even still, I never left my other simulacrum in a place like this…

   He eyed as much of the room as he could see. Most was obscured in darkness, but there was a mirrored window stretching along both side walls, casting faint reflections of the dingy light. The light-bulb was suspended right over the back wall, where a door had been welded shut with great force and hastily painted over. Whatever colour on the walls and ceilings was dirty beige, the type seen in old, decrepit hospitals…

   Harry’s hand slid to his pocket for his wand – only to find it gone.

   “Son of a bitch,” he swore, hastily searching through his pockets. “Damn it, where the –”

   “Where, I think, isn’t exactly the right question.”

   Without warning, another light clicked on, illuminating the entire room. Harry saw a steel table, nailed firmly to the floor, two cheap metal chairs – and one was occupied.

   Rage flooded through Harry. “Peeves.”

   The poltergeist looked more solid than it ever had before. He was still translucent, and white as a sheet, but there was a distinct sense that he was more affected by the laws of physics than any other time Harry had seen him.

   Peeves’ eyes lit up. “Ah, Harry, great to see you! Why don’t you take a seat?”

   “What are you doing here?” Harry spat, not moving from his spot. “What the hell is this –”

   “That requires an explanation,” Peeves replied, a cruelly wide grin spreading across his face. “And I’d prefer you sit down so we can… tidy things up, as it is.”

   “And this point, I really don’t have to listen to you,” Harry replied dangerously, stepping closer. “You’ve been nothing but a goddamned devil since the beginning of the year –”

   “Now, that’s a bit unfair,” Peeves said, giving Harry a very frank look. “If I recall correctly, all I did was inform you that there were attacks happening – I wasn’t doing anything wrong there, because, after all, I made the assumption that you, ah, wanted to know.” The poltergeist smirked. “Was I wrong?”

   “The attacks are over,” Harry said in a low voice, reaching the table, “so why the fuck are you still here? Why didn’t you go on to whatever hell you came back from?”

   Peeves gave Harry a very patient expression. “Well, Harry, I didn’t want to go. All I did to get myself here was appropriate a little bit of energy that some of those souls wouldn’t notice was gone and propel myself in before good old Voldemort’s curse did some, ah, damage.”

   Harry tensed as his mind raced. But that must mean… “We’re inside my head.”

   Peeves’ smile broadened. “Very good, Harry.”

   “But poltergeists can’t possess people,” Harry continued, glancing at the window as he stepped around the side of the table, “so that’s why you needed the extra energy from the freed souls to get here.”

   “You’re two for two.”

   He moved even faster than he thought he could. The poltergeist’s head was translucent, but Harry felt something solid beneath his fingers – Peeves had to partially manifest itself to appear here.

   Harry didn’t hesitate, and slammed Peeves’ face into the table.

   The poltergeist reeled, but the smile didn’t fade. “Well, that’s –”

   It didn’t get another word off, because Harry slammed his fist into the creature’s eye. He toppled from the chair, crashing hard onto the dirty floor.

   “You’re in my head,” Harry growled, stepping closer. “And last time I checked, I run the show in here.” He bent and seized the poltergeist by the throat and heaved him into the air. “And I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

***

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS –

   The words began in her head as his hand went limp in hers, the rushing noise drifting away to leave behind screams.

   “Harry – Harry –”

   “NO –”

   She saw McGonagall’s face contort with shock and grief as she raised her wand and cast the Anti-Apparition jinx over the room – or over the entire Ministry, she couldn’t tell, it looked strong enough –

   She heard her mentor’s bellow of unbridled rage, and two masked shadows were blasted upwards into the ceiling with a sickening crunch –

   She focused on him, still hovering only feet away, a strangely dazed expression on his face as he raised his wand for the inevitable second strike –

   -NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME –

   The voice was getting louder, and as the scream was torn raw from her throat, she knew it would be meaningless, she knew it would only add to the cacophony of Bellatrix Lestrange’s shrieking laughter and the squealing of breaking magical devices –

   “Exit strategy – now!”

   The voice was his, and all across the room she could see people attempting to Disapparate – but to no avail…

   And there he was. The old man’s eyes were already wet, but blazing a more intense fury than she had ever seen. This wasn’t the anger of a man who had been wronged or the frustrated rage of a failure.

   This was the fury of a teacher who had lost his most prized student, the master losing the best apprentice, the father losing his only son.

   Amplified by the sheer primal power of the most skilled and powerful wizard on the planet.

   The only one he ever feared.

   “Nobody,” Dumbledore said, his voice magically amplified through a mask of fury, “is going anywhere.”

   White-hot lightning forked from his outstretched wand, and his shield only barely held, but Dumbledore wasn’t done. Light and colour exploded forth from the wand, with sounds that were both unearthly and terrifying.

   -POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY –

   Now the Death Eaters were screaming as their master was forced back, crushed against the ceiling by an avalanche of magic beyond their worst nightmares…

   The stream of magic was broken for a second – Bellatrix had deflected it for an instant, and that was the only moment he needed. He slammed his wand against the ceiling and screamed words that would have been incomprehensible even in silence –

   And then the ceiling exploded.

   Black rock cascaded downwards, smashing more of the delicate magical machinery to bits below them as the field that kept them afloat continued to sputter. Even more dust filled the air as the Death Eaters thrashed and pulled their way towards the exit…

   They’re getting away.

   He’s getting away.

  HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS –

   And then…

   Something just broke.

***

   “Oh, that’s quite the hit –”

   His fist drove into the poltergeist’s gut, blasting the air out of him.

   “Just look at you go –”

   The poltergeist hit the wall head-first, a satisfying crunch splitting the air. But somehow Peeves was still awake, his eyes glittering and his smile widening –

   “All that strength, all that will, and it does you so much good –”

   He seized Peeves by the throat, his fingers digging into the windpipe as he smashed the poltergeist into the glass. It cracked beneath the impact, but it didn’t fall away or reveal anything behind it…

   “Why,” Harry snarled, “do you think that you would get off trying to just arrive right before everything went to hell? Did you honestly think, you waste of air, that someone wouldn’t do something about this?”

   “Well, considering you’re not doing all that much, I figured – OOF!”

   Harry lowered his booted foot as the poltergeist reeled from the kick to the stomach. “You don’t just get off taunting me and being a worthless voice of nonsense, you despicable piece of shit – and in here, I have the capacity to hurt you.” His fist balled tighter. “And believe me, I’m enjoying this –”

   “I’m sure you are.” Peeves’ eyes narrowed, but his smile never wavered. “Unfortunately, it really doesn’t do you all that much good, all things considered. All that strength and you haven’t yet managed to, ah, cause any real damage.” The poltergeist climbed to his feet and gestured back towards the table. “But then again, I’m not here in your head to gloat or to make light of your situation. If anything, I’ve got a number of, ah, things you might want to know.” Peeves gave him a knowing smile. “I mean, it’s your party in here.”

   “Maybe then I should just rip you apart and divine any information you have from your quivering organs,” Harry said in a low voice, his mind latching onto the darkest threat he could think of as he glared daggers at the poltergeist. “Trelawney never gave us the details, but I’m sure I could figure it out –”

   “Oh, no, no, no, that would be such a waste of time.” Peeves waved his hand dismissively as he returned to the table and sat down. “Because, you know, I’m going to tell you everything – that’s why I’m here.”

   “And then what?” Harry snarled. “You going to offer me some loaded deal that will ultimately cost me my soul?”

   Peeves gave an uncharacteristic sigh. “You take all the fun out of things, Harry – but to answer your question, it’s not something I can do, and I certainly can’t make you do anything.” Peeves glanced past Harry. “That’s mostly her doing, though.”

   Harry spun around, and even though it shocked him for a fraction of a second, he still couldn’t work himself up to be that surprised.

   “Su Li,” he muttered.

   The girl gave him a disdainful look as she leaned lightly against the wall. Her robes were highly professional, much like those he had worn in his Clarissa Desdame simulacrum, and every inch of her posture and distant expression suggested the only reason she was there was because of a professional obligation.

   “See, given her little connection with you,” Peeves explained, raising a hand in deference to the Ravenclaw girl, “I can’t, ah, say things that might directly or indirectly push you towards a certain path, one way or another. Suffice to say, besides saving Hogwarts and guiding that little magic sphere straight to the Department of Mysteries, Su Li and the rest of your simulacrums are quite the boon.” Peeves winked. “I ought to applaud such rigorous exploitation of the living and the dead, it’s really quite extraordinary.”

   “Why did you disrupt Cassane’s ritual?” Harry demanded, not sitting down.

   “Well, Miss Li already told you that,” Peeves replied patiently. “It was a crime against Death, and I was simply preventing things from reaching an unsatisfactory conclusion –”

   “But you couldn’t have known he was going to do any of it,” Harry retorted, slamming his palms against the table and leaning closer. “You only started appearing once Nott began freeing the spirits – you couldn’t have known about Cassane, you couldn’t have had a plan!”

   Peeves gave Harry a very frank look. “Do I look like the kind of guy with a plan?”

   Harry eyed the poltergeist with equal parts hatred and disbelief. “I don’t know what to think about poltergeists that start off crazy and then just get evil.”

   “Now, Harry, let’s not throw around words like ‘evil’ without some, ah, context.” Peeves steadily returned Harry’s gaze as he leaned back in the chair. “Evil’s such a strong word, with lots of emotion behind it that it really doesn’t quite deserve, I think. And it’s so subjective too… I think if you consider things, I’m not so much evil as someone who just, you know, points out the obvious, at least to anyone who’s paying attention.” The poltergeist gave a wink. “You know, from a certain point of view.”

   “And in my head, I’d like to think that the only point of view that matters is mine,” Harry growled. “Get to the point.”

   “When our good friend Mr. Nott began smashing the barriers on his crude little quest for Voldemort… well, I didn’t get less crazy and more evil.” Peeves’ smile deepened. “It was just that some of the elements of my personality that some Headmasters had found a bit troublesome returned. Gave me a bit more subtlety, a bit more control. I didn’t need to waste my time with little pranks and shenanigans, despite them having their place… no, I had other things I wanted to do.” The poltergeist leaned closer. “And I’ve got to say, between you and your former Potions Professor, I really enjoyed the conversations.”

   “But why?” Harry leaned closer, and tried to look into the poltergeist’s glinting eyes. “Once again, I don’t see your plan –”

   “Who says I had one?” Peeves replied, with a giggle as he tapped his chin with a long finger. “You living humans and your plans – labyrinthine things, and you think they’ll get you on the right path. You have plans, Voldemort has plans, Cassane has… well, had plans, Dumbledore has plans.” The poltergeist spread his hands wide. “You all have plans, but sometimes, all you need to do is react to someone’s plan, and it saves you so much time. That way, I don’t need to make any plans… I can just sit and watch as everything comes together, and then just react whenever I think it would bring a real smile to my face.”

   “But you have to want something,” Harry pursued, his eyes narrowing as he pressed his fingers into the table. “There must be a reason…”

   “Harry, I’m a poltergeist,” Peeves said calmly, his grin widening. “Why would I, ah, need reasons for anything I do? Do you think I annoyed Filch and caused chaos because I had some nefarious scheme? Do you think I threw water balloons or lit fires because there was some rationale behind it all?” The poltergeist’s smile deepened. “See, look, once you’re dead, you don’t need reasons anymore… I don’t need to justify what I do or why I do it, so you just stop devising reasons and just do things. No responsibilities, no rationale, no goals.” Peeves’ eyes gleamed as he drummed his fingers on the table and cast his gaze skyward. “It’s like Neverland… everywhere.”

   “Then what are you doing in my head?”

   “Ah.” Peeves leaned back in his chair. “Well, just because I don’t need reasons or goals for everything doesn’t mean I don’t have them – and I’m truly hurt by the fact you thought I was here to hurt you, by the way. I want to help you, Harry Potter.”

   Harry didn’t believe it for a second. “You’re lying.”

   Peeves glanced at Su. “She’d stop me if I was, Harry. But really, I think you would appreciate some of the things I could offer you.”

   “I don’t see how you, a poltergeist, are in the position to offer me anything,” Harry said harshly. “What do you have that I could possibly want?”

    “Information,” Peeves replied, his voice abruptly dropping as he glanced at the window. “You want to know what those windows are, Harry?”

   “I’m assuming a mental delusion,” Harry replied. “Much like my general assumptions about you.”

   “It’s a Memory Charm, Harry,” Peeves said softly, his smile and gaze never wavering as he eyed Harry. “A very intricate one, crafted with great skill and augmented with other magic, but a Memory Charm nonetheless. And like all Memory Charms, it can be broken.”

   Harry tensed – had somebody been inside his head… “You’re lying.”

   “Well, it’s not like you’d remember them casting it on you,” Peeves replied, tapping a long finger twice on the table.

   “But who –”

   “I can tell you,” Peeves said in a sing-song voice, “but then again, that’s the point: I can’t untell you. Once you know, you know. This is the sort of thing that you never quite get over once you remember it.”

   Peeves smirked. “You should ask Miss Granger about that some time.”

   Harry didn’t hesitate in slamming his fist as hard as he could into the poltergeist’s nose – and grimly satisfied that Su Li didn’t stop him or even react to the attack.

    “Well, perhaps that was a bit of a cheap shot,” Peeves replied fairly, massaging his broken nose before cracking it loudly back into place. “But the fact remains that those glass walls are Memory Charms, and I’m here to help you break them.”

   “Why?” His voice sounded ragged, as if he was breathing hard, but it didn’t feel like he was panting at all. “Why would you care? What do you gain from all of this?”

    Peeves raised his hands and smiled, simply and sweetly. “I, ah, know what’s on the other side.”

    “What the… how?” Harry’s frustration was surging to the surface again, and his palms pressed against the table as he leaned close. “How the fuck can you know what’s inside my head that I don’t even know?”

    “Well, I could say that I just know you better than you know yourself, Harry,” Peeves replied with an insufferable chuckle, “but I’m not going to give myself that much credit.” The poltergeist sighed theatrically. “No, it was sufficient that when I blew my way in here, I just caught a glimpse… but oh, what a glimpse it was…

   “And besides,” Peeves added, his voice suddenly matter-of-fact, “I’m not the only one who knows.”

   Harry glanced behind him at Su Li, who was still glaring holes into his back. “What, she knew too?”

   “When you enter a person’s mind, Harry,” Peeves explained patiently, folding his hands, “you see things. And while the big stuff is there, it’s the little things that catch notice and really stand out. And this Memory Charm, as complex and intricate as it is – a masterpiece among charms, as it is – it was made to be the littlest of little things. A tiny, insubstantial speck that gleams all the brighter when you flash a light, the last dust cloud to be cleared away. So when she tacitly, ah, stepped in, she saw it, and saw right past it.”

    “But how…”

   “Glass, Harry,” the poltergeist whispered. “It’s all glass… you know, I get the feeling the one who cast it – and there can only be one – I think he designed it that way. Designed it in a way that on the right day, and with the right hammer… you could see everything.”

    Harry kept his gaze on Su. “And it would just be too easy to just tell me what’s on the other side of this supposed charm?”

    Her glare told him everything he needed to know to answer that question.

   “That’s not the way it works, Harry,” Peeves said, leaning closer. “You have to see.”

   “I can just choose not to.” Harry took a deep breath as he faced the poltergeist, dropping into and leaning back in his own chair. “Yeah, I could do that. If somebody that powerful wants to put a Memory Charm on me, it’s probably for good reason.”

   Peeves sniffed with disapproval. “Harry, we both know that’s not going to happen. If you want to take that path and just skip all the way to the ending, it’s not going to turn out well for you. Say things, ah, improve, and you return to the land of the ‘living’, you’ll know there’s a charm there. You’ll know someone has meddled with your mind – and the best part is, you’ll never know what is missing.

   “Can you imagine what that would be like? Every new face you see, you’ll wonder if you have already met them. Every person you meet, you’ll wonder if they were the one to cast that charm, or if they had said something they wanted you to forget, and are lying behind their teeth, a friendly smile plastered over their knowing thoughts. Everything, even the most meaningless of trifles, will become quintessential in your eyes to unraveling the truth locked away inside your own mind. You’ll obsess over every statement, every fraction of a second, every instant of expression, in the hopes of uncovering even the paltriest of links. And you thought your paranoia in August and September was something?” Peeves giggled to himself. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

   Harry was silent – what could he say to that?

   “You’ll never trust another soul again, Harry,” Peeves whispered. “And just like our good friend Voldemort wants you to be, you’ll be completely, utterly alone. But this time, not of his doing, but of your own. Everything, everyone that ever mattered to you will be driven away by your obsessive paranoia – you’ve been through it once already.”

   The poltergeist paused. “I guess that makes this both prophetic and profoundly ironic.”

    “What so ironic about it?” Harry snapped.

   Peeves smiled simply. “Break the glass and find out.”

   Harry got to his feet and slowly began to circle the table, his hand balled into a fist. “Which pane?”

   “Ooh, good one.”

   “Are both of these for the same memory?” Harry said in a low voice, “or are you going to tell me that two people have meddled with my head?”

    “No, just one,” Peeves replied, tapping his chin. “You should break the right one first, I think.”

   “Why?”

   “Can’t you just trust me?”

    Harry completely ignored the almost plaintive note in the poltergeist’s voice and kept circling – and then suddenly swung his fist at the left pane of glass.

    The poltergeist smirked. “Well, I warned you.”

   The glass split into a spiderweb crack at the impact of Harry’s punch – and without warning, it dissolved entirely. He was off balance, his fist soaring out into the void, and he was stumbling down –

***

   He saw the attack first.

   Her hair was oscillating with every colour as she began to cast spells. Her hair went yellow for a split second as she disarmed a Death Eater and then cursed him into a stone wall with his own wand. That wand she used to propel herself, spraying sparks and fire to blast herself through the air, screaming curses and hexes and all matter of spells –

   Her hair was emerald green when she transfigured a Death Eater’s blood to acid.

   Her hair was white as snow when she froze the air in a Death Eater’s lungs.

   Her hair was vivid purple as she deflected a slew of razor-edged knifes cast by Bellatrix and sent them chasing after the mad Death Eater with the speed and dangerous accuracy of a guided rocket.

   She didn’t care if the Death Eater saw her coming or not. She didn’t care if the Death Eater was prepared or armed or was pleading for mercy. They were just obstacles.

   She was a spirit, floating on sparks and magic and tears, clawing her way towards the opening where Voldemort was making his exit up into the Atrium right above them, sending debris and dust tumbling downwards in his wake –

   Yet outside of the curses she screamed, she called no epithets. She ignored any precepts of duelling or proper combat. Any vestige of training and good practice had dropped away to be replaced with blinding speed and ferocious intensity.

   She didn’t need to say a word. They all knew what she was after.

   And here I am, drifting by an arch to whatever comes beyond… and I do nothing.

   I have enabled another break. The pattern continues again.

   Just another way I have failed.

***

   He was sitting in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The candles were dimmed in the cavernous room, and the remnants of dinnerware were stacked neatly in the sink. Outside of a few cobwebs and the spiders that undoubtedly inhabited them, the room was empty.

   “What the…” Harry rose to his feet and glanced around the darkened room. A glance out of the window told him it was night, but the last time he had been at Grimmauld Place was over the summer, and there had always been people around…

   And then he saw it on the table. A grimy basin, a dirty black basin that he had seen before, that he knew Mrs. Weasley had used for cooking but that Dumbledore had recognized as something greater… a pot he had later seen in Snape’s house, filled with memories that had been revelations he knew he had needed but he wished he had never had to see.

   “The Black Pensieve,” Harry whispered, glancing inside – only to see a glimmer of silver at the very bottom. “You’ve got to be –”

   The explosion of motion caught him off-guard, and he staggered against the wall as two people shot out of the Pensieve. One was tall, old, and wore a very grim expression on his face.

   The other was Harry’s mirror-duplicate, his ragged over-sized T-shirt stained with blood.

   Harry stepped back as he saw his duplicate stagger, his hand to his forehead, his eyes wide and staring as he clutched the edge of the table.

   “No… no…”

   Dumbledore put a hand on memory-Harry’s shoulder. “I am sorry, Harry… I really am.”

    “That was a prophecy,” memory-Harry whispered. “That… that was a real prophecy that Professor Trelawney gave –”

   “I mentioned just over a year ago that it was her second,” Dumbledore replied steadily. “And you understand why despite certain elements, ah, ambiguous in her qualifications, why she must remain at Hogwarts for her safety.”

   “But why would she need to, Snape was a Death Eater and he overheard the whole thing…” –Memory-Harry’s voice trailed off as his confusion was quickly replaced by rage. “And you let him… and you let him teach at Hogwarts AFTER HE TOLD VOLDEMORT ABOUT MY MUM AND DAD?”

   “Harry, I can explain –”

    “I’m sure you can,” memory-Harry snarled, his eyes flaring as he rounded on Dumbledore. “Like why the hell you haven’t contacted me ALL DAMN SUMMER? And now, once I’m in trouble, you decide to get involved? Maybe I should have wished the Dementors had come sooner so I would have gotten out of there –”

   “Harry, it is for your protection that you return to Privet Drive every summer,” Dumbledore replied, his voice still not rising to match the shouting of Harry’s duplicate. “When your mother died to save you, her protection conveys to those of her blood, her sister and your aunt being the last of that group. While you remain under her roof, you cannot be touched by Lord Voldemort or those who wear his mark. It is a more powerful and fail-proof protection than many that I know.”

   Dumbledore closed his eyes, a surprisingly weary expression on his face. “And thus you understand our panic, when you chose to flee… for not only were you being chased by the Ministry, but there was grave danger that he would touch you in another way.”

   Harry’s duplicate looked confused, and he ran a dirty hand through his hair. “I... but I never saw Voldemort.”

   “I suspect with growing certainty that he has chosen to make his attack in a very different way,” Dumbledore said, his expression hardening as he glanced away from Harry. “I suspect the Dementors were his idea – easy enough to sway to his banner, and easy enough to dismiss when charges are brought to the Ministry should you escape. Instead, he waits until you flee from the house, on the run, before he makes his move…”

   “What move?” memory-Harry asked impatiently, with sentiments that the real Harry immediately shared.

   “What if I told you,” Dumbledore asked instead, glancing at Harry, his eyes filled with not with grim bitterness, but a great, terrible sadness, “that Parseltongue was not the only thing you inherited from Lord Voldemort the night he tried to kill you?”

    The mouths of two Harry’s dropped open with shock. “I… I… what?”

   “You may have been having strange dreams this summer, Harry,” Dumbledore continued, gesturing for Harry to sit. “I regret to inform you that these may not have been your dreams, but those forged of the connection between you two – a connection only strengthened by his taking of your blood during his rebirth.”

    The mirror of Harry dropped into a chair, a look of daze and growing horror spreading across his face. “I… they’re just dreams of a corridor, with a black door at the end… and I want something beyond that door…”

   “He searches for the very prophecy you just heard, Harry,” Dumbledore replied sombrely. “When the bartender of the Hog’s Head interrupted Snape’s eavesdropping, he was only able to take a fragment back to Lord Voldemort. This fragment has vexed Voldemort for a long time, and he craves the knowledge of that prophecy that led to his downfall. You see reflections of this, through the dreams you see in your unconscious mind. I did not suspect that Voldemort was aware of this connection… until tonight, that is.”

   There was real horror on his duplicate’s face now, and Harry felt a chill spread in his own gut. “What do you mean?”

   “Simply put, the events are too much of a coincidence and require too many moving parts to not be Voldemort’s doing.” Dumbledore shook his head sadly as he sat next to memory-Harry. “He dispatches two agents of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to your dwelling – perhaps sleeper agents under his control, or perhaps two unwitting pawns receiving and acting upon early information – and when you are forced to fight and run, you step outside your mother’s protections. All he then needs to do is extend simple, undetectable suggestions across your connection, and guide you into a deadly situation. The Muggle aeroplane is a different choice, one even I do not quite fathom at the moment, but it is brutally effective. Your reputation is tarnished again, and blood is placed on your hands.”

   “But I could have died!” memory-Harry exclaimed, his eyes widening. “He took that kind of risk –”

   “Even knowing of your considerable Quidditch skills from Lucius Malfoy, who grudgingly but inevitably heard it from Draco himself, I do not think Voldemort believes you would have died tonight.” A strange, bitter smile came onto Dumbledore’s lips. “No, he believed in the ‘armour’ of the prophecy, as it is. He would not believe that the one destined to stop him would die in a simple accident.”

   “But it might not be me,” memory-Harry whispered, his breathing coming faster. “It… it could be anybody…”

   “In fact, Harry, there was initial speculation that this prophecy applied to two boys.” Dumbledore gave Harry a nod of approval. “Both born as the seventh month dies, and both born to parents who had defied Voldemort three times. The first was you. The second was Neville Longbottom.”

   “So it could have been Neville,” memory-Harry said desperately. “Voldemort could have screwed up, it could have been him –”

   “Remember the next line of the prophecy, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, his expression very grim. “‘And he will mark him as his equal’. Voldemort did not choose to go after the pureblood Neville, but the half-blood, like himself. He did not choose to attack the son of an ideology that he espoused, but something far more personal to him. For not only did he see you as a threat, he saw as something closer to a mirror, with too many uncomfortable similarities to be ignored.

   “And tonight,” Dumbledore concluded, his voice hardening, “he got his final bit of proof.”
   “What –”

   “In reaching across the connection and sending those suggestions, undetectable as they were, and having them take root enough for you to dive to the slipstream of a Muggle aeroplane, risking your life and those of the men who dared to chase you, in his mind, the final parallel is complete – and forcing blood to be thus shed only seals it.”

   “But if you’re right, he was the one who forced the choice, not me!” memory-Harry exclaimed wildly, his knuckles white as he faced Dumbledore. “If he forced me to do it, how can there be a parallel?”

   “He may have forced the choice,” Dumbledore replied softly, his voice suddenly soft and sad again, “but he did not force the capacity.”

   Memory-Harry’s hand rose to his lips, and his eyes widened with horror as Dumbledore’s words began to sink in.

   “The final statement of the prophecy,” Dumbledore whispered, taking Harry’s hands in his, “are ‘And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.’ Voldemort does not know these words, but they establish both in him and in you something that cannot be denied – to defeat him, you must kill him. And for a long time, Harry, I worried… I feared that a young man such as yourself, full of compassion and hope and love, would not be able to kill, even him. There is a line that is crossed, Harry, in taking the life of another, even indirectly.” Dumbledore blinked quickly and glanced away for a second. “Particularly indirectly.

   “But tonight, you showed that you did indeed have the capacity. And let me tell you this, Harry, if you could have gone for the rest of your life without knowing it until the necessary moment, I would not have dared take that away from you. The knowledge that you not only have the means to end another’s life, but the capacity within yourself to do so, is a great and terrible thing.”

   “I didn’t want this,” memory-Harry whispered. “I… I didn’t want – ”

   “How did you think everything would eventually end?” Dumbledore replied quietly. “It is a horrible thing to lose your innocence so young, Harry – believe me, I know.”

   “You mean…” Memory-Harry looked up into Dumbledore’s blue eyes. “Who?”

   “It… it is not important,” Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “But I can give you this: just because one has the capacity to kill does not mean one must kill. Just because the tool available for a job does not mean it needs to be used.

   “But I have faith in you, Harry.”

   “You… you do?” memory-Harry blurted. “Why?”

   “Because you are a good person,” Dumbledore replied simply. “You are a kind, decent, compassionate young man, who is courageous enough to fight and strong enough to endure. Voldemort and his tenterhooks will never hold you, no matter how hard he tries.”

    “But how can you be sure of that?”

   “Harry –”

   “If I’m such a ‘good person’,” memory-Harry continued, slowly getting to his feet, his voice getting louder, “then how did Voldemort get in and do… and do what he did? How can I prevent it from ever happening again?”

   “If I knew how to sever the connection that binds the two of you together,” Dumbledore replied, “I would have done it as soon as I learned it existed – when you and I together discovered you could speak Parseltongue. But I genuinely do not know how.”

    Memory-Harry raised his hands helplessly, his expression filled with growing anger. “Well, fat lot of good that does me! What the hell am I supposed to do if Voldemort sends more suggestions I can’t ‘detect’ through and tries to make kill again?”

   Dumbledore paused. “Well,” he began after a few minutes, “there is an obscure branch of magic called Occlumency, which allows one to shield one’s mind from external penetration. I can teach you this, Harry, but I suspect it might not work.”

   “What does that mean?”

   “Well, for one it is a difficult brand of magic to learn, and extremely difficult to master. Not that I am doubting of your abilities, Harry, but even such magic would only muzzle Voldemort’s attempts to penetrate your thoughts, and only when you are concentrating at all times. And Voldemort is unyielding, and when he begins to suspect that you are using Occlumency to defend yourself, I fear what new attacks he may use upon you.” Dumbledore’s expression was grave. “Worse still, he may choose to simply cause as much collateral damage as he can through the link, damaging the memories, feelings, thoughts, and personality that make you who you are.”

   It was clear from his expression that Harry’s memory duplicate was losing control. “But… but what can we do then?”

   Dumbledore was quiet for a long few seconds, and then he looked away, glancing down into the Pensieve. “There is an obscure charm, an extraordinarily complex charm much like a Memory Charm in design, but more detailed in function. It does not immediately remove the memory as it does blur it away over a very short period of time. But unlike the Memory Charm, it does not solely target the instance of memory itself.”

   “What does that mean?”

    Dumbledore looked back at Harry, a very grim expression on his face. “Emotions, Harry. The grief, the anger, the feelings coursing through you associated with tonight… they will be wiped away. It will not only eventually be as if the event has never occurred to you, but as if the very emotions spurred by the event will be washed away. If one brings it up to you, you will not feel responsible for it – for in your mind, you are not responsible.”

   “And how does this stop Voldemort?” memory-Harry asked, swallowing hard.

   “Such a spell,” Dumbledore continued, “will travel across your mind very differently than a common Memory Charm. I hypothesize that it may reach the link between your mind and Voldemort’s, and just as his suggestions entered your mind, this spell might cross the void and enter his, wiping away the very thought of using such suggestions to manipulate you. That does not guarantee he might not come across the idea again, but it will significantly slow him down – ideas do not come easy, particularly forgotten ones. And given he will not have told his Death Eaters of his plan to attack you in this manner – such an intensely personal connection, he would have kept with utmost secrecy – it is unlikely such an attack will be attempted again for a long time, if at all.”

   “The charm… the charm can do all that?” memory-Harry asked incredulously. “Forgive me for saying this, but that sounds… well, incredible. Too good to be true.”

   “It can when there is a man of my modest skill such as myself casting it,” Dumbledore replied with a firm nod. “But there is a catch.”

   “What?”

   “Paranoia,” Dumbledore replied simply, his eyes darkening. Harry, even despite being in a memory, nearly took an involuntary step backwards. “I do not recommend this plan, Harry, if only because it replaces those emotions of grief and fear and replaces them with something ugly. The human mind naturally rebels against penetration in the simplest of settings – that is why we, as a civilization, tend to resist new ideas. With a penetration such as this, the response will be even more pronounced. Your mind will turn inwards and lash out at anything that might perceive that event in any way, shape, or form.

   “And the paranoia may take many forms. You may perceive friends attempting to help you as instead blaming you for the event, drawing anger and mistrust. And worse still, the mind will actively rebel against the caster of the spell, drawing even greater distrust and hostility. The mind is a great thing, Harry – it will perceive the intrusion and set itself against the intruder, with anger that may appear irrational to those around you.

    “And I know very well this sounds selfish,” Dumbledore said quietly, and Harry was shocked to see the old man take a composing breath, “but it would break my heart to see you lose trust in me. Even though I have great faith in whatever you might plan to do, and I would respect any distance you chose to make between us… it would be very difficult for me, Harry.”

   Memory-Harry looked like he was thinking as hard as he possibly could, and after a few moments of silence, he frowned. “But… look, if I push everyone away because of this spell, who’s going to try and help –”

   “There will be some who support unequivocally and without question, who will never leave your side,” Dumbledore replied, blinking slowly as he looked up at Harry. “And if that proves not to be enough… I can help in that regard.”

    Memory-Harry frowned. “What do you mean, you can help, if the spell might push me against you –”

   “Trust me, Harry,” Dumbledore replied seriously as he slowly rose to his feet. “I can handle it.”

   Memory-Harry closed his eyes and there was a thrill in Harry’s stomach as he watched his duplicate make a decision.

   “Do it.”

   “Are you sure, Harry?”

   “I can’t let Voldemort mess with my mind anymore.” Memory-Harry blinked and took a steadying breath. “What if he makes me turn on my friends, or lures me into a trap, or… no, I can’t let that happen.”

   Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled his wand free. “I understand. A difficult sacrifice to make, and one I respect.”

   “To be alone?”

    “You may feel alone,” Dumbledore said softly, “but I promise you there will always be someone to stand at your side. It may not always be who you expect, but they will always remain. And I will always hold my faith in you, Harry.”

   “I’m sorry that you have to do this, Professor.”

   “So am I,” Dumbledore whispered, and for an instant, Harry could hear the old man’s voice quiver. “So am I.”

   He pointed his wand at memory-Harry’s head, and whispered, “Deleocasus.”

   There was no light from Dumbledore’s wand, but immediately his duplicate’s eyes went glassy. They didn’t lose focus, as if he had been hit with a regular Memory Charm – instead, they only seemed to stiffen, as if the memory was being encased in glass and then hidden away like a fragile piece of china…

   Harry held his breath, but a few seconds later, his duplicate began to breathe easily again, his eyes still a little glassy.

   “You know,” the duplicate whispered, “you know I’m going to know you cast the charm on me. I’m going to figure it out… and I might try to break it –”

   “I know,” Dumbledore said calmly, “and thus, I’m very sorry to do this. Obliviate!”

***

   She had made it to the empty Atrium – and she could see him running.

   Oh, he didn’t run – he simply moved quickly, with the same gait as if he was casually taking a stroll. Running was for a common man, not him. Not for the Dark Lord, for the man who had subverted a prophecy and every plan…

   Who had killed Harry…

   “GLISSEO!”

   She didn’t know why she yelled the spell. Perhaps because knew it wasn’t one that targeted him, and thus would be difficult to shield against. Perhaps it was because it was her favourite spell, as she loved to see everyone just as clumsy as her.

   And she didn’t even expect it to work. It was a garden-variety spell, the sort that was taught to children and the worst duellists. It was a cheap spell in every sense of the word.

   And yet somehow he stumbled. It was only for an instant, but she saw the slip – she saw the slight moment of uncertainty, the slowing of the gait to regain proper footing, and it was enough.

   The curse leapt to her lips.

   “AVADA –”

   She couldn’t complete the curse. Pain had exploded across every fibre of her being – every bone was on fire, she wanted to black out –

   The pain vanished – and then her wand slipped from her fingers as she felt herself ripped from the ground, cast upwards – and then she was streaking towards the stone floor –

   CRACK.

   Blood spurted upwards into her face as she saw jagged bone splitting the skin just above her kneecaps – but then she was in the air again, a broken marionette tossed around by a cackling witch, and now streaking towards the floor again –

   This time it was her forearms that shattered as she tried to break her fall with her hands. She could feel broken fingers as she soared into the air again, undoubtedly for the killing blow, but she knew if she could only get her hands on her wand, she could cast the one curse that made them all equal –

   And then there was a scream she didn’t recognize.

   She hit the stone hard on her hands again, this time breaking her nose on impact, and she couldn’t help scream with pain, but she hadn’t been slammed against it like before… that scream had been different, it hadn’t been –

   And then she saw something that she had never dreamed she would see.

   She saw an oval almost three stories high, the edges sparking as if it had been freshly cut. But this oval was not opaque – it was a window… no, a gate, and something was climbing through, talons reaching and clawing towards him, who was quickly backpedalling to get away from the monster –

   But there was someone on the monster’s back, spraying shots of hot white light that rang off the stone floor like a collapsing cathedral, adding a new din to the cacophony, a noise only made louder by the seismic screech of a primal creature ready to unleash its wrath…

   Oh my god, she thought, her rage only briefly quelled for a moment of utter disbelief. Dumbledore brought a dragon into the Ministry of Magic.

***

   Even as he returned to the dingy, badly-lit interrogation room, he couldn’t catch his breath.

   He knew that didn’t make any sense at all – it was his mind, he didn’t need air here – but maybe it was just a fact of his mind reeling…

   “It explains…”

   “One of the leading factors of why you were just a colossal tool in those first few months,” Peeves replied conversationally. “Or, at least it gives you something of an explanation. And to think you did it to yourself –”

   “Shut up,” Harry whispered, pressing his palms against the table as he stared down, his mind still racing to process the new information.

    He had suspected that there had been a connection between him and Voldemort – of course there was, it was how Hermione was attacked – but now he had solid proof. He now knew…

   “I have the capacity to kill.”

   Peeves rolled his eyes. “Well, you already knew that – perhaps that’s why you actually managed to pull the metaphorical trigger when you offed Aphrodite Zabini. Maybe it’s ‘cause you knew all along.”

   “And that’s why Dumbledore’s always supported me,” Harry murmured, pressing a hand to his forehead. “He knew the whole time…”

   “He’s your man, through and through, Harry Potter,” the poltergeist remarked, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Through and through. Even when you need a little someone to screw around in that head of yours…”

   Harry ignored Peeves. His mind had finally latched on one of the final phrases Dumbledore had said…

   And if that proves not to be enough… I can help in that regard.

   Oh my god.

   He didn’t want to believe it.

   "You know... once you lose someone like that... she's gone, forever, and you'll never replace her."

   It wasn’t true.

    "Look, I never would have expected this or any feelings, or planned for them, or even dreamed of them... but it happened. And as much as I think about it, I can't explain it either – and believe me, I've tried to. But... but maybe that's the point, I guess. We can't know or explain everything…”

   It couldn’t be true.

   "Harry… Harry, I don't know if I… fuck, Harry, I just… I can't fucking articulate how terrified…. I don't want to lose myself – that's how it feels, it feels like I'm losing who I am and becoming something else, something I can't control… something I don't know. No… fuck, no! I'm not going to let that happen! Not to… not to this."

   Peeves let out a giggle. “Yeah, you finally got there, didn’t you?”

   “NO!”

   The table was ripped free of the bolts holding it to the floor. It clipped Peeves under the chin and the poltergeist sprawled backwards – only for the full weight of the table to come crashing down on him.

   But even that wasn’t enough. The chair skidded towards the wall with an echoing bang as Harry kicked it as hard as he could –

   “It doesn’t change things.”

   His breathing was wild and uneven, he knew his eyes were wide and bloodshot with rage, he knew there were tears of grief and fury streaking his face, and even as the red-drenched haze rose over his vision, he saw Su Li, her expression supremely disdainful…

   “You… you knew all along.”

   Su’s expression cracked for just an instant, and Harry saw a fleeting ember of compassion, and he realized that she was the person Su had wanted him to save…

   “Well, I think there’s been just about enough of this.”

   Harry turned back around, and it was as if he hadn’t flipped the table. In fact, instead of the plain steel surface, now there was a black, opaque tablecloth draped across it.

   And Peeves was still smiling.

   “What,” Harry growled, his patience at its very end, “do you want?”

   Peeves raised a hand. “Look under the table.”

   “I just flipped the goddamn table, there’s nothing there.”

   Peeves let out another dry giggle. “Oh, you might want to check again.”

   I can humour him, Harry thought darkly as he strode towards the table to tear away the tablecloth, and if he’s screwing around again, I can just rip his face off –

   “HOLY FUCK!”

   Peeves openly laughed as Harry quickly scrambled back at the sight – the horrific sight.

   It looked like an infant that been flensed open by a cheese grater and pruning shears. Whatever skin that was left on the creature was in stringy fragments that swam in blood. Every muscle twitched, every motion was a contortion.

   And its eyes were endless, soulless, and black.

   “What is that?”

   “That,” Peeves said primly, “is a little… shall I say, symbol of what our friend Voldemort’s little connection with you really is. I’m sure you don’t doubt the appropriate choice of imagery, of course…”

   “Why is it here?” Harry snarled, shoving the tablecloth back over the horrific aberration. “I don’t want to see that –”.

   “Because now we come the very crux of our discussion,” Peeves said, his voice finally beginning to soften. His eyes still gleamed with raw malice, but there was something about the subtle change in volume that held Harry’s attention more than ever. “You saw in the memory that you and Dumbledore took drastic action to prevent Voldemort from exploiting such a connection – and a lot of good it did, until Voldemort decided to exploit it again.” Peeves tapped a finger twice on the table. “But I’m here with a new option: to destroy it entirely.”

   Harry raised a hand, and as if he animated it, the chair slid back to his grasp. “And… and I’m supposed to believe you can do that?”

   “Mr. Voldemort already did most of the job with his little Killing Curse,” Peeves said with a sniff, “so I can’t take all the credit – but I can, ah, tidy things up, as it is. Take out the trash, break the connection, end that little line from you to the snake once and for all.”

   “So what’s the catch?”

   Peeves’ smile widened. “I take its place.”

   Harry’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”

   “Harry, Harry, Harry, is it so much to ask for a little ghost to have a chance to live again?” Peeves’ eyes gleamed greedily as he leaned forward across the table. “I’m already here, Harry, it won’t require any opening any doors. I just want to… rearrange the furniture, if that makes any sense.”

   “You want to possess me.” Harry let out a harsh laugh. “And you think I’m going to buy this?”

   “Except it’s not really possession,” Peeves said, his eyes lighting up. “See, Harry, you really have quite the soul, and even with you bouncing around from body to body, your soul just has so much potency I wouldn’t be able to possess you. And besides, this is less of me sharing with you as it is… merging.” Peeves winked. “Filling in the spaces.”

   “You’re insane,” Harry spat. “Completely fucking insane. If you think that I’m going to let you merge with me –”

   “Oh, and why is that?” Peeves gave a mocking frown. “Is it because I’m just too much of a nice guy?”

   “How about a sociopathic deranged poltergeist that might just be completely made of mixed nuts and batshit?” Harry retorted. “That good enough for you?”

   “Fine,” Peeves said simply, “you can refuse. But know two things. Firstly, I cannot lie to coerce you into this little bargain – Miss Li over there is doing a mighty fine job of preventing that. And secondly…”

   “No,” Harry interrupted, “there’s no ‘secondly’. I don’t need your goddamn reasons, I don’t need your fucking excuses and drivel. Maybe you should just get the fuck out of my head before I find a torture that actually works on you.”

   “So maybe I should just go, then,” Peeves said, rising to his feet and giving a theatrical sigh. “It’s been a pleasure, Harry, it really has… although, I have to wonder what your plan is when Mr. Voldemort decides to try again.”

   “What?”

   “Well,” Peeves continued slowly, turning and slowly stroking his chin, “well, I can only imagine that when you return, Voldemort’s going to want to try again – I mean, it worked so well the first time with Miss Granger. Who do you think will be next?”

   Harry was tight-lipped. He didn’t want to hear this…

   “Miss Weasley? Miss Delacour? Go outside the box and try Misses Johnson, Spinnet, and Bell?” The poltergeist licked his lips. “Or will it be someone like Miss Lovegood… or even dear sweet Miss Tonks?”

   “Damn you to hell.”

   “And when you run out of female friends – presuming Voldemort doesn’t want to get too kinky – you’ll think back and you’ll wonder what would have happened if you had taken Peevey’s little bargain all those years ago…”

   “Shut up.”

   “And you’ll start to ponder,” Peeves continued, his voice growing more malevolent with every second, “just what kind of person you really are, to sacrifice all of those friends to achieve your final victory…”

   “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

   His voice rang in the chamber as he stared down at the black tablecloth, his hands balled into fists, his decisions crumbling before his eyes to form two choices.

   One was a path that was littered with corpses.

   The other only had one corpse.

  His.

   He blinked back moisture in his eyes. He didn’t want to do it. Everything about it screamed like a devious trap, a lie that he had to accept as truth even though he knew its falsehood…

   A difficult sacrifice to make, and one I respect.

   “Would you respect this, Professor?” Harry whispered aloud. “Would you?”

   The poltergeist, much to Harry’s surprise, did not comment, leaving Harry alone in complete silence.

   I have only one choice.

   He thought of Cassane, and what he must have felt on the night Voldemort came to him, offering him everything he had been desperately seeking. And even though he knew the situation and context was very different, he felt the exact same.

   I’m dealing with the devil… and I’m expecting to come out ahead.

   Either way, I lose.

   He blinked, and did not look up. “Will it hurt?”

   “Oh, yes.”

   “Will I come back?”

   “That’s the plan.”

   “Will I still be… me?”

   “You have quite the soul, Harry Potter,” Peeves replied with a smirk. “You tell me.”

   Harry turned to Su. “And… and he hasn’t lied? Everything… everything he said is true?”

   She nodded, and the last of Harry’s hopes died in his chest.

   It felt like it took forever. He didn’t count his breaths, even as he breathed. He didn’t know how long he stood motionless, staring down into blackness… the longest seconds that, for all he knew, were passing in nothing but an instant.

   In saving them, I lose myself.

   Harry took a deep breath, and he felt as if he was standing in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, waiting for his life to change forever.

   “Do it.”

   And everything was pain. Every iota of his being, every organelle of his body, every particle of his existence, every thought and memory turned to raw agony in an instant…

   And he experienced the pain. He could not scream, he could not thrash, he could not relieve anything as every piece of him was nothing but the ideal of agony itself, distilled to its core, to its very soul…

   And then he heard the voice. He could discern the voice despite the pain, but the voice was pain as well – a new breed of pain, something alien, something unnatural, something not of himself, something from beyond…

   This time he knew the voice. He recognized the smug satisfaction, the cool, collected triumph, the hidden cackle of a long-fought victory, the tremor of revelling in the last piece placed in an eternal puzzle. Every demon and daemon, every beast and devil, every aberration and monster... it was as if they were all speaking in the same united voice… the voice of an age-old poltergeist, an embodiment of chaos itself, finally seizing the scrap of life that death denied.

   “Well, this won’t do… there’s hardly room for three in here. I think it’s time to make a little… space.”

***

   “There is nowhere left to run, Tom.”

   She froze in her crawl, her wand finally an inch away from her broken hand, to see Albus Dumbledore raise his wand and point it straight at him.

   “Nowhere to run,” Dumbledore said harshly, “between me, and a dragon.”

   The Dark Lord’s eyes were wide with fury, but he did not give an inch. “You dare to bring a beast such as this into your Ministry? Destroy everything you worked oh so hard to build?”

   “We can rebuild,” Dumbledore replied. “Hagrid, now.”

   The dragon inhaled, and she braced herself for the incoming inferno that would sweep over them, blast her into powder –

   And there was the sound of racing footfalls, of breaking wood on stone, and she felt a hand around her and she saw a wand snap up –

   The inferno swept around them, and she screamed – but it did not touch them. She could feel Moody’s shaking arm holding her close as the magical shield around them shuddered violently, the flames hungrily shredding at its protection…

   And then the flames vanished – and he was still standing.

   “I’m still here, Dumbledore!” There was a high-pitched laugh that split the air, and she could hear Bellatrix’s cackle accent it. “And I won! I beat the prophecy at last, and damned your finest at the end! Harry Potter is dead!”

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER HIS NAME IS –

   “NO!”

   She could barely hold a wand with broken fingers, but she clawed it upwards and pointed it at him, all of her hatred and grief and emotion pouring out into the curse –

   A curse he deflected with casual elegance and a chuckle.

   “Maybe I should take her,” he mused. “Show the wizarding world what’s really inside an Auror –”

   His voice was cut off. Not by an inhuman scream or a curse or an explosion, but by a new… sound.

   It was impossibly loud, and impossibly deep. It was barely audible, but she could feel the vibration in every broken bone – it was a sound that broke stone apart. She could see cracks forming in the floor, the walls and ceiling shuddering and showering them with more dust…

   And then she saw something that she knew would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.

   Harry was floating above the floor, across the hall from Voldemort. He hung suspended in mid-air, like a puppet held by invisible strings. His limbs lolled without feeling, thrashing seemingly at random as he floated on the tremor of the sound, his skin utterly pallid, his eyes half-closed like he was daydreaming…

   Dumbledore’s eyes widened. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

   And then Harry’s eyes snapped wide open, and it came.

   She didn’t know how to describe it. It sprayed from Harry’s mouth, translucent yet dripping with ichor of a million colours. It glowed, but not in the way anything should glow, with even consistency and colour. This was patchy and spastic and wrong. It didn’t even move like anything she had seen before – it didn’t flow like a liquid or gas, or writhe like a tentacle, or jump from place to place like lightning.

   No, it was simply in a place in an instant, and then a second later, it was somewhere else, and nobody could tell how it got there, except that it didn’t belong there.

    It didn’t belong anywhere. It was arrhythmic, discordant, utter irradiance. No pattern, no path, no purpose that she could discern, and none that she would want to think about.

   . And then it touched Voldemort, and he screamed. She could see it clawing at his skin, tearing big translucent patches outwards, hungrily seeking to claw him in like the maw of a starving nightmare...

   And then everything went white-hot.

***

   She awoke in pain, blinking slowly as she shook blood away from her nose.

   Everything – from witch and wizard to dragon – in the room was unconscious – and Voldemort and the Death Eaters were gone. She took a shuddering breath and immediately regretted it as she felt something sharp digging into her lungs…

   Harry…

   Every movement was sheer agony, but she needed to get to him. She could see him, sprawled on the floor, not that far away. She just needed to get to him, hold his hand, make sure he was okay, make sure everything she hadn’t seen wasn’t just a giant nightmare…

   She reached him, and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

   Harry was unharmed, breathing softly as he slept on the floor. His robes were filthy, but there wasn’t a sign of a wound on him. His wand was curled in his hand, and even his glasses sparkled.

   “Harry…” she gasped, shaking him as much as she could before her arms seized up with pain. “Wake up… wake up, please…”

   His eyes fluttered – and opened.

   “Tonks,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

    “What was…”

    “Shh… sleep.” She felt his arms fold around her. “Not much longer… let me have this just for a little longer… you’re safe though, Tonks, you’re safe…”

   Tonks exhaled softly, and passed out.

***

   He had heard the sound, but he hadn’t left his spot.

   He had heard Voldemort scream, but he hadn’t left his position, now with both feet resting solidly on the floor – the magic suspending them above the machinery had finally failed entirely.

   He had even seen the brilliant flash of white light, and he had shielded his eyes – but when it had passed, he was still standing.

   He had survived.

   Nathan Cassane breathed, and ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on the stairs, surrounded by shattered glass.

   “I failed you, Cassie.”

   “No, you didn’t.”

    His eyes snapped up – no, it wasn’t possible, he had stayed behind –

   Antonin Dolohov gave him a frank look as he stepped over a broken device. “Are you honestly surprised?”

   Nathan blinked twice – and then gestured for the other man to sit down. “No, not really. Your master won’t be pleased.”

   “Fuck him,” Antonin said roughly, sitting opposite Nathan on a broken boulder. “I’m not here for him – no, that’s not it, I’ve never been doing all this for him.”

   “You want revenge…”

   “And I haven’t gotten it yet,” Antonin said grimly. “Until then, I’m a Death Eater – whatever that means. After that, though…”

   He ran a hand through his long, ragged hair. “You know, I told you this would happen. I told you’d serve him. That day, when I gave Phoebe a way away from the pain, sent her to her mum… I told you, Nathan.” He sighed. “But you didn’t save yourself, Nathan. You could have… you could have moved on. You had the world at your feet, and even with everything closing in, you could have gotten something. The world already hated me when I fell.” He looked up at Nathan. “It didn’t hate you.”

   “I failed her, Antonin…” Nathan whispered brokenly. “I failed Cassie and Phoebe –”

   “There wasn’t any test to fail, Nathan,” Antonin whispered. “The only test you set was your own. But you still love them, right?”

    “Now and for always.”

   Antonin closed his eyes. “Then they’ll be waiting for you. You know that as well as I.”

    Nathan blinked. “You… you think –”

   “Yes,” Antonin replied steadily, his eyes still closed. “I bet if you listened hard enough, you could hear them through that veil.”

   He could hear them. He had heard them from the very first instance he had stepped in the room – and it was the sound that had always given him desperate hope. A hope that he could claw them back, give them new bodies, a new life…

   “But why,” he murmured, “do I keep trying to bring them here… when I can just go there?”

   Antonin nodded. “It’s an option.”

   He rose to his feet and looked at the archway. Somehow, despite the wreckage of machinery all around them, it had remained standing – the gate to a place of which he knew nothing, and yet where they were waiting…

   “I’m afraid, Antonin.”

   “People fear death because they don’t know what’s coming,” Antonin said quietly, getting up, ascending the stairs, and placing a scarred hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “But… but you know, don’t you? You know who’s waiting.”

   “I do,” Nathan whispered, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I can hear Cassandra and Phoebe, Antonin. And I can hear Dorcas and Carson and the Vunerens and James and Lily and… and Regina’s there too.” He looked at Antonin. “They’ve been waiting.”

   Antonin blinked. “Goddamn it… something in my eye…”

   “Will you be okay?”

  Somehow, Antonin gave him a wry smile. “Well, can I say I killed you? It would do wonders for my reputation.”

   Nathan chuckled. “You didn’t earn it.”

   “Since when has that stopped me?”

   They laughed at that, and then Antonin took a deep breath.

   “Nathan?”

   “Yeah?”

   “If you see Regina…” Antonin swallowed hard. “Just tell her… just tell her I’m coming. I won’t be long.”

   “I will,” Nathan whispered. He turned to face the archway and the veil.

   “I’m coming home.”