A.N. A short and quick update before I move to my other stories for a bit.

Much thanks to Syao for brainstorming ideas.

The Rattler in the 'tween

Harry stood over her, seeing if she was comfortable in the musty bed. Some moonlight peaked through the cracks in the boarded up windows, to show dust and grime in the room. He sighed yet again, feeling weary and confused. In bringing Lily from the Church to the Shrieking shack, he hadn't seen any signs of a battle having been waged. All was quiet, and no Deatheaters were lurking in the dark corners of Hogsmeade. He had apparated to as near the wizarding village as he could and trekked the rest of the way with Lily. Father Knopf had protested, but Harry had been determined.

He had needed to get back and save his friends; nothing else made sense, but that much was true: his friends were in trouble and Voldemort had to be stopped. So he left Lily in the run down shack and made his way through the dank tunnel into Hogwarts grounds, hidden underneath his invisibility cloak.

Of course, having not seen any evidence of the battle so far had set his nerves on edge. He wondered if their side had been crushed so soundly that a new order had already been established, and swept away any signs of destruction. But in the back of his mind, he feared it had more to do with meeting this woman, who was his mother, but whose son he wasn't.

With painstaking care he peeked his head through the exit protected by the Whomping Willow and looked in all directions. There was nothing. Just like the Shrieking Shack no longer had Snape's body or any sign of hosting Voldemort, the grounds showed no sign of wizards and magical beings meeting in battle. He became more alarmed.

The grounds were slick with rain, but moonlight guided him well enough over anything that could trip him, and a certain experience walking the grounds at night gave him confidence too. He sped up the trails naturally formed by the feet many students walking to and fro from greenhouses, quidditch stadium and other ramblings. Harry peered everywhere, looking for death eaters or members of the Order, anyone who could by simply standing there tell him that the battle had happened. In his singular effort he lost sight of his immediate surroundings, and was startled badly when a loud baying went up a few feet from him.

He tripped and fell, rolling on the ground, and then Hagrid and Fang were upon him. He froze wide-eyed with heart thumping in his ears.

“C'mere you dozy dog, there 'aint nothing there,” Hagrid chided his pet fondly, sounding his usual cheery self. “Dumbledore's waitin', musn't keep 'im waitin.'”Harry had been just about to leap up and greet Hagrid, but hearing what he said made him freeze on the wet grass. Fang still growled in his direction, getting more aggressive, very unlike the Fang he knew. Suddenly Fang hurtled forward, making Harry raise his hand in an instinctive reaction to protect himself, the resurrection stone ring on his hand brushed the fabric of the invisibility cloak he was under, and fang passed right through him.

Harry whirled on the ground staring at the hound which seemed to be whining and sniffing the ground where Harry had been. He couldn't tell because it was like a switch had been thrown and all sound had cut out. Crawling forward, he shook his head, taking his ringed hand away from the cloak, and just as quick he could hear again.

“ - drag yeh' I will,” Harry caught the end of what Hagrid was crossly saying. Hagrid grabbed Fang by the collar and pulled him quite effortlessly away from where Harry sat dumbfounded by the experience of an animal passing right through him. Giving only a moment to look curiously at the resurrection stone, he hurried after Hagrid.

Slipping a few time on the rain slick grass and unable to keep up with Hagrid's long strides, Harry got there just in time for the great doors to the castle to shut on his face. Knowing it would not help him he still pulled on the heavy iron rings to open the door, after three vigorous tries he gave up, cussing under his breath at the thing. He kicked at the stone stairs and looked at the moonlit washed grounds; it was peaceful, and all wrong. He noticed he had been playing with the ring on his finger absently, and now brought it closer to his face to examine. Tentatively, he touched the stone to the fabric of his cloak, and immediately lost all sense of hearing. The soft sound of wind rustling leaves, the sound of unseen things moving far in the forbidden forest, the occasional ordinary and unexplained night sound, all were missing, all deathly silent.

Harry looked out searching for something he could see moving and check if he heard its motion. There was nothing but the swaying of tree tops, that should have made a sound, but all was quiet. Then he saw a couple of luminous shapes form gradually amongst the trees, moving around with some purpose. But they were too far to make out; and they gave him a little fright, just enough to make him cautious. Hoping he wouldn't be noticed he stood still, leaning back into the large doors for support.

With a cry of surprise, he fell right through the heavy body of the main doors and into the entrance lobby. Coming quick to his elbows he looked at the shut doors as if they were alive and up to mischief, opening and shutting of their own accord when he wasn't looking. He got up and approached the doors, reaching with one hand to touch, but where his fingertips should have met the familiar wooden surface they sank in. He pushed ahead and soon his hand up to his elbow was through the solid door, he kept walking until his nose was about to touch it, here he drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes as if he was about to jump into the lake, and plunged through.

Cracking open one eye at a time, he found himself back outside, on the threshold. Whirling around he saw the doors were still shut. I walked through, just like Fang jumped into me and out of me. An excited smile touched his face, and like a child he ran his hand in and out of the stone walls and door to see how it worked.

A blur passed in front of his eyes and he jumped back with a shout and fumbling with the wand. A ghost of a man in a three piece suit was walking with his hands clasped behind him and an expression of deep concentration. The heavy set, elderly man kept walking straight through the stone barrister to Harry's right and into thin air over the grounds, never changing the level he was at. When he got far enough he became just like the luminous shapes Harry had seen earlier, and finally he realized what they were.

Clutching his thundering heart, Harry cursed himself for fooling around when he knew he couldn't hear anyone creeping up on him. Sobered by his near run in with the very muggle looking ghost, Harry made to walk through the doors and investigate what was going on. With confidence he strode forward and ran smack into the hard wood, bruising his nose and seeing stars.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed, and heard himself. He looked around and strained his ears, sure enough he could hear his own breathing and the wind again. “I'm a fool.” He touched the Resurrection Stone to the cloak again, at once hearing deathly silence and this time successfully made it through the door.

Once in, he ran into the great hall, only to find it empty and in perfectly organized condition as it usually was. Again no sign of the dead and wounded that had lain there, last he had been there. Once again with anxiety mounting he ran through the halls, keeping the cloak closely wrapped around himself but could not find anything. Turning a corner he walked through a dark shape, and screeched to a soundless halt to see what it was. Snape?

Incredulously he walked up to the sallow man, matching his stride, and stared agape. You're not dead, he blurted, his lips moved but no sound came out, all was still silent. Merlin, you look young. Severus Snape went about his nightly prowl, brooding and unaware of his observer. Harry fell back, with another thing added to his confusion.

“Mum who isn't Mum, no battle, Snape alive. What is going on?” he spoke to himself, making no sound, having carefully kept a piece of cloak twisted around his ring finger, and so in contact with the stone.

For a long moment he stood in the hallway, lost. Until with habit formed over the years of where to go when lost, he turned his steps to the headmaster's office, resolved to find out what Hagrid had been talking about outside. In a few short minutes he was at the gargoyle, and with impunity he passed right through the rocky guardian to the revolving stair case behind.

Here, he turned his ring inwards to his palm, no longer touching the cloak, and sound returned to him. The grinding of the spinning staircase was loud and alarming, making him wait at the foot to get used to the noise. He wondered who he would find above, McGonagall? Tired, and fierce. Voldemort? Smug in his glory. Or maybe dead Dumbledore, alive like Snape. With these thoughts he found himself at the doorstep, eaves dropping on Hagrid giving a report about the going on of the forbidden forest.

It couldn't be Voldemort, Harry figured, Hagrid wouldn't talk to him respectfully. But his question was cleared when the wizened and kindly voice of his Headmaster came through, nearly flooring him. As is he leaned against the side wall, stunned by Albus Dumbledore's familiar voice as if it had been a physical blow.

In a flash Harry twisted a knot of the cloak around his ring finger making himself able to walk through walls and rushed through the door recklessly. Only when he was at the Headmaster's grand table, he remembered Dumbledore could see through invisibility cloaks.

Panicking he waited for the cool blue gaze to fall on him, but it didn't. Dumbledore continued to nod and speak to Hagird, of which Harry heard nothing. The dead silence was a boon for Harry; it gave him time to accept that a dear man to him was sitting there as if neither death nor curse had ever touched him.

After watching the silent tableau for ten minutes, Harry finally relaxed into one of the chairs, certain now that when he was touching his cloak with the stone Dumbledore was unable to see him. With an ache he saw all the familiar mannerisms of the great wizard that had quietly become etched in his memory over his years at Hogwarts.

“What are you doing here little boy?” A cold wind blasted Harry on his face, breaking the silence like a shattering glass. The voice was low, and rattled. Harry turned to the source of the voice and saw skies of deep chocolate, vibrant browns and pale sandalwood, underfoot was a sea of blue grass, reaching up to his knees - he was no longer in Dumbledore's office.

“You're not a rattler, you don't belong in 'tween!” The ominous rattling voice made a threatening windy sound and rushed him. Harry searched for the source and finally saw what may have been a woman, in tattered clothes of an unrecognizable place and time, running at him. Her face, her eyes, even her hair were sickly yellow, her limbs were elongated and jagged, not human.

Harry looked to his right where Dumbledore had been sitting talking to Hagrid. The office wasn't there, but Dumbledore sat in middle of the air talking to someone, in his hand, Harry recognized, the elder wand. Then the cold blast hit him again and he went sprawling through the high blue grass.

“Weak, weak, weak. Too weak for 'tween, not even a rattler!” He heard the woman's rattling wheezy voice before those inhuman appendages crashed into him lifting him off the ground and tearing at his stomach. “Fresh, from the first side. I'll take your liver!”

“Ex-experlliarmus,” he gasped, the spell leaving his wand was a dull smokey gray and did nothing to the yellowed and jagged woman. She clawed at his ribs and his stomach as he tossed frantically in her grip, apparently having lost his cloak and ring. “Crucio!” he belted out desperately, and that got the creature's attention.

Her wheezing rattling quickened and hiccupped as she cast him from herself. Bursting boils, burning cuts, appeared on her and Harry lifted the curse. On his knees he panted, with his left arm wrapped around his middle in shock at the attack, and pain.

The wheezing yellow woman got up again, and began dragging herself through the picturesque azure grass, looking like the last thing that should be surrounded by all the strange beauty.

“Stay back, stay back. I will kill you,” Harry panted out. Hoping the damned thing could hear him, from the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore still sitting in midair but now looking around as if something had caught his attention. Harry was near enough to see the old wizard grasp a stone remarkably like the one around his finger. In an instant Dumbledore dropped from the invisible chair in the chocolate sky to the ground, as if it were an everyday occurrence for him.

The jagged woman was upon him again, and without thinking much Harry conjured fire, throwing it at her. She fell to the ground, gasping in that rattling wheeze, in what would be equivalent of agonized screams. The strange sounds emitting from her terrified Harry, and even more so when she got up, still on fire to rush him on all fours.

“Ah! I did think that something was amiss in the spirit world. I should've known it was the 'tween. Now who could've done that to you, you poor wretched creature.” Dumbledore tutted and moved in a stately manner, intercepting the rushing woman with a bolt of pure white light that shot from him with such force that the sleeves of his viridian robes blew backwards like he was standing in a wind tunnel. The bolt blasted the yellowed jagged woman far into the distance, so that she wasn't even a speck.

“Hmm, well that is taken care of. Now if you would be so kind, could you reveal yourself? I cannot imagine the rattler did that to herself. I do warn you that if you mean to attack me you will meet just the fate of the old lady shortly departed, but I hope you are one of the ones who like to talk instead.” Dumbledore's expression was serene and inviting. Even his threat had been delivered as if it were a gracious invitation to tea and cakes. The full effect was lost because the headmaster had arbitrarily chosen to face to Harry's left, as he could apparently not see him.

Bewildered why Dumbledore couldn't see him, Harry was equally surprised to see that Dumbledore was not holding the Elder wand or the Resurrection Stone; he could have sworn he saw both in the wizard's hands just before he had dropped out of his perch in the middle of the air.

“Hello,” Harry attempted, feeling beat up and bruised. “I'm sorry, I don't know why you can't see me.”

“Ho! This is interesting, you do not sound like a Rattler. Are you new here?” Dumbledore asked and made a motion with his hand, which looked like he was holding an invisible wand, and conjured a chair, sitting it perfectly to face Harry.

“I don't know where here is, Sir. Are we dead?” Harry asked, thinking he finally had a chance to get to the depth of all the strange occurrences. Harry was quite heartened seeing Dumbledore's patient, though in this instance, unfocused gaze upon him. Even in the strange brown skied, and blue earthed place it was comforting.

“Dear me, it seems I shall be the one to tell you where you have ended up. I am sorry, young man, excuse me for assuming you are a young man, the timber of your voice indicates that, but you are in between the living world and the spirit world, or the place of those who have gone beyond. For those living in between the two realms, this is called 'tween, from what I understand it is a rift or perhaps the place under the bridge between living and dead.” Dumbledore paused for a moment, “I am from the living world. I cannot say whether you are dead or not. But usually those who end up here are only the Rattlers, obviously named after their voices that sound like a death rattle.”

“Oh!” Harry unintelligently responded, a little dumbstruck by the revelation. “So you aren't dead.”

“No, I am quite alive.”

“But then how are you here, you have to die to get here, right?” Harry asked and then wondered how he himself was there, without being dead.

Dumbledore's smile seemed fixed for a moment before he answered, “Well I suppose it is no matter, since you are beyond the living world. My way of arriving here is a secret but-”

“I am dead,” Harry provided.

“Yes, indeed. The way I arrived here, sadly convinces me that you are indeed dead, and simply fell of the bridge in your journey between life and the afterlife. You see, there are three artifacts in the living world that give the owner of a combination of them a certain, shall we say, affinity for death. I happen to own two of these and so can cross to the in between and sometimes hold a conversation with a Rattler who is not too far gone. Though I must say you are the most coherent person I have met here.”

“I don't understand, how can you be sure I am dead.” Harry asked desperately.

Dumbledore sighed. “Without at least two of the artifacts travel beyond life's doors except the conventional way is impossible. Since I own two of those artifacts, that leaves only one in the world, and one is not enough to allow anyone the ability to visit the 'tween.” The tall blue grass whipped in the rain and smacked Harry's face, but he did not care, all his concentration was bent on Dumbledore's words.

“I suppose you must be right,” Harry conceded, feeling relief that he had ended up in the 'tween because he owned two hallows just like apparently Dumbledore did.

“I am sorry, but I hope you will find your way out of this strange and beautiful place and go to the spirit realm proper. From my sparse trips here I have realized that it is a dangerous place, some Rattlers are decent people, and others like the one you encountered are nearly monsters. Survival is the order here. Though, there is hope, the better Rattlers also look better, more human and less monster. I expect that your invisibility will help you survive; I am quite curious why I can't see you. Is this some ability from your living days, do you remember if you were a wizard?”

“Don't you recognize me, Professor?” Harry finally asked, realizing Dumbledore wouldn't need to see him to know who he was. They had been close enough to easily identify each other by how they spoke or walked.

“No, I do not. I am sorry. Who are you?” Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, very curious.

Harry stood, braving the pain in his middle, but unable to stand the blue grass slapping him. “If you knew me, you would recognize my voice. I think maybe you're like her,” Harry said thinking how the person he had left in the shack was Lily Potter but maybe not Lily Potter as well.

“I do not understand, like whom? Please, tell me your name. Perhaps old age has finally compromised my memory.”

Harry gave a short disappointed laugh. “No one accused Professor Dumbledore for being senile. You wouldn't forget me, if you'd known me.”“But if you would only tell me your nam-”

“Harry, it's Harry,” he muttered, disappointed to his roots. “You were fighting Voldemort, is he dead? What's happening in the living world?” Harry asked playing along with Dumbledore's conviction that he was dead.“Ah! So you knew him. The fact you take his name must mean you were his enemy.”

“He killed me…I think.”

“Yes, many have died in his dark path.” Dumbledore gravely nodded. “It is a surprising to meet one familiar with the state of the living. Sadly, Voldemort is still alive, we have lost many to him.”

“Like the Longbottoms, and the Potters, yes?” Harry prompted, but became cautious when an unreadable look passed over Dumbledore's face.

“No, the Longbottoms are well. James Potter and his son were killed, indeed. They were survived by Lily Potter. Why do you believe they are dead?”

Harry shrugged, realizing later that Dumbledore couldn't see it, internally stunned at having another person tell him that his mother had survived Voldemort's attack instead of him. “They were powerful, Voldemort wanted to kill them. That's all I remember.” He quickly gave the half truth, wanting to think on what he had learned.

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore agreed in a ponderous way. “It was good fortune to meet you Harry. I must go make certain the Longbottom's are safe. It seems you died only recently and I had hoped that Voldemort had given up chasing after them. I am sorry to leave you like this, but I must tend to the living.”

“Don't be sorry, Sir. I'll be fine. How will you leave here?” he asked, scared that he would be stuck here.

“Quite simple. It takes someone from the 'tween to notice me to get me here, I believe you did that this time. So you would have to walk a great distance away from me to let me magically return to my place.” Dumbledore smiled here, “But since that would be quite rude of me to expect I merely let go of one of the artifacts in my hand and disappear back to the living.” Dumbledore raised his right hand that seemed to be curled around an invisible wand. “Good bye.” With that he mimed dropping the wand and disappeared.

At once the vast chocolate and sandalwood sky disappeared and Harry was back in the headmaster's office where Dumbledore was picking up the elder wand from the floor. There was dead silence again, and he realized he still had his cloak on and resurrection stone ring. The only reason he had ended up in the 'tween was because that yellowed woman had seen him.

“Hello?” Harry tried, but did not hear his voice, and neither did the headmaster. Back in the living world he could not be heard nor seen. He gave Dumbledore a long look, saw the man who was so much to him, and did not remember him. With unshakeable conviction he knew this was not the man he had known. Lily, he used the name in his head haltingly, unsure if it was the right way to call her, was telling the truth. But so am I.

Despondently Harry walked Hogwart's halls, slowly making his way to the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack. On his way he visited the different houses, looking for his friends, but found strangers in their beds. He found a calendar that gave the wrong year, too many years in the past.He stood looking at the slate with the calendar next to the house scores. “I'm not home, where did this take me?” He mumbled looking at the Resurrection Stone on his hand, finally accepting this was not the world he knew.

Worried and tired he made his way back.

He didn't know what to do, most of him wanted to run to Lily, part of him was afraid of rejection again. Like she's said, her son was dead. He tried hard and attempted to relive that glorious moment when she had made the unbreakable vow that she truly was Lily Potter. He had felt like there was a sun burning, happier than ever. But so quickly it was taken away.

Now he stood over her in the musty room, watching her tired and beautiful face.

“Mum?” he whispered, and his voice broke. He cleared his throat, angry at himself. “If you're Lily Potter and I'm Harry Potter, then what are you to me, if you're not my mum? What are you?” he asked out loud, forgetting that he didn't want to disturb her.

He slumped beside her bed, looking at the boarded window, feeling despair and fear. Alone, without his friends, in a place that made no sense, loved ones alive who did not remember him, and a mother who couldn't be his mother, because her son had died.

“I wish you were alive,” he said, thinking of everyone and no one in particular. After the hard childhood years at the Dursley's this was the first time had felt this alone and in need of help.

“That's how it started. I wished for you on the Resurrection Stone and you came,” Lily whispered. Harry jumped a little, and blushed heatedly realizing she had heard him.

“But you said your son was dead, and you can't lie.” He looked pleadingly in her green eyes, peaking above the pillows and the quilts on the bed. Even her mouth was covered.

“And you said you're my son, you can't lie either,” Lily's voice betrayed her hesitation.

“Then what am I to you?” Harry asked the floor, unwilling to meet Lily's eyes, just needing something normal back, something that made sense. Lily did not say anything. Harry didn't expect that she would have an answer. After all he didn't know what to think either. He just wanted his mother and father back, but not like this.

“Mine,” she broke the silence just as it began to rain again.

“What?” he asked.

“You have my eyes. I hear your heart. You're mine,” she declared with feeling. With only a moment's hesitation, that Harry did not see, Lily laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry shut his eyes, steeling himself for when the dream would fizzle away to reality.

“Mine?” he said, tasting the word and what it meant on his tongue. Harry couldn't help himself, and in the darkened and dusty room he smiled, letting a sigh of relief go through himself. She hadn't rejected him.

“Goodnight, Mu- er,” Harry trailed off seeing Lily flinch.

“Lily - just Lily,” she corrected him. Harry felt a pang of mixed emotions but nodded.

“Goodnight Lily,” he whispered resting his head against her arm draped over him, and fell asleep, exhausted.