Disclaimer: Goodbye, bye, bye, bye love…

A/N: So, yippee-ki-yay, mofo's, here we go again. I know it's been a month or two, but university takes priority over fanfic. So does casual sex, $10 steak and ale nights, surfing, ballet practice, and all manner of genuine life realities. They sparkle with such demanding prevalence. Thanks to all who have reviewed previously, please do so again.

-Joe

*~*~*~*

Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time

Chapter 25 – The Sleeping God

You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something,sometime in your life.

~Churchill

*~*~*~*

Expect… anything.

*~*~*~*

Just tumblin' down the rabbit hole, boss.

That's the best way of putting it.

Portals between worlds are not meant to exist. They are wrong. They break the rules of reality and shift the impossible into overdrive, giving all that exists a shove toward that deliberate uncertainty found only in dreams. Travelling through one is painful. It's like getting shoved through a keyhole ass-backwards – or like getting a blowjob from a blender. Yeah… It just don't feel right.

It's moments like these that I do all I can to stop time.

Atop of Lord Voldemort's tower in the Lost City of Atlantis, standing before the Vault of Forget, swirling with crackling crimson energy straining between the obsidian pillars of arched stone, I held a thin vial of cool starlight. I knew what I had to do. I knew it.

Yet I paused.

I hesitated with the eyes of mass murderer staring me down. We were all mass murderers 'round these parts.

"What are you waiting for, Potter?"

I chuckled, tilting my head to the side, gazing into the unstable vortex before me, keeping Voldemort in the corner of my eye. "Just making sure I can do this." Again. "Could be ending the whole wide world here by using this starlight."

"A touch dramatic." Voldemort leant his head back and disappeared into the darkness of his hooded robes. There was always a sinister, unknown quality to the Dark Lord. It made him dangerous – unpredictable. "You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes, in the set of your shoulders. You desire this as much as I, Harry."

That was true, but how many more storms could I face? You can't change the weather, buddy… "It's worse than you think," I said. "Through this gate, Voldemort, is nothing but the suffering realms of dead gods." I intend to make sure of it. "No good can come of this."

"Harry, Harry." I felt the Dark Lord's grin from within the shadows of his hood. "Fear not. You are with the greatest wizard of the age. No harm shall come to you, I promise."

"Oh fuck off." I laughed. "Was that a joke?" It broke my hesitation. With very little fanfare, I tossed the sparkling vial of light into the burning maelstrom of suffering-yet-to-come. Born to run, Springsteen, don't ever doubt that.

The effect was sudden and deadly. The roiling, screaming bands of crimson energy absorbed the starlight and grew still. Calm, blue light, as soft as the sky at the height of summer formed across the invisible surface of the portal. A cool reflective mirror of potent energy, connecting this world to another, and bypassing the real world entirely.

A world within a world outside the world, I thought, but that didn't even come close to understanding what this portal had done. What I had done… down in a dead man's town.

"Is that it?" Voldemort asked. He sounded eager.

I judged his mood – whether or not he was going to try and kill me and claim the portal for himself. I would be a fool to disregard the possibility. An insane fool in a bloody two thousand dollar Armani suit. "Sure, go ahead and step into it. See what happens. Let's see how immortal you really are, Lord Voldemort."

The Dark Lord was silent for a long minute, waving his wand in slow circles before the portal, trying to discern its nature. He would not succeed. It was beyond understanding. It just… was.

"After you, Harry," my nemesis finally said.

I tipped an imaginary hat to the snake-faced son of a bitch. "Wands at the ready then." I stepped toward the portal. It was cold. Very cold. "And smile - where we're going, there be monsters!"

I dived headfirst into the calm, clear waters of the Vault of Forget and somersaulted all the way down through the blowjob-blender, ass-backwards keyhole of eternity.

*~*~*~*

Moments of clarity come to me now, amidst the screaming and the bleeding.

—The tearin' and the swearin', YEEHAW, never say never you can't change the fuckin' WEATHER!—

Terrible moments of mercifully brief understanding that make me remember the cost. Remember what was lost – and how little I sold my soul for. There had to be a better bet than this.

—Bet, bet, bet not over YET this is not my favourite song but the list goes on and on and if YOU were HERE I'd buy the BEERS—

On matters of clarity, it is no secret that I fear them more than the madness. I have a conscience in the clarity, the last dregs of a soul, and the weight of what I have done is unbearable. I need to die, but death only makes things worse…

*~*~*~*

"Ah…ow."

It was dark and humid when I landed at the top of an archaic staircase, runes of great power chiselled into the grey stone, and lances of sheer impossible agony shooting through every nerve in my body. I huddled shaking in a tight ball, biting back the pain, and waited for Voldemort. He would be right behind me, but time was different here, as it was in Atlantis, as it was back home.

What was only seconds in the above world of Atlantis was fifteen minutes in the dark for me. I managed to get a grip on the pain in that time, and stood lounging against the heavy stone wall, twirling my wand, when the Dark Lord stepped sideways out of infinity.

Voldemort showed no sign of discomfort as he stepped into existence, regarding me silently in the darkness. The runes on the steps leading down, and scattered across the walls, shone with pulsating electric-blue light. It was calming, in a 'you're-fucked' kind of way.

"This resembles the city," Voldemort said, taking in the surroundings. "Do you know where we are, Potter?"

"Outside of time and space, scattered to the far corners of the unknown multiverse, and about…" I bit my tongue and waved my wand in slow circles. "…about one universe, two worlds, three continents and one hundred and forty-seven miles from the nearest pub."

"The realms of the Fae and Forget."

"Shit's about to get real," I agreed. "It looks normal now… but we're heading down a path to the very heart of Time itself. The Infernal Clock, Voldemort." I had dark and terrible plans for that Clock. "It stands at the heart of this and every world and watches the patience of the universe. Power to be had, you murdering asswipe, and we'll only get there if we work together."

Voldemort regarded me in silence. "You did more than I thought possible, Harry, in opening the way here. I have no further use—"

"Don't be fucking stupid," I said calmly, keeping my cool leaning against the wall. "You won't make it out of this place without me. You'll get your chance to kill me soon enough. Right now our interests are aligned. Trust me, you'll get more than you ever desired from this quest…" And I'll be ready to take it all from you.

"What are you after, Harry? Why Atlantis? Why aid me in opening the way?" The Dark Lord paused. "You have an agenda here, and I warn you, however clever you may think you are, I will destroy you should you get in my way."

"Dooming yourself to an eternity in a dead world beyond all rational understanding?"

"I am Lord Voldemort. I have bested death itself. I will find a way without Harry Potter."

A tense silence fell over both of us, sealed away in a tiny corridor at the top of this shiny staircase. There was no way to go save down. There were no gates this side of the portal. There was no portal anymore. The Vault had sealed us inside. Far too late to back out, to call it a day, and expect to live. It was move forward or die.

"Immortality is a curse," I said into the silence, not looking at Voldemort but through him, back into all the wasted years. God, but I had lived for so long. All I had to show for it was a headache and an impossible tiredness. "You deserve it."

"Yes, I do, and you have helped me today, Harry." Voldemort laughed. "Shall I offer you a swift death?"

"If only you could." I let out a slow, deep breath. "Come on, let's go, before this conversation gets anymore awkward and I start talking about my feelings and you tell me how you really wanted to be a strawberry farmer when you grew up."

"You first, Harry."

I shrugged. The heels of my fine Italian shoes clicked against the stone as I descended the rune-coated staircase. The harsh slashes and vicious strokes of coloured light blazed beneath my feet. No one had walked these stairs in ten thousand and more years. Only a handful had ever walked them before even then.

The staircase narrowed as I descended with the Dark Lord at my back. We walked in silence, terrible silence, and time passed. How much time didn't matter, as hours or days had already gone by in Atlantis. It would be four, maybe five, months before Fleur saw me again. Tonks, Jason and Grace, as well.

I grinned in the flickering shadows, remembering the time spent with Fleur only an hour or so ago to me. In bed alone. Naked. Heh… fond memories. I hoped to create more such memories one day soon. Sweating, nasty, passionate memories. Anything to numb the raging torrent of agony that beat a steady pulse through my skull.

"There will be three challenges before we're through," I said into the darkness.

"Challenges?"

"Nothing this good is ever easy, Voldemort." The staircase was widening again. We were nearing the base, although it was still several miles below. A faint red light – like hearth's fire – warmed the walls and bathed everything in a pale crimson glow. "Three challenges – for each of us. The Fae and the Forget demand payment for passage, and they accept strange currency indeed… Blood, sweat and tears – the cost of experience, the price of defiance."

"Tests of magical strength?" Voldemort asked. "This will not be an obstacle, if it proves true."

I ignored his posturing. Hopefully, this time, the challenges would kill him. They had killed me times beyond count, but then Voldemort was different. Half in and half out of the worlds anyway. Dead but not dead, alive but not alive. He hadn't felt a thing stepping between worlds, not a damn thing.

I had to remind myself that this was the only way. The only way to get home from Atlantis, the only way to ensure Voldemort lost most of what he gained from the damn city, and the only way to save the world… to give it a fighting chance, at least.

I could no longer taste Fleur on my lips.

"Three challenges designed to drive the sanity from your mind and push your resolve beyond all endurance." I chuckled. "I don't even want to think about the fucked up shit you're about to see."

"This was all written in the tomes you destroyed in my library, wasn't it?" Voldemort said. "That is how you are doing this – how you know more about this magic than I."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I frowned. "Or whatever it is you do."

"Potter, you are a fool to tread lightly with magic as ancient as this. It will get you killed, in the end."

"I know," I said, waving away what could almost be mistaken as concern from the Dark Lord. It wasn't. He was simply marvelling at my stupidity. Couldn't really fault him on that. "A lot of the time, I'm actually counting on it. To die would be a relief."

"You will not survive my war against the Wizarding World."

Descending toward battle and glory, toward power sequestered within the heart of the very universe, my laughter echoed off the runes and the stone like bones rattling in the stagnant swash of a diseased ocean.

"So much absurd power for so little a thing." I laughed so hard I felt tears in the corner of my eyes. "Oh, you and I are fools both. We deserve each other, and we deserve nothing."

"Is your mind addled, Potter?"

"Born down in a dead man's town, Voldemort." I strummed a few chords on my air guitar. "And Hey Jude, don't let me down…"

I could no longer taste Fleur on my lips. And that was a sad, sad thing.

*~*~*~*

At some point… I just started going through the motions.

Fighting for the sake of fighting. Waging war for the sake of war.

My heart just ain't in it these days.

*~*~*~*

Time.

Is relative.

I come from the rubble of a burning home. I survived on the love of another, and have known nothing but war and the brief respites between war – before suffering faux-death on the wings of all that is relative.

Into the river you dived, Harry.

At the bottom of the rune-encrusted staircase, Lord Voldemort and I entered Hell under a twilit sky. The corridor widened into a vast cavern, so impossibly far underground, with a ceiling of stretched azure cascading over a distant horizon.

It was dusk in the heart of the world.

"Impressive," the Dark Lord said.

A road of dusty limestone curved through the cavern, cutting through the vast rolling flames that scorched the land. There was no heat, no sound. Just silent fire swaying like long grass against the coast. And a sky of twilight – always and forever – endless twilight.

Twilight is the milk of the cosmos, Harry, said that tittering voice in the back of my head. The voice that sounded so much like my own. And yes, her name was Tessa!

"Very impressive," I agreed, but something wasn't right. This was new. I had never encountered this amazing vista, these fields of roiling silver flame, before. Anything new was to be regarded with the upmost fear. A thin black cloud, miles away in the distance, moved against the silent wind toward us. "Oh darn, that's not a cloud."

Voldemort followed my sight and regarded the apparition with silence. He was the silent sort, old Voldemort, for the most part. There was fear in silence. Unknown mercies, too, but they were few and far between. "It is alive, whatever it is," the Dark Lord finally said.

Closer now, I could glimpse the twilight reflected off dull – perhaps rusted – metal in the cloud, swarm, of whatever. I had a sneaking suspicion… oh shit. "Get off my lawn, you sons of bitches…" I whispered, tightening my grip around a wand that was soon to be ineffective.

Across the blasted plains of Forget, under the twilit sky of Fae, the swarm of creatures blazed above the swaying flame and rose on torrents of air thirsting for my blood. Behold the Fae and Forget, behold the end of worlds, and behold the fucking bane of my existence at my side – the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"What are these creatures?"

"I don't know… but they've been trying to kill me for weeks. I don't know how they do it, but their presence somehow cancels my magic."

"That is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible. Especially not here." There were at least thirty of the creatures, rusted swords aimed for my heart. Tweedledums and Tweedledees, courtesy of Lord Chronos – the Undead Bastard. I laughed. "Merlin save me, you'll have to protect me, Voldemort, if you want to make it out of here."

What a hopeless turn of events…

"Save my life tonight, Tom, someone better save my life tonight…" Passing hours of evening showers, boss. "You really can't change the goddamn weather."

Crimson lightning forked across the cloudless sky. I laughed to its beat as three dozen Orc-Mare descended from on high to murder me. To murder me good and dead.

*~*~*~*

And if you're wondering what the final cost of this game will be, then you are not alone.

The cost… is blood. Oceans of blood. Women and children first. Then the guilty. Too many people die for me.

*~*~*~*

There are times when I need to take a step back and analyse a situation based on the wisdom of past experience, of memories from the Dream before. But what is there really left to examine, save shattered remnants of the past?

Remnants that I scarcely remember, that come to me in fits and bursts of terrible power and unacceptable failure. Is it enough to recall the world ending time and time again, if I'm only doomed to repeat it? More nightmares come to me now – more than I've ever had. They speak of horrors to come, of failing for the last time, and damning the world and everything in it to darkness eternal.

So I have to take a step back and see the little people – they may be young, yeah yeah – see the choices made anew each time, and the hefty fucking fee to be paid once more. It does well to remember the remnants of the past now that I'm faced with death on all sides – and my one true nemesis all that stands between me, and complete and utter annihilation in time.

"Fire seems to work well on these beasties," I offered Voldemort some words of wisdom – voice of experience, that's me. "They work in pairs, mostly, so—"

"Incendios Grata!" Voldemort pointed his wand into the heart of the swarm of Orc-Mare, silhouetted against melting azure twilight, and a torrent of flame as thick as I was tall burst forth against the storm.

The backlash of heat was incredible and I had to step away from Voldemort, my wand hanging useless at my side, as the flame split and split again. Four columns of raging fire ascended to meet the Orc-Mare halfway. The creatures scattered before the flame, but it surged through the air after them, chasing and burning upon the whim of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort merely stood with a fierce grin on his face, having not even broken a sweat. His wand was already moving again, cutting harsh lines through the air. He cast silently this time, and a concussion blast of force threatened to knock me back as liquid fire – as black as night – erupted all around the Dark Lord.

The coils of flame swirled about his form, spiralling up and up. They were deathly cold, impossibly alive. Faces danced within the flames – of creatures and demons and all manner of dark things. It was some sort of fiendfyre. I had vague memories of seeing it before.

Just to be sure I had a handle on this whole situation, I attempted to cast some similar fiery death. "Incendios Grata!" Not even a single spark ignited from the tip of my wand. It was maddening, frustrating to the point of stupidity. Whatever these creatures were, and I had my ideas now, their presence made me that much more mortal.

Voldemort was having no concerns. His fire and his fyre were lancing through the air in thin beams of radical destruction. When they struck an Orc-Mare, the creature simply disintegrated – becoming so much ash on the wind. I stepped back to admire the Dark Lord's handiwork.

If nothing else, Voldemort was a skilled practitioner of the dark arts. Half the reason I had so much trouble defeating him. Other half was the power of Atlantis and the raggedy mess he called a soul.

The Orc-Mare burst like balloons in midair. Not a single one of them got within thirty feet of me. I could smell them cooking – havin' a barbeque, boss, yes sir – and I knew, felt it in me bones, that Chronos was watching nearby.

"Where are you…?" I whispered. There was so much fire in this world – so much burning. Yet very little ash. "What are you…?" A much better, much more terrifying, question.

That Chronos had followed me to Atlantis I did not doubt. That he had followed Voldemort and I through the Vault of Forget I did not doubt. Whatever he was, different rules seemed to apply. I had burned him alive and he had simply regenerated. I had sensed in him… lengths of time that even I felt small against. An agent of chaos, he had said, but then what was chaos?

Save time – True Time. Chaos was crystal shards of all that time ever was. It did not exist and yet was all that mattered. Woe be to the few who could wade its currents and not be swept away. I had never been too clever about that.

"I've killed a dozen or more of those things," I told Voldemort as the last of his magical fires faded away. That aura of darkness surrounding his form had not been disturbed. Powerful. Very. Fucking. Powerful. Even before the saturation of dominance that was heading our way. "Yet they keep coming back. Without going into too much detail, you saw for yourself, I can't magic worth a damn when they're close."

"I did not recognise them from any bestiary."

I shook my head. "I didn't either, way back a few weeks ago when they first attacked." Above the Falls of Tivoli. "Which means they're something new, because I've seen everything – or at least I thought I had – the world has to offer. Time and time again. New is scary…"

"Tell me what this place is, Potter." Voldemort gestured to the rolling fields of cool flame. It felt like mid-evening, but much like Atlantis, I didn't think this place really measured time with the hands of a clock… or the mere rise and fall of a star.

I looked up at the sky, out across the horizon, and down to the powdery limestone at my feet. "This is Forget, Voldemort, and we are not alone. Quick, tell me, what time is it?"

I laughed aloud as the ground cracked and wicked silver lightning burst forth from the centre of the world. The fields of fire were consumed in arcs of sheer raw strength – of pure magic, undiluted, the ascending oils that turned the cogs in some unimaginable universal timepiece – and the twilit sky descended into night.

I blinked and Voldemort and I stood in some place I did recognise. The Orc-Mare, that world of fire, must have been Chronos' doing. I guess he was in a killin' mood today. Show your face, you bastard…

"That… is impressive," Voldemort said, gazing over my shoulder.

I turned and followed his gaze. We stood on green earth, pale and hallowed under the starry night sky, at the base of a deep and untouched valley. It had a touch of Fae about it, this place, but it was of neither lost realm – nor was it of Atlantis. This was a way station, an in-between world in between worlds.

From the crest of the valley rose steep cliffs, over a mile high and masked in low cloud. They stretched for miles all around, effectively sealing Voldemort and I within the valley. Impressive in its own right – the sheer size and beauty – yet it was not what drew Voldemort's attention.

"The Cascading Falls of Reality," I said, barely above a whisper. The sight of it still stirred feelings within me – mostly of regret, but also of respect… for the power that had created such a sight.

From the top of the cliffs, from some unseen font beyond all sight and knowledge, unfathomable amounts of star-speckled water flowed over the height of the ridge and descended into our valley, deep and far away. The noise was faint at this distance, but near deafening up close. More arcs of that silver lightning danced within the swash and foam of the tumbling water.

"This is our first test, Tom." I laughed again. "Ghost of Christmas-Future kind of crap. Drink from the Falls and submit yourself to Time, to the could'a, would'a, should'a of uncertain realities." I shrugged. "Best high in all the worlds, to be honest, like trippin' acid and drinking Skittle-Brau."

"The waters are tainted with a magical euphoria?"

I nodded. If I could bottle it and take it home, then Fleur and I would have one helluva party when I got back… "We're gonna regret not bring funions and Coco Pops for when this shit kicks in. Mark my words, Voldemort, mark them well."

*~*~*~*

Sorry. I'm so sorry, Fleur.

Just been too busy writing a tragedy.

*~*~*~*

I always find myself hesitating in these between worlds – these realms outside of proper time and proper space, existing in nothing between one moment and the next. I hesitate even though it could get me killed. I hesitate because to charge blindly forward will surely get me killed.

The realm we were in did not exist. Not in any normal sense of the word. The Cascading Falls of Reality were before us, still many miles away, yet the sparkling foamy water lapped at a vast shore right at our feet.

It was warm and damp, painfully humid, in this place that did not exist – that was magic and thus impossible. A sip of water would go down just right…

"We'll be separated," I told Voldemort, kneeling down on my haunches before the waters. "But all roads lead to the Clock, should you make it through the mind-rape."

I felt the cool, calm wood of Voldemort's wand settle against the back of my neck. There was a thin charge of electricity from the pressure, and my scar – burning like a mo'fo – twitched all the more. "You have become too dangerous to be left alive, Harry."

I didn't turn or make any move against the wand. "I know," I said. "Oh I know… I think the universe has been trying to tell me the same thing." I had a think about my options. "But consider this – we are here on my dime, you dumb fuck. If I die, the way ahead, and the way back… it'll all go up in a puff of ironic smoke."

"Are you lying to me, Harry?" I could feel the heat of magic against my neck. Voldemort had slit my throat not too long ago – now he was flaying the damn skin off my neck. "Lord Voldemort knows. He always knows."

"You dick around in my head and you'll be left drooling and raving against the walls."

Voldemort removed his wand from my collar. Warm blood, fresh and free, flowed under my shirt and down my back. An old familiar feeling. I'd grown to love it. Wasn't doing my job right if someone or something wasn't making me bleed.

"You drink first, Harry."

I cupped my hands and placed them below the surface of the gently lapping water. Crystal sparks spun through my fingers. The Cascading Falls all that distance away vibrated through the cool, clear liquid. Almost at once I lost feeling in my fingers – numb and useless.

"Ever the brave leader, Voldemort," I said with a sneer. "How you ever got anyone to follow you is beyond me."

"My servants believe in the purification of the Wizarding World, Potter. The arrogance of fools such as Dumbledore and yourself have stymied and delayed progress for far too long."

"And the world would be a better place if we were all terrorists, hmm?"

"The line between terrorist and freedom fighter is naught but a matter of perspective, Harry."

I could hear the slow, unshakable certainty in the Dark Lord's voice. It made me feel sick. I didn't turn to face him, keeping my focus on my submerged hands. "Drawn in the blood of the innocent. And your side quest for immortality? Just a means to an end then?"

"My work will require more than one lifetime's worth of sacrifice. I intend to see it through."

We had had this conversation before. I had vague recollections of all the arguments and counter-arguments. Then the bloodshed that inexorably followed. There was no reasoning, no surrender – neither of us would give an inch.

"Don't be so sure on that timeframe. Where we are now – the power and the understanding that is to come… it'll speed things up to the point where the entire world will have to burn because of our choices." I raised my hands out of the water, cupping a few mouthfuls of raw magic – the ascending oils of the universe. "Let me drink to your health, Lord Voldemort."

I drank from my hands, only a few sips, but more than enough to get this whole show on the road. Already a cold, encroaching numbness fled through me. Standing, I turned to face the Dark Lord.

"Follow me if you dare…"

The water did its trick and my entire body, all that remained of my soul and essence, was torn asunder in a fall of cascading silver sparks. From magic we are born, and into magic we return…

The memories were about to rise – an unstoppable, titanic force of well-honoured guilt and regret – borne on the shattered remnants of the past. Borne on those ruined and twisted Wastelands of Time.

*~*~*~*

'bout that time, ain't it?

*~*~*~*

"Please don't die," I said softly, carefully, with only half a heart. I brushed a gentle strand of sunburst hair back behind her bloody ear. "Be safe, Fleur Delacour."

Her breathing slowed and then stopped. No more battles raged about us – the world was desperately silent. But I was fooling myself if I thought that meant any divine understanding had marked the passing of the woman I loved. Loved and lost… so many times.

Didn't there have to be a limit to what I could stand? I guess not.

The blood-drenched grounds of Hogwarts were littered with corpses and less than corpses. The castle burned at midday, a single solitary black flag striking the Dark Mark swaying in the breeze above a ruined white flag tarnished with an electric-blue lightning bolt.

I had been here before. I would be here again. But not this life – this time counts for all. The presence of so much uncertainty and my inability to stomach even brief jaunts back and forth with the Time Turner claimed a testament to the end of all things.

With that thought, veracity shifted, the Cascading Falls of Reality sent me further downstream, and the warm body I held in my arms disappeared along with the very sky. There was a swirl of colour and sound, akin to portkey travel, and sure enough the rabbit hole was that much deeper, just that much more insane.

"You are driven by a search for meaning, Harry," Dumbledore said. As with all our deep conversations, they either occurred here in his office, or on the cusp of death. "To understand the cost and be held accountable for all you have done."

I sat in the chair opposite his desk, real but unreal, and gazed around at the cacophony of magical devices, at Fawkes and the paintings of headmasters from long ago. I had to play this reality out to proceed through the Falls, to reach the Infernal Clock…

"All I have done has been to win peace," I said. "To force a madman into surrender by taking off his head."

"How did you do it?" my old headmaster asked. No twinkle, no old grandfatherly mannerisms today. "You have come to me and explained how you have changed, Harry, how you have lived and died this war times beyond count. How did you do it the first time? What drove you to it?"

I shrugged. "Death, for the most part. You were dead… all of you were dead. The world was in ruin; the sky was falling, the oceans… fading away. There was nothing but the Dark Lord on his dark throne and a constant stink of rotting flesh on the wind. I was alone, wandless, walking the barren earth. I did what anyone would have done, Albus – I killed myself."

"And woke up some eight years ago in the body of your fifteen year old self?"

"That part may have had something to do with the deal I struck with Lady Time, the Infernal Clock, deep beneath the city of Atlantis in the flowing rivers of raw magic that swim through all worlds lost and found."

"Atlantis?" Dumbledore cocked a single eyebrow. That had his attention.

"Voldemort found it, or was drawn to it – but that first time, my first life, it was too late to stop him from bringing it all back to our world. The gateway was still open, and all manner of demon traffic and nightmare seed crossed over. Hence that disagreeable business of the world ending in dust and rot." As it most often did. "I travelled back across the bridge to Atlantis, searching for anything I could use against him… I found a Vault. The Vault of Forget."

"And then…?"

The world was beginning to fade. Currents were sweeping me on through the haunting memory. How much longer would I have to wallow in my unavoidable failures? "And then the rest is history, Professor, albeit history only I will ever remember."

I felt a shift in the current – away from memory and away from regret. This whole world of Forget, deep beneath the Lost City, could only invade my mind so far. There were layers so deeply repressed that even my lucid insanity would run fleeing into the comforting arms of terrible, final madness to avoid.

It felt like I was rising, swimming upstream. All was dark amidst rivulets of colour until I reached the light at the end of the tunnel – only to find it populated with horrors.

In a daze, a stupor of wonder-drugs, I stepped down onto dusty grey stone inside a ruined coliseum of indecent marble arches and empty amphitheatre seating. Bruised storm clouds raged overhead, grumbling with thunder and threatening a tempest of colossal intent.

The water I had swallowed was only part of my dizziness. The rest was the headache, thrumming a beat so loud now that it would've been quieter in the heart of an explosion, and the memories that had been jostled loose by the journey through the Cascading Falls. I was out now – I recognised this place – beyond the waters and the mind rape.

Vault of Forget, Level Two.

I'd survived the test of memory. Now came a much more substantial exam – against something that I had no desire to stop and consider. Something of remarkable strength, of unyielding fury – something standing unafraid before the ending of all these tired worlds.

"Can you hear me?" I said, not bothering to speak above a whisper. The creature ahead could hear me just fine. "You know the outcome of this fight – must I face it again?"

There was no answer – save a small, tittering laugh in the back of my mind. And that was answer enough.

"Bring him on then, bitch, and then you and I are going to have our reckoning."

"What a terrible thing to say to someone who has done so much for you, Harry."

I cast my gaze across the dusty stone coliseum and beheld… myself… standing at the heart of the arena. A pale, bloody, twisted version of myself. Harry Potter, standing alone, looking a little worse for wear. I advanced, wand in hand, toward my double. He moved left, I moved right – we circled each other – broken and battered reflections of all that we could ever become.

"You're a handsome son of a bitch, I'll give you that," I said.

"Lady Time demands trial by fire, Harry – and who better to face than your darker impulses, than all you have become across the long years?" My twin laughed, his thick black locks hung lank against his pale, white forehead. "All that you may yet become, given the nature of this, the final time, for Harry Potter, Time Warrior."

"I never accepted that title, Evil Harry." I licked my lips, waiting for myself to move. "Meaningless words from beings who stand outside the ebb and flow of True Time – who meander between nothingness and non-existence, searching for mortal playthings. The Powerless Gods of Forget!"

The last I snarled and the entire realm shook beneath my shoes. Thunder crashed and marble archways toppled into the empty seating. In the distance, I could hear vain screams – of outrage, of grief, of all Time had left to offer.

"Let me pass," I told my double. "She – It – has some explaining to do."

"All your lives have been building toward this moment, Harry. This final roll of the dice. The choices you make are made for good this time. Choose how you proceed very carefully."

Six distinct podiums were arrayed around the outer ring of the arena, about seven feet high. They were of ruined and cracked marble, like the rest of this façade, yet it was the items upon them that drew attention. A broomstick, a scroll of parchment, a ruby-encrusted silver sword, a glowing orb of prophecy, a cloak of invisibility… and a tiny golden snitch.

"Six," I said. "Six when there is usually seven… Where is your seventh Horcrux, buddy?"

My evil-twin tapped his evil-forehead with the tip of his evil-wand, smirked, and pointed toward my infamous scar. "You can't ignore it this life – it counts for all. The last Horcrux is hidden away inside, in the very remnants of the past that you call a soul, Harry. No matter how clever you are, you still have to die to take Voldemort with you."

"Die and stay dead," I agreed. "If it can be done leaving the world relatively whole then I welcome death… with the wide open arms of the very weary."

Evil Harry inclined his head. "Rest is coming," he said, almost kindly, but then that smirk returned. "Or not – perhaps you'll just be ground to dust upon the gears of the Infernal Clock, if and when you fail… Not a happy ending in sight, hmm?"

"No such thing, boss." I raised my wand. "You want it in the head or the chest, my good man?"

"I'm you, Harry – a much more badass and pale version of you, to be sure – but still essential all that you are. Where do you want it?"

Good question. One to be answered with fire.

I cut a swath of air apart with my wand, turning against my guard, and a trail of purple fire burned through the air after me. The magic flowed faster than thought, than true desire and impulse. Stallions of viscous flame burst forth from my wand and screamed against the thunder!

Evil Harry was just as quick, and not averse to dark magic – neither was I, but there were lines – and I ducked beneath a jet of black fetid light, scorching the air with malice and the stone with hoarfrost.

My fiendfyre always had a mind of its own, wresting my will for control, yet I was a master craftsman in this regard. I turned the purple beasts – wild horses – upon myself and the six raised Horcruxes across the breadth of the coliseum. The fire raged and split, encircling the dome as I dived under spellwork from my evil twin. He was laughing, enjoying the fight, as I sent my chaotic flame to devour the ragged pieces of his soul.

Once it was underway, handling the fyre was second nature. I ignored it almost entirely, shoved it to the back of my turbulent mind, yet maintained a tight leash of control over the near-sentient flame. I turned my attention upon myself, parrying the truly awful light he sent my way. Spells designed to sicken and rot, to fester and destroy…

I was an inventive, resilient bastard – I had to give myself that much.

"What's that in your jacket pocket, Harry?" Evil Harry asked. He danced around the fyre I sent his way – danced through it – blistering his pale skin and ignoring the burns. "You think your mind so well protected – NOT FROM ME! HAHAHA!"

The item in my pocket had been burning a hole there since I had removed it from the trunks back in Atlantis, just after Fleur and I had spent the night together. "Oh that's nothing, pal. Just part of this crazy scheme I've got planned. Should be good – there'll be cake afterwards. Forswhex!"

Spirals of clear blue light, almost water, formed a swirling shield around me, defending me from the heat and cold of the varying magical energies crossing the arena. My fiendfyre was doing its job, spinning in thick vast columns around the perimeter, eating the Horcruxes. Great violent screams competed with the thunder for dominance as the soul vessels were devoured one after the other.

"You're better than this," I told myself. "Quit holding back."

"As you wish."

Evil Harry leapt – and I leapt with him – our wands and minds carving magic beneath us and all around in complex waves. We shot into the air, above the flame and through the flame, caught on currents of invisible weight and magic – we flew around the coliseum and traded blows of such strength –lighting the world with conflicting shades of raw potential.

We were barely warming up. I commanded the loose fyre to rise and chase my counterpart while deflecting a column of unleashed Demon's Light. The black flame, as slick as oil, had been unleashed without constraint. It targeted both of us with equal intent – only ever to destroy – and added an element of vicious surprise to the whole affair.

"I don't remember you being this good!" I called through the maelstrom. "Usually you've fucked up by now!"

"I learnt from the best. Or the worst, given your track record. How many times has it been now? Do you even know? How often has the Clock ticked back to zero?"

I didn't know. Memories of failed lives flickered across the wastelands in my head. Too many to count, too many to remember… and there were more, more and more and more and more and more and more—

*~*~*~*

ARRRGGGHHHH!

*~*~*~*

—and there was something else, as well, within the wastelands. Wavering memory of being so strong, so very powerful. Of bringing entire cities crashing down around me. Of freezing or razing entire oceans. Of magic so well utilised, so understood – a war. The Final War. Played out again and again… How could I not have remembered this?

The War…

"…of Time," my double said, ducking and diving under the various magical flame until he hovered before me on invisible currents of air. "The War of Time. All the power that's to come, Harry, all the magical how-to's and know-how's, you remember the cost of truly letting go?"

"Yes," I said. But sweet merciful Batman, I wish I didn't. It was awful – all-consuming. The things we had done, Voldemort and I, the things we would do all over again in brand new ways. Same shit different day, boss, you can't change the fuckin' weather. "You would have done the same."

"I was born in what you did, Time Warrior." Evil Harry laughed. "I only exist because you failed, and fairly soon you will kill me, I will return to nothing, and you'll roll the dice once more – thinking you're playing for the first time – but all your moves have been found wanting already, time and time again. End this, would you, let the universe wither and die as it will…"

My fyre was circling us both, kept in check by my thoughts alone. My twin was trapped, encircled – already dead, as he had said – just a few parting words. His Horcruxes were all smoke in the wind. Thunder crashed overhead, lightning struck the marble stonework, hailstones the size of golf balls were devoured by the heat… and it was all special effects bullshit – an external representation of the storm within my own mind.

"The War of Time." A slow, careful grin spread across my face. "It will be different this time. It's already different."

Evil Harry sighed and offered a sad smile, pitying or worse… "You say that every time, you know."

"I probably do, but then this time counts for all, buddy. Now burn and die."

My double, a construct of magical energy lost here alone in the heart of Forget, laughed as the purple fyre – and his own Demon's Light – crested the outer wave of protection around us and consumed him alive.

A few sparks, a sizzling regret, a wisp of grey smoke.

Fin.

*~*~*~*

Together we cry…

*~*~*~*

The landscape rose and fell on the whim of some unimaginable tide of raw magic. Entire valleys were thrust screaming into the sky, gently and calmly, while great craggy mountain peaks sunk below the earth. The noise was that of a breeze through the trees at twilight, struck with the taste of possibility.

I walked through the immense shifting of the ground and sky, of all that was, twirling my wand between the two good fingers that remained on my left hand. The realm of Forget, a magical never-place, was in turbulence all around me… as I approached its core, from which all manner of relativity had sprung forth and poisoned the universe – a short while ago, all things considered from a viewpoint of that very same relativity.

After a time, I found myself in a dark and gloomy wood (I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray…) not ready just yet to abandon all hope.

I had been in this forest before – a long time ago – and yet I felt like I had never been away. I'd sold something precious here, been screwed over, and gained a glimpse of infinite immortality. It had driven me quite mad.

The forest canopy was dense, but through the murky gaps I could glimpse the occasional star. There were no sounds save the rustling of dead leaves at my feet, yet the silence itself was thunderous.

I came to a crossroads bathed in moonlight, a path split right down the middle veering away far to the left and even further to the right.

Lord Voldemort stood at the fork in the road; his hood lowered and pale head gazing up at the sky. He heard or sensed my approach, for without turning around he said, "An interesting creation, this world, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

I shrugged. "Not much special about this place. Watch out for the saucy water nymphs – I once got well and truly fucked by one somewhere around here."

There were no scuffmarks on the Dark Lord's robes – unlike my suit – he had clearly not been fighting wild evil copies of himself, or swimming through centuries of bleeding memory. I had a sneaking suspicion he had just simply strolled through the Cascading Falls of Reality – and why not? He was more magic than man, after all. Terrible, awful magic… but magic just the same.

"Which is the correct path?"

I smirked. "Why, Voldemort, there is only one path." And sure enough there was. The fork in the road had melted into one straight-cut swath through the forest. A soft, gentle rain of silver sparks were whipped up by the wind and danced along our trail. "It was just waiting for me to catch up."

"What was waiting?"

No sense in lying. "What we came for," I said. "Lady Time, the secret knowledge of Atlantis – what made that civilisation more advanced than anything that will ever be seen on our earth again – and our way out of this place and back to the real world."

In dread silence, Voldemort took to the path and I followed, neither anxious nor eager to get where we were going. I kept a careful eye over my shoulder, looking out for Chronos or Saturnia – the Orc-Mare had served as a warning, if nothing else, that I was not alone here. Surrounded on all sides by enemies of varying immortality.

"We're heading into unintended nightmares now," I said to my companion. "Pathways of magic not seen for ten thousand years."

Voldemort held his silence for a time, the forest shifting around us – violent blues, washed greens, and tiny floating sparks of magic – and when he spoke, he sounded almost human. Almost.

"I am reminded of the forests of Albania," he said. "Where I spent over a decade in exile because of your mother's love for you, Harry. This forest… the flow of magic all around us. It is more and less than Albania."

"The illusion is better than reality, yet it is still an illusion." I rubbed the back of my neck, mindful of the deep cut and the dried blood. "You should have died and stayed dead, Voldemort. A lot more people would be alive and happy today."

The Dark Lord laughed. "The wrong people, Harry. You are too young, too simplistic in your view of right and wrong, to understand my vision – to understand what needs to be done."

"Genocide." I grinned. "Purification of the Wizarding World, a purge of the Muggles… and for what? So you can wear the pureblood crown, ruler of nothing but fear-blinded fools?" I understood all too well – better than anyone, even Voldemort himself. "Someone will always rise up to stop you. If not me, if not Dumbledore, then someone."

"And I will destroy them as I will destroy you, once we return to our proper realm."

"I don't want to die," I said, and there was some small grain of truth there. I wanted to grow old, truly old, with Fleur, and live a life free of epic consequence. It was never to be – of this I could be certain – but a hundred years or so of relatively normal life wouldn't seem that long, not after everything, and there could be happiness there. Not always, but then that's life.

"It is not a matter of 'wanting' anything, Harry. You were born a symbol – you are scarred by my downfall thirteen years ago – and the masses look to you as a 'Chosen One' to stand against me. There has to be an accounting between us, for past wrongs, for the greater good. You may not wish to die, but you have to."

"We'll see."

We always did.

(Her name was Tessa – I don't need saving, 'Arry – maybe yes maybe no)

The forest grew more oppressive and dense all around us, and Voldemort took to clearing a path with his wand, hacking through great swaths of constricting foliage with clean bursts of razor-sharp magic. It was still quiet, still cool and desperate beneath the eaves of the trees, but the end was in sight now.

Indeed, we were there.

The path widened into a glade devoid of all trees. A slab of white stone, a hundred feet across and wide, under a starlit sky filled with strange and rather unholy constellations, filled the clearing. In the centre of the glade was a doorway, suspended on nothing, of old oaken wood, marked with a single solitary rose. Before the doorway stood a man – a man who looked millennia older than Dumbledore.

Older than anything, really, and he didn't even exist.

Voldemort strode purposely forward, wand held aloft, and I moved off to the side.

The old man rested his weight against a heavy staff of petrified wood. His sweeping grey robes and long tangled beard, the canyons of wrinkles marring his face and spotted scalp, made him appear a statue – or a corpse. His eyes were lifeless, tinged yellow with cataracts, and ancient.

As Voldemort approached, perhaps sensing all that he had come for hidden just beyond the door behind the old man, he cast a wave of strength from his wand to batter the archaic sentinel aside.

For the first time, the old man moved – and he did so almost faster than the human eye could follow. Voldemort's blade of force clashed harmlessly against his staff and an arc of electric-blue light burst forth against the Dark Lord.

The band of lightning struck Voldemort high in his chest and blasted a hole the size of a quaffle straight through his torso.

A cloud of red mist, organs and ragged skin exploded out of the back of his robes and he collapsed, a bloody pulp, against the clear white stone.

*~*~*~*

Nothing less will save the day…

*~*~*~*

"You brought that creature with you again," Lady—or Father Time, I guess, given the beard—said, gesturing to the broken Dark Lord. "His presence is a defilement of all that is protected here, Harry Potter."

"I know. Believe me, I know. But we are linked, the devil and I, and the only way to stop him from gaining all this power is to let him have it. I can't stop him without it, and if I hadn't opened the way he would've done it himself, eventually."

The old man, Father Time, regarded me – he looked as weary as I felt. Both of us ancient, both of us so very tired. He had a few aeons on me, but at that age the passing of millennia must seem like no more than the blink of an eye. We were of a kind, Time and I, distraught between the thin, cruel line of mortal immortality.

"I will not stop what you have planned," Father Time said.

I paused, eyeing the dark tentacles of magic criss-crossing the Dark Lord's chest. He was patching himself up already. Even if I could without killing myself, attacking him now wouldn't do a damn thing… it was tempting though, oh so tempting.

"You should stop me," I said. The flesh was knitting itself back together. Voldemort drew a haggard breath and sat up, eyes ablaze. "But you can't stop me, can you?"

"No." Time sighed. "He waits for you beyond the door – intent on your destruction. You'll have to forgive him that, Harry."

Dark magics protected Voldemort, and as he rose a cloud of malice seemed to surround him – an aura of seething hate, of raw chaos. Here was the destroyer of worlds, bound in terrible prophecy. He beheld the door behind the old man with unbroken determination. It hung suspended on nothing, and yet led to all that mattered. All that did not exist.

Father Time stepped aside as the Dark Lord advanced toward him, almost bowing in his wake, destined to seek the power of Atlantis.

Voldemort, healed and unharmed, strode through the door into unknown dusks, leaving me alone with the physical manifestation of the true power fuelling this nightmare.

Nay.

Fuelling the entire world as any of us could ever know it, between one lonely moment and the next…

*~*~*~*

"So this is it… the end."

"No," I said. "No, no, no. This is just an end. The best is yet to come."

*~*~*~*

"Chronos," I asked, "who is he?"

Father Time shook his head. "The truth of that is obscured to even one such as I."

"He's not a god," I said. "There is no such thing."

A deep throated laugh – arrogant yet lazy – rumbled from the old man. "So old and yet so blind, Harry… perhaps the same can be said of the both of us."

"Why is this the last time?" I asked. "Already so many pieces are aligned against me. I… I don't think I'm ready to win. I need my immortality back."

"You were never immortal, Harry – not in the true sense of the word. You are, and have always been, more than immortal." He paused. "A hero for the ages, a figurehead of the Last-Time War. It is the one you call Chronos that has denied you the paths through my murky waters. He hates you, Harry. More than anything."

"What is he!?" I asked, exasperated. My mouth was dry, I could taste blood, and the forest stank of copper – of raw magic. My head was killing me. I wanted the headache to end… I wanted, needed, it all to end.

"I do not know, but the truth will break you."

"I cannot be broken."

"You are the Time Warrior, Harry Potter – the last High Lord and King of Atlantis." Father Time regarded me with remarkable indifference. All of these powerful beings of eternal life, existing outside the universe, were always so emotionally dead. "Broken or not, your future is grim."

"I intend to raze Atlantis to the ground and destroy the very foundations of the faux-reality it still desperately clings to," I said, running slow circles around a nick in the length of my wand. "I'm the king of nothing."

"This I know. Crowned in impossible regret." If Time could have personification, why a wise old man with a wise old beard? Wouldn't a kid with a pack of matches be more apt? "Guard your memories, Harry Potter, for they make you dangerous."

"This I know."

"Not well enough. You reject lordship of ancient lands, you deny death and intend terrible travesties upon the Infernal Clock, yet all of that pales in comparison to the storm in your mind." And now this creature did look emotional – it looked afraid, behind that guise of an old man, it looked frail and fuckin' terrified. "Should you… When you remember all that you have forgotten, no force in this or any other world will be able to tear you down."

"I never remember everything – it doesn't work that way." Didn't it? "I've lived and died too many times."

Father Time looked through me, his gaze piercing futures past and present – of days to come and long ago. A unique perspective bound in an ironic prison of slaughtered free will. "Lord Potter… no… King Potter? No, no." It laughed – high and loud – insane and worse than insane. Two peas in a pod, Time and I. "No gods, he says!"

"Say what's on your mind, friend." I had a brief urge to rend the old man limb from limb.

"When your memories awaken, when the storm is unleashed... Woe be to anyone who stands in the path of Harry Potter…" No laughter now. Just a solemn nightmare-silence. "…The Sleeping God."

Oh.

Oh shit.

*~*~*~*

A/N: There we have it. Some important revelations in this chappie. What did you think? Let me know in a review. Next chapter: Chapter 26 – The Wastelands of Time is already underway. Big things happening, and then three or four more chapters to close this story out…

Bring on the end, eh?

All the best,

Joe