Disclaimer: What's done is done…

A/N: This chapter's one long bastard, that's for sure. Rockin' in at around 14,000 words. Some important stuff happening in this chappie so take care when reading… We're averaging a fair amount of reviews per chapter which is fan-frickin'-tastic! Keep up the good work, folks - you know who you are - and I'll keep the chapters coming sure and strong.

I liked this chappie, cool stuff happens. All the best, dear reader,

joe

Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time

Chapter 8 - Better Left Unsaid

The first man to see an illusion by which menhave flourished for centuries surely standsin a lonely place.

--Zukav

*~*~*~*

Time.

 

Five minutes before tomorrow.

Five minutes past yesterday.

Is it beer o'clock yet?

Truer words of wisdom never spoken - let it be, let it be…

You should know something before we continue. You have a right to know, after all. I'm not… I'm not a 'good guy' - far from it - I'm not innocent, I'm guilty. And whilst that may not be a good thing, it is a necessary thing.

Terrible, yet necessary.

Because only the truly guilty understand what it means to wield true power.

People call me a hero - perhaps you do as well - yet what is a hero? Someone who acts when all else turns to dust? Someone that you hang your last scraps of hope to and pray that they don't buckle? Someone to fight the monsters and make the bad men go away?

I'm not a hero - I don't have the defiance, or the soul, or a cool mythical sword - no, I'm not a hero.

But I do fight the monsters, because I detest them, and hate that they exist. And what do I have to show for it? For lives spent and spent again battling the worst this world can throw at me?

A bastard of a headache, and that's about it.

Heh, I can hear the gentle whining of a thousand violins. Aw hell - its five o'clock somewhere.

*~*~*~*

I appeared on my knees in a courtyard of stone beneath a roof of sparkling starlight.

I let out a small groan as the old magic in the portkey spat me out halfway across the world and aching from head to toe. The small silver coin, minted in Atlantis, had been gathering dust deep beneath Rome for three thousand years. Even for magic as simple as a portkey, that was a long time.

It had made for a bumpy ride, as the enchantment on the coin had faded over time - and the world had moved on in the three millennia since the map to Atlantis was set. A few more centuries and the map would have been lost forever, yet that wasn't meant to be.

I gained my feet and looked about myself, standing ragged in my torn suit and straightening my glasses across the bridge of my nose. Just where in the world was I now? I knew all too well, unfortunately.

I was in the heart of Mt. Everest, buried deep within thousands and thousands of tonnes of earth, rock and ice.

Yeah, I know, groovy.

Whisked away from one underground tomb in the Magnus Fontis and straight into another. I hadn't been lying when I said there were secrets buried in the lost, deep places of the world - most of them led to one end, and that end was Atlantis. A greater mind than I, the last mind of the Atlantean nation, had developed this ancient, buried road long before the foundations of Hogwarts had been laid.

The only reason I'd been able to decipher its route was because I had lives to spare. Hell, it had taken me more than one try to get this far, yet I could recall most of the way with crystal-clear clarity. Some things, like things we die for, are burnt into our minds for ever.

So I was deep within the highest mountain in the world, and yet there was a blanket of starlight overhead…

The courtyard I stood in was long and wide, arching with old limestone blocks that were crumbling and pockmarked from centuries of decay. It was freezing, a thin sheet of ice covered much of everything. I was careful with my footing, lest I fall on my arse.

Swirling across the jagged ceiling, flowing over the long pointed stalactites and heavy, fat icicles, was a blanket of dark fog speckled with points of bright, silver light, spinning and churning like the very centre of a star-strewn galaxy. Constellations of starlight and dust surged like waves on an unruly sea, washing up on the clustered sands of time…

It was eerily beautiful. A sight one could get lost in, as it stretched for a good quarter mile in all directions. I stood staring at it for about five minutes before I noticed my teeth chattering, and my hands going slowly numb. It was pretty damn cold.

I pulled my eyes back down to the matter at hand.

Now, I suppose you could call this little exploration of mine a quest. In fact, it's been specifically designed so that I have to overcome various challenges of increasing and complex difficulty - which is in part the definition of 'quest'. A quest, a journey through time itself.

Heh, sounds impressive, doesn't it? A journey through time itself… Meaningless drivel, really. We're all of us journeying through time; some of us just do it in both directions.

The only light in this underground chamber came from the artificial night sky overhead, in the mist and the starlight. In that dim light, across the length of the cave and the smooth, icy ground, a set of stone steps rose to a single pedestal. A particularly strong shaft of silver light shone down in a singular beam upon this pedestal, pretty much showing me where I needed to go.

It was only about a hundred metres away, in the centre of the cavern. A clue to the Lost City called to me like the blowing of a horn at sunrise.

I braced myself before taking a step forward, however - the pedestal and what it held was what I had come for, yet there was a challenge to be passed, and it was a brutal one…

If I could have Apparated across the cavern I would have, but ancient magic swirled overhead - magic of Atlantis, of the Before Folk, the Old Ones, the Fae - forbidding such tricks as Apparation.

“Just get it over with, Potter,” I whispered, glancing up at the roiling fog coating the ceiling. The specks of starlight blinked down at me, malevolent and cold, malicious and unforgiving.

Still, I hesitated. This was the Hall of Illusion, after all.

“You're Harry fucking Potter,” I said, clenching my hand around the handle of my briefcase. “And you've been through this before.”

“The only way back is forward,” my travelling alter-ego said. According to my fraudulent passport, his name was Ethan Rafe. “Do you wonder if Fleur's thinking about you right now? Or Nymphadora? Mmm… ménage a trios, Harry?”

“Dirty bastard.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black. No sense delaying the inevitable.”

I took that first step forward and the starlit mist descended like a cloak of the deepest, darkest midnight, drenching me in my worst memories and the ghosts of my past, present, and future.

The fog fell before my eyes, dimming all light and concealing the nearby pedestal from view. It might as well have been a thousand miles away, for all the good it was to me now. I was surrounded by nothing but black night, and the small pinpricks of light that belonged to magic long since passed from the world.

The first illusion - I had to remember it wasn't real - to appear before me, to solidify within the mist, drawn straight from my own traitorous mind, was that of my father.

“Hello, Harry,” James Potter said, smiling kindly…

Or at least, what would've been kindly, if the flesh on his face hadn't been hollow and pasty, and torn in a dozen small cuts. One of my father's eyes was burst in its socket, a trail of grey jelly leaking down his cheek and onto his bloodied white shirt. His unruly black hair hung matted with blood, flat against his head. There were half a dozen festering burns and oozing gashes criss-crossing his body. He looked as he did when he died - like he'd just gone ten rounds with a certain Dark Lord…

“Hi, dad,” I said, letting out a long slow breath and hating my hands for shaking. You'd think I'd be use to this sort of mindfuck by now, after seeing civilisation fall apart… “I'm back again.”

“You've stumbled upon the road to lost treasures, and the challenges that await you will not be kind.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“You may turn aside thrice and once only, yet the only way back is forward.”

It was like a recorded message, I suppose, using one of the harshest memories the starlight magic in the fog could pull from my mind. No doubt it was cruel, yet to safeguard Atlantis from the unworthy, the architect of the map had put a lot of effort into making it hard.

And once upon a time, a lifetime ago, Voldemort had tortured me with his memory of the night I'd nearly destroyed him, in Godric's Hollow. For months on end he had abused the link that connected us, sending me visions of my parents' murder. This was really what my father had looked like when he died.

Yeah… Voldemort's a wanker. One for the ages.

“Let's hurry this up, dad,” I said. “There's never enough time - we know that better than most, don't we?”

“Walk with me,” James Potter said, dying and dead. He turned and stepped through the mist and I dutifully followed, gritting my teeth and bearing it.

He's just an illusion, I thought, and on the heels of that, This is how he died for you…

“You fail to understand what it is you truly seek, Harry.”

“We've been through all this before,” I replied, waving my burnt hand through the mist and grasping one of the dots of starlight. It was cold… and slipped right through my closed fist. “You're about to tell me that Time encompasses Space, and Atlantis is hidden in time… I already know, old man.”

The illusion of my father frowned, and a particularly vicious gout of blood gushed from his ruined eye socket. “Atlantis is Time encompassed in Space,” he said, and I waved him along. “To seek that which is hidden you must journey through the regret of Atlantia… and the bane of our world. Will you turn aside?”

“No.”

James Potter laughed. “That counts for one, Harry.”

The mist swirled and my father disintegrated before my eyes. My jacket billowed around me as the starlight spun faster and faster, revolving into another familiar figure… the next harsh illusion to guide me on my way.

“Harry Potter - The Boy… Who Lived.”

“Hey, Voldemort, you're looking…” I stumbled for the right world, spinning my hand around as if attempting to snatch it out of the air. “Splendid?”

Lord Voldemort, the bane of my world, stood before me tall and imposing against the darkness of the fog. The starlight seemed to fail about his form, dim and lifeless. His narrow snake-like face festered with brutal, brilliant intelligence and a cold, hungry thirst for my blood.

“Your mind is a terrifying place, Harry Potter. It holds many horrors… myself almost least of all.”

“And yet you're in and out of it all the time,” I said. “Come on then - gimme the chance to turn aside from this foolish quest that will undoubtedly rob me of my sanity and my life.”

“The journey to Atlantis will lead to the wealth and knowledge of the Seven Lands, yet you risk your mind and your life for our folly. Regret will seal your fate.”

“Bothersome, that.”

“Will you turn aside?”

“No.” Never in life.

Voldemort's crimson eyes burned with the fury of my continued existence. “That counts for two, Harry.”

*~*~*~*

Come quickly, listen close - I'm going to share one of life's great secrets. Yes, yes, a secret. And like most dark, hidden things in this world, it is a secret with teeth. It is something we all learn, that we let children discover for themselves, and that haunts us to our grave… and for all I know, beyond.

It is something we work to forget, something that can be forgotten, if we fill our days with enough activity that we're left no time to be alone with our thoughts…

You don't have to hear this, just block your ears and turn away… last chance… Are you sure? Very well:

Regrets are forever.

How many regrets do you have?

One? Two? A few?

Enough to fill a lifetime?

Regrets are forever.

Wounds heal, bones mend, regrets are forever - regrets don't heal, they whisper and dig deep into our souls.

*~*~*~*

The starlit fog churned around me, spinning like a whirlpool faster and faster and sweeping up the edge of my torn suit jacket. The illusion stolen from my head of Voldemort faded, only to be replaced by a third and more horrifying figure…

“My sweet 'Arry, what 'as become of you now?”

Precious Fleur Delacour… ah hell… Sometimes it's Tonks I see at this stage. The nightmares in my head of a time that has not come to pass (yet) were perfect fodder for this dark magic of illusion.

“You're not real,” I said, betrayed only by the shake in my voice. It was real enough. Real enough that I could smell the burnt flesh that covered most of Fleur's beautiful body.

Fleur stood before me in ragged blue robes, dirtied and bloodied, that barely clung to her frail form. Her gorgeous blond hair had been scorched from her skull, and her silky smooth skin was rough and abrasive, bruised and swollen. One of her eyes bulged, threatening to burst, and half the teeth in her gums had been blasted out of her mouth by the heat that had claimed her life.

Once upon a time, this horror had been real.

Fleur had died in my arms as I held her in the smouldering pit of fire that Voldemort had made of those who had dared to stand against him - my friends, my allies, my lover. I held her and burned alive. Three guesses what caused the greater pain, but you'll only need one…

“My, my, 'Arry, you are blushing!”

My face was red - red with raw anger. Anger at Voldemort, at myself, at the future-memories, at this fucking mind-fog. “Speak your piece and ask me to turn aside,” I snarled.

“You are angry?”

“I care for you… and this is what happens. I destroy your life.” I paused. This isn't real. You don't have to justify yourself to an illusion… it's only responding to your emotion. “And yet, I keep coming back… don't ask me why. I'm young and selfish.”

The magic in this hall of illusions didn't know how to respond to that, so it continued its spiel to get me to turn aside. I suppose this was like one of those tests that judged me pure of heart or some such shit.

“There is naught but regret in the heart of Atlantis, traveller, and the folly of greed and arrogance. Regret is forever.”

Now that was a truth I'd learned before. “I know, I know, sweet Fleur, yet Voldemort is already well on his way there, whether he knows it or not, thanks to a loophole in the whole 'pure' soul thing, so I have to go again…”

“'Arry Potter, will you turn aside?”

“No.”

Fleur smiled. It was terrible. “That counts for three - once more for all.”

I sighed as she disintegrated into so much ash and dust in the mist. “Alright, bring him on…”

The mist swirled about me a final time, howling in my ears and running me through with cold sparks of starlight. It had shown me nightmares of my past, my present, and mayhap all wrapped up in a glimpse of the future - what could be left?

A pale figure emerged from the dark fog, whole and unharmed, eyes burning with small sparks of red light and an enigmatic grin plastered all over his handsome face.

“Hey, Harry,” I said, looking at my reflection that wasn't quite… right. His suit was immaculate, his unruly black hair stylish.

“Hello,” Harry replied. He was calm and unflappable - yet his eyes were cold.

“You about to tell me that hate leads to the Dark side?”

“Atlantis is a fool's quest,” Harry said to me, and his tone was sad - he knew what I was going to do, what I had done - yet those cold eyes danced with barely suppressed mirth.

“Why the cool special effects to dissuade me?” I said, addressing the sparkling mist as a whole and not just my near-mirror image. “You want me to reclaim the Lost City and tear it from the clutches of the Dark Lord before he unwittingly unleashes Hell's armies. Trust me, I know. No turning aside now.”

Harry tilted his head and gazed at me without blinking. It was more than a little unnerving, but hell, what wasn't in my life? Those small pinpricks of crimson light burning deep within my counterpart's eyes only added to the discomfort. I wasn't as far gone as that.

“You will be,” Harry said to me. “You know it, you've felt it before. The lust for power - you could own the world yourself, if not for the Dark Lord. It is a stain on your mind and your soul.”

“Get out of my head,” I said, and quite reasonably I thought.

“Turn aside, Harry,” the illusion said, near-begging me - yet his damned eyes still laughed through the frost. He wasn't asking me, he was telling me. “Turn aside.”

“And then what?” I asked, almost genuinely curious. There was no turning aside, no going back, not even into death. Not now not ever.

Harry shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “This doesn't have to be your world. Time was you-”

“Time, time, time… don't speak to me of time. Hurry it along, I have places to be.”

“Very well. On your head be it.” He began to laugh much like the mimicry of James Potter had. “Will you turn aside?”

“And forsake all the fame and fortune? I think not. No.”

Harry smiled, baring his teeth. “Four times and be damned to you, Harry Potter.”

“And you, you handsome devil.” Was I making the same old mistakes in new and exciting ways yet again? Maybe yes, maybe no…

The starlight-fog began to vanish as if it were smoke in the wind, taking the darker reflection of myself with it. The silver sparks of light faded to nothing and the cool icy cavern came back into focus, although the only source of light was dwindling fast.

“Lumos,” I whispered, holding my wand before me in my sore hand. A thick beam of light shot out of the tip and hit the ceiling, highlighting in impressive turquoise-blue the sheets of wavy ice that covered the rocky cave.

The starlit fog disappeared entirely, diminished to nothing, as if it never was. I found myself at the foot of the old stone steps that led up to the pedestal I'd noticed upon my arrival to this house of smoke and mirrors.

Not wanting to dilly-dally (yeah, I said dilly-dally) I hopped up the steps, which the ice did not touch, although it would claim the pedestal entirely now that the magical fog had been exhausted, its millennia-old task of trying to dissuade a weary traveller from the path to Atlantis spent.

At the top of the steps was a shaft of flat stone that held a chest similar to the one I'd discovered deep, deep below the Magnus Fontis, a chest that had held the Time-Turner around my neck and the portkey that had brought me to this cavern of ice and fog. I stepped out onto the raised pillar, my head nearly brushing the ceiling, and knelt before the chest.

The wood was cool and near-petrified, and the lid splintered and crumbled in my hands as I removed it and beheld the treasure within. For well over three thousand years this chest had been hidden from the world, hiding secrets of a time remembered only as myth. No matter how many times I did it, and this was definitely not the first, I felt apprehensive and a little nervous as I became part of a game that had already destroyed the world once before.

“A long, long time ago,” I whispered, and bit my tongue.

My hands shook, and not just from the cold, as I removed a leather-bound manuscript from the base of the archaic chest.

It was all that was in the chest, and yet it was quite possibly half of one of the most important books ever written. I held it carefully flat on my hand, a sheaf of parchments about an inch thick and bound in thin leather, sealed with that ancient symbol of eternity - the mark of Atlantis. Unlike the chest, this book had the strongest preservation charms in the world fused into its being - I don't doubt that it could sit in a pool of burning dragon's fire for hours and come out unscathed. Still, I handled it carefully. It was half of something very precious.

When I say half of one book, I mean to say that this document, that someone had gone to all the trouble of burying under thousands and thousands upon thousands of tonnes of mountain in Nepal, was the cipher-key to a second manuscript that had been discovered some six hundred years ago, and was currently gathering dust in the United States of America - which was on my list of worldwide stops.

I opened my magically-expanded briefcase and made some room, folding up the Invisibility Cloak properly and stacking all the fraudulent documents and various pieces of new clothing (that had survived the waterfall-incident in Tivoli) I'd bought with Fleur in Carcassonne to one side, and the bundles of Muggle bank notes in the middle.

There, that made enough room.

I placed my newly acquired leather-bound key to the Voynich Manuscript, to the wondrous world that had swallowed Atlantis whole, in the small gap left and grappled with the clasp for a moment to force the damned thing shut.

I need some living space, I thought. The briefcase was fit-to-burst. I couldn't spend the next few days living out of it. But where could I go that wouldn't be expected? 

I hadn't forgotten about Tweedledum and Tweedledee - the unexplained demons that had succeeded in killing me (and Fleur) in Diagon Alley, and tried again just yesterday evening in Tivoli. Heh, it felt like weeks ago. It had been a long day in Rome today… They had known where to find me twice, as had the woman Dumbledore called a goddess, Saturnia.

A large part of me wanted to head straight back to France and to Fleur's family home in the countryside. An equally large part felt a strong pull back to England and the Order of the Phoenix, to one particular metamorphing guardian in particular. But I had a feeling both of these options wouldn't remain hidden and safe for long, especially for the ladies.

If Tweedledum and Tweedledee knew as much as I had to assume they did, then they'd find me if I settled down for too long in one place…

And if they don't find you…? A gentle voice in my head teased the reluctant thought out of me. If they don't find me they might call on Fleur or Tonks anyway, or even Ron and Hermione, the Burrow, to see if you've gone to ground…

Fuck but it was cold and dark in this empty cavern.

I couldn't ignore the hollow truth in my thoughts.

I glanced at my watch, accounting for the hour I'd travelled back in time with the Time-Turner in the Magnus Fontis, it was late afternoon now. 16:33 and fifty-five seconds. I was hungry and in need of a shower.

What to do? What to do?

If I went somewhere unexpected from here, it would put most of my close friends at risk. Was the risk acceptable, given the ferocity of these sword-wielding demons? No, no it wasn't - not even close. They'd stab first and ask questions later. The consequence, and the likelihood, was far too high. I didn't want to think it may have already been too late.

No, fuck it - I had to stick to plan as I'd played it out so many times before. I'd beaten these arsehole demons once already, whatever the hell they were. If they came knocking again I'd mess them up just as bad.

It was a good decision, and made me the most likely target. Good then. I was hoping to feel a surge of courage and heroism and that kind of crap, but I just felt cold… cold and a little lonely. Heh, that was odd - was I lonely?

I looked around the icy cavern a final time. It was completely dark save for the small circle of light from my wand that covered most of the pedestal. I was on an island surrounded by cold nothingness. I could've been anywhere - anywhere, anywhen, or any world.

“Maybe yes,” I whispered. “Maybe no…”

Ah hell.

With the starlit fog gone the anti-Apparation magic had faded as well, and I took a deep breath before disappearing without a sound, briefcase and all. I was heading somewhere familiar, somewhere with good club sandwiches, good cigars, and beer on tap.

Somewhere I was likely to be expected.

I Apparated illegally across international borders, using my little trick to avoid the security wards and check-in terminals in the half a dozen or so countries between me and my destination. Didn't want the goblins tracking me down so soon… or any other authority for that matter. Roughly eleven hours ago I'd left this part of the world, the hotel I'd stayed in last night, and Apparated to Rome to meet Dumbledore and gain entry to the Great Library.

Now I was back.

Early twilight had descended over the Italian Peninsula, as I appeared without a sound in the warm gardens of the Latium hotel in Tivoli, out of sight and under the rustling branches of a heavy oak tree.

I looked and felt a little worse for the wear - my fine suit torn and dirty from wrestling with a monster of shadow and bone - and was looking forward to beer and meat, maybe a curry, and some heavy cigars. It had been a long, long day.

The fat sun sinking towards the horizon was warm and inviting, and I stood for a moment in the light shaking the cold and the dark out of my mind and body. It was good to be out in the open air after spending the last handful of hours deep underground in Rome and Nepal.

The Latium was busy this evening as I stepped briskly through the gardens, already planning on getting a good night's sleep. Tomorrow was Thursday, after all, and Fleur had invited me back to her house for afternoon tea. What kind of time-travelling gentleman would I be to turn her down?

Cars were pulling up in the driveway and people, rich tourists, were getting out and taking advantage of the valet service as I limped across the drive and headed toward the main glass doors of the pricy hotel, my briefcase clutched firmly in my right hand. I kept an eye out for any trouble, and my wand poking out of my pocket, just waiting to be drawn.

I reached the door at the same moment as a stunningly beautiful brunette in a tight-fitting red dress and black nylon stockings, complete with a pair of high heels. The doorman was busy arguing with one of the clerks about a trolley full of baggage so I stepped ahead of the young lady in red and held the door for her.

“After you,” I said, with a smile full of charm.

“Mmm… thank you.” She returned my smile, then took a look at my tarnished suit, and thought better of it. I guess that's what you get for trying to save the world. Maybe if I showed her my wand…

I had looked out of place last night when I'd entered the lobby of the Latium soaking wet from my fight with Tweedledum and Tweedledee above the Falls of Tivoli, and I looked out of place again as I entered the hotel a second time, dirtied and a little bloodied, looking like I'd been mugged or worse.

The clerk on duty behind the desk was the same man who had sold me his watch that morning. He'd gotten a good deal at five hundred dollars, American, as well. Needless to say he recognised me, his eyes widening as he took in my dishevelled appearance.

“Mr. Rafe!” he exclaimed. “We did not expect to see you back. Are you well?”

“Got into a bit of a fight, I'm afraid,” I said, brushing at the dirty cuffs of my jacket. “But you should see the other guy - nothing left but a pile of broken bones.”

“Sh-shall I call for a tailor?”

I laughed. “No thanks… Robert.” His name tag reflected the high electric lights overhead. “Just after a room for the next few days, something looking out at the waterfalls, if at all possible.” It wouldn't do to keep coming and going out of necessity, I could rent the room for a week or two, just in case.

“Of course, sir.”

“Good man. Thanks again for the watch - knowing the time is important to me.”

“Ah, you paid me far too much-”

“Nonsense - I've paid a helluva lot more for Time, believe-you-me.” He handed me an electronic swipe card for Room 234. “Stay out of trouble, Rob.”

Heh, if only I could've talked circles around the woman in the red dress. Something about her had been very appealing. I sighed, heading over to the lifts… Oh, to be young again. T'was a long lonely night ahead, but maybe that was for the best. She had killer legs though.

Up in my room I shrugged off my jacket and ordered some room service. Half a cow grilled well-done, smothered with mushroom gravy, as well as a six-pack of beer and two clipped cigars. I stood marvelling at the wonder that was room service for a minute, caught up in memories of the past, of the possible future, where food was so scarce that I'd eaten fucking wild dog.

Good times.

Then I remembered that I was fifteen-nearly-sixteen, and here to make sure that the future Fate had planned could go screw itself. Things were going to be different this time… I could feel it.

Before anything else I stripped down bare-arse and jumped in the shower. After the cold day underground I'd just had I turned the water on near-blisteringly hot. Heh, with food and beer on the way, this could almost be called living. I washed the day's grime away, being careful around the crescent of silvery scar-flesh over my heart from a wound that had followed my soul through time itself. It was still tender, raw, and a little itchy. Those demon-bastards were something new, that much was certain.

Dinner was a quiet affair. I ate my steak and drank my beer at the fine oak desk beneath the room's large double-window, looking out and up into the majestic Falls of Tivoli as true twilight claimed the sky, the sun setting orange and heavy to the west. I wore only a large fluffy white bath towel, save for the Time-Turner around my neck and the Ring of Concealment, being short on clothing that wasn't torn and filthy.

I had planned to look at the manuscript I'd removed from the heart of Mt. Everest, planned to go over it and refresh my fuzzy memory, yet the fatigue of the day hung leaden like the weight of the whole world upon my shoulders. The cigar smoke made me drowsy.

I fell asleep a little before seven, sprawled upon the large bed, with one hand resting over my silver, time-travelling demonic scar almost protectively.

*~*~*~*

Oh they whisper… whisper to us late at night, when we're alone. Some of you will be world-weary enough to understand, probably with a stab of raw pain, what I'm saying. The rest of you are probably still too young and wide-eyed to know the sting of regret. I don't envy you the future, though a word of advice…

Take the risk. Try, try, try. Ask that pretty girl out, while you can, laugh alone in a crowd, tell a joke, speak in front of hundreds of people, try to walk on water, to touch the moon - and to fight, if you have to, always and forever that..

The moral of the story? Never back down, never let them see you cry. Trying, whether you succeed or fail, is the only way we can live with ourselves through the regrets that can't be avoided.

And there you have it - try not to think too hard on regret, because it brings nothing but unhappiness. Heh, do you wish you had turned away and blocked your ears? Have I left you with Regret? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

It'll fade to the back of your mind, don't worry about that. Go outside, read a book, walk the dog - forget.

T'is for the best.

At the end of the day we all have an Atlantis of our own to find - we just go about it in different ways, yet all of those Ways share the same twilit sky.

*~*~*~*

BOOM!

FUCK!

They burst in through the double-window sometime after midnight, with the constellations of the early hours twinkling in the background behind them above the twin-waterfalls of Tivoli.

The concussive blast from whatever magic these creatures commanded shattered the window in an impressive display of electric-blue lightning and orange fire, and sent me hurtling arse-over-head across the bed and onto the floor, a rain of sharp glass and splintered wood pouring down upon me.

Needless to say, I was startled awake and on my feet half a heartbeat later, lunging for my wand on the bedside table as the bath towel fell from my waist and I faced both my attackers with flickers of reflected flame in my eyes, as naked as the day I was born.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee, or at least two look-alikes, stood on the desk where I'd enjoyed my dinner, flames licking at the oak and already burning across the walls and carpet.

“Well hello, boys,” I snarled, gripping my wand hard. They hadn't even bothered with a human façade this time…

Both demons folded identical pairs of near-transparent, rotten wings into the thick hide on their backs. The grey and veiny skin around their mouths was pulled taut across two rows of sharp fangs, dripping viscous yellow pus that stank to high-heaven from all the way across the room.

“Your betrayal ends tonight, Harry Potter,” Tweedledum said, its voice worse than nails on a chalkboard, running down my spine like the cold, clammy fingers of a corpse.

I scoffed - I'd wiped the floor with these demonic dipshits night before last. “You know, I was having a really nice dream about a certain flexible metamorphmagus, and you just done gone and ruined that. A lesser man would be burning you to fucking ash right now!”

“IT WILL NO LONGER STAND!” Tweedledee roared, its grip tightening around the familiar sword it carried. Hilt wrapped in leather, the blade sharp, dark, and cruelly curved, and imbued with unknown magical strengths. I'd burnt a layer of flesh of my hand the other day, touching a sword like that.

“Calm down,” I said reasonably, keeping my wand trained between the two creatures and a blasting curse on the tip of my tongue. Smoke was beginning to gather in the air as the flames from their abrupt arrival began to take a good hold. “What are you? Who sent you?”

The two pairs of eyes, lifeless black orbs, stared at me with what could have been mirth, if the matching grins stretching their jaws even wider were any indication, and small spirals of silver light began to glow within those same orbs.

“We were sent by one who has taken you seriously, Harry Potter.”

I took a few slow steps to the left, away from the corner of the room, towards my briefcase resting before the foot of the bed. Both demons tensed as if they were about to strike as I moved. I kicked the briefcase, full of my worldly belongings and the precious manuscript, back towards the door, never taking my eyes from the intruders.

“Give me a name so I know who to track down and gut like a fish!”

“We were sent by He who has judged you accountable, Time-Warrior.”

I sighed. “You know what? I don't even care-AMOS CRI!” I brandished my wand like a whip and sent a barrage of sharp arrows…

A stream of faint blue sparks spewed out of the tip of my wand, about as dangerous as a day-old kitten, disappearing to nothing before they hit the floor. What the hell?

Tweedledum and Tweedledee simply looked at me, both of them making a funny noise in the backs of their throats like a rake dragged across gravel - they were bloody laughing!

“We do not underestimate you again, Harry Potter.”

“REDUCTO!” I cried, going for something simple but effective, hoping to blast that burning desk right out from under the laughing sons of bitches.

All the fury my wand unleashed amounted to less than the most pathetic Muggle firework. A dozen red sparks that didn't even disturb the air. Oh shit, I was in trouble.

“Your power is severed,” Tweedledee gloated, pointing its sword straight at my heart and eliciting a fierce jolt of pain from the silvery scar crossing over it. “Mortal magic is easily disposed of in our pres-”

The smoke finally triggered the fire alarms and the sprinklers overhead burst to life in a rain of cold water accompanied by a whining siren as ear-piercing as a high, screeching whistle.

I saw my chance and took it. I turned and ran at the door, diving down to pick up my briefcase as I grasped the handle and hurled myself into the hallway, dripping wet from the sprinkler system and still extremely naked.

Anticipating the worst I stayed low, and it saved my life as from within the room shrieks that drowned out even the fire alarm rose in untamed fury, and the same bolts of blue-fire that had torn my window from its frame punched through the wall in a spray of plaster and wood, striking with the ferocity of a lightning storm.

Heh, Tweedledum and Tweedledee were going for the kill - sending bolts of raw energy pounding through the wall, settling alight the hallway and blowing various pieces of furniture, flower vases, and hanging paintings to bits. The corridor outside my room quickly became a death-trap.

I scuttled across the carpeted floor on my elbows and knees, wand in one hand briefcase in the other. A steady rain from the sprinklers chilled my bare skin as bolt after bolt of sizzling electric death threatened to run me through. Amazingly, miraculously, I avoided dying by sheer luck alone, and rose shakily to my feet, having cleared the edge of my room.

What's the plan, Harry?  I thought quickly, running through my options. Somehow, impossibly, these arseholes are blocking my magic. Um… Plan B! Fucking run!

I took a second to concentrate and then Apparated-

SWEET MERLIN, DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!

Nothing happened. Apparation was as blocked as my spellwork. I might as well have been a Muggle, for all the good magic was to me at the moment. I tried to Apparate again, to the same result, and then turned and ran through the rain of fire sprinklers that were attempting to subdue the rising orange-blue flames.

Other hotel guests were emerging from their rooms, blurry eyes heavy with sleep opened up wide as I ran past naked. I was about halfway down the corridor towards the elevators when the door and wall to my room (complete with a full mini-bar I hadn't even touched) simply exploded in a deadly barrage of flying plaster and wood, and two creatures that belonged to Hell itself appeared from within the dust and the flames, wailing for my head.

Still running, I aimed a shot over my shoulder and fired a bone-shattering hex that rolled off my tongue as if I'd known it my whole life. Damn future-memories. It was a poor choice, as I didn't even know if these bastard demons had bones, yet I needn't have bothered, as the magic fizzled and died before it even left my wand.

In all my years, after all I'd seen, this was something new. Five minutes ago I would have said it was impossible, cutting off my magic without taking away my wand. Yet here I was, defenceless and running bare-arse for my life.

Defenceless, maybe, a small voice whispered in my mind, in beat with the unceasing headache, but powerless, Harry? Not you. Never in life. All that's happened is they've taken your wand away - work from there.

I reached the end of the hallway and slammed my fist into the call button for the elevator, the thin chain of the Time-Turner around my neck bouncing back and forth.

It took a second for that to click over in my mind. The Time-Turner!

I didn't hesitate, flicking the tiny sparkling hourglass back an hour, confident and sure that-

Sweet fuck all happened. How could they DO this?

The only way I was travelling through time was if I died, and started this whole messed up adventure all over again. Yet I no longer knew what the consequences of that would be - would it kill me? It hurt more every time, my eyes bled, could I manage it again? No, I had to assume this was my last chance…

And I didn't want to have to remember dying again.

I ducked as the demons raised their swords towards me and blue fire curled around the dark blades before erupting in half a dozen streaks of vicious, crackling blue power, tearing apart the hallway to reach me at its far end. The wide-eyed hotel guests were either screaming or stood stock-still in shock. The explosions and lances of hot fire that rent the air between me and the demons had them diving back into their rooms, heading for cover, ignoring the fire alarm and the need to evacuate.

The elevator doors behind me binged open as the wild torrents of electric-flame screamed down the hall, and I jumped back between the opening-doors, scanning for the button panel before they opened fully and jammed the tip of my wand against the button with the two inward-facing arrows, closing the doors again.

I was a fraction too slow, and two well-aimed bolts of power struck between the narrow gap in the doors, exploding against the back of the lift and blasting a hole through into the darkness of the shaft beyond. If I'd still been standing they would've taken me through the neck and heart.

The button for the ground floor was already aglow as the lift jerked into motion downwards, and the heavy sound of things exploding back on the burning floor I'd just abandoned became muffled and ominous.

I stood up, took a deep breath, and noticed that I wasn't alone in the lift. I let my deep breath out slowly, staring at the beautiful lady in the red dress that I'd held the door for outside the hotel only a few hours ago. The woman stared at me, at the smouldering holes in the back of the lift, and then back at me, down at my…

I was dripping wet, shivering, bleeding from half a dozen small cuts that I could see, and there was a crack in the left lens of my glasses. Through my left eye the world looked slightly fractured.

“Um… it's cold out,” I said, feeling the need to defend 'little Harry' in my state of undress. Sounds of wrenching metal echoed up above in the elevator shaft.

Spots of colour appeared high in the woman's cheeks. She clutched her designer handbag and looked as if she were ready to club me to death with it if I so much as moved.

“Well, is this awkward, or what?” I strategically held my briefcase in front of myself, trying to save as much embarrassment as I could. Was that Hey Jude playing over the speakers in the elevator, more than a little drowned out by the fire alarm? Something important was nagging at me, something out of place… “My name's Harry… and I'm just trying to save the world…”

The lady in red was saved from answering the naked lunatic opposite her as it was at that moment that the entire elevator lurched to the right, slamming us both against the wall as the heavy whip-crack of taut cable snapping and unravelling lashed above our heads.

“Aw, hell…” I whispered, a moment before the elevator cable gave way and the box I was in began to plummet down the empty shaft towards the ground floor.

The fall was short and ended quite abruptly, as the woman next to me screamed loud enough to wake the dead. We fell for maybe three storeys, jostled around like a Quaffle, bouncing off the walls and hitting the base of the shaft hard enough to jar my shoulder numb.

Fucking time-demons.

The doors to the ground floor binged open, and I extracted myself from around the lady in red, who was still screaming hysterically, and crawled out of the lift as half a tonne of steel cable crashed down upon it. The woman scampered out after me, shaken and out of sorts, tears running down her face. Just another innocent bystander scarred for life.

“STILL ALIVE DOWN HERE!” I shouted back up the shaft and at the ceiling, incensed and furious. I strode forward, taking a chance and working on a theory, brandishing my wand before me and up at the cracked roof of the lift. “INCENDIOS GRATA!”

A thick column of flame as hot as the fucking sun burst from the tip of my wand and expanded, punching through the roof of the lift and burning, burning through cable and air and igniting the shaft with all the fires of hell.

Heh, so those bastard things did have to be fairly close to cut me off from my magic. I kept my wand burning, kept the elevator shaft alive with an inferno of flame hot enough to melt metal. Drips and drabs of the steel cable fell through the fires and pooled in the bottom of the ruined lift.

All the while and through the anger, my mind was racing. How had they found me? Sure, I'd gone someplace arguably visible and expected, but this was quick work. I was either being followed, somehow, from Rome to Nepal and back again, or there was some other means, magical means, being employed to track me.

Two curved blades with hilts aflame fell through the base of my fire, as my wand grew painfully hot in my hand. They clanged against the pool of solidifying metal at my feet, stuck fast, and the acrid aroma of burnt flesh, poisoned flesh, seared my nostrils and made me gag.

Fuck yes, I'd burnt the bastard demons to ash as they'd tried to follow me down the elevator shaft. They were no match for me at all when I had my magic locked and loaded, ready to do some real damage.

I cut off the fire spell and let my arm fall to my side. My shoulder was aching something fierce from the impact in the lift. At least I'd held onto my briefcase - losing that, losing the manuscript… well, the only other way to Atlantis required something I was unable to give, but that Voldemort had relinquished time and time again…

“Harry two, time-demons one,” I snarled, turning away from the burning shaft and toward the hotel lobby.

The lady in red's small dagger took me just beneath my ribs on the left side of my chest. I felt the cool metal ricocheting off my lower ribcage, and digging a deep furrow about two inches across.

I gasped in surprise, in confusion, in sheer fucking pain.

My blood, hot and sticky, flowed down the elegant knife in her perfectly manicured hand and across her fingernails. A steady trickle ran in rivulets over her soft skin and down her arm, as I stood motionless and caught, bent to the side on reflex alone, trying to edge the knife out of my flesh. I managed to keep hold of my wand, but the briefcase fell to the floor at my feet.

“Hush, hush, sweet Harry,” the lady in red said, her mouth smiling and her blue eyes truly compassionate. She no longer looked like an innocent bystander, and I was a fool to have been so easily taken in. “It's okay, it's okay…”

She leaned in close. I caught the light scent of her fragrance, the smell of her long golden-brown hair. Her lips, naturally full and red, pressed against mine, which had drained of all colour, in a warm, moist embrace that only served to dig the dagger half an inch deeper. I moaned, yet cold surprise hit me harder than the pain of the knife.

Breaking the kiss, the lady in red slipped the knife out of me and my legs buckled, failed of all strength, and I fell back onto the smooth velvet carpet set upon the marble lobby of the hotel. I lifted my head, glanced down at my left side. Everything was far too crimson.

This is… what the fu-?

I sucked in a harsh breath, which forced a gout of fresh blood gushing from the wound in my side, and looked up at the stunning brunette who had just stabbed me and kissed me in the same breath.

“Are you chasing a girl or a dream tonight, Harry?”

Oh. Now that was familiar…

Four or so pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “Saturnia,” I growled, taking short, quick breaths. “Unrivalled beauty, my arse, Dumbledore…”

The old woman I'd met in the fish markets of Rome early yesterday, the old blind woman who had appeared only to me, and who had been playing Hey Jude from a broken radio. An old woman who had known where I was going to be, who had mocked me with hints of time, and old woman who was not so old anymore. Hey Jude had been playing in the goddamn lift…

“You're a smart boy,” Saturnia said, smiling, licking her lips. “And you taste older than you look.”

“Please tell me you're not a demon under that cheap hooker's dress,” I replied, trying to keep my tone even through the railroad spike of pain that had been driven into my side.

Saturnia giggled. “I am a woman, Harry Potter.” She moved around my head to my other side, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the carpet, towards my briefcase. I followed her with my eyes, every curve. “A woman of considerable power beyond your, forgive me, meagre comprehension.”

The lobby wasn't abandoned, there were people bursting out of the main entrance and the fire escape doors, a steady stream of guests had taken the stairs since the lift was out of order, yet no one seemed inclined to come to my aid - no one even really looked at me, or at the lady in red above me. Their eyes were drawn to the smouldering remains of the elevator, but not to what lay before it. Some power, some magic this woman held, hid us from sight as I bled to death.

“You stabbed me.”

“Yes. I needed your blood.” She held up the small knife that had pierced my side, smiling all the while, and slipped it into her black purse.

“It was a mistake.”

“Is that a threat, Harry?”

I laughed and turned my head away, looked down at the wound in my side, and laughed some more, even though it hurt like all hell.

Saturnia placed her foot under my chin, gently turning my head back to meet her eyes. “I said, is that a threat, Harry Potter?”

She stroked my cheek with her shoe - I was tempted to bite her. “Yes, ma'am, that was a threat - that was a fucking promise.”

Saturnia laughed and clapped her hands together, delighted. “Here I have you dead to rights, Harry, naked and smeared with your life's blood, and yet you remain totally defiant. Oh, how wonderful, I told him you were special.”

“Told who?” I asked. Can't be Voldemort…

She quirked a single perfect eyebrow at me. Her beauty was all too perfect. If she was human then I was Dorothy Gale from Kansas, just looking for a way home. “One who has taken you seriously, Harry.”

Now that rang true with what the time-demons had said up in my room. “You sent Tweedledum and Tweedledee to coax me out of my room.” She looked perplexed. “Those sword-wielding, stab-happy, pieces of shit I just burned to ash.”

“Ah, yes, those creatures have their uses… though I do not command them, Harry. I would not lower my standards so far. After all, young men such as yourself are so easily persuaded by other, far more enjoyable means.”

I thought about that for a moment, about how gorgeous this woman who had stabbed me was, and was inclined to agree. Still… the bitch had stabbed me. “If you're talking about that impressive rack barely concealed beneath your dress, well I have to say I'd rather dance with the demons, lady.”

Saturnia tsked. “Tut, tut, Harry, just for that, I'm afraid that no magical charms or potions will be able to heal that wound I gave you. No, no… it will have to fix itself the old fashioned way, the more painful way. A gentle reminder of me, and our kiss, to keep with you for the next few weeks.”

Saturnia knelt down next to me on her knees and brushed her hand over my side, sending a sharper and clearer burst of pain over the hot, sizzling wound.

“You… you're not going to kill me?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Hmm… no. I was tasked to, you're supposed to die, Harry, don't get me wrong, yet you'll live for now, provided you take care of that wound properly.” She smiled, her lips full and inviting as she placed them on my cheek. “Yet you and I both know, do we not, that death means nothing to you, save the turning back of the clock to the day before yesterday. You will die, Harry, that much is certain, but this has only just begun…”

I struggled to sit up, grinning and bearing the shots of pure pain from my side right up through my chest. Saturnia did not try and stop me - indeed, she put a hand under my back and helped me steady myself.

“There we are - such a brave boy.” She stroked her fingers through my hair. “A boy any mother could be proud of. So brave, so selfless time and time again…”

I recoiled from her touch as if kicked in the balls. I still clutched my wand in a death-grip and raised it between us, narrowing my eyes and daring her to touch me again.

“Mmm… boys and their toys.” Saturnia rose to her feet and stepped back from me. “A pity we can't spend more time together, Harry. Think of me, will you, as I'll be thinking of you, my brave, lonely, Time-Warrior.”

“Why did you need my blood?” I asked, sensing our abrupt meeting was coming to an end.

“Now, Harry, a girl's got to have some secrets.”

“Tell me!” I growled, wincing at the fire in my side.

Saturnia ignored me, her eyes fastened to my chest as it rose and fell in short, ragged breaths. More accurately, she was staring as if fascinated by the tiny sparkling hourglass that hung from the chain around my neck. The Time-Turner.

“Such a precious little thing,” she whispered, raising her perfect hand, stained red with my blood. The Time-Turner rose as well, attracted like iron to a magnet, the chain straining against my neck, struggling to reach the lady in the red dress… “You mortals and your concept of time - this device is simply astonishing.”

And it's mine! “Look a little further down, just below my waist, you'll see something astonishing,” I growled.

Saturnia laughed. “Some other time, Harry, should you survive.” Her gaze never left the Time-Turner. “An old design, of an age long since faded from the world, yet superbly crafted. With just a few tweaks here and there…” Silver light sparkled between her bloodstained fingers and I felt the Time-Turner grow warm. “Ah, perfect, the river flows both ways.”

“W-what?”

“Be safe, Harry, until we meet again - and we will, before the end.” Saturnia began to slowly twirl her finger clockwise in the air, as if drawing an invisible circle.

“What did you-?”

The tiny silver hourglass of my Time-Turner mimicked her finger movements and began to move on its swivel… The sands of time began to turn… Only they were turning the wrong way.

“Shit,” I said, and reached a bloodied hand out for my briefcase, pulling it in close just as the world dissolved around me, and I travelled through time.

The burning hotel, the dark lobby carpet stained with my blood, and the woman that Dumbledore said was a goddess, all disappeared under a blur of colours and shapes rushing past me below a fierce, howling wind.

It was different than before - different from normal. It was nauseating, and lasted longer than a handful of seconds. Half a minute passed and I was on the verge of throwing up my exquisite steak dinner when the world reasserted itself, and I found myself exactly where I was before.

Only a moment ago I had been sitting naked in a hotel that had been burning down. Now I sat naked in a hotel that had burnt down.

The carpet that had been beneath me, soaking up my blood, was less than ash, and the marble beneath that was still warm. The walls were scorched of all colours, the lamps and chandeliers fused lumps of glass and crystal, the air was riddled with ash and the warm, bitter taste of smoke and burnt plastic suffused the hotel lobby.

The Time-Turner had brought me forward in time by at least a handful of hours. I glanced over at the main entrance of the hotel, the fire had spread even that far, and through the soot-darkened windows that hung shattered in their frames, I glimpsed strong daylight. At least seven or eight hours had gone by, possibly more.

Holy hell - I eyed the Time-Turner with suspicion, wary of whatever Saturnia might have done.

After a moment I attempted to stand up, yet the knife wound in my side was still fresh and raw, and it was a hell of an effort on my part, but I gained my feet, cringing at the fresh rush of warmth that trickled down my side. The air was so dry, yet my hair was still wet from the drenching I'd received from the sprinkler system. I felt out of sorts, I felt as if the whole world, reality, had skipped a beat without me - which in a way I suppose it had.

“Oi! Voi!” A muffled Italian shout. “Figlio!”

I looked up sharply and caught sight of three men, three fire-fighters dressed in heavy fluorescent-yellow jackets and gas masks, hooked up to oxygen tanks over their shoulders. Muggle emergency services. They began to move towards me. One of them had an axe.

It took me about two seconds to decide on a course of action.

Plan A: I could stay and most likely be taken into custody by the Muggle authorities, who would attend to the bleeding wound in my side, and question me about the fire and just what the hell I was doing naked and covered in my own blood inside a hotel that had burned hours ago… That would see my stab wound taken care of by a medical professional, yet I didn't doubt it would leave quite a bit of paperwork about a strange boy with an odd scar on his forehead that would draw the attention of certain people, and goblins, in the magical world.

I couldn't afford that kind of attention, especially from Dumbledore. I was barely surviving as it was… and there was still work to do in this part of the world.

Which left, once again, Plan B: Disappear - Apparate somewhere where I could patch myself up - I knew how, and if Saturnia was to be believed, magic wouldn't heal me anyways… Was there another option? No.

“So be it,” I whispered, and Disapparated in front of three very surprised Muggles, who no doubt thought they'd just seen a ghost.

*~*~*~*

What lies beyond Death, I wonder?

I've died enough times and yet haven't a clue.

Religions create a world beyond death, philosophers speculate of such a place, whilst the rest of us merely hope.

Who knows?

In this time of prayers and last minute memories, as I stand in the wings full of hope that was the wrong hope… who knows?

*~*~*~*

It took a supreme amount of will power and effort to Apparate across the Italian border and into France without attracting the sort of attention that would get me killed by goblins - heh, you're not really living if you can't say that at least once in life.

And Apparating with a knife-wound that had pierced me up under my ribs was not the most comfortable feeling in the world. In fact it was downright fucking agony, and as soon as I appeared I fell to my knees, a short, brief cry of pain escaping my throat.

“Oh that hurts…”

The sun was bright overhead, and since my watch was so much ash back in Italy, I used it to judge the time at around two, maybe closer to three, in the afternoon.

I was kneeling in spongy grass within a luscious meadow in the south of France, dandelions, heath, lavender and juniper surrounded me. A cool breeze caught the loose dandelion bulbs on the air, fresh and light with the natural scent of summer. The whole scene was warm and inviting.

I undid the clasp on my briefcase and dug around in the contents, being careful now not to exert any unnecessary strain on my side. I'd lost a fair amount a blood - approaching dangerous levels. I needed the wound to start clotting so I could fix it up. From the bottom of the briefcase, below the Invisibility Cloak, I had a pair of jeans and a black shirt - all that had survived from my shopping afternoon with Fleur.

The jeans I pulled on with little effort, although I was without socks or shoes. The shirt, thank Merlin, was button-up so I didn't have to try and pull it over my head. I shrugged my arms into the soft cotton and did up a few of the buttons.

“Reparo…” I fixed the crack in my glasses. And there, I was almost presentable, if not for the shirt sticking to the blood on my side and the lack of footwear.

I rose to my feet - a task that was becoming more and more arduous every minute - stifling a grunt of pain, and took in the rest of my surroundings. If I'd gotten the Apparation right, and I had, then the family home of the Delacour's was just beyond the crest of the meadow.

I began to walk, holding my right hand tight against my wound.

There was a commanding view to the south, and I spied the towers of the fortified town of Carcassonne about four or five miles away. I'd bought my fancy suit from there, because Fleur said I'd looked handsome. Below the hill town flowed the Canal du Midi, where Fleur and I had enjoyed a brief lunch after leaving England - only two and a half days ago… heh, busy few days.

I rose over the crest in the meadow and my destination came into view.

I left the fields of flowers and struck upon a country road that would take me all the way to Carcassonne, if I had a mind to follow it. I didn't. I had a mind towards the large manor house, coated in creeping vines, just a stone's throw away.

Fleur's garden path was dusty limestone, and I felt the gentle pull of the wards surrounding the property as I stepped into the garden. Statues and small fountains complete with ornamental bird houses, enclosed in a small, full hedge that kept the massive oak trees on the edge of the land at bay.

What had Fleur said the other day? Oh yeah: “Perhaps you can drop in for a visit - say Thursday afternoon for tea, 'Arry, if you are not busy saving ze wizarding world.”

Nope, certainly not saving the world at the moment. Just getting my arse kicked trying.

I approached the large ornate mahogany door and grasped the brass knocker, thumping it up and down three times to announce my arrival. There was no answer. I waited a minute and knocked again… no answer.

Was this cause for concern?

I thought hard, sifting through my jumbled memories. Through the hazy, fuzzy mess of other lives and unrealised futures. It would be weeks, even months, before my mind could sort them all into any workable order. Still… I had memories of being here before, of coming back for tea on Thursday afternoon. Ah, there we go… I smiled.

It would have been a pleasant walk around the old manor house and through the nice gardens, if not for the numbing, fiery pain in my side. I walked along the side of the house and under the hanging eaves of old oak trees, with trunks as thick as the towers of Hogwarts, and quietly opened and closed a heavy cast-iron gate that swung silently on well-oiled hinges.

Fleur's backyard was basically an extension of the vibrant meadowlands that surrounded the whole house for miles around. Thick wavy grass had been cut into a large oval lawn, complete with various statues of men and women, of animals, with a flare for avian creatures. There was a large swimming pool, the water sparkling and blue, and a fountain in the centre propelling streams of foamy spray high into the air. A chair-swing sat on the decking, looking out to the west and what would probably almost always be an excellent sunset.

In the heart of the garden, on that shaved lawn, lying upon a picnic blanket with her back to me, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder and a thick book between her hands, was Fleur Delacour.

My heart began to beat a little faster - which wasn't good at all for the gaping wound in my side.

I stepped out from under the eaves of the trees and into the warm sun out on the lawn. My footsteps were near-silent as I was without shoes, and as I grew near I felt my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, anxious butterflies in my stomach. Where was my charming bravado now? I circled around to her front so as not to frighten her.

“Hello there, Fleur.”

Fleur glanced up from her book, startled. Yet she recovered quickly. “My, my, 'Arry Potter himself,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her rose-red lips. “He strolls into my garden as if from a fairytale - every young girls dream, no?”

I stopped and admired Fleur in the sun for a moment. She rested gracefully on the chequered picnic blanket, her bare feet and legs shining almost golden-brown to the knee, and the curve of her body only just concealed beneath a floral dress of faded blue roses. And, oh, she was glistening.

Heh, not gonna lie, even slowly bleeding to death I had several impure thoughts. I won't bore you with the details - but yeah, I mean, who wouldn't? Am I right, men?

“Well, I like to think so…” I replied.

“You must not be saving ze world today, 'Arry.”

“I was just thinking that, but I had a… minor setback.”

Fleur had stopped smiling, having noticed the way I was holding myself, my lack of shoes, the tightness around my eyes and the strained, breathlessness of my voice.

“'Arry?” she said, alarmed.

“If I can just use your bathroom, Fleur,” I said, peeling my shirt off my side and lifting it up for her to see the damage. “I need to take care of something.”

Fleur was on her feet before I finished speaking, the colour draining from her face. All at once she looked cold and cruel - and beautiful. Was that the Veela in her, doing that? I thought it might be.

“Merde, 'Arry, there iz much blood! Quickly, to ze house!”

I nodded and began to walk, feeling the strain again in every step. I couldn't persuade enough air into my lungs without sending a lance of pure pain rushing like a band around my whole chest. I hurt pretty bad, but was putting on a brave face…

“What happened to you?”

“Disagreement with… something… in Italy. Got stabbed a bit, is all.”

Fleur winced. She looked ready to try and catch me if I fell. She was so lithe that I reckon we'd both tumble to the ground if she tried. And I really, really did not want to have to get back up again.

Fleur let me in through the backdoor into the kitchen. It was cool inside the house, refreshingly so, and the kitchen smelt of freshly baked bread and milk. I felt comforted already for having come here. I followed Fleur past green marble bench tops and racks of saucepans and hanging vegetables, and out into the main hallway that stretched down through the house to the front door.

The downstairs bathroom was large and ornate. The bathtub was huge, the shower cubicle wide and all the taps and fittings were gilded with what was probably solid gold. A large mirror encased in arches of genuine stone took up most of the far wall, above various wooden cabinets. Everything was very clean, very white.

“No one else home?” I asked.

“Non. My family iz at ze Ministry in Paris for ze weekend.”

“Gabrielle, too?”

“Oui - now take your shirt off.”

I grinned, a dozen sleazy retorts springing to mind, but I was too gosh darn tired. I undid the buttons and slowly slipped out of my shirt, folding it carefully onto the cabinets below the mirror. It was my only shirt, after all, short of Privet Drive…

“Merde, 'Arry. Merde, merde, merde… that iz awful.”

I used the mirror to look at my wound, lifting my left arm as high as I could. The blood had dried across most of my stomach and right around my back, yet fresh rivulets ran down over the waistband of my jeans, which were becoming quite stained as well. The gash itself was about two inches across and curving up towards my heart - the skin above it was red and enflamed.

“Looks pretty bad,” I agreed.

“Wait here, I will get ze healing salves and potions.”

Fleur darted off before I could say anything, her soft footsteps bounding through the house. The potions were worth a try anyway - I wasn't just going to take Saturnia at her word that magic wouldn't be able to heal me. The only other option would hurt like all hell for days.

I dropped my briefcase and turned on the taps in the sink, hot and cold, and soaked a hand towel which I used to clean most of the blood, dried or not, off my side. I worked slowly and with care - there was still a slow trickle of blood from the wound, but it had lessened considerably. I also took the Time-Turner from around my neck and shoved it deep into my jeans pocket - I didn't know if Fleur had noticed it or not, or would even recognise it if she had, but it was a question better left for another time.

Fleur returned two minutes later at a run, her face still pale yet composed, her wand in hand, and a satchel of clinking potion bottles under one arm.

“I owe you one towel,” I said, holding up the once-white hand towel that was now stained a cheery crimson.

“Nonsense, 'Arry,” Fleur replied, zipping open the satchel and quickly removing the contents onto the cabinets. “Here, we 'ave skin-knitting salves and pain-relief potions, numbing powder… Merde, I do not know what should come first!”

I placed my hand on top of hers, smiling calmly. “It's okay, I do - but no need to rush, I'm not about to pass out or die or anything so dramatic. Just stings a bit, is all. If I could have the pain-rel-”

Fleur snatched up a vial of purple potion and popped the cork. I took it from her and knocked it back, always prepared for the worst taste, and it was horrible. The potion crawled down my throat like sour honey, yet I felt it get to work on the raw enflamed fire under my arm almost straight away. Did nothing for my constant headache, but then I hadn't expected it to.

“Right then, that's better,” I said, letting out a low sigh. “Sorry about all this, Fleur.”

“Don't be ridiculous, 'Arry,” she replied. “You are hurt - doing something heroically foolish, no doubt.”

“I lost that nice new suit we bought.”

Fleur found a smile, a little colour returned to her face, lighting her eyes. “You are no longer handsome, I'm afraid.”

I sighed heavily and picked up the skin-knitting salve. If Saturnia's knife had punctured anything vital I wouldn't have made it so far, and I kind of believed her when she said I'd live if I took care of it. There was no internal damage - I wouldn't be walking if there was. The salve was yellow and as thick as cream. I dabbed it on carefully, right over the cut, flinching each time I moved.

“Give that a minute then.”

Almost immediately the salve started to sizzle and I hissed through my teeth. In the mirror the yellow cream bubbled and burned, and in a matter of seconds it dissolved away to nothing. The curve of my wound made it appear as if it were smiling at me. Ah hell…

“What happened?” Fleur clutched at the potion satchel, her knuckles near-white.

“Do you know any healing charms?” I asked slowly. Saturnia… you bitch.

“Oui, a few, but zat salve, 'Arry, should 'ave mended you. There is dark magic in that wound - we need to get you to a hospital. Can you walk to the fireplace?”

“Can't go to a hospital,” I said, shaking my head. “Too many folks of the wrong sort looking for me.”

“Zen what?”

“Can you try a healing charm? Just anything?”

“I do not know enough to seal a wound like that, but a blood clotting spell… this may sting a little.”

I lifted my left arm, giving Fleur a clear shot at the cut. “Be gentle…”

Fleur placed the tip of her wand just above my wound. “Verios,” she whispered, and a clear blue stream of liquid light floated from the tip of her wand and settled over my side. The magic hung there for a moment, just above my skin, and then faded away to nothing.

A steady trickle of blood followed the same path as the rest down to my jeans. The charm hadn't worked, not in the slightest. I picked up the damp towel and dabbed it away.

Fleur looked at the wound and then up into my eyes. “'Arry, that is not natural. What happened to you?”  

Saturnia tsked. “Tut, tut, Harry, just for that, I'm afraid that no magical charms or potions will be able to heal that wound I gave you. No, no… it will have to fix itself the old fashioned way, the more painful way.”

“The wound was cursed,” I said, dreading what I had to do next. “Nothing magical can heal this - it has to be done the old fashioned way, the more painful way. I have to give it time… goddamn poetic irony.”

“What does that mean? Ze Muggle way?” Her eyes widened. Fleur shook her head. “I insist we take you to a hospital, 'Arry.”

I shook my head. “I need some thread, Fleur, the stuff you might use for sewing. Cotton's no good, needs to be something stronger, smoother.”

“You cannot be serious.”

I removed my wand from my back pocket and pointed it at the piece of cork that had stoppered the vial of pain-relief potion. “Origil,” I said, swift and sure, and transfigured the cork into a thin needle with a curved hook at one end - a crude, yet effective imitation of a proper surgical needle.

“I can't possibly stitch your-”

“I'll do it myself, it's okay.” I smiled reassuringly. “Not the first time, probably won't be the last… but I need some thread - nylon would be good, or silk, something artificial like polyester.”

Fleur reluctantly left the bathroom again, looking over her shoulder at me as if I were insane - which might've been a valid concern, but when you had the sort of enemies I had… this was the better way. Less people died when I did things myself - in the beginning anyway, before the world was plunged into war.

I picked up the curved needle, not quite unlike a fishing hook, and pricked my thumb with it, drawing a bead of blood. Oh yeah, it was sharp enough. I cleaned the wound as best I could whilst waiting for Fleur to return.

She came back with a wicker basket of sewing utensils - knitting needles, twine, cord, coloured wool, spare buttons… and thread. Most of it was cotton, worse than useless, and some of the stronger cords had a lot of coloured dye in them, which was bad. There was some good stuff though at the bottom of the basket - navy blue silk thread. Close enough for this work.

“I don't know if I can watch this, 'Arry,” Fleur said. Her beauty was always so composed and untouchable, yet she looked a little sick, contemplating what I was about to do.

“It'll only take five minutes - I'll use some of that numbing powder, if it works.”

I slipped the thread through the eye of the needle. There'd be a little tearing because of that eye, where it bulged, but other than that everything should be fine.

I'd learnt how to do this in the future, more than once. As civilisation crumbled and less and less people resisted the rise of the Dark Lord, trained Healers and healing potions became scarce. I'd learnt a lot from Muggles about surviving during those dark days to come… stitching myself back up after a fight the least of it all.

The numbing powder tingled as it set to work, and work it did - thank Merlin for small mercies. Well, here goes…

I used the mirror instead of straining my neck and dug in from beneath the cut, hooking the needle through my flesh and pulling the long piece of silk thread almost all the way through, allowing for a little slack. It was only mildly discomforting, thanks to the pain-relief potion and the numbing powder.

Fleur excused herself after about half a minute, once I began to pull the severed skin together in a tight stitch, one hand over her mouth. Some people are just squeamish, I guess.

It took a little longer than five minutes, closer to quarter of an hour, as I feared breaking the thread, which was never meant to hold human flesh together, yet soon I had eight little stitches spaced evenly along the knife-wound, tight enough to stem the bleeding. I raised my arm up and down a few times, testing the strength. They'd hold, and I'd have a cool new scar in a week or two.

“There we go then,” I said, discarding the needle and taking a moment to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. I was feeling a little dizzy.

Fleur had been waiting just outside, checking on me every minute or so. She came back in and cleaned up the mess of potions and thread.

“Are you okay, 'Arry?”

I thought about that for a moment. I needed a bandage to wrap around my chest, and some antiseptic cream, disinfectant alcohol, but other than that things were as well as they could be, all things considered. I still had my briefcase, the precious manuscript, the Time-Turner and the Ring of Concealment. All was still going to plan, give or take a few unexplained setbacks…

How had the demons found me? How had Saturnia found me?

And I was with Fleur - who either thought I was incredibly stupid or incredibly brave.

“I'm okay. Just going to take it easy for the next few hours…”

“I should say so!”

“Ha, how have you been, Fleur?”

“Not as busy as you, eet seems.” She picked up my bloodied black shirt and held it over the sink. “Scourgify!”

“Thanks.” I used the cleaning charm on the left leg of my jeans, scrubbing away the blood there, and slipped back into the shirt.

“I'm surprised you didn't faint. Most men 'ave a low tolerance for pain.”

I laughed. “Pain-relief potion, remember? I'll start crying in about an hour when it wears off…” Fleur held my arm as I stood up, taking care not to pop my new stitches.

“Is there anything you need, 'Arry? Water?”

“Ah, well I'm here for afternoon tea - it is Thursday, isn't it?”

Fleur found a smile. “Oui - I did not think to see you back. There is ice-tea in the kitchen. Shall we head out into the sun?”

“Sounds great.” I met her eyes and held them for a moment, searching for something special. “I fear I owe you an explanation or two.”

*~*~*~*

A/N: Phew… there we go. I wrote like 10,000 of these words today, caught in a blaze of writing. Last few days I barely got a sentence out. Feels good to have another chapter down, and to bring another familiar character back into the story, as well as introducing a beautiful and deadly villain that mothers Harry a bit.

Hmm… what do you think? Tear it to pieces, folks. A lot kinda happened but at least we've moved on like a whole day. This story is probably shaping up to cover the whole summer before sixth-year, with the possibility of a sequel if I don't screw this one up and you all stop reading.

Heh, that won't happen, right? Cos' I did good? Let me know in a review,

joe