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“Harry?” Padma said quietly, standing at the end of the hospital bed. Harry seemed to be sleeping, his chest rising and falling weakly. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying. Perhaps the pain was worse than he let on. She felt bad for needing to wake him. “Harry wake up.” She reached out and tapped his leg. He jerked fitfully, but his eyes flickered open. He didn’t speak though, didn’t acknowledge her. He just stared off into space. What had Dumbledore said to him?

“Harry I‘ve been talking to the healers. They‘ve run some more tests.” She licked her lips. “Look, it looks like a few months was actually optimistic. There‘s damage deep down, lots of damage. You need to let them help you now or... or you‘ll die. In a few weeks.”

Harry said nothing, he didn’t even seem to have heard her.

“You won‘t be able to fight Voldemort.” Padma tried a different tack. “I‘m not saying you‘ll have weeks like you‘ve been going all year. You‘ll have weeks in this hospital bed, not able to move, eventually you won‘t even be able to talk. You won‘t be able to kill Voldemort. You won‘t be able to be the chosen one.”

Harry flinched, pain running across his tired face.

“You see Harry, you‘ve got to let them help you.” Padma stepped up to put her hand on Harry’s. “Please?”

“You do what you have to do.” Harry pulled his hand away. He still hadn’t looked at her.

“You‘ll let them help you?” Padma tried not to be put off. “You‘ll take off the evil eye and let them work on you?”

“Yes, why not.” Harry rolled over so he was facing away from her. His breathing stuttered, he sounded like he was holding back tears. Padma backed away, she had got what she came for. The healers would fix Harry’s body. What had happened to his mind? That might take a little longer.

What had Dumbledore said to him...
*


The boy who was once called Harry faded in his mind as the healers entered his room. Bustling around and speaking comforting, empty words. They cleaned him up, washing his arms and chest. They asked him to remove the bracer. He did, letting it fall to the floor with a brassy clatter. The healers shied away from the mark on his arm. Fearful. Why should he care.

They did something that was supposed to numb him. He couldn’t tell the difference. Everything was dulled already. He watched, unable and unwilling to care, as they cut his skin open. His blood seeped out, quickly staunched by a healer. He wished they wouldn’t bother.

A cold gel was swabbed onto his ruined hand. Ruined for what? For the sake of what? All useless. He wished they wouldn’t bother.
*


Draco slapped the sore skin of his arm to try and stay awake. It had been burnt in the battle, but it was fine now. Just enough residual redness and pain to help him stay alert. He swung his weary eyes around the waiting room, all of the marauders were here. Most of them had finally succumbed to sleep, Draco didn’t blame them. It was hard to imagine that the deadly midnight assault on the creature ship had been just last night. They had been worn out, worn down. Draco pinched his arm again. He wondered if there was anywhere he could find some tea. The tea shop was closed but surely the healers had a staff room or something. Maybe he could ask one.

Or maybe he could just fall asleep.

Draco shook his head. Some of them had to be awake when the healers finally stopped working on Harry. He shuddered, they had already been at it for hours. How many... additions.... had Harry made? He glanced around the room again. Everyone seemed to be asleep. Even Ginny, who seemed to have nodded off in the act of pinching herself. They had all been there all night, no one had collected them. He supposed it was only a matter of time before a teacher or an order member came to wrangle them up and drag them back to Hogwarts, where they would no doubt stay. Chained to posts like dogs so they couldn’t run off again.

Draco got wearily to his feet, maybe he could walk some of his tiredness off. He stepped carefully around the prone marauders and stepped up to the door to the ward. Harry’s bed was obscured by curtains but the shadow of the healers were still moving against the surface. As he watched one of them detached and stepped towards the door. Draco stepped away to let him out, hope and dread rising in his stomach.

“Is there any news?” Draco asked.

“Yes, there is.” The healer looked around the room. “Is his family here?”

“Yes.” Draco said definitely, looking over the marauders. “Wait a moment... HEY!” The marauders jerked to life, hands flying to wands before they realized where they were. Draco turned back to the healer. “They‘re up. What is the news?”

“Well we... we removed several items from the body of your friend.” The poor healer swallowed nervously. “We found a drop-gem embedded in his sternum. There was also something in the wall of his stomach. We think it may have been designed to negate poison but it seems to have had the opposite effect. It was the source of his illness. We also found-”

“What about his eye?” Draco broke in. “Have you fixed his eye?”

“His... his eye.” The healer paused. “His eye had been removed too long ago, there is a great deal of scarring. Unfortunately we were unable to restore it. We are currently looking into whether the installation he has is high quality enough to leave there.”

“Installation...” Draco stared at the man coldly. “You‘re talking about his eye.”

“Yes, I know.” The healer shook his head and turned back towards the door. “We‘ll try to keep you informed.” He pushed back through the door and hurried back towards the curtained bed.

Draco looked back over the marauders. Through their sand-filled, droopy eyes he could see their sadness. Harry had fought so hard and got nothing in return but accusations of murder and a permanent disfigurement. And a dark mark, they could not forget that.

“Harry might say it was worth it.” Padma said softly. “For driving Voldemort to ground.”

“Of course he‘d say that. Doesn‘t make it true.” Ron pulled his knees up to his chest. “I mean you heard him in there. He‘d think death was worth it.”

“Is he wrong?” Draco muttered darkly. Perhaps they didn’t hear him. Perhaps it was just as well. They were all startled as another door was pushed open, revealing Professor McGonagall. She didn’t need to say anything, they knew why she was there. They were going back. And they might never leave.
*


“Are you sure?” Natalie asked? Her voice admirably free of shaking. “You could get a bracer like Harry‘s. Or perhaps there are less invasive means of removal.”

“There are not, it was not made to be removed.” Snape tightened the strap around his arm. “And I would prefer to not be dependent on an item of illegal jewelry. Just please do it, it is already beginning to burn.”

Thankfully she did not argue, but instead bent down and touched her wand to the skin on Snape’s arm. The slicing pain was distant, dulled by potions. There were bottles by his arm, some empty, some waiting to grow the skin back after the mark was gone. He was in his apartments at Hogwarts, the only place he could have gained those potions without questions was from his own supplies. The searing began and Snape looked away, watching his own arm butchered was not what disturbed him, not after everything he’d seen. But it reminded him of what Harry was going through. Of the dark lord as well. What would he do next? What would his next move be...

“He may go into hiding.” Natalie answered his unanswered question, still intent on his arm. “Like he did fifteen years ago.”

“He will not.” Snape shook his head. “He was forced to hide then, he had no power. Now he does, it is lessened certainly, but he still has some.”

“Bellatrix, Rookwood and Forneus.” She traced easily around the edge of the skull. “That is who he has left. What would he do with them?”

“It will be savage, I am certain of that.” Snape felt the cutting stop and watched as Natalie picked the little flap of skin up and calmly incinerated it. It was done, he was free. Strange that he should feel so little. Perhaps because he knew he was not truly free until Voldemort was dead. Perhaps because he knew that, without the ability to spy, he was next to useless.

“Don‘t think that.” Natalie’s eyes flickered up to his as she daubed his arm with a potion soaked bandage.

“But I am.” Snape shook his head. “Perhaps not useless but... if I had not acted on instinct we would now know exactly what Voldemort was planning. We would be able to counter him instead of stumbling around in the darkness.”

“You had to.” Was all she said.

“Perhaps.” Snape let his head drop back, perhaps.

“You know them better than anyone.” Natalie continued. “You can work out what he will do next.”

“I have been trying.” Snape replied tetchily. “But I cannot think of anything he would wish to do that he has the manpower to accomplish. Unless he has some plan I am unaware of. Which he almost certainly has. I always got the sense that he had something brewing.”

“The ministry? The department of mysteries? The Prophecy?”

“He covets that no doubt. But I can see no way he could obtain it with three death eaters.”

“Four.” Natalie corrected. “Barty Crouch is still out there somewhere.”

“And if he is not dead then he is doing Merlin knows what.” Snape shook his head. “It could be anything.”

“Severus,” Natalie took his face in her hands and tilted it up to meet her eyes. “Not so low now. We won today. It may not feel like it, but we won a victory. Victories have been few and far between this past year, we need to cherish them, not worry about what will happen next.” Snape was once again amazed by the way she could break through to him, whatever his mood. He smiled,

“I believe I have some wine.”
*


The boy who carried the name Harry felt himself enter the familiar dream. He felt floorboards under his back, scratchy through the thin hospital robe. He knew where he would be when he opened his eyes. And finally, he even knew why.

He pushed himself off the floor, leaning his tired frame against the wall. The wall painted with bears and snitches over a pale blue sky full of fluffy clouds. Harry felt like spitting but he couldn’t muster the energy. He ignored the crib in the center of the room, it’s shiny mobile spinning idly in the dream-wind. He shoved the door open and descended the stairs. The revulsion he always felt was still there, but he could barely bring himself to care. He knew what this place was now.

No one-year-old remembers their house. No one-year-old could remember every photo, or the pattern on the wallpaper. This place was a lie, a parasitic memory that had been burnt into his mind. The creeping sickness in his skin was his mind’s way of telling him that it wasn’t real, that it didn’t belong.

He stepped up to the front door and stepped outside. There were street signs in the memory. No one-year-old would remember street signs, they couldn’t even read them. He should have known, should have realized somehow.

He couldn’t feel the orchard nearby. God knows what that represented. Some metaphor for safety his mind was projecting out maybe. Who knew. The river? Some other part of his mind... it didn’t matter. Harry let himself fall to the ground on the grass, it was all pointless. It wasn’t worth fighting this anymore, it was burnt onto the back of his scull. He could never escape.

His eyes flickered open in the hospital ward. He could feel the sore new growth in his hand. It was pink, new skin, and smaller than the other. Harry dropped it back onto the blankets. Other parts of his body hurt too, little scars and injuries. They had fixed him up. He wished they hadn’t bothered.

The dream was still swirling in his head, biting at him. It was too hard. He saw his things piled neatly against the wall, even his clothes. Suddenly he knew he had to leave. This place... he just had to leave. He quietly pushed out of bed, ignoring the creaking in every muscle and drew his bag over. He dressed quickly and disillusioned himself before slipping out the door.

The marauders were sleeping there, lying across benches or curled up on the floor. He didn’t wake them. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Couldn’t talk, he had no idea how he would even start. He hurried away and down the stairs. He didn’t stop until he was out of the building and a few streets away. A small street, not busy. Breathing hard he shoved his wand out into the street. He found that he could barely keep his arm up for the few seconds it took for the knight bus to blur out of nowhere and screech to a stop in front of him.

“Ere are you Harry Potter?” The pimpled conductor squinted at him, his voice full of amazement.

“No.” The word was hollow in his chest.

“Right, right, incognito.” The man tapped his nose. “I never believed any of that stuff about ya. Hero that‘s what I say.”

“Right.” Hero... that cut to the core like a knife. “Take me to Godrics Hollow.” He had no idea where the idea had come from, but as soon as he said it he knew he needed to go. It was as strong a need to go to it as there had been to leave in the dream.

“Godrics Hollow?” The pimpled guy swallowed. “Right, I see.”

The bus moved off and the nameless boy sagged down in a chair. Why was he doing this? Did he even have a reason? He didn’t seem to have reason’s anymore. He remembered being full of fire and need, burning passion for the fight. But now he just felt hollow, like he’d been scooped out. He didn’t want anything anymore. Except perhaps to die. Why was he going to Godrics Hollow? Why not. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

The bus screeched to a halt and he got out without speaking. The bus disappeared with a whoosh, a purple blur in the air. Harry looked up and down the street, it looked like any other village. It was empty this time of day, like a ghost town. Suited his mood perfectly. He looked forward, an derelict house, burnt and with the top floor blown off.

But he knew what had stood there. He had seen it in his dreams. This was where it had happened. It just hadn’t happened to him.

He stepped forward his hand stretched out, then shied away. This house was just more lies. The feelings in his head, grief, loss, fear. They weren’t his, they weren’t his loss. Only strangers had died here, two strangers. People who had nothing to do with him. The grief was another trick, just another level of lie.

He spun away and stalked down the street, not looking back. He had never lived there, it meant nothing to him. Or should mean nothing. His feet brought him to the square and he lent tiredly on the war memorial. He should never have come here, it was not what he needed. He raked his hand through his hair.

Not his hand.

Not his hair.

He spun and punched the stone, hissing out rage through his teeth. The lie poisoned everything. Even his real memories were tainted. He didn’t even look like this for Christ’s sake! His whole body was a mask!

The stone shifted under his fingers. He looked up just as the memorial seemed to melt, morphing into, a statue underneath. Harry stumbled back. No... no no no. Under the memorial there were two figures, a man and a woman. The woman cradled something in her hands. The man... the man looked just like him.

No he doesn’t. I don’t even look like me. The boy trembled with rage as he looked on the happy Potter family. The testament in stone to the life he had never really had. His fingers went to his wand.

“Reducto!” The wand flickered out, even through the rage the spell flew true. It struck the head of the father statue, shattering it into splinters. Some of them cut the boy’s flesh. He didn’t care.

“Reducto!!” Lilly Potter’s head snapped off and crunched onto the tarmac. Rolling to a stop in a storm drain.

“Reducto!!” The last shot was the strongest, striking out in a blinding bolt of light, obliterating the bundled infant. Blowing the little boy-who-lived to smithereens. Flames flickered across the statue before they died out. Flickered across the ruined stumps of heads and died to nothing.

The nameless boy stepped back, breathing like he’d run a marathon. His clothes wet with sweat. He dropped his wand back into his pocket and turned his back on the statue, his breath still coming in furious bursts. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breath. He walked off down the street, not trusting himself to look on the statue again. It made it all too real.

His eyes found a graveyard. Both eyes, real and magical. He shuddered, he’d got used to the shining overlay over his vision, the x-ray view of the world. Now it was just a constant reminder. A reminder of what he’d sacrificed for the lie. He pushed the graveyard gate open and let the eye roam, in a moment it had angled in on the Potter grave. He walked hesitantly to it, his wand safely away in his pocket. He pushed a piece of ivy off the stone and read the inscription.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death


Well that was bollocks. Being dead meant you had at least one other enemy left, namely the one that killed you. His eye whirled in it’s socket, looking straight down. The two coffins, side to side in the ground, stared back at him. But... there was a shadow. Like a vacant area. He drew his wand and muttered a revealing spell. Faint whiffs of illusion drew out of the ground to meet him. He waved his wand again, cutting the misty waifs away. He worked... he didn’t know how long. Probably minutes, maybe hours. At some point the gray sky gave way to rain and the graveyard grass turned slick. Harry ignored it, concentrating on the spells. It was good. It was a puzzle, breaking the illusion. It stopped him from thinking.

Finally he was done. Nothing different showed on the surface, but down underground... Harry stood and stepped back, his heart hammering in his chest. There was a third coffin on top of the other two, arranged like a pyramid. Inside... inside was a smaller body, a child. It’s tiny arms crossed over it’s chest.

The nameless boy fell to his knees. There it was, the final proof. The final incontrovertible check. That poor wasted body in there was Harry Potter. He could even see a tiny scratch on the bone of his scull, above his eye, in the shape of a lightning bolt. The real scar had cut all the way to the bone, his was barely more than makeup. That was all he was in fact... makeup for a puppet. A god-damn doll.

He raised his wand to the stone, but said nothing. The anger in him was gone. He had seen the bodies of the real Potters, lying together. It was hard to feel anger, but he wished he did. The anger at least filled him up, filled the emptiness with flames. But now the fire was gone and he felt even emptier for it. He found himself resting the point of his wand against the rough, wet stone.

It wasn’t even his wand. He stared at it, thoughts skittering over the numb center of his mind. It was a wand gained from killing, killing and fighting in a war he was never supposed to be part of. This wand was his killing wand. He had done horrible things for the sake of this war... to others... to himself. He found himself pressing down harder on the wood. He had pickled his soul in blood and what had it got him? He added his other arm and pushed harder. He had fought, and he’d been broken. The wand splintered with a loud crack, the springy wood bending almost double before it twisted into ribbons. A little red fluff was visible through the break. It had had a phoenix feather core, he never knew.

“Well that makes thinks easier.”

The voice had come from behind him. He turned slowly but his magic eye had already whizzed around to find the intruder. The black robes told him everything he needed to know. Harry knew he should feel panic, or dread, fear perhaps, at least surprise. But he was damned if he felt anything.

“You would be Rookwood.” His voice sounded dead in his ears.

“Yes I am August Rookwood.” The man sketched a sarcastic bow, his wand in his hand. “Thank Merlin I still have a watch on the underage magic detectors. You‘ve come a long way just to slip now. A long long way...”

“Felt like further.” The empty boy dropped the remains of his wand onto the Potter grave. Perhaps some fool wizard would find it and make up some story about it. He turned back to the death eater and asked, “Are you going to kill me?” He was surprised that his voice did not sound eager.

“Eventually Mr Potter, no doubt.” Rookwood held out his wand. “But first you‘re going to secure something for me.”

“What?”

“The dark lord‘s undying favor.” Rookwood tilted his head up arrogantly. “I will be raised above the others, above even that bastard Crouch.” Rookwood paused, obviously expecting the weary figure before him to say something. "Well? Nothing to add? No witticisms?"

“No.” The boy who had been Harry stepped forward. “Do whatever you like to me. I don‘t care anymore.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” Rookwood raised his wand threateningly. “You are alone here I know that... well, to be sure. Stubefy!”

He closed his eyes before the spell hit. The darkness was welcome.
*


A crashing noise woke him. Flashing light burned through his eyelids as he groaned. The noise went on and on, familiar... very familiar. His memories twinged, his real ones.

“I‘m in the underground.” His eyes flickered open just as the tube train flashed out of sight, leaving the tunnel in darkness. He felt the cords binding his hands together, his fingers danced along them trying to find a knot. There was none. They were tight though, biting into his skin, magical no doubt. He didn’t have to feel to know that his legs were similarly bound. He didn’t bother to try to stand.

“You are indeed Mr Potter.” Rookwood stood over him, his wand outstretched. “The London Underground.”

The nameless boy twisted and looked around him, one of the walls was been broken through and a dark, earthy tunnel stretched away. Now that the train was gone he could hear something in the darkness all around, a scratching slinking sound.

“We‘re not alone.” Harry breathed.

“Oh, so you noticed.” Rookwood held up his wand and lit it, smiling. The darkness rolled back, but not far. A grey wall stopped the light, a writhing mass of cloth and rot.

“What... what are they?” He looked on the dark hooded figures. As he watched one of them turned its shrouded head towards him. It let out a death rattle.

“Those are Dementors.” Rookwood smiled. “Had you forgotten that they too served the dark lord? Slipped your mind?”

“Dementors...” The boy looked into the swirling mass. Wasn’t he supposed to be feeling some sort of coldness, despair? Wasn’t that what Dementors were supposed to do when you were close to them? He shook his head, they couldn’t touch him, a person could only feel so much despair and he was already at his limit. And as for making him relive his worst memories? Ha! His darkest moment was still fresh in his mind.

“The dementors like it down here.” Rookwood continued. “They‘ve been breeding down here like flies. There are hundreds of them.”

“Dementors don‘t dig.” Harry glanced back at the tunnel. “What else do you have down there? I thought I killed everyone you had.”

“You did.” Rookwood sneered. “But that doesn‘t matter. In fact, none of that matters. Now be quiet.” Rookwood flicked his wand, making a silencing charm. A second flick levitated him off the floor. Rookwood reached into his pocket and pulled out a long silvery length of cloth, easily recognizable. An invisibility cloak. He just hung there in the air as the cloak was thrown over him. He really couldn’t have done anything else. Rookwood turned and walked up the tunnel, his black shoes slipping on the wet dirt.

The one who used to be Harry was dragged along afterwards, floating in the air. He couldn’t move... speak... he was a ghost. Right now his situation fit him like a glove. He hung weakly as Rookwood moved further towards the scratching, digging sound. The dementors followed after, filling the tunnel with cold. Up ahead there was a turning. As Rookwood walked calmly around the bend figures came into view. One dark cloaked figure standing tall, the rest ragged and torn and scrabbling at the dirt mindlessly. No, it wasn’t just their clothes that were ragged. It was their flesh.

Inferi, or zombies. Who could tell the difference? The figure in front of them turned as Rookwood approached. Dark long hair spun out as Bellatrix stepped towards Rookwood.

“You are late Augustus.” The female death eater was not as pretty as she had been. It seemed like a steel toed boot with the force of a falling teenager behind it did more damage than expected. The left side of her face was crushed in, a mass of scars and bulging skin. When she spoke she slurred, only the right side of her mouth moving. Her eye was a raw socket, nothing left.

She had lost her eye. How wonderful. How very poignant. Under the cloak the invisible prisoner felt his emptiness filled with a tiny spark of satisfaction.

“Hello Bella.” Rookwood stopped, his hand flickering to his wand. “Shouldn‘t you be in your own tunnel? That was the plan was it not? Forneus in one, myself-”

“I know the plan.” Bellatrix snapped. “Do you Augustus? It seems to me that you are the one who doesn’t know the plan. I came here to see why you were late. Why were you late?”

“I was delayed momentarily, nothing to concern you.” Rookwood waved his hand away. “You should go to your own tunnel. Without someone there the wrangle them the dementors may be getting restless.”

“I want the truth of this.” Bellatrix held out an accusing finger.

“You will not get it.” Rookwood dropped his laconic demeanor and snapped at her. “Get to your own tunnel. We take down the ministry tonight, there can be no mistakes because one of us is trying to separate themselves out from the crowd.”

“There is no crowd anymore.” Bellatrix sneered through her ruined face. “There are three of us. There will be more than enough glory to go around.” Bellatrix turned and dissaperated into thin air.

“Lying bitch.” Rookwood grated. “We all want to be the dark lord‘s right hand. Stop digging you freaks!” He directed the last one to the creatures burrowing in the dirt. They stopped moving and stood, their vacant eyes rotting in their skulls. Rookwood raised his wand and the dirt began flying away faster. In a short moment the dirt became a brick wall, old and faded. The wall of the ministry.

“Are you ready Mr Potter?” Rookwood grinned up at the invisible prisoner hanging above him. “Here we go.” He turned to the wall and raised his wand. There was a shattering blast and the wall caved in. Behind it a man at a desk jumped to his feet his hand tangling in his robes. A green flash of light struck him in the head, he dropped onto the desk, scattering papers.

“Go.” Rookwood pointed. The dememtors flew past him, the inferi lumbering along between them. There were a few moments of silence, then the screams started.
*


“Dumbledore!” Moody yelled as he thumped down the corridor at Hogwarts, moving his old bones as fast as they could. “Dumbledore get your senile arse down here!”

“Moody?” Albus appeared around the corner, his face a mask of concern. “You were on guard duty. What are you doing here?”

“Didn‘t you listen to me?” Moody threw his hand back the way he’d come. “The ministry‘s falling! Enough dementors to paint the sky black!”

“Why didn‘t you send a patronus?”

“Didn‘t you hear what I just said! Every inch of that place is full of the soul sucking demons! No patronus could cut through that!”

“My god, we must help them!”

“Oh really? You think so?” Moody saw his spit fly.

“We must go now.” Dumbledore pushed past him, dashing to the door. “We can take back the ministry, all of us can.”

“But there could be a trap!” Moody tried to keep up, his breath catching in his chest. “You can‘t go in there blind you can‘t just... we don‘t even know where Voldemort is!” Dumbledore was speeding away. “We need a plan! Do you have a plan you old bast-” But Dumbledore was gone, already around the corner. Moody doubled over, he was old, too old. But gods he wasn’t done yet, he wasn’t... done. What the hell was Dumbledore thinking? He could get them all killed! The entire order. The entire bloody order in one fell swoop, and what the hell could he do to stop it? He felt so old...

But not yet done.

He straightened and staggered down the hall. Faster. Faster. He found the door he wanted and threw it open.

“Severus!” Moody shouted towards the startled Professor. “The order needs your help!”

“The order?” Snape stood, his hands flat on the table. Zhao was beside him in a moment. “I am not a member of the order any-”

“The ministry is compromised!” Moody saw his words cut Snape. “Dementors in more numbers than ever before.”

“And you want all the help you can get?” Snape sneered. “The order had done me no favors lately.”

“Severus,” Natalie Zhao spoke calmly, despite the situation. “Look at him, something else is going on.”

“Smart girl.” Moody shook his head. “Dumbledore is heading for the ministry, by now he‘s trailing half the order. He‘s going in without any eyes, without anything. It is a trap, or could be. Even if it‘s not he‘s still going to lose half the order. He‘s... he‘s reckless. He‘s stuck in the old war. He‘s everything you said he was. But if we let this happen...”

“I know.” Snape’s eyes flickered with panic. “We need to help them. We need to help the order.”

“That‘s why I‘m here Snape.” Moody was gritting his teeth. Every moment was wasted. “But I don‘t know what... there are only three of us.”

“Four.” Snape muttered under his breath. “There are four of us. Natalie, would you get Michelson. Meet us at the ministry back entrance.”

“Even four can‘t cover this.” Moody growled as the unspeakable dashed from the room. “You know that.”

“I know. I know well...” Snape pulled a robe off the back of a chair. “We need an army.”

“Do you know where to find one?”

“I do.” Snape closed his eyes, “I do.”
*


Rookwood stepped over a body. It’s eyes were still open, it’s mouth moving vacantly. The dementor’s kiss, it left them living, but they were bodies nonetheless. Rookwood paid them no mind.

“Welcome Mr Potter, to the Department of Mysteries.” Rookwood pulled the cloak off his floating prisoner. Harry Potter. His prisoner was just hanging there dumbly. Well... he couldn’t really do any different. Rookwood let Harry down to the floor and canceled the silencing charm. “Well Mr Potter? You have anything to say?”

“What are you doing with me?” Potter’s voice was a little horse from the long silence. “You‘re trying to earn points with your lord, isn‘t capturing me enough?”

“More than enough Harry. More than enough.” Rookwood tweaked his wand and the bonds on Harry’s legs snapped off. Another click and Harry stumbled forward. “But I am after the icing on the cake. If I am to surpass Crouch in terms of merit to the lord... I must seek the icing.”

“That‘s the stupidest thing I‘ve ever heard.” Harry said dully.

“Well I didn‘t ask you.” Rookwood hurried forward through the ministry, he had to slow down a moment later though as Harry shuffled along behind him. “Hurry up!”

“My feet are asleep. Your ropes were too tight.”

“Just move.” Rookwood walked back and grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt. The dementors were still swirling by the ceiling, looking for victims. There were still a few left. Not enough to trouble over though. He stepped into out into the memory office, pulling his strangely compliant charge past the tank of brains. He stopped by the door to the death chamber, there was the sound of spells from within, someone holding out perhaps. He pushed the door open in time to see a wizard scrambling away from an inferi trip and fall. The corpse-warrior grabbed the blubbering unspeakable in it’s unshakable grip and threw him away with inhuman strength. Screaming as he flew across the room, his scream was cut off as he fell through the archway in the center. The curtains ruffled for a moment, then went still again.

Rookwood hid a shudder, he was never entirely comfortable with the execution portal. Harry watched from his side with dull eyes. What was wrong with the boy? Never mind. Rookwood picked his way around the edge of the room, giving the inferi a wide birth, and pushed open the door at the other side.

“Well Potter here we are.” Rookwood gestured impressively at the banks of shelves in front of them, each one with rows upon rows of tiny spheres. “This is the hall of prophecy.”

“These are prophecies?” Harry sniffed disbelievingly as Rookwood dragged him along the line of shelves. “They look like snow-globes.”

“They are records of prophecies, and they are the reason we are here.” Rookwood glanced down at the boy he was dragging along. “Did you know there was a prophecy made about you?”

Harry didn’t answer, but he sniffed again, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

“I assume that was a yes.” Rookwood glanced up at the number on the shelf, yes this was it. “The prophecy concerned you and the dark lord, you know that too?”

Once again the boy stayed silent. Rookwood poked him in the back to set him walking up to where the prophecy was held.

“The dark lord is very eager to get his hands on the prophecy. That prophecy.” Rookwood pointed at the particular orb. “And I will be the one to give it to him. My icing, you could say.”

“What do you need me for?” Potter was staring at the orb with barely contained hatred. What was going on?... Never mind, it wasn’t important.

“Shall I tell you something about the prophecies of the department of mysteries? They are keyed, protected. Only certain people can lift them from where they lie. Namely the people they have been made about. So the only people who can take this prophecy are the dark lord, and you."

Potter stared at the orb for a moment longer, the words sinking into him. Then he threw his head back and laughed, laughed so hard his eyes ran with tears. It was a reaction Rookwood had not expected. Laughter, but not in jest, not in joy. This was a bitter laugh, full of darkness. What was going on?

"So that's it is it?" Harry choked out, his dead eyes still glistening. “What a bitter joke”

“What?” Rookwood shook his head.

“And if someone else grabs one?” Harry reached out his hand. “What happens then?”

“If they are very lucky they might escape with only major injuries.” Rookwood answered confusedly. “But in all likelihood? They would die. Screaming.”

“Really?” The Potter boy’s hand hovered over the swirling glass. “To hell with it.” His fingers closed around the orb.
*


Minerva screamed as she threw her patronus against the grew wall before her, knowing it was too late. The dementors scattered but a lifeless body fell from their clutches. An auror. Subjected to the kiss.

Minerva shuddered, she only hoped it had been quick. She spun as cold hands grabbed her from behind, crushing her with inhuman strength. The breath fled from her lungs and she felt ribs crack. In desperation she transformed and dashed away on four feet, spinning and changing back to plant a fireball in the chest of the inferi that had held her. As soon as it was gone another took it’s place.

They were overrun, there were too many!

“Help me! Oh god help me!” A figure ran from out of the madness, his green bowler still clutched in his hands. “Please!”

“Get out of here you fool!” McGonagall shoved Fudge away. She could not deal with him. Her eyes searched through the scrambling masses for the head of the order. “Dumbledore! Dumbledore we must pull back!”

She could not see him, she could not see anything. Despair was her only warning and she spun, a shining light throwing a dementor away that had been practically on her back. She didn’t even know where they were anymore, near the courts possibly. Down in the deeps, no escape.

She heard a scream from her left and sent a patronus wildly into the surging crowds. The scream cut off sharply. Whether she had had any effect she did not know, she had to transform again to dance out of the way of a swooping dementor and snapped back to send another shining light to hold them back again. But her body was tired, her wand arm tired.

Rotting flesh filled her nostrils and she tried to bring her wand around. Too slowly. The dead fist crunched into the side of her head and she fell. She brought her wand up and blew the dead figure to shards, blood already dripping into her eyes. They needed help, and there was no one to give it.

No one.
*


The orb came free in Potter’s hand, it’s faint radiance shining through his fingertips. Rookwood felt his heart leap, but the Potter boy was staring at the prophecy like it was a live snake.

“Good, good. Now give it to me!” Rookwood demanded, but the boy didn’t move.

“Not possible.” Harry shook his head. “Saw the body...” The body? He wasn’t making any sense.

“Just give me the bloody orb!” Rookwood made to grab it but Potter slipped away.

“It‘s not... It‘s not... Can‘t.” Suddenly the white light faltered. A tinny whine filled the air, like grinding gears. Harry held up his hand, slowly uncurling his fingers. In the middle of the white a tiny spike of darkness was growing, like ink in milk. The blackness grew until it covered the whole inside of the orb, it was no longer shining glass but a polished orb of obsidian. The whine grew in the air, biting into his ears. Suddenly there was a fizzing crackle and Potter yelped in pain, spilling the prophecy onto the floor. Rookwood cried out, it would break for sure! But when the orb struck the ground it squelched, spreading out like clay. Smoke rose from the blackened glass.

Rookwood leant forwards and held his hand out over it. The heat was unbearable this close and he had to shy back. The prophecy had melted. Melted into a steaming puddle on the floor.

The Potter boy... he did this!

“What did you do?” Rookwood snarled. Potter backed away, his hands held up.

“Not me, Dumbledore. He must have switched them.”

“Dumbledore could not have touched the prophecy!”

“He could if it was already played out.” Potter glanced at the muck on the floor. “A trap, or else his illusions on me interfered somehow.”

“You speak madness.” Rookwood reached out to grab the boy but just as he did so the ground shook, throwing them both off their feet. “What the hell is that?”

“He‘s come.” The Potter boy was staring through the ceiling like a madman, his face again an empty mask of horror. “He‘s come.”
*


Suddenly the dementors went still, floating off their enemies to hover by the ceiling. The silence broken only be the groaning of the wounded. Minerva's eyes found the entrance to the lift, it's mesh opening in a grating crash. Stepping out into the corridor, black robes floating behind him and a hand curled in a wave to the creatures swirling above, was the dark lord himself. Minerva felt her heart jump to her throat. She glanced around, the order was in tatters. Only Dumbledore stood tall, the rest of them were covered in blood and shaking from the exertion of the battle. There was no force here to stop a dark lord, no force at all.

Voldermort’s eyes found a quivering lump on the floor and he smiled. Ignoring Dumbledore the dark lord crooked a finger, pulling the figure to his feet. The green bowler was gone, but the pale flesh remained.

“Ah, Cornelius.” Voldemort chuckled. “Remember back when you used to invite me up to your office for tea? Back when you were just a department head and I, just a innocent boy. Oh how far we‘ve come.”

“Please...” Fudge whimpered. “Please don‘t hurt me.”

“Hurt you Cornelius? But why would I need to?” Voldemort gestured to the ceiling. “Even as I speak the rest of your ministry has already been overrun. The ministry you so love is a nest of soul sucking wraiths. Why would I need to hurt you? I already have everything I wanted from you.”

“Tom,” Dumbledore’s voice spoke out soft in the darkness. “You can not possibly think I will let this stand?”

“No old man, I do not.” Voldemort flicked his wand towards the Headmaster. Fudge dropped to the floor and scampered away down the corridor. “I think you will do as you have always done. Stand bravely in the face of the tide, and be swept under.”

“Tom I shall-”

“No!” Voldemort cut the Headmaster off with a sharp word. “I have grown tired of you.” Voldemort raised his hand and the Dementors fell like hunting hawks. Minerva was forced to fight for her life against the grey hoard, spinning around her like a vortex of death. And in flashes of light beyond that vortex she could see Dumbledore rushing towards his foe, his wand out like a sword.

Minerva tried to cut her way forward. Tried to get to them, to help. But the crush was too great. An inferi had her arm in it’s vice like grip and she blew it off with flames. Another took it’s place too quickly. Far too quickly. There was a gout of purple light that cut through the air, momentarily beating back the dementors. Through the gap she could see the dueling wizards in the center of all this, Dumbledore raising the very stones of the floor in a wall against the dark lord, but it was blasted to shreds just as quickly. Dumbledore was driven to his knees.

Minerva dashed towards him but the grey masses closed between them. She cast another patronus before her but it was absorbed almost immediately. She felt an arm clutch hers and spun to burn it off before she recognized the face.

“Remus!” She moved back to back with the werewolf, spinning her patronus into a circle around them. “We need to get to them!”

“It is too late for that!” He shouted back.

“Then what do you propose!”

“We die.” Lupin delivered that last in a flat growl. “We are finished.”

“We are not!” Minerva tried to throw another patronus but the despair was sinking in and it faltered as white mist, easily brushed aside by the wraiths. Suddenly there was a burst of tearing noise, breaking the flagstones and making the chamber shake with it’s force. As it died there a flash of red light and a high cruel laugh.

“That is the best you could do?” The voice of Voldemort was unmistakable. “I win old man.”

The dementors parted for a moment, like clouds in wind. The dark lord stood over the sprawled form of the Headmaster, his boot on Dumbeldore’s neck. Minerva felt despair that had nothing to do with the dementors. She let her wand hand drop to her side. They had lost. It was all over.

“Expecto Patronum!” A chorus of strong voices cried the spell and the room was filled with a wall of light. Minerva watched as a charging white lion crashed into the massed forms before her, a snarling wolf running at it’s heels.

“You! Traitor!” Voldemort had his wand drawn and had spun to face the lift. Minerva turned to look but saw just one figure standing there, his arms crossed in arrogant casualness.

“Step away from the Headmaster.” Snape had his wand drawn and flicked it down towards the dark lord. “I have not seen eye to eye with him of late but it would be a pity if he died.”

“I will kill you!” Voldemort surged forward and Snape’s wand stabbed forward. There was a flash of light and Snape was thrown backwards. He stumbled and pushed himself up, driving a savage blast of frozen wind at the dark lord.

Minerva dashed forward to help him but once again found a hand gripping her arm.

“Minerva!” A head appeared out of nowhere as a cloak was thrown back. Natalie Zhao? What in Merlin’s name? “Minerva the students can‘t keep them back forever and sooner or later Voldemort‘s going to wonder where those other patronus came from.”

“The students?”

“The marauders.” Natalie snapped. “Now come on!”

“But Snape-”

“Is holding him back!” The unspeakable grabbed a prone figure on the floor. “Now tell your people to fall back before everyone else is dead!”
*


The boy who had been Harry didn’t know where he was. There had been a mad dash away from Rookwood, screaming and dashing through the confusion of battle, then there had been some stairs, then a corridor... The sounds of battle were everywhere, coming out of the walls. He had just kept running., unable to do anything else. His heart raced beyond what any human exertion should have forced it to. His mind was blank, a dead weight. Today had been a lifetime.

The shattering noise of a spell exploded from the left and he dashed away like a rat. He had to get out.

“Come on dance with me you mangled bitch!” Michelson came into view down a long hallway, throwing bolts of lightning at Bellatrix and laughing like a madman.

He had to get out. He dashed into a stairway and almost tripped over a body on the floor. Pink hair, auror‘s robes. Oh no...

He crouched down on the floor, his fingers going to Tonk’s neck on instinct. He did not really expect to find anything, her skin was pale and...

She had a pulse.

The nameless boy had to shield her body as a shining laser of something cut through the wall above them. The duel was raging just on the other side of the wall. She wouldn’t have a pulse for long if he left her here.

So long... His brain was grey sludge, he just wanted to shut down. He had no wand and his muscles were water. They would never reach safety anyway, this place was a warzone. But on the other hand... Tonks.

Putting a tired shoulder under her arm, he lifted her up.
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Review and you will grow fairy wings that will let you fly.

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Due to other commitments my postings may get a little further apart for a while. Sorry everybody.
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Snape let himself down tiredly on the edge of the fountain of magical brethren. Every bone ached and his arm was tied up to his body in a sling. There was no time for healing yet though, no time at all.

“Stay back.!” Natalie was shouting calmly (a tough combination to master), raising her hands to the crowd of ministry survivors. “Just stay there and the healers will get to you! And you get out of here!” The last was directed to a daily prophet reporter furiously scratching away at a notebook.

The other side of the hall, back behind the fireplaces, a line of beds were set up for triage. From where he sat Snape could see Elizabeth Heathland lying sedated, her hand clutched by her constant companion Vanessa. She would be alright though, a little cold and quiet for weeks to come and likely not ever wanting to encounter a dementor again but she would live. Oh to have just one of them back in his house, or any of the marauders. They had fought like tigers, like attack dogs with wands.

One of the doors slammed open and Markus stepped out angrily. His robes were mostly burnt off and he had blood running down the side of his chest but he seemed unaware of these little details.

“She got away.” The massive wizard reached the edge of the fountain and plunged his head under the surface. A moment later he lifted it up and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “Bellatrix.”

“The marauders told me you had gone after her.”

“She reached one of their bloody tunnels.” Markus grated. “Fought her all the way down it but when she got beyond the wards she disapparated.”

“Then she is out of the fight at least.” Snape nodded, he would take any victory he could get. “Forneus is in custody and Rookwood is numbered among the dead.”

“So I’m the only one who missed his mark.” Markus shook sprays of water out of his hair. “Sorry mate.”

“Bella has more lives than a cat, do not think any more of it.”

“You say that but... I'm not used to failing, never done it before." Marcus shed his ruined robe and dumped it carelessly on the floor before glancing around at the confusion. "What‘s happening here? Did we get everybody out?”

“We have taken back most of the ministry. I believe all of the marauders deserve Os”

"They deserve bloody medals!"

"Yes but I cannot give them medals. You however can give them Os." Snape smiled a fain smile and saw it returned broader. He gestured towards the lift with his good arm. “Voldemort holds the department of Mysteries. Or to put it another way he is trapped there. He has placed a ward on the lift and on all staircases.”

“I can break through.” Michelson nodded arrogantly. "Give me five minutes."

“I doubt that you could do it in five or five hundred.” Snape shook his head. “I know that ward. There is only one way to get through it, and that is with a dark mark on your arm.”

“Well then you can-” Michelson cut off as Snape pulled up his sleeve to reveal the newly cut skin. “Oh.”

“Yes, and it‘s worse than that.” Snape bowed his head. “He has hostages down there, order members and unspeakables who survived.”

“How many?”

“Ten, we think.” Snape glanced up to meet Markus’ eyes. “Including Lupin... and Dumbledore.”

“Mother of god.” Michelson slammed his fist into his palm. “So it‘s a stalemate?”

“For now, until he makes his move. He can not wait forever.” Snape felt a little shudder run through him. Whatever the dark lord’s move would be it would be the death of at least some of those hostages. Probably all.

"What the..." Suddenly Michelson was on his feet, an expression of shock on his face. "Merlin's... Harry?"

A moment later Snape saw what he had seen. Out of a passageway Harry was stumbling, a prone body weighing him down and his face a grey mask. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge anything, just stepped directly to the nearest bed and lay his burden down bedside a shocked healer. Snape rushed forward and saw marauders stand in every corner of the room, running towards the unexpected sight of their leader.

"Harry." Draco came to a stop just in front Harry. "Harry what are you doing he-"

"Tonks is hurt." Harry broke in. "You should try to look after her, she's your cousin."

"Harry are you alright?" Hermione reached out to touch him but he flinched away. "What is it Harry?"

"I'm fine." Harry was almost curling up under their stares, hugging his arms close to his chest.

"Are you hurt?" Padma asked. "The healers could loo-"

"I said I'm fine. Just... go away."

"How did you get out of the hospital?"

"Where's your wand?"

"Shut up."

"How did you get to the ministry?"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Harry yelled angrily. As the marauders shied back there was a blast of heat from behind them. Snape spun around in time to see the fountain of magical brethren go red hot and begin melting, dissolving into the water with a hiss. But the gold was not disappearing, it was staying there in the water, mixing with the water. Harry forgotten, Snape stepped forward as the surviving order members, ministry workers and marauders surrounded the pool of gold.

It was like a mirror, shining with yellow light up to the ceiling. As they watched it faded to silver, then to grey, then finally to pure white. The white resolved into shapes, colours bloomed out of the pure light. As the shapes coalesced Snape heard a shriek from someone on the other side of the pool and almost felt like following suit.

In the pool, rippling on the surface of the liquid, was an image of lord Voldemort. He was standing in what was clearly the department of mysteries. The wand in his hand was long and pale, it was not the one Snape was used to seeing him use. It was unmistakably Dumbledore's wand. Behind the dark lord, lined up and chained together, were ten wizards. Though the picture was faded and the colours ran together Snape could easily recognize the two on the end. Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore.

The Voldemort image turned towards them and spoke, his voice sounding deep and echoic like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

"Good wizards of the ministry," The dark lord greeted amicably. "Members of the order of the phoenix and the good children. What you are seeing is the inside of the department of mysteries, where all the greatest secrets are hidden. All the deepest magic of the ministry is within these walls, all controlled by me."

"He's lying." Natalie assured the panicking wizards around her. "There's nothing down there he could use."

"And look at my friends here," Voldemort gestured out over his prisoners. "They all fought. They all failed, such is the price of defying lord Voldemort." He took a bundle of wands out of his pocket and hovered it into the air. With a gout of flame they burnt into ash. "Such is the price... And look who we have here..." Voldemort crooked a finger and Fudge was dragged forward, his bonds separating from the others. He came to a stop by the dark lord's feet and looked up with pained eyes.

"Are you going to... to kill me?" Fudge stuttered out.

"Yes." Voldemort answered simply.

"But but... I."

"I am going to kill you you miserable petty man, whatever you say."

"Then... then." Fudge seemed to breath a little easier. "Do you remember when I used to invite you up for tea? Back when I was... I was a department hear and you were... you were younger."

"Yes?"

"Well I spat in your tea." Fudge shuddered out through gritted teeth. "Every time. Even back then you were a creepy little freak."

"You..." Voldemort seemed to grow in menace, his eyes blazing. "Why do you tell me this? Surely you know it is pointless!"

"My... my dear boy." Fudge stuttered, his eyes still to the floor. "Defiance... is never p... p... pointless."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light filled the pool of water and for a moment none of them could see anything. Snape felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The light cleared in time for them too see the dark lord savagely kicking the minister's body to the side and stabbing his wand towards Dumbledore. The headmaster was thrown forward roughly.

Snape swallowed worriedly. The dark lord was showing them this to demonstrate his power but Fudge had openly defied him. Voldemort would be enraged.

"Well old man!" Voldemort stabbed his wand down at Dumbledore, a bolt of electricity charring a hole in the Headmaster's robes. "Do you not have something to say? Some last word before I take your life."

Dumbledore just stayed silent. It was only from the light rise and fall of his chest that Snape could tell he was still alive.

"Speak Albus!... Crucio!" Voldemort held the headmaster in the throws of the torture curse for a few moments before releasing him. "You will speak! There has been too much between us, you have been my enemy for too long for me to let you end it this way. You will acknowledge that I have won, you will say it! You will acknowledge this victory in some way before I kill you with your own wand!"

Dumbledore didn't even look at the dark lord. In a rage Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, dragging Dumbledore to his feet.

"You will speak!" The snake like face was set with cruel anger. "You will speak before you die!"

"I..." Dumbledore wet his lips and tried again. "I am ready to die."

"What?"

"I am ready..." Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I am ready to die for everything I have done. Those are my last words, the only ones you will get. Kill me."

"You... Cruci..." Voldemort raised his wand to form the curse but let it die on his lips. Snape could almost see him dragging his emotions back under control. "But of course, how could I deny a last request. Avada Kedavra!"

It was as if time froze. The pool exploded with green light again and Snape’s throat closed, every muscle tensing. The other watchers around the pool held their hands to their faces, or shook there head... they would not believe it. The green light faded and the body of Albus Dumbledore dropped to the ground. It crumpled like a paper napkin, his beard trailing onto the floor like a rag.

So fell Albus Dumbledore. Snape felt a small hand worm into his. Natalie's hand. He didn't know whether she was offering comfort or asking for it. Perhaps both.

"Here dies Albus Dumbledore." Voldemort laughed. "A fool to the end, and in the end a disappointment. So there you are, two hostages dead. I have eight left and all will die if you do not give me what I want. I want Harry Potter. Bring him to me in one half-hour or I will kill another, perhaps the werewolf. I am sure no one will miss him. But if any of you wish to see these wizards alive, then you know what you must do. Bring. Me. Harry. Potter!"

The pool went black and Snape stepped back. All around him people seemed to be going mad, crying and shouting to one another in confusion. His eyes were only trying to find one figure. Harry Potter. He swept the crowd. Nothing.

Snape turned to the entrance in time to see the doors snap shut.
*


The nameless boy crashed out of the phone box and dashed away, his feet slipping on the wet sidewalk. Rain splattered against his face as he ran out into the streets. He didn't even know why he was running, just that he had to get away. All of them would look to him, would look at him and expect to see Harry Potter. Expect to see their savior, when all there was was a fraud. He dashed past the people in the street, some of them turning to look at his odd clothing and panicked expression, but he was running too fast and they were left behind.

He heedlessly ran into the road and heard the screech of breaks. He prayed that one of the cars would hit him. His feet would not stop moving and the sound of horns was left behind. His magic eye painted the world in shimmering curtains of shadow, distorted by the raindrops settling on it's surface. He pushed past a man in a suit and heard the man yell. He couldn't stop running. Had to get away. But what he was running from could not be escaped. He was running from reality. The rain ran like a river. Roaring like the river.

Finally, with his heart beating like a jack-hammer, he collapsed on the cold, wet pavement. He lay there, his feet still twitching, and breathed. He had collapsed in an alleyway, dark and dirty. Wait...

He turned to lie on his back as his magic eye swivelled around, taking in every detail. He had been here before... This was the alley where it all started, where Hagrid had caught him so many years ago. There was the drainpipe he had climbed... the roof he had hid... He had come a full circle, entirely.

Heedless of the driving rain he opened his mouth and laughed. Laughed in pure bitterness. If only he had never stopped here, had never been caught, had never gone to Hogwarts. Then he would never have known, would never have known any of this. He would have been able to keep on being Harry Potter. He felt tears running down his cheeks and mingling with the rain, freezing him to the bone.

But there was warmth. A little point of heat at his chest. He dug his hand into his shirt and slowly drew it out.

His pendent. Pythea’s pendent. Worn so long he had almost forgotten it was there. But now it was glowing like a star, so bright beneath the gray sky. He knelt and held it cupped in both hands, staring at it in wonder as a silver mist swirled out from the point. It pooled in his hands, swirling and sifting. Slowly the sparkling liquid rose, shaped and colored and separated until two orbs hung in the air by his hands. One of burnished gold, the other pure white.

"Harry..."

The white orb shifted, moved and expanded. It shaped into a figure, every curve glowing with light, every flowing line of her pure white dress and her porcelain skin.

"Thea..." He breathed.

"Harry I wish I could have come sooner." Thea stepped forward and encased his hands in hers.

"Another illusion-"

"No." Pythea shook her head. "This is no illusion. This is really me talking, from Greece. I thought you might need my help."

"Your... help?"

"You're lost. Lost