Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
Action Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 09/12/2004
Updated: 06/11/2005
Words: 341,488
Chapters: 30
Hits: 175,276

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

joe6991

Story Summary:
After the devastating events of Sword of the Hero, Harry is flung into a strange and unforgiving world as he struggles against fate and destiny to find a way back to the people he loves and to a war that is waiting for its leader. As the year progresses and the days grow progressively darker, will Harry rise and become the true hero the world desires, or will he fade and be defeated by the strongest evil to have ever lived....? A boy with the fate of two worlds on his shoulders must find the strength to stand by his morals, even if it means giving up the thing he wants the most.

Chapter 22

Chapter Summary:
Harry claws through the tattered remnants of his mind and struggles to put it all back together. The demon makes his move and the world crumbles a little more. Is it too late?
Posted:
04/17/2005
Hits:
4,987


Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 22 - Crawling from Insanity and into Madness


There is no coming to consciousness without pain

~~Carl Jung

25 days until the Autumnal Equinox

"....I will not tell lies...." Harry mumbled, his face marred with sweat and a deep set frown. "....Voldemort has him at the Department of Mysteries... a few steps from the Veil...."

Cool summer sunlight shone in through the high windows of the Hogwarts infirmary within the Hospital Wing. Beams highlighting dust particles in the air fell on the five companions standing almost helplessly around Harry's bed.

Three days, three days since Glen had brought him back from their... expedition. He hadn't woken, his injuries had been severe, and he did nothing now but mumble and scream incoherently and sometimes extremely confusing thoughts.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, looking older and wiser than usual, not that his fifteen decades of accumulated knowledge did much good now - Harry was beyond their help, or so it seemed. The Headmaster glanced at his Matron, Madam Pomfrey, who shook her head frustrated, and then to Lily and James Potter, who looked shaken, and finally to the Muggle man Glen Thomas, who had definitely proven his worth in this world.

"What did this man tell you exactly, Mr. Thomas?" Dumbledore asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"....I love you... I'll- I'll come back... somehow...." A tear fell down Harry's cheek, and his eyes flickered open unseeingly before closing again. "I don't know what... what love truly is... I never will...."

Glen stared at Harry with an infinite sadness, believing him insane and his mind broken. It was, he knew the... man... he had met in those final minutes within the crater didn't lie. He looked up at Dumbledore.

"Not sure he was a man, to tell you the truth," Glen shrugged, rubbing his developing beard. "Didn't feel... he told me Harry's body and mind were broken, and that he was Harry's old friend."

"Anything more?" Lily Potter asked, having asked it near twelve times now.

Glen shook his head. "Just that he and Harry had a- a meeting, as he put it, in a few weeks time."

"No potions, no spells, nothing...." Madam Pomfrey hissed, clearly angry. "Nothing can heal his mind that I know of... it's like the madness brought on by Cruciatus, but deeper... dirtier."

Harry twisted and turned on the bed, now that his spine and legs had been set and healed. He had been paralysed for two days previously, but was doing well now. His basilisk armour was leaning against the bedside table, near his shrunken trunk; he was dressed in hospital pyjamas and his boxer shorts. He looked troubled, to say the least.

"...I tried.... but I'm so tired, so tired... white roses and the moon...." A bead of sweat worked its way down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose.

Glen sighed. "The man... whoever he was, also said it will never be over, not for Harry. I'm not sure what he meant but I believed it. If that boy's not healed... we'll all be sorry. He's got one hell of a fight ahead of him."

Lily shuddered. "Don't say that, Glen. Voldemort's been defeat--"

"It's a lot bigger than that," James whispered, shaking his head. "But I think it's all on Harry if he wants to pull himself out of this one. He's strong enough to... but what does he want?"

"I don't think he'd want to leave us all in danger, just because he's tired," Glen said. "I know that sounds a bit selfish on our part and a bit arrogant on Harry's, but it's the truth."

"...So many dead... I'm no better than him...."

"This is awful," Lily wept, the pain in Harry' voice striking a sharp chord deep within her heart. "What has he ever done to deserve this?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, having been staring at Harry with a grave concern for a few minutes, he was almost hypnotised. "We must keep a watch on him, twenty four hours a day. Lily, James, find people you can trust - Sirius, Remus - and arrange it all. Harry is not safe."

"What makes you say that?" James asked, not arguing, just curious.

Dumbledore shook his head, perhaps slightly fearfully. "This man Mr. Thomas met; he is no longer bound by the rules concerning universe travel, according to what Harry has told me. There is nothing to stop him from entering this very hospital wing if the want or need overcame him. He could simply step out of the air... keep a watch, James, and keep it well."

*~*~*~*

September 1st, 1997
2
1 days until the Autumnal Equinox

He took two steps forward, and the fragile dark glass floor beneath his feet shattered into a splintery spider web of cracks, before giving way entirely and plunging his shadowy form into a stream of memories that hurt more than any physical injury ever could.

Harry struggled for breath against this body of his own memories, this ocean of painful experiences and confusion. He struggled to stay afloat, to stay alive, to not have to relive every moment all over again. It was futile, as it had been the last dozen times, and as his head sank slowly under the swelling sea of thoughts.... he remembered.

A deep flash of white blinded him for just a moment, and then he was back in that graveyard, tied to the tombstone of Riddle's father.

A blink of an eye later and he was standing against Voldemort in the same graveyard, trying to keep his wand from shaking.

"Crucio!" hissed the newly resurrected Dark Lord.

"No..." Harry mumbled, as pain, his old friend, enveloped him in her cold grasp. "Not again!"

"Bow to death, Harry!"

NOT AGAIN!

Blink.

He was in the Department of Mysteries, struggling to drag Neville up the steps and defend himself at the same time. He saw the Order battling the Death Eaters, he saw Tonks fall, he saw Sirius duelling Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry, Harry," a faint voice to his left said.

Peeling his eyes away from the inevitability of Sirius's death, Harry turned back to Neville. He looked just as he had done on that day, just over a year ago... God it felt like several lifetimes.... his nose was broken, blood running down to his chin.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Harry sighed, confused beyond reason. This was not what Neville had said that day. It was something different finally, after dozens of repetitions of these painful days.

"It will never be over, Harry, not for you...."

Blink.

Hordes of Death Eaters fell before Harry's lightning-encased arms, his power, his godforsaken power, killing hundreds of his enemies - showing no mercy, no quarter.... he was as bad as them.

"I'm Voldemort," he whispered, cutting a path through the swath of Death Eaters. "It's what I've had to do to survive...."

Blink.

Pain.

Blink.

Regret.

Blink.

Death... not his own, never his own.

Blink.

It will end, soon it will end.

He took two steps forward, and the fragile dark glass floor beneath his feet shattered into a splintery spider web of cracks, before giving way entirely and plunging his shadowy form into a stream of memories that hurt more than any physical injury ever could.

Harry struggled for breath against this body of his own memories, this ocean of painful experiences and confusion. He struggled to stay afloat, to stay alive, to not have to relive every moment all over again. It was futile, as it had been the last dozen times, and as his head sank slowly under the swelling sea of thoughts.... he remembered.

Blink.

"Watch as Hogwarts fall, Harry," the Dark Lord hissed, and then mercilessly thrust his own sword deep into Harry's shoulder.

Agony tore through the old wound, for it was old to him, and he shuddered as he was impaled upon that cold blade, too weak to remove it himself. Voldemort was speaking, but he didn't hear a word as the blade was thrust up and pulled roughly out of his flesh.

He screamed and fell backwards, blood staining the cool leaf-strewn forest floor.

Blink.

"Promise... promise me, Harry. Promise me you'll put that son of a bitch in the grave."

Harry put a hand on Ethan Rafe's dying chest, and nodded his promise. This wasn't exactly how it had happened, but his memories were so slurred that this was as close as it could get.

"I promise, Ethan," he said, wanting to die himself. "But I'm no better than him myself now.... you made this promise to a different Harry, one who still possessed a soul."

Ethan laughed and choked on his blood.

Blink.

Piercing cold forced Harry to his knees as hundreds of hooded creatures swirled and sucked his happiness from his mind, leaving nothing but his most painful memories.

Sirius was before him, dying as well, the Dementor's Kiss just moments away.

"Expecto.... EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Blink.

Harry slumped against the platform he stood upon within his own mind, before the thin sheet of fragile black glass that always shattered when he put his full weight upon it. He had come to realise, as he stood in the darkness of his broken sanity, that this thin sheet of glass represented the strength of his mind... he couldn't cross it, he couldn't reach the other side.

Harry....

Whispers of thoughts and memories bit at him even here, above the pool of the darkest ones. He had been repeating this cycle for days, or it may have been years now, and he had yet to encounter a single happy memory. Perhaps that was just the way the universe worked.

Shivering, alone in this place, scared even, Harry couldn't stop the small tear that cut a rough track down his face and into the stubble upon his unshaven cheeks. When he realised it was there, he swatted it away angrily.

"I don't want to be here...." he muttered, rocking back and forth against the black wall he was fallen against. It was only a few feet wide, a pillar jutting out of his memories, and the bridge of glass was only a fraction of an inch thick. He knew he was stuck here, however hard he fought he could not escape himself.

"Do you think I want to be here?" a familiar, yet muffled voice rang out in the darkness.

Harry jumped, startled, he could not help it. "Who--?"

"Keep trying, Harry," the voice said, and Harry placed it. It sounded vaguely like Ethan Rafe... he remembered those final moments up atop Slytherin Fortress, when the Killing Curse had exploded and-- "You'll find a way."

"Where are you, Ethan?" he asked, peering around into the darkness that stretched forever around him. He could only really see a few feet in front of himself, and that wasn't good enough.

"Lumos," he whispered, holding his palms together. As before, no magical light jumped into his hands, he was magicless in this place - powerless.

"No, never powerless," Ethan said, his voice reverberating for miles in this barren darkness of memory. "You're not down for the count yet, Potter. Way too much is hanging on those bruised shoulders of yours for you to quit when it gets too tough."

Harry snarled. "I don't quit," he whispered. "I never have."

"Then stand up and be counted!" Ethan roared, and the walls of his mind shook.

He took two steps forward, and the fragile dark glass floor beneath his feet shattered into a splintery spider web of cracks, before giving way entirely and plunging his shadowy form into a stream of memories that hurt more than any physical injury ever could.

*~*~*~*

?

A demonic man, the embodiment of Evil itself, stepped out of a hole in reality that hung in the air above the quiet, windswept plains on a world far removed from regular time and space.

Grass roots and barley shoots wilted and died as the demon walked slowly across the plain, glancing up with dead eyes at the star shot sky, admiring the double moons of this world. One pale green, reflecting the composition of some alien mineral in its surface, the other more recognisable as milky white.

It had been a monumental choice in the first few millennia during the construction of this world, back just after this universe exploded into existence, that had created two - instead of one - moons in the sky.

This world was also fairly distant from the troubles caused by Potter, by Voldemort, and the evil in their link that had created the demon that now held this world in his palm. As such, few effects of the destruction of the Boundary had been felt here, minor changes in weather the worst, and the population of this world was a few hundred thousand still, possibly a million or two.

It was a primitive world, having yet to discover electricity, to name one thing, and was ruled by religion and a monarchy. This country the demon walked upon was anyway - he didn't care much for the rest of the world. It was on these plains he would mount his defensive against Potter's inexplicable will to survive.

Not that Allarius was worried that Potter would succeed in stopping the destruction he had caused, that had birthed him. No, not in the least. This was just to seal the deal - here; on these massive empty plains that stretched for hundreds of empty miles.... here is where he will raise his army of Boundary demons and monsters.

Here, Potter will face his army alone - outnumbered.

Allarius smiled, black roses springing up from the earth behind him, it was truly amazing that the only hope the universes had was lying in a hospital bed in one of the lesser worlds, insanity tearing him away.

The only hope... he mused. Sometimes it was enough, Evil had been thwarted throughout all of the Ages of Time, across all worlds, by the smallest shining light. Even though it was stronger, sometimes it was defeated.... Allarius smiled again. He was worrying over nothing.

There was no help for Harry James Potter, he was insane and on his own. The Creator was millennia dead, eternity dead perhaps. Good, the Light, had no more heroes left to challenge the might of the Dark.

After a million eternities and countless battles in infinite stories the Final Days were here, and it would all come down to himself against an insane, human boy. The Creator was to be pitied for these choices.

The Creator, and Harry Potter.

*~*~*~*

Blink.

"We've lost, Harry," Ron spat, holding his intestines inside of him barely with one bloodied hand as he lay against the short wall that separated himself and Harry from the horde of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

Harry's eyes were glass, his heart pounding in his chest, he was shaking. "This isn't happening... this didn't happen," he whispered.

"It is happening," Ron sighed, colour draining fast from his cheeks, his red hair stuck to his head with equally red blood. "Hermione, Ginny, Neville... my family, everyone... they're dead, and I'm dying. Looks like you're the only one to survive again, mate. Can't say I envy you...."

Harry knelt down against the wall, frowning and crying - not aware of either - and tried uselessly to heal Ron's wound with his magic, except he didn't know how to heal... he could barely manage that patronus charm Remus had taught him in third year... that was the limit to his magic.

"This was just a nightmare I had," he told the dying Ron who felt so real, smelt so real, sounded... so real. It was reality indistinguishable from dreams... God it was real. "NO!"

Blink.

Not just memories of real events anymore, Harry had realised that hundreds of fallings through the shattered glass ago, but depictions of his darkest thoughts, his worst nightmares - brought to life with incredible accuracy and reality. It all felt real, right down to the clouds in the sky.

Ginny lay sprawled out before him, barely breathing and too pale. She lay in a pool of her own blood. Harry did nothing, even as the Death Eaters finished their work, his own arms held by air spells and muscled men. It wasn't real, and too painful to try.

Blink.

"How many times will we fight, Harry?" Voldemort asked. "How many times will we injure and nearly defeat one another? Until the world falls apart around us? Perhaps until all we want is ash? Answer me, boy. We've come too far for anything else...."

Harry held his wand in a grimy, blood covered hand. He was breathing hard, the heat of the air suffocating. They stood upon the ashy remains of Hogwarts castle, in a crater that had blasted away even the water of the lake - leaving nothing but a desert.

"I don't think either of us can ever truly die, Voldemort," Harry said, reliving this particular dream as a prisoner in his own body. He felt his lips moving, but couldn't control what they said - not this time. This was a dream, and he had no control.

"You may be right there, Potter, I fear you may be right."

Neither of them wanted to survive as the only living, immortal creature on a barren planet ravished by awesome power and good intentions.

Blink.

Harry was upon his knees looking through the thin transparent glass bridge that represented the strength of his mind. He looked through it to the swirling soup of thoughts and memories below, swirling and speckled with bright, but overrun, fractures of pure white light.

He blinked and fell back against the wall on the platform, the only structure beside the bridge that he could see within this place. Within his own mind. He sighed with fatigue, with frustration, it was never ending.

"I've tried everything..." he mumbled, staring through mismatched eyes at the thin sheet of glass that he had broken and fallen through hundreds of times - into his memories and nightmares. Each time stung like an open wound, and he feared he was damaging his mind even more.

He had tried everything - he had crawled, walked, run, jumped, hopped, skipped... Anything to get across that thin sheet of glass, but it was like trying to hold water in a sieve. It could not be done, not without some key he felt he had missed.

There had been nothing out of Ethan since that first time he had spoken to him, perhaps years ago now - it may have been seconds. He had long lost track of telling time, and he didn't think that mattered at all in this place anyway.

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Harry wished he could be anyone else - and not have to constantly struggle against the workings of existence. It had long since driven him hard into the ground.

But it had never broken him, and that counted for everything.

Sighing again, he stared up pointlessly into the darkness above his head. He was looking for a way out, a solution to this problem. Anything!

"It's just mind over matter," he told himself, chuckling slightly. "Mind over mind over matter," he corrected. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped to his feet, and then took the bridge at a run.

He managed perhaps four feet out onto the glass before it shattered, and he was plunged into his memory once again. Harry did not fight sinking into the thick soup of thought; he knew this was one thing he could not beat.

*~*~*~*

September 9th
13 days until the Autumnal Equinox

Lily Potter sighed and kicked off her high-heeled shoes before sinking back into the deep, fluffy armchair in her living quarters within the castle. She had just attended the memorial service for the children who had died in the battle, and for those who had died elsewhere.

Hogwarts was missing five hundred of its occupants, at least.

It had been a trying week or so since Harry had returned, a trying week to say the least. Outside of the boundary of white roses around the castle a wind so strong that even the biggest and strongest trees in the forest had been uprooted, had been blowing non stop for four days now.

The wind hit an invisible wall when it came to the castle wall though, but that wall didn't stop the debris from hurtling in at over three hundred miles per hour. There had been a few deaths and several injuries to the three thousand or so people still alive out on the grounds. It seemed everything was against them these days.

She just hoped that the wind died down soon, it really was causing havoc. Damage and injury from the debris, it was all they could do to stop it piling up and overrunning them.

And then there was Harry.

He hadn't improved in his condition at all. He lay unconscious night and day, muttering strained words that most of the time made little sense, and other times too much sense. It was terrifying, being alone with him on guard duty, and having to listen to some of the things he says... it isn't fair, on anyone, but mostly Harry.

*~*~*~*

September 10th
12 days until the Autumnal Equinox

"D'you think Harry will want to stay, dad?" Michael Potter asked the next day.

James Potter couldn't help the frown that spread across his face, as he waited for the rest of his third years to file in and begin the day's lessons. "I think... Harry will do what he sees best, Michael. If that means he'll stay... well he's very welcome."

Michael nodded, understanding more than he let show. "I don't think he'll stay."

"What makes you say that?" asked James, placing a piece of parchment with the theory of today's lesson written upon it on every desk.

Michael shrugged, sitting on his desk and swinging his legs off to the side. "It would be exciting to travel to different universes. I reckon he'll want to do that."

James clicked his teeth. "I can't imagine doing that's easy, Michael. Not just the travelling part, but who he may meet in these other universes. It's hard for us to even imagine doing that, we can't do it, but Harry has. How would you feel if you met someone you knew to be dead?"

"Sad, I guess," Michael said.

James nodded. "Right. You don't want anything to do with things like that. I'm sorry that Harry does."

"How is he?" Michael then asked, swinging around the desk and down into his seat.

James hesitated before answering, just as the rest of his third years began to file into the room, some dragging their heels and others noticing the empty desks, where there friends had sat less than a year ago alive.

"Better than he was," James lied. "He's better than he was."

*~*~*~*

Trembling slightly, his eyes closed in hope, Harry managed three steps onto the fragile glass bridge before the first of the spider web cracks began to shoot out from under his feet. He struggled not to move; he stopped breathing, and then raised his right foot to take another--

The weight on his left became too great, and the glass shattered in a spiralling fashion that he fell through, already sighing as he was submerged within his memories.

Blink.

"Choose wisely, Harry, because you are throwing away the power of a God."

Blink.

"It is our choices... that make us who we are."

Blink.

"You won't fail, Harry, you don't know how."

Blink.

"We will meet again--"

Blink.

"It will never--"

Blink.

"Once I--"

Blink.

"Love--"

Harry blinked, and he was back atop the pillar of cool black stone high above his pool of memories. Before him lay the glass bridge, millimetres thick and fragile to even the slightest touch. He hated the sight of it.

"I am sick and tired of these trips down memory fucking lane," he cursed, punching the dark wall behind him. He felt no pain, not here. There was no hunger or fatigue either, just constant, unchanging darkness.

He sighed, it was an age old sigh, and fell slumped against the wall he had just propelled his fist into. Beneath him the swirling memories swirled as they had done forever. He tried not to look at it.

"God..." he breathed. "I'm trapped in a nightmare within my own memories. It couldn't get any worse--"

Harry blinked, realised what he had just said, and a small, wry smile spread across his face. "No... I did not just say that."

Hours or days could have stretched by then, Harry did not know. All he had was darkness, and that was as silent as the grave. He stared at the bridge occasionally, wishing someone else had to deal with this, or had the answer to help him.

"Hermione," he said suddenly. "Hermione would know what to do... she's so smart. I wish--"

Stop wishing - get up and do something about this, he told himself stubbornly.

"But what?" he whispered. "There's nothing left to try."

To his right and left the ocean of memories sloshed against the walls of this stone pillar, behind him a wall rose up for an unimaginable, impassable height, and before him the bridge of thin glass stretched on into the darkness almost mockingly.

Harry sighed. "Why's it always darkness?" he mumbled, and then took the glass bridge at a run, pushing himself up with the back of his hands against the wall. It shattered on his first footfall, and he cursed on the way down.

Blink.

For one instant there was the sensation of falling through darkness, and then he was seated within an armchair beside the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Harry's memories were fuzzy, vague at best, and he had the worst headache. Bolts of aching pain shot through his forehead.

Gazing around through bloodshot, watering eyes, he could make out dark lumps and shadows seated and standing around him. He could smell roses, lavenders... flowers. He could smell a strong perfume.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" someone said to his left. He turned in that direction, but his eyes couldn't focus. They hurt, as did the rest of his head.

"I--"

"It may help if you put your glasses on, mate," Ron, yes it was Ron, said from somewhere to his left. Harry turned again and felt someone put something into his hands.

He fumbled with them for a moment, and then placed the glasses on his face. Everything became so much clearer, and his headache began to fail.

"I never needed the glasses in any other memory," he mumbled, and the gathering of his friends around him all frowned, some with concerned smiles.

"Did you fall asleep down here, Harry?" Hermione asked, nudging him over slightly and sitting down next to him. "We didn't take that long getting ready, you know. I know you boys think you only need five minutes to look presentable, but Ginny and I know better."

Harry coughed, more than a little uncomfortable with how close Hermione was. She was almost sitting on his knee. "What... what the bloody hell is going on?" he managed.

Hermione tsked, and slapped his shoulder playfully. "Mind your language, Harry Potter," she said, and then frowned. "It's not like you to swear," she continued, glancing at Ron with a roll of her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Harry laughed, certain he'd never had his memory before. "I'm as right as rain," he snorted, standing up. "And this isn't real."

He looked around the common room, glancing into every corner and at the only three people he could see. Ron, Hermione... and Ginny. There was Ginny, standing behind the chair he had been sitting in. She smiled shyly at him, concern flashing in her brown eyes. She looked stunning in a pair long flowing blue dress robes, her hair like a silk curtain hanging over her left shoulder.

Harry smiled wryly at her. "This is way too good to be real. I know I'm not this lucky, so what's going on?"

"Harry," Ron began, "you wanna sit down again? That may help."

Harry turned to him and winked, slapping him on the back hard. "Help what?" he asked, and took a few steps back, keeping all three of them in his line of sight.

"You're acting crazy, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head and frowning. "Maybe we should take you to see Madam Fairtree--"

"Who's Madam Fairtree?" he asked, pacing up and down the space in front of the fire.

Ginny pursed her lips, and tsked herself this time. "You know she took Madam Pomfrey's job after she died when Voldemort attacked last ye--"

"Voldemort!" Harry exclaimed. "Let's have him join us, then it'll be a party."

"Sit down, Harry," Ron growled, taking Harry's shoulder in an iron grip. "You're not well."

Harry chuckled. "Don't I know it..." He pushed Ron away, none too gently, and then looked up towards the ceiling. "I'M DONE WITH THIS MEMORY," he roared.

Blink.

Harry coughed as he landed hard upon green grass. He turned onto his back and looked up at a blue, cloudless sky. The sun beat down hard upon him, and a warm wind was making him sweat.

"Well I don't think that should have worked," he whispered, staring into the infinite blue of the sky. This was a development, if nothing else, he had control over when a memory ended. Though that last one... he didn't remember ever living that, and had never heard the name Fairtree. It was odd, to say the least.

Out of habit, more than anything else, Harry tried to use magic. He thrust his hands forward and sought the power he knew lay only a thought away. It wasn't there; his arms fell uselessly back down onto the grass.

Pushing himself up with a groan, Harry sat up and gazed with squinting eyes at the bright countryside around him. As far as he could see, long plains of grass stretched for miles until they ended at the foot of mountains, which towered above it all in the distance. There was not a sign of another soul, and the only sounds were that of the wind, and the slow bubbling river a few hundred feet away. It meandered around a hillside about half a mile away and was lost from sight.

Harry rubbed his unshaven cheeks thoughtfully, resting his chin on his palm when he was done. He had definitely grown tired of all this crap. He felt so useless stuck here, within his own mind, with nothing but the memories of those who had died... of those he had killed.

His eyes darkened, even in the bright sunlight, as he thought of the blood on his hands. For a moment all he wanted to do was die, but that faded and was replaced by will. He would see this through to the end, and answer for the life he had taken after that, if there was anything out there to judge him. He doubted it.

"Let's get this over with," he sighed, getting up on to his feet. "Okay... big empty green field with some mountains. I don't remember this but that doesn't seem to matter anymore. So...."

"Have you come here for forgiveness, Potter?"

Harry turned slowly, and met the eyes of the figure behind him levelly. "Ethan," he said. "Fancy seeing you here."

The teenager above Harry smiled, and walked down the hillside until they were level. "Ethan," Ethan said. "I suppose that's as good a name as any. Pull up a chair, Harry, let's chat."

Without hesitation, Ethan fell backwards as if to sit in a chair, and in the blink of an eye a chair appeared beneath him. He sat down with a smile, crossed his legs, and waited for Harry to do the same.

Clicking his teeth thoughtfully, Harry eyed the chair and Ethan with a little caution. "Don't laugh if I fall on my ass," he told Ethan, and then glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing but grass waving in the wind. "There's a chair there," he told himself, and made as if to sit down on the air.

A moment later and Harry sat in a large, comfortable red armchair, similar to the ones in the common room. He was holding - of all things - a glass of ice cold lemonade in his right hand. He took a sip, not finding anything strange anymore, and glanced at Ethan questioningly.

Ethan smiled. "It's your mind, you can do what you want. Think of it as the Room of Requirement."

Harry nodded. "Well I wouldn't mind some chocolate," he said, and snorted laughter when a table with three tripodic legs appeared between himself and Ethan, holding an assortment of chocolate buttons - white, milk, and dark chocolate. He scooped up a handful, leaned back in his armchair, and gazed in relative relaxation at the countryside around him.

"You know," he said, looking back at Ethan, who sat calmly in his own chair staring at Harry as if they had all the time in the world, "if someone had told me a week ago that I'd be sitting in an armchair on a hill within my own mind, drinking lemonade and eating chocolate buttons, with the son of Voldemort for company...."

"You wouldn't have believed them," Ethan finished, turning his head slightly.

Harry smiled sadly, staring at the bowls of chocolate. "No... no, at this point in my life I probably would have believed them." His gaze hardened and he looked back up at Ethan. "What is this?"

"It's exactly what you said it was, Harry," Rafe said. "You're drinking lemonade and eating chocolate buttons upon a hillside within your own mind... with the son of Voldemort for company."

"You know what I meant," Harry growled, tossing away his chocolate buttons. "What are you?"

"Ethan Rafe," Ethan whispered. "A whole made from two halves... even less maybe."

"Start making sense or I'll require that chair of yours to burst into flame."

Ethan, or whatever he was, didn't flinch, if anything his smile deepened. It looked sincere, so did the scowl that replaced it with what he said next. "You recall those final moments atop of my father's fortress?" he asked. Hate, pure undiluted hate and fury disfigured Ethan's face now. Harry saw him clutching the arms of his chair, as if restraining himself from attacking. He was.

"I do," Harry nodded. "We were both on the receiving end of an exploding Killing Curse. Your curse, if memory serves."

The hate drained from Ethan's face, and it was replaced by thoughtfulness. He gazed at the chocolate buttons and saw through them. "I'm not sure if it does anymore," he muttered. "But anyway...."

"What do you think happened?" asked Harry, throwing away his empty glass of lemonade. "I felt... at the end there... I felt as if I was you. I saw through your eyes, knew your thoughts, and so on in that fashion."

Ethan laughed. "I don't know what happened exactly, and it has taken me days within your mind to gather enough of my shattered self together to talk to you here... but I think, and this is just a theory mind, that some... some part of me was... forced, perhaps, into you."

"I'm not sure I care for that," Harry frowned.

Ethan's eye bulged, and he glared at Harry with that hate again. "Do you think I enjoy being in this... this mind, Potter? I remember dying, I remember the pain... and what do I find when I get here, that I'm worse than dead, and that I'm different."

"Different?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I was... changed," Ethan sighed, fatigue replacing hate in his features. "Mixed... with your memories of myself... from another world. This is hard to explain."

"I'll bet," Harry nodded. "Is that why you're not trying to kill me?"

"Possibly," Ethan mumbled, sweat beading on his forehead. He required a glass of water, and it appeared in his hand. Harry wasn't too happy he could do that in his own mind. "I have memories now, of being your friend, of dying twice, of fighting... my father. I can't deny them, anymore than I can deny the years I spent in his service."

"Don't deny it."

Ethan went on as if he hadn't heard. "I became as you see me now, two halves of a whole. I feel pain, guilt, over what I did as myself, and what myself did as me. Your memories, your thoughts about me, Potter, have made me something I'm not - and I can't escape from that. I'm Ethan Rafe, a runaway from your own world... but I'm also the Dark Lord's son, and both halves of me hate one another."

Harry tapped his fingers on the arm of his plush chair. "I think..." he began slowly, "that this has to be placed up near the top of my 'Impossible but Happened' list."

"Nothing is impossible," Ethan mumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have two voices in your head, tearing themselves apart?"

Harry laughed, he couldn't help it. "A voice in my head just asked me what its like to have a voice in my head. You're contradicting yourself there, Ethan--literally."

Ethan laughed, it sounded like a sob of pain and misery. "This is what happens to people who get too close to you, Harry," he said. "I was your enemy, what would you do to those you love?"

Harry scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but Ethan waved his reply away.

"I've seen what you do," he said. "I've waded through the tattered remnants of your memories almost as much as you have. How else do you think I became, in part, the Ethan you knew? No, I've seen many die for the love of you. Your mind is darker than mine ever could be."

Harry shrugged, sipping on a new glass of lemonade. "That's probably true, but at least I was fighting for the right cause."

"By becoming what you fought," Ethan replied, shouted even, and the ground shook. "This is getting us nowhere fast, Potter. We need a plan--"

"To do what?" Harry cut in, throwing up his hand in frustration. "I'm also trapped in here, in case you hadn't noticed. It seems I've been trying for years to get out, but that damn bridge shatters every time I try."

Ethan smiled, and this one looked dark. "There are other ways.... other exits."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Your mind needs time to repair itself, Harry. That is why the bridge shatters every time you step on it. It is not ready to face reality yet, not with what you have to do."

Harry's face became emotionless. "And what do I have to do?"

Ethan smiled. "You've got to save the godforsaken universe, and soon."

Harry sighed. "You've been in those memories as well then. Well... what do you want for showing me one of these other exits?"

A slow, deceptive grin spread across Ethan's face, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Harry, what makes you think I want--"

"Everybody wants something."

Ethan blinked. "Very well. I'll help you get out of here, back into yourself, as it were, so you can do the hero thing. But after that... if you're still alive, I want your help in getting out of your head. I don't want to be here, I don't want to exist... being of two minds is... just too painful."

"That's agreed," Harry replied, without a moment's hesitation. "I don't want you in here either." He reached across the table, and offered Ethan his scarred and calloused right hand.

After a moment of indecision, Ethan took it, and the two of them gripped each other hard enough to break fingers in reality. Here they felt nothing. "Let's go then," Ethan smiled, and the green countryside disappeared in a storm of fire and ash.

Harry held Ethan's hand strongly, as the world around him spun faster and faster, much like a Portkey, and red flames spiralled around the two of them - encasing the two teenager's in an egg of flame. The force upon Harry, the force of gravity, became so strong that he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Wind howled in his ears, and he began to scream. He could hear Ethan doing the same.

*~*~*~*

September 15th
7 days until the Autumnal Equinox

The fabric of reality bent unnaturally upon the Hogwarts grounds, and a sound like wood straining was heard moments before a long, jagged tear was rent in the air beside the shore of the lake.

Not one of the three thousand residents of Hogwarts noticed the tear in the air, and not a one noticed the tall, all too human-looking man that stepped out onto the sandy ground by the lake.

Allarius smiled, he couldn't help it, as he beheld this version of Hogwarts castle. He could sense Harry up there, within its halls and maze like corridors, and knew he had no need to worry about the coming battle. Harry would be in a coma for months yet, and that might be enough time for the damage to become irreversible.

His smile tightened into something malevolent as he saw the row of large, magically expanded homes lining the castle grounds. The first lay a few hundred yards away, almost against the lake bank. It had a small pier built alongside it; sloshing lake water rang in his ears.

Almost subconsciously, his arms came together and a blaze of fire and ice, two halves of one force, ran up his arms in a power different from humans, but stronger than most. He sometimes wondered if it equalled Potter's, and felt certain that it not only equalled, but at times exceeded.

Fire and ice, spiral weaves worked their way up his human arms, encasing them even. Allarius blinked, smiled, and pointed his little finger towards the nearest house, which, at this time of the morning, was home to two hundred and fifty people. A thin beam of white light, cruel white light, shot forth from his finger.

The house simply ceased to exist, simply ceased to be. Allarius was laughing as the wave of intense heat rushed through him. The house next to that one met the same fate, but he began to get more creative after that... mostly so he could just watch it all burn.

The screams were what he was waiting for, and he was not disappointed. Potter was his enemy, the only true enemy worth a damn out of all of existence, and when he woke he would wake to a castle slaughtered. He would wake to a massacre of those who trusted him, who may have even loved him.

Allarius felt pure joy. All his plans were falling into place, months of planning and it all would end soon. It was glorious, as glorious as the screams of the innocent. They were certain, even if nothing else could be.

*~*~*~*

"How come you have more control in my mind than I do?" Harry asked, stepping over parched and sun dried ground. He felt certain he was still within his own head, but the space here was huge, monumental, it could have been a whole world in a drop of water.

Ethan shrugged. "I'm not sure. Just another theory, but I think it's because I'm an outside influence. The rules don't apply to me, as your mind doesn't know I'm here - because I shouldn't be. Confusing as all hell, but its all we've got to go on. Shall we continue?"

Harry nodded. It had been the same for what felt like hours now. They walked... and walked... and walked... and walked. At one point they had run, as a beast so huge, so powerful, had leapt at them out of the shadows. Having not a drop of magic at their disposal, the two boys had run, and fallen into this plain within Harry's mind. A desert, a torn mind representation.

It was food for thought.

"Where are you taking me?" Harry asked, not for the first time. "Where is the... the exit?"

Ethan glanced at him and for a moment Harry saw the Ethan that wasn't his friend, that would do anything to see him die. It was replaced by the neutral medium in between, and the scowl became a frown.

"Ahead," he replied exasperated. "I don't know much more than you do about this," he continued, somewhat angrily. "I mean what the hell was that thing with tusks and seven legs? You don't have enough after you, Potter! You have to start creating monsters of your own."

Harry smiled. "I didn't make that up. If you go swimming in my more recent memories, you might find a fight at a fuel station against Allarius' demons. They're real."

Ethan sighed. "Hell of a mistake to allow something like that exist. You ever wonder who the hell oversees existence?"

Harry clicked his teeth. "You'd be surprised how often I do," he said, wiping his forehead of the sweat. It was hot in this desert, this unchanging sand covered desert. "And I think that no one does, or if someone ever did they've long since given up hope. Fallen asleep on the job, perhaps... you?"

Ethan laughed mirthlessly. "God..." he said, almost spat. "If He does exist I think I was right to throw in my lot with my father. As far as I can tell Heaven and Hell aren't much different, and being evil is a hell of a lot more fun than following the rules."

Harry fell back a few steps behind Ethan, observed his slick brown hair and shape from behind. "You don't mean that," he said. "Or was that Evil Ethan talking? The one I knew would... did die before serving Voldemort."

Ethan did spit this time, onto the parched ground. "I don't know which one I am, and I don't want to find out. Remember our agreement, Potter... as soon as you're finished with this demon of yours, you get me out of your head."

"Gladly...." Harry mumbled, and they moved on.

Perhaps because Harry expected it to, the further they walked the lower the sun sank on the horizon. He began to feel... more alive, perhaps, the longer they moved and he decided it was because he was becoming more conscious - it had to be. They were bypassing, for use of a better word, the safety procedures in his mind that kept him unconscious while his mind healed itself.

He knew he wasn't doing himself any good by taking the quick way out, in fact it was probably very damaging - but time was against him. For all his power that was one aspect of existence he hadn't tried to control, and doubted that he could. Time is relative, time is infinite... it doesn't matter and yet it is all that exists... again, perhaps.

He pictured this desert really, as himself slowly crawling along his physical mind, towards whatever part of it was responsible for waking him up. Once he got there, he was out - he had jumped over the glass bridge and walked out, taken another road. Harry hoped Ethan knew where he was going. He seemed to, and Harry supposed he really was above the rules of his mind.

He's trapped in here though, Harry thought, glancing around at the unchanging desert of his mind. A small wry smile spread across his face as he did, Ethan can't possibly do any more damage than I've already done.

"I think we're getting close," Harry said suddenly. "I feel--"

The ground beneath their feet cracked and exploded. Torrents of flame tore from the ground and exploded three hundred feet above their heads. A breeze of searing hot air buffeted both Harry and Ethan, who jumped and linked hands just as this burning world disintegrated around them.

The world swirled again, much like a Portkey, again, and they both grunted as they landed hard on cold, wet concrete. Harry moaned, rolled over, and saw his breath on the air. He looked up at a street light with dazed eyes, and to his left saw Ethan doing the same.

"Oh man, I never get tired of that," Ethan moaned, showing more of the Ethan Harry had called friend, than the one he had destroyed. "Never a dull day around you, Potter."

Harry laughed harshly, and struggled to stand up. His back was damp from the cold wet ground, and he ached all over. "Can't argue with that."

It took longer than he thought it would, and Ethan was in no better shape. Two minutes, with leaning against a nearby brick wall for help, and they both stood upon their own feet - sweating in the cool night air, and breathing heavily.

"This place... feels heavier," Harry commented. "Like the air's pressing down on me... do you feel it?"

Ethan shook his head. "Must be something to do with yourself, or something?"

Harry sighed. "Let's just get this over with...."

They stood upon a street that looked much like any Muggle street in the country. A row of houses stretched along either side of the road, and at thirty foot intervals street lamps stretched high above the ground. There were a few simple cars parked here and there, and darkness beyond both ends of the street.

"Reminds me of Privet Drive," Harry mumbled, and attempted to require a jumper or cloak to cover his shirt with. It was cold, but it seemed he couldn't control things here as he had done on that hillside with Ethan. He shivered, and looked to Ethan, wondering what to do next.

"What do we do next?" Ethan asked, mumbling under his breath.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're asking me!?" he exclaimed.

Ethan scowled and turned away, looking down the street. "This way's as good as any. Come on, Potter."

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort, and congratulated himself on doing so. "What are we looking for?" he asked, once they had been walking for about a minute.

"An exit," Ethan replied, his own breath not showing on the air. He really shouldn't have been here, none of it applied to him.

"And what do these exits look like?"

Ethan spat upon the ground, and turned towards Harry with his fists clenched. Harry had to remind himself that there were two personalities in the boy before him, and that one of them would do anything to see him dead.

After a tense moment, Ethan growled, "We'll know when we find one...."

Harry remained silent after that, as much to keep the peace than anything else. They walked down this Muggle street, which seemed to grow ahead of them and shrink behind them, always remaining the same length but changing its scenery. Soon they encountered a large park that resembled the one in Surrey right down to the broken swings that Harry had all but forgotten about.

Wild, white roses covered the expanse of the park, and wound their way up around trees and the metal play equipment. Ethan glanced at them once and moved on, but Harry marvelled that all of this existed within his mind. It was like a whole universe within his head, and that thought scared him.

The weight bearing down upon him seemed to increase with every step now. It felt as if he were carrying a heavy weight around his neck, and dragging four more weights along chained around his ankles and wrists. He grit his teeth and persevered though, not willing to show any weakness to Ethan.

At one point, just as they passed a row of clean suburban houses, Harry asked, "Do you have any idea how much time has passed since... since--"

"Since you killed me?" Ethan finished, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Not a clue... in here time doesn't matter. Out in the world it could have been years... weeks... days... minutes, possibly seconds. What does it matter?"

"The Equinox," Harry mumbled. "Everything hangs on that."

"Let's pick up the pace then," Ethan replied, and they did. Harry found it hard with the increasing weight, but his will was strong and he kept up with Rafe.

The road they were on ended suddenly, and before them loomed a high warehouse, dark around the outside with pale lights shining through the high windows overhead. There were three big loading dock doors, with stationary trucks lined up next to them silently. The logo on the side of the truck was a lightning bolt, and written beneath it in bright red letters were the words,

Memory Inc.
You live 'em, we ship 'em

"Your mind has got to be the most buggered up place anywhere, Potter," Ethan said, setting off towards the warehouse across wet black tarmac. "By the way, what's that nonsense about you wanting to travel through time...? I read that thought somewhere."

Harry hesitated just a moment before answering. "Seems there's nothing you don't know about," he mumbled. "I'm going to travel back to the day I left, and stop all this from ever happening."

"All of what?"

Harry sighed. "All of everything... the destruction of the Boundary, the pollution in the Stream, Allarius, all the death across the worlds, you...."

Ethan nodded. "You think if you manage this, I won't be in your head?"

"That I don't know... one thing with time travel is I'll remember everything that happened, and you're a part of that now... I think you may continue to exist here."

Ethan couldn't help the frown that covered his face. "I don't think your plan will work... too many things could go wrong. You don't even know how to travel through time!"

They were walking passed one of those strange trucks now, the night still uninhabited and silent, towards a set of glass doors that would lead into the large, metallic grey building.

"And you do?" Harry spat, glancing at Ethan. He held back another insult and said, "We'll see how it plays out. It's not game over yet."

Ethan was silent for a moment as they reached the doors, his hand reaching out for the slender handle on the nearest one. "The cost of your... game... is high, Harry."

Harry didn't have a reply for that.

The inside of this warehouse was bare, barren, and felt wrong, to Harry. There was nothing but a wide open space, with a few metal girders and support beams holding up the roof and rusting themselves away. Bare walls and a dust covered floor completed the image of emptiness, although there were white square shaped imprints in the floor, where crates or boxes had been stacked... not anymore though. What did that mean?

"Nothing on your mind, Potter?" Ethan asked, his lips quirking slightly into a smile.

Harry let that one slide, and glanced around at the empty warehouse again. It felt disheartening, to say the least. There was nothing, nothing except a faintly glowing green--

"It can't be that simple," Harry breathed, looking straight across the empty building to a rectangular shaped glowing box above a door on the back wall. The halogen light was green with four white letters emphasized in white light. The sign said,

EXIT

Ethan was chuckling. "From what I've seen of your mind that has got to be it."

Harry was beginning to struggle with this immense weight pressing down upon him. It grew with every step he took towards the door along the back wall, and it began to feel sharper, like claws digging into him, dragging him away from consciousness. He supposed it was his mind protecting himself, trying to prevent him from waking up in his broken state.

"I'll just have to live with whatever I am once I wake up," he muttered, sighing under the increasing weight. "I just hope I'm not a gibbering idiot."

It was a battle of will just to keep his eyes open when they reached the dusty, rusted door. There was a padlock looped through the latch on the door. Harry steadied himself against the wall, slumping with one hand grasping at the metal support. He looked at Ethan.

"You got a key?" Ethan asked.

Harry shook his head, panting. He felt as if someone was hitting a gong inside his head. The fact that his head felt this way while he was, in fact, inside his head seemed just a contradiction of logic. He didn't bother thinking about it, couldn't even if he had wanted to.

There was a steel bar leaning against the wall near the door, spotted with rings of rust. It scraped across the floor as Ethan picked it up, holding the base and dropping the tip into the groove between his neck and shoulder.

"Stand back, hero," he said, and Harry jumped back as Ethan took the door on the swing.

The echo of metal on metal rang out through the large dusty warehouse. The padlock remained, but the latch on the door was bent out of shape. A few good whacks would see it off.

Harry sweated, struggling to breath. "I'm not sure if it's a good thing that you're breaking a door in my mind, Ethan," he managed, and Ethan just stared at him. Waiting, it seemed, for his approval to continue. Harry sighed and waved him on. "Try not to do too much damage."

Harry winced at every blow until the latch, complete with locked padlock, fell to the dusty stone beneath his feet, clattering once or twice before coming to a stop. Ethan was panting as well now, even as he let the metal bar fall to the floor. There was a moment when hate filled eyes glared at Harry, and his grip on the bar tightened, but thankfully it passed when he dropped it.

Ethan pushed the door and it swung outwards on its hinges, fast and hard, but not making a sound. A bright white light shone in through the doorframe and defeated some of the darkness around the floor at their feet.

"What do you reckon?" Harry asked, glancing at the white light. That was all that could be seen, nothing more. Just a rectangle of white light in the air.

"It still says exit above our heads." Ethan bit his bottom lip and stepped forward towards the light. His hand came into contact with it first, and in the blink of an eye he was repelled and thrown backwards in a spiral. He turned fast and took a run at the door, this time ending up on the ground.

Despite the weight pressing down upon him, Harry offered Ethan his hand for the second time that day... or year... and helped him to his feet. "Not an exit for me then," Rafe whispered, looking expectantly towards Harry.

Harry turned back towards the door, gazing with glazed over eyes at the white frame and arc of light stretching out from the wall. He steeled himself, made ready to jump, and was just about to when he felt a hard grip on his arm. He looked over his shoulder at Ethan.

"You swear you'll get me out of your head, Potter?" he asked. "You swear it?"

Harry blinked. "I said I would, didn't I?"

Ethan's eyes hardened. "Swear it on Ginny's life, swear you'll do all you can to get me out of here."

Harry gasped, he couldn't help it, but Ethan looked ready to kill, if he could in this place. "I swear it," he finally managed. It was a shock that he knew about Ginny, even though he must have been in those memories as well. Harry wondered how much time really had past since his falling unconscious. "I swear it, Ethan."

Ethan relaxed his grip, and took two steps back from the door. "I don't know if I'll be able to talk to you after this, but I will hold you to that promise, even to the grave. You understand?"

Harry nodded, and then didn't waste another moment in stepping through the bubble of white pure light. He felt cold, and then free, and then pain.

*~*~*~*

The Autumnal Equinox
0200 hours
September 22
nd, 1997

When Harry opened his eyes, it felt as if someone was thrusting sharp, razor sharp, barbs into them. He groaned, rolled over on the bed, and winced in pain and surprise as all his joints cracked and stretched. Groaning again, he moved his tired muscles and bore the pain silently

His vision was blurry, but he could see he was in the infirmary at Hogwarts, and that the only light was shining in through the high windows - it was the pale light of the moon. His first thought was, that the castle felt empty... cold.

He coughed, his throat was dry and his stomach grumbled. With all the effort inside of him, Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position, and leaned back against the headboard of the bed. His vision was starting to adjust when the smell hit him hard.

Harry retched, dry retched over the side of his bed when that all too familiar stench of decay, of stale air and death penetrated his nostrils. There are dead here, was all he thought, breathing slowly through his mouth.

He attempted to stand, but didn't have the energy.

It was too quiet.

Looking to his left, Harry spotted his basilisk armour leaning against the leg of the bedside table, and his shrunken trunk sitting upon the same table. With some effort, he managed to swing his legs around off the side of the bed, and reach for that trunk.

The smell stung his eyes, and he glanced around again at the dark, silent hospital. Wind blew against the windows, and a few shadows crossed the moon, but nothing more. It didn't scare Harry, only put him on edge.

His hands were shaking though, from hunger and thirst, from fatigue and pain. He picked up the small trunk, trying to hold his hands steady, and placed it on the ground in front of him. Thinking the magic, there was a flash of golden light and the trunk expanded to its regular size. Harry kicked open the lid.

Inside were all manner of useful and lifesaving implements. Before anything else, Harry removed three vials of certain potions from the rack attached to the back wall of the expanded trunk. He fumbled with the corks for a moment, and then downed the first purple coloured concoction.

Strength flowed into his veins and he tossed the vial aside, making way for the next one. The edge on his hunger was blunted as he swallowed the green potion, but his throat was still painfully dry. The third potion calmed him, and helped build his strength - a nutrition supplement.

Still shaking, Harry managed to stand and reach into his trunk to pull out his final pair of jeans, black, and his only white polo shirt, a bit large and baggy but it would cover the basilisk armour well.

Trying not to breathe too deeply, Harry stripped out of his blue and white striped hospital pyjamas, and slipped on the jeans and shirt, but not before the basilisk armour. He shivered in doing so, it was cold. When he was done and the potions had had a greater chance to work, he reached back into the trunk and attached his wand in its holster to the inside of his right arm.

At the bottom of the trunk was a cache of weaponry. Harry took in the swords and daggers, the pistols and rifles, and sighed. He reached out for the sword of Gryffindor within his right arm and felt it there. It truly was one of the most powerful weapons he held. Deciding to strap on a pistol in a holster to the strap of his jeans, Harry closed the trunk and shrunk it back down, slipping it easily into his pocket when he was done.

He sat on the bed for a moment with his head in his hands. He was ready to go, but dreaded what he knew was beyond the hospital doors. Dead... possibly hundreds of dead, if the smell was anything to go by.

Get a move on, a voice in his head said, and Harry couldn't be sure if it was his own or Ethan's.

He didn't answer it, at any rate, but did stand up, swaying slightly but keeping to his feet. The footfalls of his boots were loud and ominous upon the stone of the dark infirmary floor, and Harry found himself walking dizzily towards the doors. The old oak doors creaked as he opened them, and a sliver of moonlight broke through onto the corridor outside.

The air was staler out here in the corridors, more bitter. He could taste it in the back of his throat, like a powdery spice. He waved his hand and purified the air around him, not aware that he was muttering under his breath.

"Dead... dead.... they're dead."

Harry came, in time, to the heart of the castle and looked up and down at the dozens of moving and changing staircases. For once, they were all silent... as for the thousands of portraits on the wall; every last one of them had been slashed, destroyed. It was all quiet at Hogwarts.

Upon the floor though at the top of the stairs where Harry stood, in a red that was eerily reminiscent of blood, was written this,

This way, Potter.

An arrow in the same blood pointed down the stairs. Without even thinking about it, as the blood was long dry, he took off down the stairs.

"It will never be over...." he mumbled, his head throbbing. He touched his forehead and it felt as if it were on fire. He was running a fever.

He followed now a long thick line of dry red blood, taking care not to step on it for some reason. It led him down several sets of stairs and down three or four corridors and through two rooms and one secret passage.

The stink of the dead intensified the closer he drew to the Entrance Hall, and a ball of cold ice seemed to have settled itself in his stomach. His eyes flashed dangerously into every shadowed corner, behind suits of blood stained armour and slashed paintings, into the hollows in the wall and even to the ceiling. He didn't know what to expect, but his eyes were wild.

At one point, Harry paused to lean against the wall and catch his breath as well as he could in this air, casting a purifying charm around the area to help. His mind jumped back and forth between what had happened at Slytherin Fortress, to Ethan in his head, and to everything else back from those two events. He needed to know what day it was....

Swallowing his pain and fatigue, Harry steeled himself with thoughts of going home soon, and carried on. The hallways and corridors passed by in a blur over the next five minutes, but the line of dark red blood remained constant, and cut a path straight for the Entrance Hall.

Harry stumbled along with his shirt held up over his nose, and his eyes squinted. Around the next corner he could see the glowing flickering light of fire, and knew he wasn't about to like what he found in the Entrance Hall. Without hesitating though, he was made of stronger stuff than that, he walked around the corner and beheld the massacre.

His shaking legs gave out beneath him at the top of the stairs above the Great Hall, and a cry of anguish escaped his lips, tears springing from his mismatched and tired eyes. Everyone was dead.

"No..." he breathed, thinking back again through the months he had spent here, the lives he had shaped and ruined, the ends he had wrought through power and blood.

You play God and this is what you get, Ethan said, but Harry couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, hear him. His eyes were glued to the scene before him.

The entire floor, stone and inlaid carpet, was coated crimson from the castle doors to the Great Hall and to the base of the stairs. Handprints in long, desperate claw marks along the walls were made of blood as well... whoever did this wasn't done though, and Harry had a good idea who had done this.

Seated.... yes, seated... in bloody chairs around a glowing beam of light in the centre of the room, were people Harry knew well, had known well. Their faces were blank; their bodies in different stages of decomposition, but their glazed eyes were unmistakable to Harry.

Lily and James Potter were closest, hand in hand. Their faces were blank but something or someone had drawn red smiles on them with blood. Harry dry retched some more as his eyes flickered to them all.

Michael and Melissa.... Sirius and Remus... Sophia, Dermas, Grace Arnair, Art Nuan. Everyone he was close to in this world. Next, seated nearer to the beam of white light in the centre of the room, bathed in red from the blood, was Glen Thomas. Again, no sign of pain or discomfort upon his face, just blood.

Finally, and this solidified Harry's belief that Allarius was responsible for this madness, Albus Dumbledore sat, not smiling and holding his wand in one hand and a black rose in the pale, ancient other.

Pain and agony upon Harry's face was replaced by madness, a dangerous glint in his eye, and a gritting of his teeth. The ground beneath him cracked as a wave of uncontrolled power emanated from deep within him, breaking the stone banister and shattering windows behind him.

Clenching his fists, he pulled himself to his feet no longer seeing the dead. Anger, untamed and wild surged through him and manifested itself in at least a dozen different forms. His eyes glowed, the air became super heated, his hair moved and there was no wind. The carpet beneath his feet burst into flame and was reduced to ash.

The glowing beam of light, about three feet across, in the middle of the Entrance Hall caught his attention now, as did the square object floating within it. Sweating pure power, Harry no longer felt any fatigue, he felt more alive than he ever had done. He walked slowly, calmly, down the stairs, ignoring the dead, and over to the beam of white light.

A circle had been drawn into the floor before him, and it was from the radius of this that the light grew, suspending an envelope of parchment just at shoulder height before him. Harry reached into the light, broke the beam, and removed the thin sheet of folded parchment.

The light still shone even after the parchment was removed, but Harry paid it no mind as he broke the seal on the edge of the letter and flipped it open. His eyes narrowed at every word he read.

Dear Potter,

If there's still a world left for you to find and read this, I offer my congratulations. It seems we can't keep you down for long, no matter what we try. That said, the Killing Curse exploding drama was all your own doing, but we think you get the point.

Look around, boy. You see that? That's what you do to the people who are close to you, what you will always do to people who get close to you. That is your family, your friends, your guilt staring at you from those bloody chairs. Hurts, don't it.

Seeing as how we are so short of time these days, I'll be quick from now on. You've lost, Harry. All the power of all the worlds could not help you now. Existence has grown so thin that I was able to punch a hole through to this world with no more than a wave of my hand. You have lost.

There is nothing you can do now but sit back and enjoy the chaos. It is coming, and there is nothing you or any of your allies can do to stop it.

Harry stopped there, his eyes widening in shock for just a moment. Shock and confusion. He realised he'd been crunching the letter hard in his fist, and loosened his grip slightly. Allies? he thought, what allies? He read on,

We are alike, you and I, Harry - more so than many realise. We deal in power, and universes, and men tremble when they hear our footsteps. Nothing can stop us, except each other. Tell me, Harry, how will it end?

It won't for you. For you, it will never be over.

Before you there is a beam of white light. This is a Portkey, of sorts, made by a much deeper and stronger magic than that used by the foolish mortals beneath us. You know of the power I write of. Step into the beam and I'll meet you before destiny. Step into the beam, and we will shake the foundations of Creation.

In anticipation, Harry James Potter,

Allarius.

Next to that name was a blood red kiss, as if Allarius had kissed the paper with blood on his lips. Harry was certain the demon had. With a cry, the letter exploded in a fountain of purple sparks, incinerating the parchment to nothing more than dust.

Again, without hesitating, Harry stepped into the beam of light before him. He felt nothing at first, but then the world began to fade. He cast a final, heart breaking look of pure guilt at those dead faces seated around him, and couldn't help the single tear that always seemed to escape at moments like this.

"I'm sorry...." he whispered. "I'll set it right, James... Lily. I'll-- I'm sorry...."

White beads of light dripped down before his eyes, and Harry blinked. The world melted and then there was blackness. It took a moment, and Harry felt himself being thrown over a vast distance before an image of anything but darkness began to solidify before his eyes.

He blinked again. As pale light faded around him he stood upon a high cliff above a choppy dark ocean. Blue skies stretched forever and over the horizon above his head, and the ground beneath his feet was sandy rock. He stood on the precipice, on the edge of the cliff at the bottom of which, five hundred feet away, the ocean blasted against the rock in a spray of cool white froth.

He didn't quiver, even though the tips of his boots hung over the edge of this extremely steep mass of rock. He rocked back and forth defiantly on his heels for a moment, until a gust of warm wind nearly sent him over. Shaking his head and not realising he was muttering and smiling insanely, Harry turned away from the cliff and looked out at the land behind him.

He couldn't see very far, nothing beyond the elevated ground a few hundred feet away. There was no sign of civilisation, nothing beyond dried, parched grass and a few unfamiliar types of flora and fauna. Unfamiliar except for one. On a small hill to his left, chewing at the ground and scratching itself behind the ear with one of its long paws, was an animal Harry recognised.

It saw him as well, and didn't hesitate in bounding away. With another of those unknowing smiles Harry watched the kangaroo jump away and disappear from sight.

"Australia..." he mumbled. "It has to be Australia."

He looked up to see how high the sun was in the sky. It wasn't quite overhead yet and it was more to the east. He put the time at about ten, eleven o'clock in the morning.

"But what is the date?" he whispered.

That doesn't matter, he heard Ethan mumble, from across a great distance. Allarius can come through, you can leave. The equinox is broken.

Harry was startled for a moment, uncertain. He wasn't sure about Ethan, he wasn't sure that his own mind hadn't made him up, as a guide for what he needed and wanted. It was a possibility, but he could really be in there. Harry honestly did not know...

Are you really there? he wondered. There was no response.

It did not matter now anyway. Six months or so had passed in a blur of battles and hospital beds, of war and death. He had come to this world a stranger, barely alive, and now he was the only one who would be leaving it alive. He was the only human being on this entire world. The thought made him want to throw himself off the cliff, and at the same time breakdown and weep.

Perhaps both amounted to the same thing - weakness, failure. Harry saw it that way.

So many dead... he would wade through the blood of his friends and enemies alike, and still stand at the end. Still stand, against whatever the universe had left to throw at him.

Harry spat on the parched and dry dusty rock beneath his feet, and called for the sword of Gryffindor at the same time. He held it in his right hand and looked down to his left palm.

There was a long, healed scar stretching from the base of his index finger down to his wrist. His promise, his blood promise that he would see Voldemort in the grave, no matter how high the cost. Grinding his teeth, he made another cut diagonally across that scar, from the base of his little finger to the base of his thumb.

It wasn't deep, it didn't hurt, and it only bled a little. It was necessary for what was to come, he knew, thinking back to the hazy moments on March 20th, when Voldemort had opened a door....

This second cut, that would scar, also became a promise. A promise to not let anyone stand against him again, or stand in his way, to not run, to fix the damage he had done. It was a promise that he would redeem himself, if such a thing were possible now. He had come so far through so many battles he could no longer remember the first.

The sword disappeared with a thought, and Harry clenched his bloody hand into a fist. "Time to make a move...." he said without thought, imagining a chessboard in his mind.

With a flick of the wrist his wand shot up into his hand, replacing the sword, and Harry licked his lips. He had tried this spell three times over the last six months, and each time it had thrown him clean off his feet and back for several dozen feet. He turned back to the cliff edge, the ocean, and pointed his wand in that direction.

No more waiting, no more tempting fate. Harry bellowed, "TEMPUS AC CAPACITAS!"

White light, deep creamy white light flowed out of his wand gently, almost lazily. It streamed through the air ahead of him, out over the face of the cliff and the choppy ocean waters hundreds of feet below. Harry didn't blink as the light intensified. He brought his blood covered left hand up, and placed it in the beam of white light on the tip of his wand.

The air behind him was bending, but he didn't notice. Harry's beam of cream light flickered for a moment, and then a stream of blood ran its length, turning the tip of the beam forty feet away into a sphere of crimson red, hanging in the air above the sea. He smiled and laughed, unaware on any conscious level he was doing either.

Wind rocked around him and deafened his ears. He didn't hear the sucking sound of the air and space behind him as a long, jagged scar opened in reality. It was a doorway, of course, we've seen them before. A darkness, thin tendrils of pure darkness reached out of this doorway towards the Boy Who Lived, but withdrew when a man shaped demon stepped out of the doorway, and onto the dusty ground. Harry made no sign that he had seen a thing.

Allarius smiled when he saw Potter, again he could not help it. The boy never said die, he could admire that, even if he would be the one to destroy the life within that seething mass of wild power. The gap behind him closed with a snap, and the sphere of red magic ahead of Potter increased in size, threatening to burst at any moment.

It was a crude way to open a gate into the Boundary, Allarius frowned. Potter may have talent, he may have power, but he didn't know how to use it. He could open the gate with a simple wave of his hand, and the proper application of strength if he merely thought about it. That was a clear weakness... Yet he did have an abundant will to survive, he would take no chances.

Allarius weaved a shield of raw power around his human self, tying it into the very air - unbreakable. He approached Harry from behind, the boy's attention solely on the growing and spinning sphere of crimson magic before him.

A long, black dagger hung from Allarius' belt, and the demon drew it with a smile and a glint in his eye. He flipped it expertly up and down in his hand, flipping it over his knuckles and never touching the blade. He smiled, aimed at Harry's neck, and threw it with a deadly accuracy.

Harry spun so fast the demon blinked before he realised the boy had moved. The dagger came to a quivering halt an inch from his throat and sang as if it had hit a brick wall, suspended in the air as it was now before the boy.

"You were about as subtle as a train wreck," Harry smiled, and with a thought flung the dagger back. He didn't raise an eye as the black hilt was imbedded deep in Allarius' shoulder, shattering his unbreakable shield in the process.

Allarius snarled in disbelief and cried out in unknown pain as his own poisoned dagger cut into his true demon flesh. That the boy had known and been so fast was unbelievable, he had grown in power even since the fortress incident and--

"That one was for Michael," Potter said calmly, as if discussing the matter over drinks... and chocolate buttons.

"You will die," Allarius snarled. "There is no place in all of existence that you can hide, no place in all of time." He ripped his own dagger from his flesh, and thrust it deep into the ground with his own magic. His skin began to knit itself back together almost immediately.

Harry didn't blink, didn't flinch. "There will be one more for everyone you hurt, for all the innocent who died for your ambition. Mark me well, demon, I am Harry Potter, and you will fear me."

Harry watched this exchange between himself and the demon as if he were an outside observer. He barely realised what he had said until it was said, and then did not regret a single word. Perhaps he had just put the fear of god into Allarius, perhaps not - he had scored a point at least.

Allarius screamed in pure fury. His arms glowed and his eyes exploded into fire. A line of purple light, sharper than any razor ever could be, cut down into the ground between himself and Potter. It cut right down to the cliff base, and the ground began to shake. For a moment his human shape wavered, and then he wrought a quick doorway to the nearest world, jumping backwards into it within a cloud of purple smoke and exploding fire.

He glimpsed Potter before he disappeared beyond the Boundary, and roared when he saw the smile on the boy's face. He would pay for this, pay with more life and pain than he scarcely could imagine. It was not over, never over, it had only just begun.

Harry smiled as Allarius vanished, pleased about what had just happened. It had gone well, he thought. Again he wasn't aware of the mad smile on his face, and was only just vaguely aware of the ground shaking beneath his feet.

Frowning now, Harry felt the entire cliff, ton upon heavy ton, shake and begin to... slip, was the right word. The cliff was falling away, a parting cut from Allarius. He turned in a spin, seeing the air before him, his own gateway, rend open and make a door fifty feet wide in the air, already crackling with power and forming a circle.

Wind howled and the ground fell away. Harry ran, he ran to the very precipice of the cliff and then jumped, trusting to luck now more than anything else. The ocean roared as the cliff face fell into it, and a massive wave was forced up and out in ripples against the tide. Ocean water was also being pulled up into the growing circle before him, in streams of glowing magic and life.

Lightning and fire bordered the cut in the air, his way home, and the force of the pulling black hole pulled him over forty feet to its event horizon. He was spinning, spinning in the air hundreds of feet above the ocean about to be sucked into the space between universes. He was spinning, spinning and laughing.

Light failed as he simply spun forward into the darkness of the blood magic before him. Harry gasped as he was submerged in piercing cold water. The cold stabbed him like a thousand sharp needles and all the air was thrust from his lungs. He had felt nothing like this for six months, and he welcomed the pain of universe travel.

Oh God, it felt good. He continued to laugh with no regard as he was thrown across infinity in impenetrable darkness. His scar upon his forehead, the famous lightning bolt, practically exploded with pain, and blood filled his eyes.

Harry never thought that he would be glad that his scar was bleeding. He was going home, he knew it. It had felt like a lifetime had passed in six months and now he was finally going home.

Home, his own universe. He was going home!

He had never been further from it.

*~*~*~*


Author notes: Once again we made it through another chapter. Thanks for reading and pleae review at your pleasure,

joe