Harry Potter and the Siren's Song

He was shaking, and it took him a minute to realize this fact. Without warning, he rushed to the bushes where Mrs. Figg had been lying and retched. The smell of her spilt blood filled his senses, and he felt his stomach tighten and heave again. He stayed that way for some time, trying to fight against what he felt in his gut, indeed in his very soul. Empty at last, he sat back against the wall of the pub, watching as the trees above spun in dizzying circles above him.

This was worse, far worse, than how he had felt over Cedric's death. Cedric had died and that had been a tragedy. However, Cedric's death, while horrible, had been quick, neat and painless. This was a hundred thousand times more terrible. This was cold, and calculated and had an aura of overpowering evil. It reeked of hatred, and rage, and a complete lack of anything resembling human emotion. Harry recognized it, because he had felt something similar this year, had been feeling it ever since Cedric had died. Anger over his passing had turned to rage. Anger over discovering the truth about his godmother had turned to rage. Anger towards Hermione for keeping the truth from him had turned to rage...

The true nature of his emotions, and the potential consequences of them hit hard. He remembered another dark-haired prefect who had allowed his anger to turn into rage. That boy had committed his first murder at age 16, just a year older than Harry was now. That boy had grown into a man who had murdered countless hundreds, possibly thousands. That boy had been responsible for the carnage Harry had witnessed tonight.

That boy was working to destroy everything that he, Harry, held dear.

"'Never let the sun go down on your anger.' Anger's a tricky thing - let it go unchecked too long, and it will turn to rage. And rage, Harry, is capable of destroying a person."

The memory of how he had lashed out at Sirius, Hermione and Lena flooded back to him, and he realized just how dangerously easy it would be to follow down the same path as Riddle.

"There are strange likenesses between us," Riddle had said.

"You're wrong," Harry murmured. "You never realized that what you did was wrong, or if you did you just didn't give a damn. There are such things as good and evil. There's more to power then just seeking it out." He stood up shakily as he muttered, "I'm going to prove it."

***

Lauren was right, Harry thought to himself grimly as he followed a cluster of Ravenclaw girls across the lawn. Within moments of Rene's Floo powder journey, Dumbledore had sent word that all Hogwarts students were to immediately return to the safety of the school. Harry's journey through Hogsmeade and back up to the castle was a disorienting blur of black cloaks, pale faces, and anxious voices. It reminded him of how it had been his second year, when the entire school had been on edge as student after student had been Petrified by Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk. He passed Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls in the entrance, and was both surprised and gratified to see that even they appeared to be nervous.

When he entered the Great Hall at last, it took him only seconds to catch sight of Hermione, Ron and Ginny talking earnestly amongst themselves. Ginny looked younger, smaller, and more fragile than he remembered. Hermione appeared to be trying to calm the younger girl, while Ron looked miserable. As soon as Ginny spied Harry however, her entire face lit up. She raced over to his side, threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried. I heard you were there when Mrs. Figg showed up, and there have been the wildest rumours-"

Harry cut her off, holding her tightly even as he set her back on her feet.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you worry." He caught her hands in his, and said quietly "Ginny, I've been an utter, utter prat. Prat squared, topped of with a healthy dollop of git and weasel-faced tosser..." He would have continued on in this vein but the look on her face made him stop abruptly.

He'd been cold since they'd found Mrs. Figg. It was the kind of frigid and merciless cold that he associated with dungeons, darkness and the hooded nameless creatures that haunted his dreams. But as he leaned down and brushed Ginny's lips with his own the cold fell away, until all he felt was the warmth of the room and her arms around him. He would have loved to deepen the kiss, but not here, not now - not with hundred of students around them. He heard Lauren's voice ringing through his head yet again. 'Never let the sun go down on your anger.' He wouldn't - not ever again.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. "I'm so sorry. I never want to fight like that again. Ever."

"Harry?" Ginny asked in a bewildered voice. "Are you...all right?"

"I am now, or I will be, as soon as you tell me that I'm forgiven," he suddenly pulled away and grinned down at her. "Humility is one thing, but how many ways does a bloke have to say 'I'm sorry?' You're a tough one to please, Miss Weasley."

Her dark eyes searched his face, before a broad smile crossed her features. "Anyone mentioned lately that you may very well be mad?"

"Just you." Harry kissed her hand before he held it tightly in his own. He hadn't realized how nervous he was that Ginny might not accept his apology until he recognized the palpable feeling of relief spreading through his veins.

Unbidden, he heard Lauren's voice again. "Lesson number two, Harry, is to treasure family above all else." And he felt a painful tug at his heart, and something very like to...shame.

He'd lied to Lauren when he'd said he didn't have a family. Hermione and Ron were more than his closest friends and confidantes; they were the two most important people in his life. And Ginny, well, her role in his life was confusing (was she his girlfriend? It seemed such an odd thing for him to have) but nonetheless equally important.

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione watching them. Ron's expression was carefully neutral. Hermione's was almost identical but for the apprehension in her eyes.

It hurt to breathe for a moment as he faced them. Would they be as understanding as Ginny? He held tightly onto Ginny's hand as he approached them. "Listen, I know things have been kind of, well, tense lately," Harry began awkwardly. "Between us, I mean."

Hermione flushed, but looked him in the eye. "Yes, you could say that."

He swallowed. "Well, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."

Ron looked at Hermione then, his expression still unreadable. "You had something you wanted to tell Harry?" he said gently.

"Yes, well, Harry...I'm sorry too. I know you felt betrayed by what I did, and I'm so sorry I hurt you." Her eyes were very bright. "And I hate it that we're not talking."

"Yeah, well." Harry looked down at Ginny, who was beaming up at him. "Do you think we could, you know, put that behind us?"

Hermione smiled. "I'd like that," she said, a bit shyly.

Ron just rolled his eyes. "Oh, hug or whatever already. I'm dying to end the game of stilted phrases already. Plus I want to know what Harry saw at the Hog's Head."

"Ron!" Hermione turned to glare at him. "This is serious."

"So is this." Without warning, Harry pulled Hermione into a hug, grinning over her shoulder at Ron. "I know we don't hug, so what now?"

He was stunned to watch Ron's face crumble, and the next thing he knew he was firmly sandwiched between Ron and Hermione. Ginny added to the fray, and the four of them stood with their arms wrapped tightly around one another.

And Harry felt the cold recede completely from his heart, mind and body.

***

"And then Rene Apparated Mrs. Figg away," Harry said, feeling the warmth of the hearth fire on his skin, but thinking how it fell short of the warmth that his friends gave him.

"Wait, your godmother and her sister are both Sirens?" Ron asked incredulously. He looked at Hermione. "How much of this did you know?"

She looked at Harry as she nervously answered him, "Well, all of it actually," she muttered. Her brown eyes searched Harry's face. "What else did she tell you?"

"That my father was an Unspeakable. She told me what he did, the reason that Voldemort come after him." For some reason, Harry didn't feel comfortable telling them about the prophecy that Lauren had mentioned. He didn't care if Hermione knew, but the idea that his defeat of Voldemort had been predicted and put into motion years before his birth made him more than a little uncomfortable.

"Your father was an Unspeakable?" Ron looked stunned. "Harry, that's, well that's just..."

"Cool," Ginny finished for him. "I mean, no one really knows what they do. They just sort of show up and solve problems."

Hermione had not taken her eyes off Harry. He had a sneaking suspicion that she knew about everything his father had done. "Anything else?" she asked. "Did she say what your mother did?"

"She was going to tell me more, but then Mrs. Figg turned up." Harry said heavily. He looked at her sideways, suddenly curious. "Why, do you know what my mother did?"

"No," Hermione said softly. "She didn't say, and I didn't ask. I thought that was something you should hear first." She swallowed, then lowered her head to study her plate.

"Poor Mrs. Figg," Ginny said softly into silence that surrounded them, despite the noise of the tables in the Hall. "I can't imagine doing, you know, what she did. Surviving what she went through." She shivered and Harry wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. He looked at Ron.

"There's no way they can recover her sight, is there?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so," Ron said, looking a bit ill. "I mean, Medi-Mages can only do so much. She can have magical eyes now, though, like Moody's."

This wasn't a terribly comforting thought. "But she'll never have her own eyes back?"

"No." Hermione said softly. "And there's no way to magically erase what she went through emotionally."

Ginny had begun poking at her chicken almost viciously. When she realized all three of them were staring at her, she gave a wane smile. "I was just thinking about how much I hate them. Voldemort and his minions, I mean. How could they do that to a defenseless woman?"

"She wasn't exactly defenseless." Ron said somberly. "To be honest, she was a threat. A threat they're too cowardly to fight, but not too cowardly to torture, just to prove how powerful they are." He shook his head and added, "I just don't understand them. What was the point? To prove how horrible they are? Don't they think we know?"

"Because it's their idea of fun." Harry said firmly, remembering when Mr. Weasley had said the same about the Death Eaters and their treatment of the Roberts family at the World Cup. And because they never learned about controlling their rage.

He felt a pair of eyes on him, and looked up to see Professor Velange watching him intently from the Head Table. He waited for the rush of resentment, but it didn't come. Disappointment, to be sure, but the raging tide of anger that he had begun to associate with his godmother's presence was absent.

He was just sorry it had taken seeing his former babysitter near death to force him to re-sort his priorities.

***

Despite his newfound calm over the situation with Professor Velange, Harry found himself avoiding her. The pain of her leaving him to the Dursleys had lessened, but he feared that rushing in and confronting her on the situation would be like ripping the scab off a partially healed wound.

Caught up in his very real and complicated life, Harry had managed to forget all about his run-in with Trelawney, and the Tarot card's prediction. His bubble was quickly burst Monday morning when Professor McGonagall stopped by the Gryffindor Table over breakfast. She looked as though someone had just spiked her morning porridge with vomit-flavoured Bertie Bott's Beans.

She did not bring welcome news. "You are excused from your morning sessions today, Mr. Potter. Madam Viccarro from the Ministry is here to meet with you." As those "morning sessions" included Transfiguration, Harry felt he knew what was causing McGonagall to look so displeased.

Harry, who would have welcomed a triple session of Potions over meeting with the mysterious Madam Viccarro, opened his mouth to protest.

He needn't have bothered.

"But Professor McGonagall," Hermione spoke up quickly. "Today was the day you were testing us on Compound Switching Spells." Harry never thought he would have chosen one of McGonagall's tests over, well, anything. But given the choice between making a chair develop cat-like traits, and Madam Viccarro, he'd take the chair and be thankful for it. Even if he had yet to make a chair curl up and purr like a contended kitten.

McGonagall's already thin mouth became practically invisible as she set her jaw and looked most irritable. "I am aware of the unfortunate timing, Miss Granger, but Madam Viccarro's time is extremely valuable. We do not know when she will be available to visit Hogwarts again in the foreseeable future. Mr. Potter will simply have to make up his exam with me later this afternoon." She jerked her chin in the direction of the door. "Move along then, Potter. Madam Viccarro is waiting for you in the Headmaster's office."

Harry sighed, and picked up his bookbag. Ron, however, grinned at McGonagall and asked "How is it the Ministry's expert on Divination can't even predict her own schedule?"

"That is enough, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said sternly, although now she looked as though she were trying to hide a smile of her own.

Between Ginny's sympathetic look, Ron's suppressed laughter and Hermione's tutting under her breath about frauds, Harry was almost glad to escape from the table. Almost...before he remembered that he was meeting with a woman who would no doubt want him to relive that memory of seeing the Dementors abandon Azkaban. His pace matched that of a man making his way to his own execution as he slouched out towards the door.

"Oi! Potter! Hold up!" Malfoy's voice rang out behind him, and Harry turned to give his Potions' partner an annoyed look.

"I'm kind of late for a meeting in Dumbledore's office, Malfoy." Harry said shortly. "So make it quick."

"Gladly," Malfoy shot back. "I'd hate to do anything that would prevent you from rapidly being elsewhere."

They glared at one another for a long moment. Their uneasy détente of a few weeks ago had ended by silent agreement. Harry wondered now how he had ever thought it possible that the two of them would get along. Finally tiring of the glower-fest, he said "You're the one who wanted to talk to me, Malfoy. So...talk already."

"Ooh, look at Potter! Let me guess, Weasley lent you The Idiot's Guide to Tough-Guy Talk? If you're quite done with being an annoying prat, I wanted to let you know that Snape said that he was releasing me from working with you after-hours until after the holidays."

That was odd, Harry thought. "Why?" he asked aloud.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How should I know? And to be honest, I was hardly pushing him for an answer. I just said 'Thank you, sir' and continued on my merry way."

Harry's mind was racing. Snape knew that Malfoy had been with him in the forest. Could it be that Snape had changed his mind about any chance they had to lure Malfoy away from his father? No, that didn't seem possible. Snape had been insistent that Malfoy could yet be turned away from his father's way of thinking. It didn't make sense.

Unless, of course, Snape wanted them away from the dungeon for other reasons...

"Anyway, thought I'd give you fair warning just in case you opted to blow the dungeon up again and were waiting on me to bail your arse out tonight." Draco smirked and pressed past him. "Unless of course you decided to show some actual hormones and chose to snog the Weasley brat all night-"

"Silencio!" Harry said, not thinking to look and see who was around. "I think I liked you better when you were gawping in fear in the forest," he interjected.

Draco mouthed soundlessly at him, his expression furious.

"Yep, just like that." Harry grinned.

***

The gargoyle at the base of the stairs that led to Dumbledore's office leered down at him, even as Harry inwardly swore. McGonagall hadn't told him the password to get inside Dumbledore's office. "Right," Harry said, squaring his shoulders. "Cockroach Cluster." Nothing. "Fizzing Whizbees. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum."

Still nothing. "Lemon Drop. Sherbert Lemon. Licorice Wand. Chocolate Frogs." This was starting to get ridiculous. At this rate he'd be in sixth year before he guessed the password. "Canary Creams!" he snapped, not really expecting a reaction.

He was wrong. The statue of the gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. "Canary Creams?" Harry gasped. "You must be joking!"

"Hardly, Mr. Potter," said an amused voice from just inside the opening that the gargoyle had revealed in the wall. The sound was so unexpected that he gave a slight jump of surprise. "Misters Fred and George Weasley were kind enough to send me a few of their, er, inventions, over the summer. I found their Canary Creams to be quite the hit at the staff meetings." Dumbledore's blue eyes were twinkling in a way that Harry had not seen in some time. He found himself returning the Headmaster's smile, quite relieved to see Dumbledore in such good sprits. Lately, it seemed, Dumbledore had looked older and wearier then ever, and Harry missed this more familiar-looking Albus Dumbledore.

"It would seem that you took matters into your own hands in order to see Madam Viccarro. Excellent, she's waiting in my office." Dumbledore waved a hand towards the moving spiral stone staircase that led to his chambers. "After you, Harry."

Entering Dumbledore's officer through the heavily polished oak door, Harry received his third shock of the morning. He had expected Madam Viccarro to resemble Professor Trelawney, with her numerous beaded necklaces, heavy glasses and spooky manner. Instead he found himself face to face with a pretty witch in bright green robes who appeared to be roughly the same age as Sirius and Remus Lupin. Her long dark hair was twisted up into a complicated looking knot at the back of her head, and her bright blue eyes were twinkling in much the same manner as Dumbledore's. "A pleasure, Mr. Potter," she said, taking his hand in her own.

He began to shake hers in return, but then realized that she was not holding his hand in the traditional greeting, but had turned it over in her own to study his palm. "I already know, I have a very short life line," he said dully, knowing what she was looking for.

Her gaze was rather intense as it shifted from his palm to his face. "Quite the contrary to what I was going to say, Mr. Potter. Your life-line does indeed curve off to the side, and many would mistake it for being short. But an experienced Diviner should not miss the fact that it only pauses for a moment before arching off into your hand and almost clear around to the front. Here, do you see it?" She tapped the spot with finger. Unlike Rita Skeeter's well-polished talons, Viccarro's nails were neatly filed and painted a clear shell pink. "I'm afraid that whoever told you that your life line was short was mistaken. In fact, it's quite lengthy...it just follows a most unusual route."

Harry found he had nothing to say to this, so he merely nodded. "Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said. Harry sat.

Madam Viccarro's eyes were resting on his scar now. He was used to people studying the famous souvenir of his first meeting with Voldemort by now, but nonetheless, he'd never found the experience to be a comfortable one. And this woman was studying it with a narrow focus that made his skin crawl. "Most unusual," she murmured, before reaching to lift his sleeve and examine the long red scar on his arm. Her mouth pursed slightly as she tilted his hand, moving it slightly to get a better look. After a few moments, she slid his sleeve back into place, returning her hands to her lap. "Well, Albus, while I'll grant you that these scars may provide Harry with some sort of link to Voldemort, it is unlikely that they would completely explain Harry's visions." She turned her attention back to Harry, who had been staring at her since her casual use of Voldemort's name. "The Headmaster has been telling me of your unusual experiences this year, Harry. I'd like to hear of them in your own words, if you don't mind."

This was exactly what he'd been dreading. "Not much to tell, really." Harry felt his face getting red as Dumbledore sank into a chair opposite from him, and said nothing. "I was in Hogsmeade, and all of a sudden I felt very cold. And then, I saw them. Saw Azkaban, saw the prisoners..." his throat tightened as he remembered the screams he had heard, and knew that he heard the last moments of prisoners who were not supporters of Voldemort and his supporters.

He looked up to see Dumbledore and Viccarro watching him closely. "Um, that's it."

Madam Viccarro nodded, and looked at Dumbledore. "You know, Albus, I could really go for a cup of tea. Darjeeling, perhaps." Her meaning was all too obvious - she wanted to speak to Harry alone.

Dumbledore smiled as he rose. "Oh, that does sound delightful. Let me go see what I can do." He gave Harry an encouraging smile as he left, and Harry could have sworn he was humming.

Madam Viccarro didn't say anything for several minutes. Instead she stood and went to the windows. "I had almost forgotten how beautiful the grounds were," she said at last. "That Quidditch field is truly spectacular." She turned to look at Harry. "I understand you're a Seeker? Youngest in a century to play here at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded mutely. "Oh, you're so lucky to be able to compete!" Viccarro continued. "I was never great shakes at flying myself. Which turned out to be good, as I was an excellent tutor for the members of the team who needed some, er, extra help." She gave a slight shake of her head, and returned to her seat.

"When you saw the Dementors in your vision, how did you feel?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"I told you," Harry muttered. "I felt cold."

"No - that is what you felt of the outside world pushing in...tell me what you felt," she said, a little more insistently.

"Cold. I felt, well...when was the last time you went up against a Dementor?" Harry asked harshly.

"You felt despair." Her words were so quiet he could scarcely hear them. "You felt the passing of life, and what the absence of hope can do."

He could only stare at her.

"You don't trust me, do you Harry?" Her blue-eyed gaze was very kind as she said these words.

Harry shook his head. "It's not that I don't trust you," he muttered. "I just don't like what's been happening to me."

"Ah, yes. The dreams, the visions, the disturbing glimpses of a madman set on destroying everything we hold dear," Viccarro nodded. "Well then, you're really not going to like what I have to say next." She sat back and regarded him for a moment, before she continued. "Young as you are Harry, you are our best weapon in the fight against Voldemort and his forces. You have faced him now four times - and each time you have survived. No other warrior still living can claim that. As a result, your subconscious has been forced to accept what your conscious mind cannot fully grasp. It has stepped in to do what you feel you cannot."

"I...what?" Harry started, but she cut him off.

"The more you try and resist what is so obviously your destiny, the more your inner voice will war with you as it rises to do what it knows must be done." Her eyes narrowed. "I advise you to grow up, Harry. Suck it up, accept your gift as well as your fate, and help us fight back."

"What?" Harry asked again, staring at her. Her attitude was so unexpected that he was certain he had misheard her.

"You heard me. Enough of the whining and 'why me's'? You have been given a rare gift, boy, one that many wizards would give their wand arms for, and one that could make a real difference in this war. You're the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy Who Threw Himself a Pity Party and Wallowed in his own Sorrows!" Her expression reminded him strongly of Professor McGonagall's as she continued, "I know what happened last year, Harry, and I know you're scared. Congratulations, we all are. My question to you is, what do you intend to do about it?"

Harry couldn't remember ever being spoken to in such a manner since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he snarled, getting to his feet and moving towards the door. "You don't know anything about me!"

"Don't I? I know you've had nightmares you don't feel you can share with your friends, and visions of things that scare you more then you care to admit, not even to the Headmaster. I know you're trying to act as though everything is just fine and dandy while what you want to do is scream 'ENOUGH!'" He started to interrupt but again she cut him off. "I know that you think you are responsible for that boy's death last year, and you're terrified that you may be placing your friends in danger merely through your own existence and their connection to you." Her voice lowered and she said, "And there are times you wish you'd never come to Hogwarts...because if you hadn't then maybe everything would be different."

That made him stop dead in his tracks. He turned to face her, and said thickly. "How did you-"

Viccarro gave him a sad smile. "It's written all over you - I'd have to have been blind not to see it. It's the pain only another Seer can recognize. The pain of seeing what might come, what will come...and what we must work to prevent from ever coming to pass. I can help you, Harry - help you understand what's going on around you, help you learn to control your very precious gift - but only if you are honest with yourself." The blue eyes were more piercing than daggers. "Now, I want you to tell me everything."

Harry blinked. "Everything?"

"Well, perhaps you can skip over the fact that you secretly cheer for the Caerphilly Catapaults over the Cannons." Her eyes twinkled, and again Harry was reminded of Dumbledore.

Harry took a deep breath, and began.

***

"The voice...it was terrible," Harry said dully. "Like a snake...but I don't think it was Voldemort." He had just finished telling of the dream he had, the dream of being in his mother's house...and the blood he had seen.

"No, that dream sounds more like a warning, and I doubt he'd be telegraphing defence ideas for you to use," Madam Viccarro's matter of fact voice sliced through his thoughts. She stood so suddenly that Harry flinched. She paced by the large windows for a few moments and then asked, "Are you afraid of him?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Harry retorted.

"No, you misunderstand me - do you fear him- Voldemort the man - or do you fear what he is, what he has become - Voldemort, the Dark Lord of Magicks?"

Harry frowned. "I don't understand the difference."

"No," she said thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you would." She turned from the window and said swiftly, "You are still so young, and it is cruel for me to expect you to grasp the ramblings of a Seer." Madam Viccarro seemed deep in thought for a moment. "I wonder...would you understand if I were to show you?"

His apprehension must have shown in his eyes, for she paused to give him a reassuring smile. "You said you didn't dislike me, but do you trust me?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly. He did, although he was uncertain as to why. She spoke to him as though she already knew what he might say, and without trying,her manner was far spookier than Trelawney could ever have hoped for. Still, he knew she was only trying to help him.

Without realizing what he was doing, his hand sought hers, and the moment they made contact Harry felt as though he had been sucked underneath a wave of frigid water...

He was walking through the streets of Hogsmeade and every store window was shuttered. The normally bustling village was as quiet as a graveyard, and the gloom was mirrored by the grey that surrounded him: the slate-coloured sky, the hazy cloying fog...the stony cobbled roads. It was as though all life had been removed from the town, and only the shades of what had been remained...

The scene swirled and he found himself within the walls of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. However, it was a Hogwarts the likes of which he had never seen: the four long house tables had been replaced by two shorter ones. Every student wore the familiar black robes, but these were topped with black hoods that obscured the faces beneath them. The school seal that was normally displayed prominently behind the chair of the Headmaster was conspicuously absent. In its place a large snake was carved into the wall, and after a long moment Harry recognized it as an ornate depiction of the Death Eaters' symbol...

More visions swirled before his eyes, each bringing fresh horrors to his mind: The Daily Prophet, speaking of sweeping reforms "To fully bring the Muggle plague under control". The daily executions of those seen as "dangerous subversives". The expulsion of Muggle-borns from the wizarding world. The fear, the anger...It was like a vise choking him. And above it all, he heard the familiar bone-chilling laughter...

Faces flashed before him: Mr. Weasley, looking 100 years older, and thinner than Sirius had ever been. Seamus Finnegan, looking bloody and battered. Bill Weasley, his hand gone, his face disfigured. Dean Thomas, dead. Hermione, dead. Ron, dead. Sirius, dead. Ginny, dead. The laughter had turned to screams, and it took him a long moment to recognize the voice behind the cries...

Harry raised his head from the floor of Dumbledore's office, and felt tears upon his cheeks. He was dizzy, and as weak as if he had just woken up with a fever. But the sickness he felt was deeper than physical - it was in his heart and mind. He was sick with the images he had witnessed, and of the world he had seen.

It was a world he had dreaded from the first moment he had seen the tall thin figure rise from that cauldron two years ago: a universe in which Voldemort had won.

Madam Viccarro was sitting next to him on the ground, and the look in her eyes was one of both pity and sorrow. "Now do you understand?" she asked softly.

***