The End

Additions to Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias, which was created by J.J. Abrams. Additionally, most chapter titles are lifted lyrics from songs. This one is from "Ballrooms of Mars" by T.Rex.

Author's Note: First off, I'd like to thank my beta, who also happens to be my Mom. This story would make a lot less sense if she hadn't been there, checking my work. Also, I owe a shout out to my friend Cathy for putting the idea for a Harry Potter/Alias crossover in my head. So, yes, this is a crossover, and please don't click the back button just yet if you're not familiar with the show, because the Alias characters function more as OCs than anything.

Chapter 1: Things in Night

Cold.

That was what woke Harry, but it was the unforgiving floor and the stiffness in his bound limbs that kept him that way. His glasses had been knocked askew and he awkwardly replaced them even though there was nothing much to see, the room was nearly dark. However, he could sense someone moving around in the shadows.

"So nice of you to join me."

"Voldemort!" Harry yelped as he realized the identity of his company.

"We really must stop meeting like this," Voldemort hissed. "I'll have to see what I can do about it."

"If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it," Harry suggested desperately. "Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"

But it was no use. A bolt of red light erupted from somewhere in the shadows. It shot straight towards Harry and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Harry woke with a start, his body surging with adrenaline. He couldn't see in the pitch black, but his ears strained into the deafening silence for any sound besides that of his own rapidly beating heart and his gasping breaths. With sudden determination, Harry lunged sideways to where he hoped his wand lay, but it was out of his reach. In the process, however, he discovered that something was tying his legs together. Wandless or not, he was about to try and curse off the offending restraint when a sound from the other side of the room caused him to pause and try to shrink into the floor.

On closer inspection of the sound, Harry discovered that it was in fact a person speaking, a groggy but concerned person.

"You alright, Harry?"

Everything snapped back into focus. Harry was not on the floor, but propped up on one elbow on a spare bed in Ron's room in the Burrow. By now, Ron was used to these nocturnal disturbances, to being woken in the middle of the night by a yelp or a thud from Harry's side of the room. Usually he would wake up just long enough to ask Harry if he was alright then roll over and fall back asleep. Harry, however, wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

As he untangled his legs from the sheets and mopped the cold sweat off his brow, Harry pondered the events of late. He had been having similar nightmares for almost his entire life, but those sporadic retellings looked like pleasant daydreams compared to the phantasms that had haunted him for the past three months.

All of them followed the same pattern of this most recent nightmare. All depicted some part of that night of hell.

In retrospect, he was lucky not to have died, bound hand and foot, on that cold, hard floor. And it was a veritable miracle that less than half an hour later he had claimed the largest victory in recent wizard history. Harry had defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all.

However, there were people who fought longer and harder against Voldemort than he, people who could not share in the victory. People like Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, both of whom were killed by Voldemort or his followers.

Harry flopped back on his bed suddenly devoid of all energy, but his racing mind wouldn't allow him to fall back asleep, a fact that didn't bother him in the least. He could live awhile without rest, but these dreams were quickly becoming unbearable.

However, after an hour of staring at the tricks his eyes played on him in the dark, Harry could stand his own waking thoughts no more than he cared to risk his unconscious ones. With nothing else for it, he slid out from under the covers and into the cool night, grabbed his wand, and quietly let himself into the hall. Once outside he lit his wand, pointed it at his watch, and discovered it to be almost three o'clock in the morning, fully two hours before he could expect anyone else to be awake. Harry wandered downstairs in search of a distraction, vaguely considering slipping back into Ron's room to grab his firebolt so he could fly somewhere, without exactly knowing or caring where. However, as he passed by the Burrow's sole bathroom on the ground floor, it occurred to him that taking a shower now would save him the trouble of having to wait in line with the Weasleys and Hermione later that morning. That decided, he turned on the water, disrobed, and stepped into the shower. The water was freezing and bit at his skin, but in his present state he much preferred its icy torture to the comforting embrace warmer water would offer.

A few minutes later Harry could stand the cold no longer, so he rinsed off the soap, turned off the water, and stepped back out of the shower, shaking the water off his feet and tying a towel around his waist. He glanced at the mirror and found himself staring into the eyes of someone he didn't recognize: his hair, which tended to feign civility when it was extremely wet, was lying flat against his head. Even the bit in back that always stuck up had been beaten into submission. Harry noted the way his bangs perfectly covered his scar, then angrily messed his hair back into its usual configuration.

However, now the mirror displayed the image of someone Harry didn't especially want to see at the moment. He tried to distract himself by examining his flexed bicep, but, suddenly unable to control his general frustration any longer, he aimed a punch at the mirror, landing it exactly where his reflection's nose was. The mirror shattered and fell with a crash. Cursing, Harry grabbed his wand and fixed mirror with a spell then carefully returned it to its place on the wall. His bruised and bloodied hand, however, was a different matter altogether. He was no healer, so he decided the best course of action was to use his towel to staunch the bleeding.

In an amazing feat of timing, a second before Harry actually carried out his plan, Ginny burst through the unlocked bathroom door, her eyes bleary but determined. In the moment of mutual horror that ensued, Harry became acutely aware of the fact that his clothes were still on the floor. Meanwhile, Ginny had turned so red that it was difficult to tell where her face ended and her hair began.

At almost any other time of day, Ginny would have darted out as fast as she came in, and they would have met at the kitchen table a few hours later pretending nothing had happened. However, the time it had taken her sleepy mind to process the situation had cost her a speedy escape; she was now obligated to an apologetic conversation.

"I heard a crash," she started feebly.

"Ah." Harry had suspected as much. In fact he would have been surprised if everyone in the Burrow hadn't heard it. That, however, didn't explain why Ginny had been the one to come running, but the wand in her hand provided some illumination. Ginny had turned seventeen only a few weeks ago and since then had been exercising her newfound ability to use magic outside of school without risk of expulsion whenever an opportunity presented itself. It seemed likely that she'd come down to fix whatever had broken, probably even in the hopes that the house ghoul had perpetrated the destruction so she could try her hand at banishing it. Harry understood completely, he'd undergone the same thing the previous summer, although he'd had to be a bit more discrete about it, as he'd been at the Dursleys' at the time, and a bit less frivolous in choosing his spells since living with the Dursleys had no longer provided any protection.

Ginny had taken to glancing between the mirror, the only thing in the room capable of causing a sound like she'd heard, and Harry's bleeding hand, which had started to drip to the floor between his feet.

"You broke the mirror, didn't you?" she asked.

"Fixed it, too," Harry mumbled defensively.

Ginny merely shrugged her reply and went back to examining the floor, so Harry sighed and said, "I should probably, um..." He trailed off, gesturing to his clothes.

"Harry, your hand," Ginny said suddenly, taking a step forward.

"It's nothing," Harry replied quickly. He covered his knuckles with his other hand and accidentally made contact with the broken skin, causing himself to wince, but he quickly forced it into a smile.

"But you should really..." she persisted, making a grab for his arm and missing.

"Ginny, I'm fine," Harry maintained, moving away a few steps, however he didn't have far to go before he'd backed himself into the shower curtain.

"You really should..." Ginny tried again, advancing toward him.

"Ginny," Harry said threateningly, knowing fully that even if his wand was within reach he wouldn't be willing to do anything to back up the tone in his voice.

At last, Ginny gave up and backed off, at least that seemed like her intention right up until she lunged back at Harry and grabbed his wounded wrist with such speed that Harry scarcely had time to flinch before she'd performed her spell. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear Ginny scream as she discovered she'd actually removed the bones in his hand or taken off all the skin. When she didn't, he opened one eye and then the other to discover that his hand was once again in peak condition and gripping her wrist tightly.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked.

"Hermione taught me," Ginny replied smugly.

"Oh," Harry said. He might have guessed that. "Thanks."

"No problem," Ginny said. "Sorry, for...uh...you know..."

"No problem," Harry repeated. "I should probably get dressed, though." It had just occurred to him how much trouble he would be in if Ginny's parents found them like this.

"Right," Ginny sighed. "Good night."

"'Night," Harry replied.

Ginny made to leave, but turned back a moment later.

"Um, Harry?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I'm gonna need my arm back."

"Right," Harry stammered, releasing her quickly.

She left, closing the door behind her and Harry followed a few minutes later, once again wearing his pajamas. However, there was no going back to bed anymore; his mind was even more full than when he had come downstairs. He pulled a random book off the shelf, replaced it quickly when he discovered it to be one of Lockhart's publications, located a cookbook instead, and started reading by wand light.