Pandora's Box

Harry felt himself violently wrenched free from the invisible chain that held him, Francis, and Severus together as they spiraled downward through the mists of dark green and baby blue to the white opening at the very end. He threw his arm out to grab hold of Severus as they floated on beyond him, but missed. Unattached, he floated listlessly around and looked at the colors with eyes crossed from the agony his scar throbbed with.

A pressure built around him. He saw the white line that had been the opening Francis and Severus exited at. It zippered shut. Harry pressed one hand to his scar again. He rubbed his eyes with the other in an attempt to clear his vision enough to the point where he could focus his eyes. He saw someone in the mists, a little blur of a figure. Harry swam towards it, struggling to get close. The pain in his scar intensified as the pressure around him increased further.

“Help!” His voice, strangled and high-pitched, did not carry far in the misty realm of space between realities. Harry struggled more, but when the lancing pain escalated beyond what he could bear. He curled into a tight little ball and wrapped his arms over his head. If his head was a melon, he felt it would have burst by now. His fingernails sunk into the thick skin of his palms as he struggled not to scream from the pain.

The more intense it became, the more Harry lost his awareness of his surroundings. He did not feel the building pressure as the space between the realities began to heal itself of the infraction caused by the reality-jumpers. As the pain finally forced a ragged cry from Harry, the walls of the separate realities slammed together, all but crushing the fragile human body that lay between them.

In the ringing silence and the darkness, which is all that remained after the power fled, a tiny, sheepish voice said, “Oops.”

Another said, “Your clumsiness is exceeded only by your dismally intoxicated wretchedness . . . So what are you going to do now?”

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The first words Francis said when he emerged from the spinning portal of the Mirror of Rebounds were, “This place sure saw better days.” A vast understatement on his part, for the Hogwarts Castle they currently were in had gone to ruins, as if abandoned and left to age a thousand years. But Francis could get away with such painfully obvious remarks because he was, in a word, a genius. Obviously, geniuses understood what they said a great deal better than other people.

At least that had always been Severus’ opinion, and while Francis was a genius, he also had a habit of missing the bigger picture. This may have partially been a defense mechanism of Francis’. After all, Francis could rather peacefully cope with the idea of being fifty years in the future and having to jump realities in search of the man who nearly killed him if he did not dwell on what that meant to him. What it meant to him was he could never return to the past--not to his twin daughters, son, wife, home, and world, because they had all been destroyed by the man he was searching for. He would henceforth reside in a world that perhaps did not suit him, a world that was so vastly different from what he had once lived in it would potentially destroy his sanity.

Severus decided the defense mechanism should, in part, stop working now. And since Francis was currently studying the crumbling walls and the open sky where the roof had been torn off, he felt it was up to him to force Francis’ attention to the current dire situation.

“Now where the hell did Harry Potter go now?”

No one expected a sardonic voice to reply. “He’s gone. Where’s the hell have you two been for the past two years in order to miss it, and how the hell did you manage to pop out of nowhere like that?”

Francis and Severus’ heads swiveled around to the direction of the voice to see a young man peering over a pile of rubble, looking bored and pouting because of it. He was thin and his face pointy. His pale hair swept back from his gray eyes and was held like that with a bandana that, when it was new, would have been white. The fresh scar that ran along the side of his face from the corner of his eye to the hinge of his jaw gave the otherwise relaxed young man a dangerous air. He stared suspiciously at the Mirror of Rebounds as Francis and Severus studied him. “Well?” “What happened here?” Francis asked as he waved his hands around to indicate his

surroundings. Draco Malfoy sighed and walked around the pile of rubble. He wore knee-length leather boots and his dark blue robes were open to reveal a pair of tattered trousers and a very stained shirt. The belt that circled his waist held two knives and his wand while a sword was strapped across his back. The bored expression on his face turned into something akin to sorrow before he looked at the two reality jumpers with a suspicious expression.

“Who are you?” he asked as his gaze settled upon Severus.

“It’s a long story,” the ghost said. “Who I’m most worried about is Harry.”

Draco said nothing as he squinted at Severus. “Hey, wait a minute!” Draco took several steps forward until he was standing toe to toe with Severus. “You’re Professor Snape, aren’t you?” Draco’s face lit up with a bright smile. “I didn’t recognize you with curly locks that could put Professor Lockhart to shame!” Severus’ eyes popped wide at the statement, but before he could snarl a good comeback, Draco continued blithely. “That would also explain why you always had so much oil in your hair, and frankly, if I were you and I were dead and I had hair like that, I’d stay in hiding as well.”

“Kid’s got a loose lip,” Francis observed dryly. Draco looked coolly at him.

“You; who are you?”

“I’m Francis Potter. I’m Harry’s great-grandfather.”

Draco blinked in astonishment. “The years have been kind to you!” he declared brightly. His abrupt switch of moods from cool disdain to excitement was disquietingly eerie. “What’s your secret?”

“Being pulled fifty years into the future,” Francis said stoically. Draco blinked again, then shrugged.

“Ah,” he said as he looked bored. “I suppose that would do it.”

Francis gestured around again. “What happened to this place?” he asked. “It looks like it got torn apart and then was ravaged by the hoards of time for centuries!”

Draco looked around pointedly. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure that any place where a battle with Voldemort raged for eight days and nights steady would look like this,” he said. The others stared at him with shock and he sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Which we don’t have time to hear,” Severus cut in. “We have to find Harry.”

“He’s gone,” Draco said as his face tightened with grief.

“No, our Harry,” Francis said. “He should have followed us here.” They looked at the Mirror of Rebounds, which was still. “Uh oh.”

Severus marched over to the Mirror of Rebounds and glared down at it, as if he hoped to intimidate it into spitting out Harry. “Uh oh is right. What if he’s back in the other reality? What if he’s still stuck in the mirror?”

“Nothing that has ever happened before has ever led us to believe that this was possible.” Francis folded his legs and plopped down in front of the Mirror of Rebounds. “Give me a moment to study the situation here.” He closed his eyes. Draco looked at Severus with a question in his eyes and his hands wide in bewilderment.

“He’s a genius,” Severus whispered. “If he can’t think of anything, then we’re rather stuck. Now, you on the other hand . . .” One ghostly hand wrapped around Draco’s upper arm. “Tell me more about this attack that took place here.”

Draco shrugged. He did not appear affected by Severus’ chilly touch. “Not much to tell. The years got darker and darker after Voldemort came back. A few years after graduation, everything came down to a final stand here. Voldemort attacked us steady for eight days and nights with his Dementors and Death Eaters and various nasty creatures. We started to lose on the sixth day, with this place crumbling around our heads and its magical shields being shattered to bits by the spells and hexes that the Dark Lord pummeled us with.”

Draco paused and licked his dry lips. “Voldemort possessed a snake, you know. That great, ugly thing; he transfigured her into a human and she’s one huge woman. Stands eight feet tall, is bald, and green.” A shudder rippled through his body. “Mean, nasty creature. When the defenses here were finally overridden and Voldemort’s forces swarmed us, we fought the best we could. In the end, Voldemort fell when Harry fought against him.”

“Is it over? The war against Voldemort?”

Draco looked at Severus. His eyes narrowed and his lips pinched together. Severus was suddenly aware of how dangerous Draco was. Perhaps it was the sinister look that layered his features as his eyes narrowed and his scar stood out, livid against his pale flesh. Perhaps it was the lithe body tightening with tension. As a ghost, Severus did not worry about anything happening to him but for the anti-ghost charm. He knew Draco. He understood Draco lacked both the skill and the patience to perform the charm.

“The war with Voldemort ended when Harry destroyed him.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “However, I can’t say the same for that snake-woman.” His lip curled back in a sneer. “She’s a devil, Professor Snape. Cruel, haughty, and absolutely crafty to boot. There aren’t many left who can fight her. She’s reduced the whole of the wizard world and the Muggle world to rubble.” He turned away from Severus with a sigh. “Just about everyone’s dead. So few people actually live now to fight.” He laughed. It was bitter and it made the ghostly hairs on the back of Severus’ neck stand on end. “We finally managed to get rid of the most powerful Dark Lord anyone has ever known, and the bastard just had to leave someone worse behind!”

There was a slight pause as they fell silent. Draco rubbed his nose with the back of one hand. “Where’s Harry?” Severus asked softly. “Did he survive?”

Sorrow crossed Draco’s face. “Do you want to see him?” he asked. Severus nodded. Francis finally stirred from where he had been studying the Mirror of Rebounds. He stood up with one hand pressed to the line of his back. They heard his spine pop.

“I’m getting old,” Francis muttered. Severus opened his mouth to speak but Francis cut his words off with an irritable wave of his hand. “Nothing,” he said. “I can’t think of any reason why Harry isn’t with us, though I did think of a possible way we could find him. I’ll tell you later. I want to see this reality’s Harry.”

Draco gave them a searching look. “Will you also explain what you mean by this reality and other realities and who your Harry is and such?”

Francis nodded his head empathetically. “Yes, yes, in due time.” He motioned Draco to move. The pale man swept past them, his movements liquidly graceful. He led them through the ruins of Hogwarts. Most of the roof was missing, almost all towers had been knocked over, walls had been smashed, and piles of broken stone and powdery mortar were everywhere. Some of the piles filled entire hallways, and Draco and Francis had to climb over them.

“It looks horrible from way up here on top,” Draco explained as they walked. “Around the edges, because this is the area that took the brunt of Voldemort’s blows. There aren’t enough of us to continue fighting that snake-woman, let alone rebuild the castle. I doubt Hogwarts will ever be as beautiful as it once was. Hell, this world will never recover anyway.”

“Who all are dead?” Severus asked solemnly. “Of those who attended Hogwarts, the Aurors, and the Ministry?”

Draco sighed. He did not bother looking over his shoulder at the two. “Let’s just say,” he said softly, “that those of us left are only a small rebel force that merely gnaws at the toes of the empire the snake-bitch built.”

“Nagini,” Severus said absently. “The name of Voldemort’s snake is Nagini.”

“Wasn’t she the one who bit Pandora?” Francis asked.

Severus nodded his head. “Nagini bit Pandora after she attacked Voldemort, and the poison spread so far through her that she had to seek refuge at her mother’s family so they could cure her.”

No one said anything then. Draco led them under fallen archways and through holes in the walls until they finally reached the middle of the Hogwarts. This, too, was missing a ceiling. In the middle of the flat area was a small cairn. Around it, in different tubs scattered here and there, were plants of all shapes and sizes. Each plant sported brightly colored flowers in full bloom. Their fruity scent filled the air.

“Here he is,” Draco said as his strides lengthened. He walked directly over to the cairn and sat down on a bench someone had placed before the cairn. “This is Harry. I like the flowers and I’m sure he does too, though it’s Black who planted them all.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. The others stared at him with dismay and shock. He smiled sadly at no one in particular. “He fell the moment Voldemort died. There was a flash of green light, he yelled something about his scar, and he just fell over dead.” He scrubbed his suspiciously wet eyes with the back of one hand. “McGonagall, before she was killed, said Voldemort might have launched one final attack at Harry that got through his defenses. She also said that they were linked, and perhaps when Voldemort died, Harry died with him because of that link. I don’t understand any of that though. All I know is my Harry’s dead.”

If he had been alive, a shiver would have run down the length of Severus’ spine. “When the object is destroyed, the shadow is obliterated,” Severus whispered in dawning horror, low enough so no one heard him.

A long silence followed. They watched as a bright yellow butterfly danced over the piles of rubble, hovered over the cairn for a moment, and then flew onward to a cheerful red flower. Francis was the first to speak.

Francis fiddled with the goggles that sat upon his rumpled blonde hair. “Well, I guess it’s our turn to explain who we are then.” He clasped his hands between his knees. “We’re reality jumpers looking for a good Tom Ri--wait, did you say your Harry?”

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The pain in Harry’s scar was nothing compared to this crushing agony of the walls slamming into him. The agony seeped into every cell of his body, each and every one exploding into a frenzy of torture. He could feel his mental shields bend to the pain, ready to shatter and fling him down a spiraling well of hysterical madness. Harry flung his mind wide as he sought to escape the pain and to preserve his sanity. His mind flew beyond the region of the space. With the speed of thought, he hurtled past the other realities in search of a single, stable mind he could find refuge in.

It was a bright green beacon that stood out to him. Not as the bright as the other in the distance, but closer and far more familiar. Harry fell into the beacon, past mental defenses too like his own, and buried himself deep in the conscious awareness.

Wha? . . . Oh no! Not you again!

please don’t make me leave can’t go back hurts throb pain don’t want to go back hurt scar pain don’t kick me away want to stay

??

hurt don’t go back don’t want to knock me away must find grandfather find Severus must go to them can’t leave don’t make me go please hurt away from pain

?? Stop, stop! Stop already! I can’t make sense of anything you’re trying to say!

. . .ouch?

Well, that’s a start. There’s only one syllable. Now, what is this about pain?

It hurts.

I’m sure it does. How and why and what?

How why what?

How did you get hurt? Why did it happen? And what are you doing here?

They crashed together. Bam, like that.

What did?

The realities I was jumping through. I got stuck between them and they crashed together. I was supposed to be with my family. Now I am not. I don’t want to do back.

So now you’re pinned between two realities?

Don’t kick me out of your head again. Please don’t make me go back. Hurts too much. I can’t stand to go back.

Well, I suppose I won’t kick you out of my head this time. But who are you?

I’m you. You’re me. We’re just different.

??

From different realities.

Ooookaaaaayyy . . . I understand that much. I don’t know why you were jumping the realities in the first place though. So why?

It’s because we have to find a good Tom Riddle. Pandora said so.

Why?

Who? TOM RIDDLE?!

It’s to save our reality. My great-grandmother said so. A good Tom Riddle is supposed to help us.

Sigh. A good Tom Riddle, eh? That’s an oxymoron if

I ever heard one. Here, let me see your memories--no, don’t struggle. If I’m you and you’re me, then you have nothing to worry about. And relax. It’s easier for me to know what’s going on if I have a quick look at what happened to you. I can help you, you know, or at least my mom can.

The little girl?

Heh. Better not let her hear you say that. She’s very self-conscience of how small she is. God, make one comment on her lack of tits and she tears right into you. Well, maybe if I hadn’t said that in front of Professor Snape she might not have been so mad . . .

Harry felt himself relax under the babbling of his other self. He felt the other Harry poking around in his mind. The other Harry poked a sore spot and apologized as a twinge of pain shivered through both of them. He remembered the dark little girl. How did she become your mother? Harry asked.

Ah, something about skipping reality and she felt what happened when little one-year-old me took on Voldemort. Ah! So that’s why you’re jumping--oh, sorry. Anyway, Mom went to investigate the power and arrived moments after I somehow vanquished Voldemort. My father’s spirit was there, lingering momentarily to see that I got care. Mom said she could help me control the power I used against Voldemort if he wanted her to, so my father gave me to her care.

I got stuck with the Dursleys.

Oooooh, lucky you.

It wasn’t all that great.

I was being sarcastic.

Oh. What sort of power did you use against Voldemort?

Apparently, in my reality, one of my ancestors was a demon. Demonic power jumps generations; my family’s finally settled in me. I used the power to put up some sort of shield against the curse Voldemort threw at me and then used fire to destroy him--

Fire?

My ancestor was a rune demon whose element was fire. That element passed through the years. I only know of any of this because Mom is from a family of, well, the family has some rune demons.

Oh.

Harry was at a loss of what to say. Of all the other realities he had been to, he had never had non-human blood in his veins. Well, there was still the question of whether Pandora’s mother was human or not, but he never thought he could have demon blood. This reminded Harry of his past exploits. Are you snogging Professor Snape or Draco?

There was a stunned silence on the end. Excuse me? Snogging Mister Tall, Dark, and Unpleasant or the Stick-In-My-Arse Snotball? Heeellllloooo, do I look that desperate for a lay to you? . . . Oh. Oh! I see where this question came from. Oooooooh. Oh god! How could you possibly live with being accosted in the men’s bathroom like that?

Ugh. Don’t remind me.

Harry felt the continuous prodding of the other Harry and reached outward to touch him in the same manner. Unfamiliar with what he was doing, he jabbed a little harder than he should and felt the other Harry wince in response.

Sorry.

Nah. It’s okay.

Harry rummaged through the other Harry’s memories. He knew he should have felt as if he was intruding, but this was him after all, and if the other Harry did not mind, then why should he? He prodded about and watched the playing memories with interest.

--------------

The little girl-woman opened a door and entered into Dumbledore’s office. Dumbledore glanced over at her from where he was seated behind his desk, talking to a tight-lipped Professor Snape. “Ah, good evening, Miss Runes,” he said cheerfully.

Miss Runes tugged at the little hand in her own and stepped forward. Snape looked over his shoulder at her with clear disdain, which quickly dissipated into shock. “You like?” Miss Runes asked as she twiddled with her big straw hat. It had a pink ribbon wrapped around the crown and a bunch of flowers with matching petals at one side. The dress she wore was twice as large as she, and as pink as the ribbon. She wore a pair of white high heels and a string of pearls that dragged across the floor.

The miniature Harry next to her wore an almost exact getup. His too-large dress was blue with diamond-like sequins. Instead of a hat or a string of pearls, he wore a black fur wrap around his shoulders. Both he and Miss Runes had bright red (slightly crooked) lipstick, gobs of eye shadow, and maroon-colored blush.

“Very creative Halloween getups,” said Dumbledore as he stood up. He smiled at Harry, who nervously peered at him around Miss Runes.

Miss Runes nodded proudly. “I’m a little girl masquerading in her mother’s clothes. Harry’s a little boy masquerading as a little girl masquerading in her mother’s clothes.” She pushed her straw hat back as the frame drooped before her eyes. “I told Harry that if you didn’t like it, I’d take him home and throw a sheet over him, put in a couple of holes for him to see, and he’d go trick-or-treating as a ghost.”

“I think it’s charming,” said Dumbledore. He picked up the candy dish on his desk and offered it to the two visitors. “I assume you are here to give your annual report before you go about on your trick-or-treating.” Miss Runes nodded her head vigorously.

“See, Harry?” She turned to Harry. “Mister Dumbledore doesn’t mind the costumes. He thinks you look charming!” Harry smiled nervously.

“Albus!” Professor Snape stepped forward. He glowered coldly at Miss Runes. “Marcia Runes fails to realize how degrading this must be for the hero,” he sneered at Harry, who flinched and hid behind Miss Runes, “of the wizarding world. Just think of what everyone else would say. We can’t allow such rich gossip of Harry’s mother teaching him to be a transvestite to those who would try and do harm to the little darling.”

Dumbledore gave Professor Snape a warning look. “It’s quite charming,” he said firmly. He offered the candy dish to Harry. Harry looked from the candy dish to Dumbledore, and then to the candy dish. He tentatively reached out for a handful of the black licorice beans.

------------

Your mom dressed you up as a little girl?

I know it seems sort of odd, but on a hindsight, the look on Snape’s face was definitely worth it.

Harry tried to imagine how his uncle would react to his cross-dressing. He felt too exhausted to imagine anything complicated, or even simple.

There was a mutual silence as they continued to poke and prod about in each other’s minds. Harry caught sight of a memory of the other Harry’s new mother holding him as a tiny baby, balancing on a lamp, and bouncing bricks off of Sirius Black’s head as he yelled at her to let him have Harry.

She didn’t want to give me up, said the other Harry by way of explanation. She had a duty to see that Dumbledore was to be informed about me, and she didn’t know if there were other Voldemort minions running around. I guess I was also an excuse for her to settle down in a single place and actually have a family. Dumbledore wasn’t too happy with that decision; he wanted me to be raised by wizards, but Mom said I had to learn how to control my nature.

What did she do?

She hung Professor Snape out of the Gryffindor Tower window by his toes and more or less threatened to drop him on his head if she didn’t get to keep me.

How in the world would that convince Dumbledore to let her keep you?

You’ve seen how small Mom is and you know how tall Snape is. There’s actually more to the argument than just Mom hanging Snape out the window, but Dumbledore let her keep me, and she went on to adopt me and raise me, and I am what I am because of it. Not that that’s a bad thing, or anything.

Ah.

After a moment, the other Harry withdrew from Harry’s mind. Harry labeled him Harry2, just because it was easier to keep them apart.

Let’s go see Mom. Light and objects flooded visional senses. Harry realized that Harry2 had kept his eyes closed during their exchange. Harry felt their minds meld together in an odd mishmash of one. They were aware of the same thing and their body moved in a graceful synchronization. Harry2 knew where he was going, and Harry watched. They walked out of the bedroom they had been, through the small hall, into a kitchen with pristine light blue tiles and matching countertops.

Miss Runes stood before the kitchen sink on top of a tall footstool. She shook a sieve as Harry2 sat down on the tall stool beside the kitchen island. Various ingredients for spaghetti sat upon the island.

Mom’s cooking. Blah.

What’s wrong with that?

There are a few things Mom can do exceptionally, but cooking isn’t one of them.

What do you mean?

Harry2 did not answer. In that moment, Miss Runes turned to them. Harry could see spaghetti strands within the sieve. “I think it’s done cooking,” she said. Her expression was open and eager. Harry had never before noticed what her eyes were like. She currently wore a pair of black-lensed Laura Croft glasses, which artfully concealed her eyes. “How can you be sure if spaghetti is done cooking or not?”

“I heard,” said Harry2 carefully, “that chefs throw it against the wall. If it sticks, then it’s done cooking.”

“Really?” Miss Runes stared at the spaghetti in the sieve for a moment before she pitched its contents against the wall. The spaghetti struck the wall with a dull splut, and then fell to the ground. A few strands stuck to the wall.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant,” Harry2 muttered weakly.

They stared at the pile of spaghetti for a moment. “Well, I just mopped the floor today,” Miss Runes began uncertainly. “If I rinsed it off, would we still eat it?” Another moment passed in silence. She finally sighed and tossed the sieve into the sink. “Pizza pie tonight?” she asked as she jumped from the footstool and walked over to the telephone set low on the wall.

“Sure.” Harry2 scooped the sticky mess of pasta into the garbage and washed his hands as his mom placed an order for a large pizza pie with three types of meat, two types of cheese, olives, chives, and peppers. He sat down again on the kitchen stool and waited until she finished.

Miss Runes? Is that what your mom is called?

Marcia Runes. Actually, her real name is Sydney Geneve, but she discarded it. I guess it reminded her too much of the past she no longer has.

The thoughts they exchanged were lightening fast, their speed beyond that of even a single heartbeat. Still, Marcia cast her son an odd look as she finished ordering. As she puttered about the kitchen and cleaned up her latest disaster in cooking, Harry and Harry2 watched her and waited for their cue to inform her of Harry’s presence.

Marcia finished her cleaning and made two cups of tea then, one for herself and the other for Harry. She set his cup of tea before him along with a bowl of sugar, and then dragged another tall stool over to the island to sit before him. Harry2 waited until she had finished scooping half the sugar bowel’s contents into her large coffee mug before he spoke. Watching her, Harry was reminded of how Francis had liked his tea with lots of sugar. He felt a pang of loneliness. He had grown quite accustomed to his great-grandfather’s quirky habits, and he found he missed him (and Severus too) dearly.

“Mom,” Harry2 began. Her head twisted a moment to peer at him, though it was impossible to tell what her eyes were doing behind her glasses. “You know those two times when I had a strange presence in my mind? The same presence that asked who you were?”

“Hmmm?” Marcia sipped her tea.

“Well, I found out what it was.”

“Mmmmm.”

“It was me.”

Marcia choked on her tea. She pounded her breast a moment with one fist to clear her lungs of the tea and stared at her son incredulously. “How could it be you if it was someone else?” “It’s a different me. He’s here with me now.”

One eyebrow twitched thoughtfully. “Are you two getting along?” She waved her hand. “No territorial dispute and all that?”

“We’re fine. But this Harry is in a bit of a spot. He and his uncle and his great-grandfather are jumping realities in search of a good Tom Riddle--I’ll explain that more later--and somehow he got stuck between two realities when jumping, and they smashed together. He came to me to escape the pain.”

“His body needs to be removed from where it’s stuck,” said Marcia knowingly. “It’s not crushed; not in the least. Pressure just built up to the point where he had to flee his body.” She took a thoughtful sip of her tea and looked pointedly at Harry2. “Is he with you now, this very moment?” Harry2 nodded his head. “Well, then. Make him go back.”

What? But it hurts! I don’t want to go back!

Mom knows what she’s doing. Mom will get you out.

I don’t care. I’m not going back. The pain . . .

Mom will get you out of that pain. Trust her. I would! Well, most of the time.

How comforted I now feel.

Stop grumbling. Everything will work out just fine in the end if you just let her help. Do you want your body to remain where it’s at?

. . . Okay . . . But I don’t know how to return.

“Mom. He says he doesn’t know how to get back.”

Marcia waved her hand impatiently. “So boot him out. It’s your head. Once out, he’ll have to go back to his own body. I’ll follow after, yank him out of that jam by the seat of his britches, and bring him back in time for the pizza.” She looked proud of herself for that conclusion.

“Okay.”

No! I’m not rea-

WHAM!

Pain. It filled his entire body, oozed from every individual pore, and assaulted his senses from everywhere. It was not as great as the pain that forced him to flee his body--or perhaps his body had numbed enough in his absence that it did not seem to be as great.

“Ah! He’s back!”

Harry knew that voice. The pressure eased up around him and elevated the agony to a lesser degree. He managed to pry one single eyelid open to see Cousin Quigley staring down at him with concern as sweat trickled down his body from the exertion of keeping the two realities from slamming completely together. He had his shoulders pressed against one wall with his legs pushing against the other. Even now, however, Harry could see indents trying to close completely.

Marcia appeared above their heads. She appeared unaffected by the walls of realities closing around them. She floated above Cousin Quigley, looked behind Harry, and then at him with a puzzled expression. “Is that the Bloody Baron?” she asked as she pointed.

“Yes. He’s a relative,” Cousin Quigley said helpfully. He squinted at Marcia. “Who are you?” Marcia turned away from where she had been making faces at the Bloody Baron. “Marcia Runes. I suppose we should go through formalities and all that, but Harry here is having a bit of a problem. Best we help him out of this mess before you lose your strength to hold the walls back.” She grabbed a handful of Harry’s robes around his shoulders. “Care to join us for pizza?” she asked. Cousin Quigley managed to free one hand to wave her away with.

“No. If we join you, we’ll lose track.”

“Ah. Well, then, so long.” Marcia drew Harry close before dancing away between the realities. Harry watched the different realities zip past him. It was nothing like jumping between the space of two realities. Marcia dashed along the edges with Harry on tow, prancing from one reality to another through invisible leaks created from Chance. Together, Harry and Marcia had little more substance than shadows, but they moved as swiftly as thoughts. Pictures of what each reality held whizzed past them, too fleeting and too many for any one scene to be understood. He clung closely to Marcia. Unsure of what else to do, Harry screwed his eyes tight to avoid becoming dizzy at the pictures.

Then they came to an abrupt halt. Harry cautiously opened one eye, saw the corner of a blue kitchen island, and smelled cheese. He opened both eyes and saw Harry2 not paying attention to the two arrivals. He tried to gather up the sticky strands of melted cheese that stuck to his slice of pizza. Watching the other Harry tug at the cheese, his eyes crossed and his head bent close to his task, Harry saw how utterly different they were.

In all the other realities Harry had jumped through, he was easily mistaken for himself, even if his other self was two years older than him. Harry2 was bulkier with muscle than Harry was, though still slim, and his hair was longer and pulled back into a braid. However, the one thing that made them so utterly different from one another was the inky black tattoo that ran down the length of Harry2’s arm. Across the back of his hand it curved into the sharp snout of a dragon. Two red eyes slanted fiercely at the joint of his wrist.

The eyes blinked. Harry jumped backwards in surprise against Marcia, who had picked up a pitcher of water. Water splashed all over but Marcia did not drop the pitcher. “Sorry,” Harry said. He quickly snatched a kitchen towel up and held it out to her. She silently accepted it and began to pat her clothes dry. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that your tattoo’s eyes blinked at me.” Harry looked at Harry2 as he spoke.

“This thing?” Harry2 held up the arm. The dragon twined around his arm and up to his shoulder, disappearing beneath his shirt. Each time the muscles in his arm moves, the dragon seemed to twist with life. The red eyes blinked again. Harry jumped where he was standing. “It’s alive,” Harry2 said ominously with a bitter smile. “It’s the Ember Death.”

A somber mood fell over the two Harrys, but Marcia did not seem to be bothered by it. Marcia set the pitcher of water down before her son and beamed at him with a mother’s pride. “Desperate times,” she said with a light voice, “calls for desperate measures. With the return of What’s-his-name--”

“Voldemort,” Harry2 reminded her.

“-if I can’t spell it, I don’t see why I have to say it.”

Harry2 looked at her. “You can’t spell a lot of things, Mom. You can’t even balance a checking account.”

“That’s beside the point.” She turned to Harry. “I wanted to take extra precautions at ensuring my sweetie’s safety. I suggested that family could look after him, but he didn’t like the idea.” Harry2 grimaced and Marcia paused a moment to glare at him. “Something about how the family somehow managed to burn half of Hogsmeade down the last time they tried to protect him shot that idea out of the water. Anyway, we decided for my Harry to undertake a mission he normally wouldn’t have done until he reached the peak of his youth and passed into the stage of adulthood.”

“Which is?”

“It’s a demon thing,” Harry2 said as he eyed his slice of pizza and took a bite.

Marcia leaned close to whisper in Harry’s ear. “He has to go into rut, which signifies that he has hormones and is physically capable of taking on the responsibilities of adulthood. For him, it won’t happen for another fifteen years, give or take a few. We really couldn’t wait that long.” Harry2 pretended not to hear what his mother just said. “The mission was to gain his full power and the use of Ember Death, which is the ultimate attack of any rune demon whose element is fire. The reason why it is the ultimate attack is because Ember Death is a sentient being that lives and acts under the command of its master. He succeeded, which is why he’s got the mark. Anyway, enough of this.” Marcia pushed Harry into a seat. “We should eat the pizza before it gets cold.”

She handed napkins out and then passed the pizza around. Just as Harry bit into his slice, he felt a stirring in the air. A presence entered their midst, something curious and hopeful, but not dangerous. Only the barest sense of it existed, as it would not manifest itself into a physical shape. Marcia turned about in her chair and gazed at the wall for a moment, before shrugging and going back to eating her pizza. “The presence is friendly,” she said. “When you’re done eating your pizza, I will take you back to the reality where your great-grandfather and uncle are waiting.”

The presence stirred, and then disappeared.

But not before Harry felt the presence give him a big wet kiss on the cheek.

--------------------------------------------------------

“I had to do it,” Draco told Francis and Severus with a big, silly grin as they glared at him. “It was an opportunity and I went for it.” He brushed his lips with his fingertips.

Severus pointed an accusing finger at Francis. “You handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.”

Francis shrugged. “Well, he had Snape blood, and I was right when I figured he could use the Mirror of Rebounds to discover where Harry went without some odd repercussion of being yanked into another reality. At least we know Harry’s safe now, being that he’s with another Harry and apparently they haven’t tried to kill one another.”

“Yet,” Severus muttered as he crossed his arms before himself.