Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Thrice Defied

February was beginning as a frosty month, but, as he had every evening for the past week, Harry took his morning tea outside, looking across the dead, dark, cold landscape and drawing metaphors about himself.

There was something different about him. Harry felt like a portion of his heart had been ripped free; grief and anger hit him harder than they ever had, but those moments were fleeting, and the rest of the time he felt little at all. Emotion had always come easily to him, but it didn't now.

That should have made him afraid. He calmly sipped his tea.

He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. He had drifted, his thoughts mattering more to him than his physical location, and a week ago he'd found himself on the doorstep of Fleur's grandfather's cottage. Will had invited Harry in for tea, talked about the good old days, and seemed to have no idea at all that Harry had just lost a war, all his friends, and the love of his life.

They listened to old music on Will's wireless. Sometimes a news report would break through, but Will always talked over it, demanding that they stop cutting into his favourite song (every song seemed to be his favourite). Not that Harry would have understood it anyway; the news was in French.

But Harry could take a guess at what was happening. He tried not to, though - that always led to wondering about Hermione and Ron, and they were better off without him. It had struck him, as he lay alone in his hospital bed, that Voldemort would certainly try to find him, and there he was, waiting to be taken away.

Then he'd be left watching his friends tortured in front of him for Voldemort's amusement. He refused to play any part in amusing Voldemort ever again, so he had left, and he had wandered for weeks, wondering what he ought to do.

He realized early on that going home was out of the question. He would face Voldemort, and the war would begin again. It wouldn't end until everyone on either side was killed and they were the only two wizards left on the island. Where would the fight escalate from there? Would the Muggle population be decimated? Would the battle move to the global stage?

No; even if Ron and Hermione could never forgive him, he owed it to them to keep them safe as best he could, which meant staying far away. There was no way for him to win against Voldemort.

And even if there were, Harry couldn't do it. He didn't have the courage to be responsible for Ginny's death again. Some Gryffindor he'd turned out to be.

So his only option was to wander and stay out of Voldemort's way. He knew he had to move on soon; staying in any one place for too long increased the chances that he would be found.

He set his empty cup down and looked across the white landscape, deciding that he had to leave tomorrow.

Then Kreacher popped up next to Harry's leg. As he said, 'Master,' in a very grudging tone, Harry nearly fell out of his chair in shock. He tried to hold onto that emotion, but surprise was always fleeting, and now it slipped through Harry's grasp like an oily fish.

'Why are you here?' Harry asked tonelessly. He couldn't even muster up disdain for Kreacher now.

'The true master sent me to find the master,' Kreacher said. In a low voice, he muttered, 'Master's blood-traitor friend and the ugly Mudblood want Master back, but Kreacher wishes the master would die...then Kreacher could stay with his real master, oh yes...'

Harry didn't know who this "true" master was, but "blood traitor" and "Mudblood" meant Ron and Hermione in Kreacher-speak. 'Go back to Grimmauld Place, and do not tell anyone where I am. Don't lead them to me or give them any hints, either.' He knew he had to keep his orders as tight as possible to restrict Kreacher from finding a way around them.

At this, Kreacher seemed furious. 'No! Kreacher must tell! The true master wants Kreacher to tell!'

To Harry's surprise, Kreacher started sobbing loudly; Will would be woken up by all the noise if Harry didn't stop him. 'Be quiet, Kreacher!'

Kreacher covered his mouth, but kept screaming silently. Harry was tempted to let Kreacher tell them if it meant so much to him. It didn't really matter if his friends knew he'd been here, did it? He could leave tonight if he had to.

But then a better idea came to mind. Maybe his friends, even though they couldn't still want to be his friends anymore, just wanted to know that he was alive. That brought a new sparkle of hope to Harry's eyes; at least they didn't want him dead.

Or, he realized, maybe they wanted to kill him themselves.

Harry sighed again. No, they were too good for that. 'You can tell Ron and Hermione that I'm fine. Tell them to stop looking for me; they're better off without me. Tell them...'

Harry paused, and for once Kreacher was expectantly quiet. It didn't seem like enough, but what else could Harry say? He could warn them to run, but he knew they wouldn't. He felt shamed by that. He wished that he could help them, but he didn't know how.

If only I could find some way out of this. If Hermione really wanted to find Harry, he knew she'd find him eventually - though he couldn't understand why she would want to do so after losing so much for his sake.

'Tell them I'm working on a plan.' At least that might appease Hermione for a while. Harry didn't know what sort of plan he could think up, but from that moment forward he decided to try.

Kreacher left, and Harry, exhausted, started to think about what he could do to help the war effort without Voldemort murdering all of his friends and allies.

If he could capture Voldemort the way Voldemort had planned to capture him, at least they could keep him locked up for eternity - that would be a start, anyway. He'd thought of that already, but Harry didn't know how he could possibly defeat Voldemort without actually killing him (since then he'd only be resurrected); it seemed impossible.

Kreacher popped back onto the porch. Harry was even more surprised by his second visit than he'd been by the first; this time he really did tip over the chair.

'What is it now?' he asked, attempting to disentangle his legs from the chair's.

'The Mudblood has a message for you.' Kreacher looked very disgruntled about playing messenger.

Harry shook his head at Hermione's determination. 'Let's hear it then.' And then he'd order Kreacher to not visit him again.

'It says you're a stubborn stupid-head, and it wants you to come back right now.'

That was expected. 'Tell it -' Harry shook himself as he realized he was starting to talk like Kreacher '- tell her that I can't go back right now.'

'It also wants to know what your plan is.'

Harry's eyes widened. He didn't actually have a plan yet, after all.

He needed something to tip the balance in his favour. What did he have that Voldemort didn't? Harry didn't even possess a complete soul now. Hermione didn't know about that, either, and he couldn't imagine how he'd explain what a monster he was.

'Tell her I'm working on it.'

Kreacher left, and Harry realized belatedly that he hadn't instructed him not to come back. He put his chair to rights and sat down again, shivering slightly in the cold, and waited for Kreacher's inevitable return.

He didn't need to wait long. Harry wondered how Kreacher could keep Apparating to France and back at his advanced age. 'It says you don't have a plan.'

'Hey!' he objected, insulted. 'No, wait -'

Kreacher had Apparated away again, apparently taking that to be the entirety of his message. Harry shook his head in exasperation and went back to waiting.

'It says we need a weapon, and.'

Harry waited, his eyebrow climbing into his hairline. 'And what?'

Kreacher didn't say anything else. He made himself comfortable on the freezing porch and started picking his toes. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who had been cut off.

Hermione did have a point, though - at least half of one. A weapon...something like the Dementor net, but for Voldemort...

'That isn't the answer to everything I have to share...'

The memory of the simulacrum's words were cuttingly effective. She'd known how to take care of the Dementors, but that wasn't everything. It wasn't likely that his mother's simulacrum had anything to say about defeating an immortal Voldemort, however.

Still, it was a decent place to begin his search.

'Kreacher, bring me the bag that belonged to my mother - and don't tell anyone you're doing it.'

Kreacher muttered nastily, but one glare from Harry sent him scuttling off to do his bidding.

That was one idea - he was already doing better than he had in the whole of the last month. Having something to do made Harry feel loads better. Now that he looked back, he realized he'd been moping, and Gryffindors didn't mope. What would Dumbledore have thought of him?

Harry's face broke into a grin. Dumbledore!

***

If not for the smoke belching from the chimney of Hagrid's cabin, the grounds of Hogwarts would have looked completely abandoned. Harry had been preparing to see a Hogwarts completely overrun by Death Eaters, but it seemed that Voldemort had left it alone - for now.

He clomped through the snow, his mother's heavy satchel causing him to lean a bit to one side. Hagrid's cabin would be his first stop; not only did he want to see a friend who hadn't been critically injured as a result of Harry's stupidity, but he also needed the keys to enter the castle proper so that he could speak to Dumbledore.

As for how he'd enter the Headmaster's office...he decided to take things one step at a time. He didn't know where McGonagall was, and she'd give his location up to the Order in an instant, so Harry wanted to avoid her if he could.

Harry knocked loudly on Hagrid's door; Fang started clawing the door immediately from inside. A pair of eyes peeked through the curtains covering the windows, and when Hagrid saw who was there to see him, the door was thrown open.

He thought he might suffocate under the strength of the hug he received. 'Harry!' Hagrid's voice vibrated in his ear, and his feet soon touched ground again. 'Come in, it's not safe, standing 'round out here.'

Hagrid bolted the door behind them and immediately set about brewing some tea. 'How have things been around here, anyway?'

'Eh, all right, all right...'

Fang took up a place next to Harry, his tail between his legs. His back arched, and he started growling incessantly at Hagrid.

'Aw, shut it, Fang...dog's not been acting normal lately...'

Hagrid deliberately avoided Harry's eyes as he said this.

'I've been gone for a while, and I haven't heard any news,' Harry said deliberately. 'Could you catch me up?'

Now that Hagrid had been tasked with the mission of telling Harry all there was to know, he revealed everything: the Ministry takeover, the evacuation of Hogsmeade, the "re-staffing" of the Daily Prophet, and so on.

'I've stayed on here,' said Hagrid stoically. 'Wouldn't even think o' leavin' Hogwarts. But I reckoned I'd be dead by now.'

Harry supposed that Hogwarts wasn't really a strategic asset - but something still didn't seem right about it. He knew Voldemort pretty well, and he knew that Hogwarts was as important to him as it was to Harry.

He knew he wasn't as brilliant as his opponent, but he was being sorely underestimated.

'Hagrid?'

'Yeah?'

'Stupefy!'

The spell caught Hagrid in his massive chest. His eyes lit up furiously, and Harry's doubts were confirmed - whoever this was, it wasn't Hagrid. It took a few more spells to bring him down - the impostor still wore Hagrid's massive, magic-resistant form - but eventually the false half-giant was felled. Harry searched him for a wand and found it; he snapped it in two and tied the man up with a magical rope to make sure he couldn't escape before his return.

Fang gave the impostor one last bark of triumph, and then he grabbed the leg of Harry's jeans between his teeth and tugged him toward the door.

'All right, I get the message,' he told the dog, and Fang released him at once. Harry opened the door, and Fang went galumphing across the snow and into the Forbidden Forest. He followed Fang through the trees with difficulty; the snow was thick. There were no footprints, either. Whoever had taken Hagrid must have done so quite a while ago, Harry realized.

After about fifteen minutes of wandering, Harry and Fang arrived at a wide pit in the middle of the forest.

'Harry!' shouted Hagrid from within the pit. He waved, and Harry waved back. Grawp was in the pit as well, and Harry realized just how deep it was - at least three times Grawp's height.

'I'll get you out!' he said. It was a simple matter for anyone with a wand to levitate Hagrid and Grawp out, and soon they were back on top of the ground instead of within it.

'Thanks,' said Hagrid sincerely. He rolled up his sleeves and, with a snarl, said, 'Let me at 'em! Where are they?! Kept me down there for weeks, those bloody...'

Harry shook his head. 'I haven't seen anyone around except the Death Eater in the cottage pretending to be you.'

'What?!' Hagrid looked furious at this. 'They came, an' I fought 'em, but there were too many of 'em. They threw me down in this pit, and Grawp, dear fellow that he is, jumped right in after me, but he couldn't get out, 'o course.'

'Did they take anything from you? Hair, maybe?' asked Harry.

He patted his head. 'They tore out a chunk o' my hair before they left me.'

'Then the impostor has been using Polyjuice Potion,' explained Harry. 'How did you survive down there for weeks, anyway?'

'Death Eaters fed me. They only gave me enough food for myself - s'pect they wanted to watch Grawp starve to death an' laugh - but we shared.'

Hagrid's stomach growled in a timely manner.

'How often did they feed you?'

The half-giant scowled bitterly. 'They throw a meal down in the morning and one at night. Not civilized enough to feed a bloke at teatime.'

Since it was midday, Harry wasn't likely to encounter any more Death Eaters in the forest. 'They wanted me to go to the cottage,' he reasoned out. 'I bet that Death Eater was supposed to alert others when I got there.'

By the time they'd returned to the cottage, the Death Eater was gone. Curiously, the ropes hadn't been dispelled; they were lying on the floor.

Harry could have kicked himself for not being more careful. 'He must've changed back while we were gone! When he did, the ropes wouldn't have been tight enough to hold him anymore!'

He turned to Hagrid. The poor man was filthy and tired, but he couldn't stay in the cottage - Voldemort would surely kill him. 'You need to leave,' insisted Harry.

Hagrid shook his head as though insulted by the idea. 'I've lived here all m'life, and -'

'Please, Hagrid!' Harry begged. 'I know, but in this case it's better to live to fight another day! Go to the Order in Grimmauld Place; they could use your help! It's what Dumbledore would want.'

He knew that was a cheap shot, and it seemed that Hagrid knew it too, for he looked momentarily furious. But then he relaxed, and in a resigned voice, he muttered, 'Yer probably right. Come on then.'

'I can't go with you. I need to get into Hogwarts. I'll leave as soon as I can, I promise - and then I'll return to Grimmauld Place.'

***

The halls of Hogwarts were as cold as the outdoors. Harry found himself talking aloud to the bag he was carrying just to fill the unearthly silence.

'Almost there,' he told it. 'I wonder where the ghosts are? Nick? Peeves?'

Even the ghosts had abandoned the school, it seemed - or maybe they were in hiding.

He didn't run into any Death Eaters along the way to the Headmaster's office. When he reached the door, he found he didn't have to worry about breaking in; it was hanging open brokenly. The gargoyles were motionless.

Harry was disturbed by the sight; it felt like the magic of Hogwarts was slowly and inexorably drifting away without life to sustain it.

He ascended the stairs and entered the office unopposed. It was empty but for the few belongings McGonagall had left there, and not a single Headmaster or Headmistress occupied his or her portrait in the room - not even Dumbledore.

It hadn't occurred to Harry that Dumbledore would be anywhere else but at Hogwarts. But he was a famous wizard with many portraits to choose from - why would he stay in the abandoned school?

He felt foolish for having come to Hogwarts; he'd only succeeded in drawing Voldemort's attention, which was the last thing he wanted. There was no telling when he'd arrive.

But Harry needed Dumbledore's advice very, very badly. He was willing to risk a short wait, just in case the portrait's occupant decided to check in. After all, Albus Dumbledore had loved Hogwarts; even in its present state of emptiness, he was sure to return.

There was only one chair remaining in the office - the one behind the desk, where Dumbledore had once sat - so Harry took it. He felt self-conscious, as if he wasn't meant to sit there.

At first he wasn't sure what he ought to do to pass the time. Doing nothing would only put him on edge, causing him to interpret every creak and rustle as a sign of Voldemort's arrival. Luckily, he had something with him that needed attending to, and there was no time like the present.

Harry set the bag down on the floor by his feet. Before his fingers had even touched the buckles, he could feel the simulacrum forming above his head in anticipation.

Her ever-present smile was comforting to him; he liked that some things hadn't changed. She didn't know or care what had occurred with Voldemort.

'Hello, mum.'

'Hello.'

He wasn't sure where to go from there. 'I've got a problem. I'm hoping you can help. We spoke before about defeating Voldemort.'

Her eyes lit up as they had before when he'd mentioned Horcruxes, and her smile grew more genuine. 'Yes, I remember that.'

'My friend Ginny has been possessed by him. It's really very urgent that I learn anything you have to offer about his weaknesses.'

She nodded, but seemed to be waiting for something.

'Please?' he asked.

She sighed. 'You haven't told me what you would do with that information.'

'Yes, I have,' he said with irritation. 'I'll use it to defeat Voldemort.'

'Defeat him how?'

Harry recalled that this line of questioning had come up before - and he'd failed with it entirely. What had he replied before? By destroying his Horcruxes and then killing him. That had seemed like the way before, but it was useless now.

'Voldemort doesn't have any more Horcruxes,' he said thoughtfully more to himself than to his mother's simulacrum. 'Now he's using his connection with me to resurrect over and over...but...'

Emotion welled momentarily inside him, but it faded before he could feel it entirely. He growled in frustration, and the simulacrum looked at him questioningly.

'I...I can't feel like I did before,' he told her, staring at the ground in shame before his eyes rose to meet hers. There was a sadness there that he'd never seen before. 'He's taken part of my soul from me...'

She looked at him, and he thought he saw worry in her eyes. That wasn't possible, was it?

The world suddenly blinked in front of him into something entirely new. He was outside in a barren landscape that reminded him of the sprawling, naked wilderness outside Will's cottage. But instead of winter, it seemed to be fall; brownish-red leaves were blowing rapidly off the trees, and the long blades of grass were a golden yellow, burnt by the sun.

His eyes fell to his feet; he was on a gravel path. It was narrow and ruler-straight, and it shot across the ground into a forest.

The forest sent a shiver down Harry's spine. It wasn't cold or stormy or filled with frightening sounds: it was dead. Brittle branches cracked off the black, leafless trees, and there wasn't an animal to be seen.

The sky darkened over it; just gazing into the dead forest seemed to accelerate the pace of the leaves' falling around him. When the last leaf fell off the tree closest to the forest, the forest seemed to absorb it into its unreflecting darkness.

It was coming closer to him. Where was he?

The answer came to him as though it were whispered in his ear by the wind. It's my heart, he realized, stunned.

Someone walked past him. The robed figure walked down the path, and Harry wanted to warn it to stop before the darkness engulfed it, but his mouth refused to form the words, as if he were in conspiracy with the forest to swallow the figure whole.

The figure stopped halfway down the path, and it turned to him. It was only then that he recognized it as his mother.

She smiled back at him so genuinely that it felt like she'd reached into his chest and pumped his dying heart back to life. As soon as that thought came to him, she started to walk again - but instead of following the straight path to the forest, she carved her own through the grass.

Slowly she faded away, and Harry was left with sadness; it was as if he'd lost her all over again.

But there was a new path now where once there had been none. It was bright, and it seemed like the obvious way to go now. The path was steeper and rockier than the way to the forest, but Harry felt sure that the reward at the end of it would be great.

As he took his first step onto the new path, the world dropped away, and he was back in Dumbledore's office. He frowned for a moment, wondering what the vision had meant; the answer came quickly, as though he were only remembering something he'd forgotten.

Harry refused to become, like Voldemort, a creature incapable of love. His mother's sacrifice had allowed him to take a different route, even without his full soul. While feelings did not come naturally to him anymore, he made, at that very moment, a conscious decision to fight for them.

'Thank you,' he told the simulacrum, sure that the vision had come from it - but it watched him with an unsure, puzzled expression.

A dam within Harry had broken, and he was left feeling more at peace than he had since before the battle. At the same time, he was finally able to accept the horrible choice that stood before him.

'I don't want to kill Ginny,' he told her. 'Voldemort killed her, and he's in her body now...but part of me feels like she's not really dead, like there's still some way to save her. I want to defeat Voldemort, but I don't want to kill him, even if I could. Is it even possible to defeat him without killing him?'

He looked up at her pleadingly, and was taken aback when her complexion was suffused by a warm golden glow.

'That is what I needed to hear,' she told him, beaming. 'I never wanted to kill him, Harry. Murder is wrong in any form.

'I can't guarantee that what I have to say will be of worth to you now - but here is my story.'

***

It was exactly like falling into a Pensieve.

Harry stood in an unfamiliar kitchen of an unfamiliar apartment. He knew enough about décor from living with Aunt Petunia to know that she'd never have approved of the place; the cupboards looked cheap, the walls were covered with green, duck-patterned wallpaper, and there were a couple days' worth of dirty dishes in the sink.

From the kitchen, he could hear the door open and close. A quick set of footsteps walked toward him, and Harry came face to face with his mother.

She didn't see him, and he wasn't surprised. She threw her cloak onto a nearby chair and waved her wand toward the kettle to make tea. Harry was struck by how young she looked; she was very close to his age.

Lily Potter - no, Evans, she seemed too young to have married his dad yet - kicked off her heels and waited for the tea to be made. When he looked at her closer, he could tell by her sunken expression that she was very tired. Harry realized how late it was; the clock (which wasn't hanging where it was supposed to be and didn't go well enough with the décor to meet Petunia's exacting standards) claimed that it was nearly eleven.

Lily sipped her tea, looking tiredly pleased. The lights went out without warning, and her tea cup clattered ominously as she set it down carelessly on the table.

When her wand lit the room, someone new was in it - someone with a terrifying, snakelike face.

His mother shrieked in surprise, and a beam of green light narrowly missed her. He was frustrated by the lack of light; without shoes on, her feet made hardly any noise on the floor. Voldemort didn't seem to be moving at all.

'Come out, Lily Evans,' he commanded. His wand lit a narrow area of the room; he aimed it from side to side, but she wasn't there. Harry got a better look at him; he wasn't as disfigured as he had been in the present, before Ginny's possession, which Harry supposed was due to him having fewer Horcruxes at the time. His face not so inhumanly thin, and his skin was less whitened.

'There is no escaping me. Your colleague gave away your involvement in the Dementor project before he died; you will suffer the same fate tonight. If you refrain from wasting my time, your death will be swift and painless.'

Unsurprisingly, his mother didn't reenter the kitchen.

'Apparition won't work,' he declared loudly, taking his first steps from the room. 'No one has escaped me alive. You should be honoured to be judged worthy of my personal attention.'

'Yeah right,' muttered Harry, his words going unheard.

Voldemort abruptly turned, and Harry was shocked to see his mother hit by the Killing Curse. The bored expression on Voldemort's face turned to incredulity as the image he had hit dissipated in a burst of light, and Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

There's no need for me to worry, he told himself. He knew this wasn't the time and place of his mother's death. The real question was: how could she possibly escape?

'Interesting,' Voldemort commented. He continued moving through the apartment. With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that it was very small; his mother didn't have many places to hide.

But Voldemort didn't seem interested in searching the place for her. He stopped in the living room and lit a magical fire that spread in seconds to encompass the entire apartment.

The flames crackled around him and cast twisted shadows upon his face. 'Come out, Lily.'

In an instant, he was surrounded by five images of Lily. His eyes swept over them, alarmed; whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. He shot at the image in front of him, and it dissipated just as the one from before had. By the time he managed to direct a hex at another, one of the others - the real Lily, apparently - cast a spell of her own.

Harry smiled; he recognized the spell as one that was not blocked by a standard Shield Charm or other common protections.

Yet he was dismayed when it was effortlessly absorbed by Voldemort's protections. But by the time he could cast another spell at her, the images had switched; another of Lily's charmed doubles scattered into magic dust when it was struck by his curse.

Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts training kicked in, and he observed that Voldemort had picked a truly terrible place for this kind of battle. The small space left him little room for manoeuvring; the doubles were so close that he was nearly bumping into them every time he turned. Obviously he had expected his first Killing Curse to hit home; an extended battle with a defence-minded opponent like Harry's mother was sure to take a while under these conditions.

It seemed like Voldemort was coming to the same conclusion; he abruptly changed his tactics by backing up to the wall (the flames parting to permit his passage) and quickly making eye contact with each of the doubles.

Legilimency, Harry realized uneasily.

His fear became reality; Voldemort was easily able to see which Lily was real, since none of the images had minds, and thus his quick attempts at Legilimency simply passed through the fakes.

Revelling in his discovery, he turned and blocked a spell from the real Lily in the nick of time. He raised his wand against her, and Harry knew his mother's trick wouldn't work again - so did she, apparently, for her mouth dropped in panic.

Then he realized that wasn't the reason for her reaction at all.

'Look out!' she cried, pointing above Voldemort.

Voldemort looked up and gaped in surprise. Either he hadn't expected the fire to chew through the building so quickly (perhaps forgetting that it was a Muggle apartment without any magical wards against fire) or he hadn't intended to stay as long as he had - perhaps both.

While he was protected against the fire, he wasn't protected against heavy beams dropping on him from the ceiling - and one was about to fall right on top of him.

He raised his wand, and the beam bounced ineffectually off his hastily-constructed barrier. You have an opening! he realized, willing his mother to realize it too. Then he looked in her eyes and saw that she did realize it - and she was already muttering a silent spell.

Before it was complete, the floor collapsed; Lily, Voldemort, and even Harry fell through it, and the images around him faded to black. The simulacrum appeared beside him.

'You saved his life,' said Harry in total disbelief. He thought of all the trouble that could have been saved if she'd just let the damn beam fall on him - he'd caused it himself! It wasn't even murder!

'He was surprised too,' she said. 'He knew that he owed me his life.'

'Why did you do it?' he couldn't help but ask.

'I don't know.' She sounded honestly perplexed by her own actions. 'It just happened. It seemed right. It was fate, perhaps.'

She disappeared, and the scene changed to a ritzy restaurant. Harry peeked out the window and tried to recognize the location; he thought it was probably in London, but he couldn't be sure.

In contrast to the busy streets, the restaurant was empty. Someone outside tried to pull the door, but it wouldn't budge; the person beside them pointed out the "closed" sign, and the pair walked away - though woman who had approached the door shot an odd glance at Harry's mum, who was sitting in the restaurant alone, a glass of wine in her hand and her dinner eaten.

A man swooped in from nowhere and took the seat across from her at the table; she eyed him warily. His face was covered by a standard Death Eater mask.

'Did you enjoy your meal?' the man asked. 'This restaurant is the Dark Lord's favourite.'

'It was delicious - but what have you abducted me for? If he wants to kill me, he needn't feed me first.'

'He doesn't want to kill you. He wants you to join us.'

Harry immediately realized who the voice belonged to: the man behind the mask was Severus Snape. A small piece of his curtain of hair slipped in front of his hood to confirm it.

She replied with incredulity, 'I'm a Muggle-born!'

'He doesn't care about that!' Snape told her. The earnestness of his tone seemed to quell her doubts. 'He's willing to make an exception for you. Somehow you've earned his trust - that is a very rare honour for anyone, Lily.'

'Well, that's very flattering, but I have no good reason to betray my friends and family,' she responded politely but firmly.

It was Snape's turn to be incredulous, as if he'd actually expected Lily to take up the offer. 'Isn't being on the winning team inducement enough?'

'No.' Harry was struck by the fact that she didn't deny that Voldemort's team was the winning one. 'Are you supposed to kill me if I refuse him?'

Snape visibly jumped a little in his chair. 'I...no, no...'

'Could you possibly answer a question for me, then?'

There was something in Lily's eyes, a curious gleam when she looked at Snape, that made Harry sure that she recognized him. He found it odd that she hadn't called him by name yet, but then he realized, as his mother must, that he'd probably have to Obliviate her if he was sure that she knew who he was.

'I...I suppose...' Snape hadn't gotten over being flabbergasted at Lily's refusal yet.

A serious expression fell over her face. 'What's wrong with him?'

'...What?'

'I mean that he doesn't look normal, and it isn't just an illusion. That's how he really looks, isn't it? And there's something...missing...in his eyes...it's as though there's no emotion left in them but hatred. Something's broken inside him. Surely you've noticed. What's wrong with him?'

In a low hiss, Snape insisted, 'Don't say such things! Do you have the slightest idea what you're driving at?'

'No; that's why I'm asking you.'

He shook his head and pushed out his chair. 'I can't answer that.'

She smiled kindly at him, not pushing any further. 'Then I suppose I should go.'

He didn't seem prepared for her to drop the question, for he paused and then carefully said, 'Yes, well. The Dark Lord won't be pleased by your refusal.'

'I suppose not. I should get home. Send him my thanks for the dinner, won't you? It really was very good.'

'Right.' Snape rose from his chair as Lily grabbed her purse, and Harry was sure that the strangeness of him helping her with her cloak would never be burned from his eyes. 'Well...I guess I'll be seeing you, then.' The words were spoken with reluctance; they both had to know that they weren't likely to meet on such friendly terms again.

As she walked toward the door, Snape looked hamstrung. 'Lily!' he called as her hand fell on the knob.

She turned. 'Yes?'

Something in Snape was tensing, ready to snap.

'...Horcrux.'

She frowned at the foreign word. 'What?'

But Snape was already gone.

The restaurant faded out, and Lily's simulacrum returned. Harry couldn't believe what he'd seen. 'You found out about Horcruxes then? From Snape?'

'Yes.'

'I don't get it,' he declared, thinking about Snape. Whose side was he on?

He tried to warn me, remembered Harry for the first time, feeling sick at the thought. He knew...but then why did he take me to Voldemort? If he's not on his side, and he knew what would happen...why did he do it?

He shook thoughts of Snape from his brain. The man was too complicated, he decided. All Harry knew was that he couldn't be trusted.

'I looked up the word through every legitimate source I could find. Eventually I discovered from whom it had originated, and I went to her to find out more.'

'Boudica,' Harry finished. 'Yes, I met her.' He frowned thoughtfully. 'How did you get past the barrier?' He supposed it didn't matter now, but he couldn't imagine his mum sacrificing a Muggle to get through. Harry had Hermione on his side, but his mother seemed to have been working alone.

Her answer was simple; as she gave it, the world around Harry shifted again.

'Regulus Black.'