Author's Note: It should be obvious, but I must declare that I own no rights to the Harry Potter story or any of its characters. All such ownership belongs to J. K. Rowling. Only characters of my own creation are not hers, and I reserve no rights upon them, so if they catch your fancy feel free to use them.

Chapter One:

Harry Potter stood on the edge of the field, watching the battle that would end the war. It was late spring, and the afternoon sun glared oppressively hot from the clear sky above. His raven black hair was matted with perspiration, and he blinked away a drop of sweat that touched the corner of his right eye. His left hand was missing his pinky and ring fingers, the result of a battle over a year ago. Reaching up with his scarred offhand to wipe his forehead on his sleeve, he focused his stark green eyes on the battle before him. It was yet undetermined who would emerge the victor. This would be the last stand of the French and German ministries, all of their remaining strength was gathered at the château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg, and Voldemort was obliged to lay siege. Before the end of Harry's sixth year, Voldemort himself had invaded Hogwarts, killing Dumbledore and many of the teachers, capturing the students and holding their lives hostage to force their families to capitulate. Even as the school fell into their hands, Death Eaters attacked the ministry, disabling the floo network and securing their hold over Wizarding Great Britain. In short, a single night had crippled any hope of preventing Voldemort's second rise to power.

Harry had been lucky to escape the school with his friends. The Felix Felicis potion certainly contributed to that achievement, much to the consternation of the Death Eaters. Most of the DA members had made it out of the school and into Hogsmeade through the secret passage, but some had been captured. Leaving them behind was one of the hardest decisions Harry had ever made. Neville had taken the rearguard, and was downed by a Crucio before he could make it to the exit. Harry had turned back to help his friend when Neville blasted the ceiling of the tunnel, raining rocks and debris down upon the Death Eaters and sealing the passage. He had been trapped as well, and there was no time to save him.

If he had known then what he knew now, he could have destroyed Voldemort that night, and none of his friends need to have died. Harry knew it was stupid to think on what could have been when he had a task to attend, but his nostalgia was overwhelming. It was stupid, because even if he had defeated Voldemort, the Death Eaters that followed him would not have been stopped so easily. They had the advantage, and were better organized than before. Lucius Malfoy was more cunning and determined than Voldemort could ever hope to be, though he had nowhere near his master's power. If Voldemort was struck down back then, Lucius would have assumed command in an instant, likely as soon as he sent a killing curse into Bellatrix Lestrange's back. Lucius would have been a more capable and dangerous leader of the Death Eaters, if only because he wasn't insane.

Thankfully Lucius was already removed as a threat. Five weeks after the fall of Hogwarts and the Ministry, he had attacked the Burrow with six other Death Eaters, capturing Molly, Ron, and Ginny Weasley. Harry and Luna had gone with Hermione to see to the safety of her parents. When Harry returned with the others to the Burrow, the house that had become his second home was ablaze, and his friends and surrogate mother were dead. The loss still burned. No amount of vengeance could assuage his fury.

Lucius Malfoy was already elected to be the new minister of magic, and Percy Weasley was happy to grovel and serve him and his advisors some tea. Lucius enjoyed taunting Percy over his family's deaths; flaunting the power he had over the young man by making him foreswear his kin. The poison wasn't detected until it was far too late to save the Death Eaters. Percy escaped retribution with the expedient use of a timeturner. The setback this dealt to Voldemort was possibly the only reason Harry escaped Great Britain.

Percy and his father, Arthur, were even now entering the fray.

Percy was fast, casting two spells for every one he blocked, and constantly using the terrain against his opponents. He dug a ditch filled with water in the earth behind his opponent and forced the Death Eater to step back with a blast of superheated air against his shields. As the man fell backwards into the watery ditch a simple charm froze the water solid, trapping him. Percy finished him off quickly.

Arthur was far more deliberate in his actions, striding forward with careless abandon, as though he no longer feared death. Given the loss he suffered, and the horrible grief he often expressed, it was likely that the man was suicidal. Nevertheless he showed no intention of dying easily. He killed one Death Eater by transfiguring the ground beneath him into a spike, which impaled the man. Three more Death Eaters made to attack him, but he struck first. A red orb shot from the tip of his wand, striking the ground and raising a wall of fire between him and two of the Death Eaters. The third was killed by a conjured sword which appeared above his head and plunged downward. The fire was dispelled by one of the remaining two, and the other cast a very dark curse. Arthur disapparated behind the two, avoiding the curse, and killed them both with a single cutting hex.

Hermione and Luna had died before what would have been the start of Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts. Voldemort had consolidated his power in Great Briton and had turned his attention towards the continent. They had fled to the continent and were working with French Aurors to attack targets of opportunity inside Voldemort's territory. Susan Bones had been a part of their party during several raids against Death Eaters, while Hanna Abbot had facilitated their coordination with the French and German ministries.

The two girls approached the designated meeting place and Harry, Hermione, and Luna met them warmly. Except that Susan had been imperiused and triggered the magical equivalent of a bomb in the middle of the group. Luna seemed to sense something wrong at the last moment, and dove on top of Susan, providing a partial shield to the others. Luna and Susan died instantly. Hanna survived, but was crippled. Her left leg was simply gone. Harry and Hermione were blasted back, but Hermione smashed into a tree, and a branch pierced her heart. She died seconds later, before Harry had even picked himself off of the ground. Harry was in a complete state of shock. Hanna was the one who had the wits to use her emergency portkey to get Harry and herself to safety behind French wards. He wept for days, unable to contain himself.

Ansgar Gottschalk, a muggle whose child would have started Hogwarts two years ago, stepped up beside Harry. The Death Eaters had access to the Hogwarts registry, and tracked down and killed any muggleborns and their families. Harry had been passing through by chance, and saw the attack unfolding. He intervened too late to save the child or her mother, but he was able to avenge them. Ansgar, distraught with loss, tried desperately to understand what had happened. Unable to deny him the truth, Harry told the man about the secret world of magic, the war with Voldemort, and left Hermione's old trunk with him.

Ansgar had once been an unassuming man. He used to dress well, and took pride in his professional appearance. Now he stood with ragged brown hair and a weariness in his eyes. There was a constant crease in the thick bushy eyebrows that crowned them; a hardness that few could match. His clothes had seen better days. He hadn't cared enough to take the time to look good. Not in the two years since his family died. Ansgar was at one point, literally, a rocket scientist. More recently, he designed architecture for microprocessors and did zero-level coding for computer chip manufacturers. He held two doctorates, knew eleven languages, and was the most rational and grounded individual Harry would ever meet. But the revelations about magic shook his worldview. Even through the pain of his loss, he could not refute the evidence that magic was real. So after the funerals were endured, he started reading. He finished every book in Hermione's magically enlarged trunk within two months.

Already knowing Greek and Latin undoubtedly helped, but Ansgar forced himself to learn the runic forms of Norse and Celtic as well. And he began to truly understand magic; even if he couldn't use that knowledge himself. He designed a few hundred experiments and called Harry back to him with Hermione's mirror. When Harry arrived, he gave him a codex of spells that he had designed. Some of these spells were complex, others staggeringly simple; all of them proved useful. After seeing the extent of his efforts, Harry agreed to help Ansgar conduct his experiments. Ansgar painted a network of runes onto his own skin and Harry imbued them with his magic, allowing Ansgar to fool magical wardings into thinking he was a Squib.

"We'll be ready soon." Ansgar said. "We just need them to commit everything to this."

"As soon as he shows up, give the signal." Harry said.

Fritz Krause, leading the last of the German Aurors, apparated into battle with a series of deafening cracks. Fritz was the former head of the British Ministry of Magic's Unspeakables, and had taken a hostile stance against Voldemort's government. He was an extremely competent wizard, having headed the Unspeakables for over a hundred years. Harry was the only person alive who knew his real name, since the knowledge of his name was contained within a modified fidelius charm. The modification came about when the Unspeakables were experimenting with trying to tie the charm to a person rather than a location. The hope had been that such a person could be the perfect spy and assassin, since nobody would be able to perceive their existence, even if they were to start firing curses at people. The purpose of the experiments was never realized, but the ability to hide names was achieved. Given that the Unspeakables had been around for less than two hundred years, Harry wondered if Fritz wasn't the reason for their name.

Fritz was as old, but still able to hold his own. No one who had ever met him could later recall anything about his features. Neither his hair or eye color, nor his height, weight, nor skin tone could be remembered. Though people could recognize him if they met him again, it would only last until they could no longer see him. Fritz and the Aurors following him smashed into the eastern flank of the Death Eater army, killing the cursebreakers before they could take down the wards that protected the castle. As soon as their targets were dead, Fritz's group disapparated to the hilltop; another step in the plan achieved.

Harry judged the moment right, and shot orange sparks high into the air. Fred and George Weasley set off the chain of runes that would throw up a screen to cover their retreat, and the combatants disengaged from the Death Eaters, fleeing up the hillside even as a magically conjured rockslide flew down the slope towards the field below. The boulders, some of them weighing many tons, were each inscribed with runes to guide their descent down the hillside. They bounced and jerked to avoid allies, even as they deliberately crushed and bludgeoned enemies. The effect was immediate. The Death Eaters pulled back to regroup. They still outnumbered the defenders heavily, but they simply couldn't withstand the losses they would take if they charged up the hill.

Then he arrived. Draco had done his part. He had somehow convinced the Dark Lord that his troops had seized the castle and held Harry Potter helpless, awaiting his pleasure. Not expecting to come onto a battlefield, Voldemort paused to think. Ansgar had not hesitated, and with a series of terrific CRACKS that boomed across the sky above the field, the Americans arrived. Huge wardstones, bright blue crystal carved with countless runes, were apparated into position by five teams of six American Aurors. The wardstones fell straight to the ground, smashing into the earth and throwing up an impressive spray of dirt. Even still, they stood perfectly upright and unblemished. Energy crackled within them and a beam of coherent light lashed between each of the wardstones, forming a pentagon. Voldemort was trapped.

He immediately turned on Draco with the killing curse. Harry met Draco's eyes right before it hit, acknowledging what they both knew would happen. Draco died a moment later. A scream of anguish from the battlements of the castle told him that Narcissa had been watching. She was the price of Draco's loyalty. The Dark Lord had decided that she was no longer useful to him and had ordered Draco to kill her. Snape had gone with him, to ensure that he followed through. A bit of polyjuice and an unsuspecting Bellatrix were used to falsify her death, while Snape ensured that she was brought safely to Harry's camp. Bellatrix was her sister, and they already looked enough alike that the polyjuice held for the two days that Voldemort had kept the body on display, as an example of what unshakable loyalty looked like, for the rest of his followers. The irony was not lost on Harry.

Aleksei Zolnerowich had arrived with the Americans. He was a Russian born wizard, whose father, Dimitri Zolnerowich, had long ago learned the truth about Voldemort. His father had captured Nagini only a few years after Voldemort's fall, and recognizing the snake for the horcrux it was, set about containing the problem. Dimitri dabbled in necromancy, and performed a very old and very dark ritual upon the soul fragment inside the snake, binding it and all the other pieces of Voldemort's soul, preventing him from returning to life so long as the binding held. While the snake was contained within the wards of the ritual, Voldemort could not escape the half-life he had been condemned to exist.

Their house was kept under a fidelius charm, but the snake was linked to Voldemort, so the Dark Lord knew where the house was. He also knew that his pet was contained and that his resurrection was impossible so long as this was true. When Bartemius Crouch was freed from his father and returned to Voldemort, during the summer after Harry's third year, Voldemort sent Crouch to retrieve his snake. Crouch was unable to breach the fidelius, but was able to imperius young Aleksei. He sent the boy into the house to free the snake and then used him to murder his family. Unable to cast the killing curse upon his loved ones, Aleksei had been compelled to use cutting and bludgeoning hexes. Finally breaking free of the imperius, Aleksei found himself in a room awash in the blood of his family, their mangled bodies and silent screams a tormenting nightmare that would never leave him. He fled, stumbling into the street and vomiting in the road, even as the venom from the snake overcame him. Nagini had left him a parting gift.

The Russian ministry found him in a muggle hospital, and took him to a magical facility. When he finally recovered, Aleksei swore vengeance upon the Dark Lord. Harry had actually fought alongside him twice without knowing it. The first time they met, Aleksei had been laying an ambush for Death Eaters when Harry encountered them and attacked, almost walking into the ambush himself. Aleksei set his trap off early to prevent Harry from being caught in it, and proceeded to help him against the remaining Death Eaters, but left before Harry could even ask his name.

The second time, Aleksei had been tracking a group of Death Eaters and intended to set another of his ambushes. It was instead him who was ambushed, since the Death Eaters were most displeased with how many of their number Aleksei had killed, and knowing his habits, had made their own trap with themselves as bait. Harry rescued him from their forward base three weeks later, during one of the resistance's few counter-offensives. The former captive immediately took up the fight, helping to secure the base. They had been friends ever since, and Aleksei provided a great deal of information about horcruxes that they would otherwise never have known. It was his father's journal that provided the key knowledge that Ansgar had needed to make this work. Since they had never been able to locate all of Voldemort's horcruxes, they had found a way to ignore them. The wardstones would abolish the connection between Voldemort and his horcruxes. If he died within this cage, he died forever.

Disapparation and portkey travel were impossible within the warding, and the line between the wards could not be crossed from the inside. The wardstones themselves were unassailable without multiple points of attack. Even though Voldemort himself was a more than capable cursebreaker, he couldn't break the wardstones without help. And Fritz had seen to it that any among his army who might have been able to help him were already dead. The wardstones had enough energy to hold for hours, but the Death Eaters, even trapped – even with American reinforcements, still outnumbered the defenders.

"This is it." Harry said. A strange sense of calm had fallen over him, an acceptance of what was to come. He walked down the slope, his allies flocking to his side. Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley came down from the battlements, both of them grim and determined. Arthur and Percy joined them, Percy taking a swig of a potion before passing it off to his father, who declined, but passed it on further to Bill, who sipped it gingerly.

"Felix Felicis?" Bill asked, giving it to Fleur. His fiancé finished the flask.

"Borrowed it from Mr. Unspeakable." Percy replied. "Damn. I hate how I can't say his name. Can't even think it, even though I've heard you say it." He said, looking at Harry.

Harry merely shrugged. "Can't help you there."

The Unspeakable in question approached with a pair of German Aurors. "We ready for the final showdown?" He asked.

Harry nodded.

Fritz looked at him solemnly. "I can't guess what you're feeling right now, Harry. I know you think that you're obligated to do this. But nobody could blame you for having second thoughts. It isn't fair that this is placed on you."

"I'm not afraid." Harry was indignant. "Life isn't fair. But this… this is my choice. It has to be my choice. If it isn't done of my own free will, it won't work." They continued down the hillside, watching as the Death Eaters futilely attacked the wardline.

Aleksei was waiting for them just in front of the wards. His blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his blue eyes were rimmed by steel framed spectacles. "Moment of truth, Harry."

Harry looked into their trap, eyes flitting from one Death Eater to another. He found Snape, the man's legilimency smacking his occlumency shields the moment their eyes met. He gave a subtle nod. Snape immediately threw two dozen beads into the air, which enlarged into fragile glass spheres about a foot in diameter, with different colored liquids and vapors inside. The spheres hit the ground, and not a few Death Eaters, shattering and spilling their contents everywhere. There was a fiery explosion and an unbelievable WHUMP as the shockwave slammed into the wards with enough force to make the intangible barrier flare brightly. Taking advantage of their enemies' confusion, Harry and his allies charged through the wardline and entered the fray.

Almost a third of the Death Eaters were dead outright, either from the concussion of the explosion or the conflagration of the gasses. Another third were dying or otherwise incapacitated and would not be participating in the fight. The last third was not unscathed, but was still able to press the attack. Snape himself had vanished. Harry was disinclined to consider the matter further. His mother's friend was likely dead. The battle was joined immediately, with a massive salvo of killing curses headed for Harry's group. Three were from Voldemort himself.

Fritz muttered an unnamable spell and a wall of diamonds appeared in front of them. There must have been a thousand fist sized diamonds in the wall. Wherever the killing curses struck, diamonds dissolved into dust, but the wall shifted and the hole was plugged. Even still, the wall noticeably shrank after only twenty seconds. Voldemort managed to fire two killing curses at the exact same spot, the second one slipping past the wall before another diamond was shifted to fill the gap. Fleur, who would have been struck by the curse, slipped on the ground and landed completely on her back as the curse passed over her. Liquid luck had its uses.

They reached the wall and were able to stick their wands through the gaps and fire their own spells at the Death Eaters. A few of them managed to transfigure some defensive cover, but most attempted to shield or dodge the spells that were sent against them. One of the Death Eaters was particularly good, seeming to avoid their attacks with as much ease as those dosed with the Felix Felicius. He threw his mask to the side, revealing himself to be Amycus Carrow, one of Voldemort's inner circle. With a bow towards Harry, he cast a hex at the ground just in front of the shield, and the dirt collapsed in an expanding circle, seeming to drop into a bottomless hole. Most of them jumped back in time, but Arthur was not fast enough. He fell into the hole and was only barely caught by Bill snatching his hand. Percy cast the levitating charm and Arthur was pulled to safety.

Antonin Dolohov, another of the inner circle, canceled his disillusionment, having walked around and positioned himself behind Harry. He was halfway through a blood boiling curse when Snape canceled his own disillusionment from behind him and sent him into the hole with a blasting hex. "Tisk tisk, Mr. Potter." Snape said with his usual superiority.

Harry only grinned at him. "Thanks."

"Have you not taken your Felix Felicius yet?" Snape asked. "I did not spend months of my time brewing it simply to have you forget to drink it!"

"I need to save it until just before I fight him." Harry replied. "It doesn't last long enough anymore." He had been building a strong resistance to the potion after repeated doses over the last four years. It was a highly unusual development, and hindered his ability to use it effectively. Thankfully he never became addicted, but the loss of the potion's benefits hurt.

Snape nodded his acceptance of the decision. "I gave the Dark Lord what he thought was liquid luck just before he chose to send his followers into battle. It was brewed improperly, with more than a little malaclaw venom. He will find himself quite devoid of any luck for a few hours yet." It was a measure of Snape's skill as a potions master that he could brew such a difficult potion deliberately wrong, yet in such a way as to leave no evidence that he had done so. "My defection and betrayal is undoubtedly known now. If this battle goes poorly, he will use a ritual to kill me through the mark."

Harry met his gaze. "I won't fail."

Snape looked away. "See that you don't." He said, unable to face Lily's child, or the certain death that he was condemned to.

Aleksei spoke up. "The Americans are in position." He said, tossing a few rune covered pebbles into the air and banishing the lot of them towards some Death Eaters that were creeping around the edge of the diamond wall. The small stones began glowing and emitting sparks before they struck, exploding with a massive burst of incandescent light and blasting the Death Eaters violently away. None of them got up from where they landed.

"They're flanking us!" Percy called out.

"I'll handle it." Aleksei replied, calmly facing the right side of their defense.

Aleksei pulled out his pistol. The Zolnerowich family were master artificers and enchanters, and had remade the muggle weapon into an effective means of combatting magicals. The commission of the pistol was given to a master gunsmith, who custom built the weapon to be modeled after a point forty-five colt, long barrel special. The barrel was less round and more of a rectangular block that would have been bulky without the enchantments. The pistol was an eight-shot, and given the size of the bullets the cylinder was as ungainly as the barrel. The handle was the only thing not charmed to be lighter, with a heavy grip to steady the aim of the weapon.

After it was forged through mundane means it was further enchanted and magically reforged. The piece was almost entirely metal, a dark colored steel, with finely etched gold runes. There were literally hundreds of runes on the weapon, and they briefly lit up when Aleksei's hand gripped the handle. The pistol could only fire eight shots before it needed reloading, and each of those bullets had to be carved with runes and magically reforged, just as the gun itself was, before they could be used effectively. This was a process that took many hours for every bullet, and left the enchanter magically exhausted. But it allowed the weapon to work against wizards.

Harry discovered early on why muggle weapons were useless against wizards. Simple shields could reverse the kinetic energy of anything that hit them, and simple wards could dramatically affect momentum and inertia. These protections were affected by the mass of the projectile rather than its speed, which meant that a thrown rock was more effective than bullets. A slightly more complex ward, but still something that a skilled fourth year could accomplish, would negate combustion in a large area. Without the ability to ignite the nitrates used in bullets, guns would not fire, and muggle bombs would not explode. Yet despite these easy countermeasures, few wizards bothered to employ them. This meant that during the first few moments after the muggle guns were revealed, they had free reign in attacking with them. It was a great ambush tactic, and sometimes allowed a quick victory. But Voldemort had caught on, and it was now standard practice for his Death Eaters to employ anti-combustion wards.

Of course, Aleksei Zolnerowich's pistol didn't care about such things, and neither did his hand-crafted bullets. He raised the pistol, firing rapidly and with practiced ease. Eight shots resulted in three dead and two wounded enemies, with one bullet missing the mark, deflected by a really powerful shield that had sprung into existence after his seventh shot. It required a powerful shield to deflect, because the runes on the bullets weren't merely there to allow the ammunition to fire, but to give it considerably more force and imbue them the power to breach most magical defenses. Aleksei dropped the barrel down, ejecting the empty cartridges, and loading more bullets from the ammo loops on his wristband. This time he pulled back one a lever mechanism on the sides of the barrel. When it slid back, the lower half of the barrel dropped down slightly, then split in two and moved apart.

The two protrusions extended slightly, angled so that they were further apart at the ends. It was a mechanical motion, built into the weapon. The runes on the two components under the barrel began to glow brightly, and sparks and arcs of electricity surged between them and the barrel. Then Aleksei fired. The bullet was so bright when it left the barrel that it left a left a visible line of light, burned into the vision of anyone who saw it. It crashed into the shield that had defied the previous shot. It exploded upon impact, sending lightning bolts arcing all around it. The shield failed; its caster dead from the magical drain. Another shot killed the four Death Eaters who had been hiding behind him. Aleksei slid the lever forward, closing the underbelly of the barrel. "Overheated it." He explained with a grimace.

Fritz canceled the bottomless pit hex, rolled forward to his wall, and fired a cutting curse just underneath. Amycus Carrow lost both of his feet, falling face first to the ground. Just as he was lifting himself up by his hands a second cutting curse removed them as well. His screams became tainted with madness and he started cursing the 'Unspeakable Bastard' that crippled him.

Voldemort walked forward and glanced at him. "You're useless now." He said, ending him with a silent killing curse. "I tire of your continued survival, Potter. You think this pentagram will hold me? You've trapped yourself! Let the games begin." Harry saw something that gave him pause. Voldemort had Dumbledore's old wand in his hand. Why? A wand chooses its wielder, and even if a wand taken from a defeated enemy would obey the victor, it would never be loyal. Harry had no time to ponder the mystery. Voldemort waved the wand, and a shower of turquoise sparks alighted against the diamonds, turning them all to dust which fell to the ground.

A single wave of the wand had destroyed their defense. Fritz stood up, but he was so far forward from the rest of them that he had no support. Arthur sent a bone breaking curse at the Dark Lord, but it was blocked effortlessly. Voldemort waved the wand once, twice, thrice, firing a cutting hex and a flaying curse and a crushing curse in the span of a single second. Fritz dodged the first, blocked the second, but his knees buckled and he was pinned to the ground with a cry of anguish as the third hit.

"Fight me then!" Harry shouted, stepping forward and tossing the now empty vial of Felix Felicius aside. It would be another thirty seconds before the potion would begin to work.

"There's no need to end it so soon. I thought you wanted to play?" Voldemort asked, glancing at Harry even as he swished the wand. Fritz was instantly crushed into bloody paste.

"Murdering bastard!" Harry said. The battle erupted around them as the American Aurors charged past the wardline on both flanks and began fighting with the Death Eaters. The Weasleys and Fleur were caught up battling Augustus Rookwood and Walden Macnair. Aleksei meanwhile was engaging Thorfinn Rowle and Bradley Nott, and barely holding his own.

Harry was almost unaware of the conflict around him; he was so focused upon Voldemort that nothing else intruded. Voldemort flicked the wand, and Harry raised a shield charm, expecting to deflect an attack. Instead, a summoning charm bypassed his shield and yanked him forward. Voldemort seemed to glide forward with an unnatural quickness, grasping Harry by the neck with his offhand even as he stabbed the wand into Harry's arm. The tip of Dumbledore's wand glowed a sickly yellow-green, and all of the bones in his hand and arm shattered and broke. His wand fell uselessly from his ruined fingers. "My great foe, so easily defeated. All their hopes rested on you, and you weren't enough." Voldemort taunted. "I think I'll try something besides the killing curse this time. It hasn't worked on you so far and I'd rather not fail again. Maybe I'll use a knife. That could be fun."

Snape stalked past Nott, barely glancing to flick his wand and blast the Death Eater away. Aleksei shouted a quick thanks and returned to fighting Rowle.

Voldemort spared a glance for Snape. "Traitor. You'll die slowly." He spat. While he was distracted by talking, Harry flailed his legs and kicked out, striking him in the chin. Voldemort lost a bit of his tongue when his teeth smashed together, and he spat blood as he hissed in fury. As Harry continued to thrash about, and another kick hit Voldemort's wrist, sending Dumbledore's wand tumbling away. Shrieking in rage, his grip on Harry's throat tightened and his nails drew blood that left streaks of red flowing down his fingers as Harry choked in his grip. Snape shot a pair of maiming curses towards his former master, which Voldemort wandlessly battered aside. Voldemort retrieved his own wand in an instant and hit Snape with something that caused the man to convulse violently on the ground, before passing out.

Voldemort turned his anger upon Harry, pointing his wand at his still flailing legs he used the same maiming curse that Snape had just cast at him. He deliberately controlled the power of the curse to cause the most pain. The bones in Harry's knee exploded and his left leg was all but violently blasted from his body. It held together only through the gristle of his flesh and muscles. A few bits of bone fragments tore through his skin and a streak of blood splashed across Voldemort's face as he laughed at the silently screaming boy who was finally at his mercy.

Harry choked back a sob from the pain in his arm and the agony in his leg, but couldn't help but grin as a familiar confidence washed over him. "Guess what?" He asked smugly. "I just got lucky." He explained, kicking out with his good leg. He heard the satisfying snap as Voldemort's wand connected with his boot and broke under the impact. Voldemort froze in a moment of shocked disbelief, and Harry drew back and stomped on Voldemort's crotch. He was dropped instantly as Voldemort staggered back. Harry snatched his wand with the three good fingers on his scarred left hand and rolled to his feet, somehow avoiding any further injury to his destroyed arm and leg. But he knew it wouldn't last; the liquid luck was already fading. He had to act soon, or he would lose this chance. "This is where it ends for you." He told Voldemort, his voice devoid of feeling. "This is where justice is finally done." Harry wishes he could have justice, wishes he could have back all the people this monster took from him. "Will you beg forgiveness of the dead before I send you to meet them?"

"I am immortal." Voldemort laughs. "I will rise again and again until the end of time. You and your pitiful prophecy will not stand in my way. You are nothing! You live by ideals that give the fruit of your labors to those who would never work to earn them, who only take and never contribute. I will build a better society. Where those who are worthy will be rewarded, and the parasites and garbage will be cut off to die. Wizarding society is dying and I will save it from itself. I have already set it in motion. You cannot stop it now. Soon, everyone will see that I was right. That purity is the only chance at salvation."

"An archaic ideology that deserves to die along with those that still cling to it." Harry said.
"Truth always triumphs over conviction. I surrender myself to truth. I embrace it. And magic is truth, without regard for the quality of blood. My best friend was a muggleborn witch. And she had more magical ability than anyone else in our year. Truth that proves your words false!" The magic in the air was palpable. It thrummed with power and anticipation; the moment of destiny at hand. Harry blinked, the hum of magic ringing in his ears and hazing his eyes.

Voldemort felt weak. He looked at his left hand, staring in surprise as he saw why his fingers had fallen numb. Where the boy's blood had touched him, his skin was decaying. Already large pieces of his hand were in a state of necrosis, as though the blood was poisoning the flesh it touched. How was this possible? He had circumvented the boy's blood protection when he used that same blood in his resurrection! Yet the boy's blood was destroying him! His face burned as the blood that had splash him ate away at his flesh like an acid. Voldemort glared his hatred at Harry. The boy had escaped him again and again, costing him so many setbacks. Even now he faced another, though his death would be far more temporary than before. He had made arrangements to be resurrected much sooner. He would return to life in days, and the thought made him cackle madly. He couldn't help but taunt the boy more. "And where is your mudblood friend now? Dead, like all the others? So much for her power! All of them are dead now, aren't they, Potter? Don't you see: you've already lost." The magic flared dangerously. Even Voldemort seemed shaken, no longer certain of the outcome.

The magic seemed to flow through Harry. He gasped. "Do you not hear them? The dead cry out for vengeance! For blood and retribution!" He understood what his mother had done, all those years ago. She hadn't merely died for him. It wasn't love or the sacrifice of her life that saved him, though it was a sacrifice. She gave up her magic. Surrendered herself to it, and gave it life and awareness of its own. She bid it to protect her child, as the price of its freedom.

Every witch and wizard has a magical core within themselves. And it is a cage, which holds their magic. Only when the magic is subjugated to their will is it let out of the cage. To open the cage without first binding the magic to a purpose, indeed to break the cage so that the door is always open, to free the magic within oneself, is the greatest sacrifice a witch or wizard can make. For afterwards, the magic may simply leave them, never to return. They would be a squib.

Harry pointed his wand at his chest, needing no incantation, only his will and the focus of his purpose. A brilliant golden chain sprang up from his chest, wrapping around his wand and then entering his chest again. He was sure that his mother hadn't needed to do this. But he was not as skilled as her, and needed the symbolism. He snapped his wand in one swift motion, and the chain shattered along with it. The cage was opened, and his magic sang to him!

It sang of life and love and hope. He felt himself lifted up, though his eyes could no longer see through the haze, which had turned a solid, bright white. The music of his magic was a cacophony of beautiful sound. The smell was intoxicating, making him feel alive and free. He felt unburdened by the weight of destiny and the pain of his loss. Silky soft tendrils of magic caressed upon his skin, all over his body, and what felt like hands cupped his face as lips brushed against his. He opened his mouth and breathed; energy and warmth filling him inside and out.

Voldemort stared at him without comprehending. It made no sense! What was happening? What was the boy doing? What had he done? He was floating in the air, a few feet off the ground, glowing with a golden-white light that burned all too brightly. The heat of it made Voldemort's skin boil agonizingly. He lifted his hands to shield his face, but his skin flecked away and the tissue beneath burned as if on fire. A searing heat washed his flesh away, down to the charred bones, which fell away as dust. His body was consumed in a single flare of power, and only a shadow remained on the ground. The dark mark burned upon every Death Eater, all of them falling to the ground screaming. Their own magic turned against them in judgment, attacking those it found unworthy; punishing them. Snape alone was spared, and when he later woke and looked upon his arm there would be no trace of the mark at all.

Painlessly, the malignancy was torn away from Harry's soul, a black ichor spewing from his scar in a misty spray that evaporated in the heat of his magic. He felt clean, as if he had been purified by the warmth that enveloped him. His arm and leg no longer hurt, and he was utterly certain that both were healed. He sighed contentedly. He was at peace. His task was done. He could finally let go of his emotions, finally cry the tears that needed shed, finally mourn the dead. He wept, blind as he was, unable to feel anything except the magic that held him so gently, so delicately. He cried and wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his legs up to hide his face in his knees. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Neville. Ron. Ginny. Molly. Lupin. Tonks. Susan. Luna. Hermione. Draco. "I did it." He said aloud. "I finally did it. I completed the prophecy." He sobbed. "I'm free. And Voldemort's gone forever."

His magic held him more tightly, the pressure a kind of reassurance on his skin. He wished he could have saved them all. Wished that nobody had to die for him. Wished he was never the subject of prophecy. He wished he could give them all a better life. It wasn't fair that they were dragged into it because of him! It wasn't fair that they died because of him!

His magic washed over him, almost scolding. Not because of you. It seemed to whisper. Because of him.

Voldemort.

It was saying that all of this was his fault. So much suffering, so much pain and loss; the grief of it consumed him with wracking sobs. So what if they didn't die because of him! They died for him. All so that he could have the chance to fulfil that stupid prophecy. They believed in him; believed that he would save them. They should have just run away instead. Now it was too late. Now they were all gone. What was he supposed to do?

Live. His magic caressed away his tears, like a mother kissing his face.

He didn't want to live. He wanted to die, to go on to whatever waited for him, to be with his friends again. To see Ginny laugh and Hermione smile. To see Luna dance under the moonlight and Ron flying his broom. He wanted Neville to realize how brave he really was. He wanted Draco to find a new home for himself and his mother. He wanted to hug Sirius again and tell him how sorry he was. He wanted to know his mother and father, to see them every day and never have to worry or be alone again. He shuddered. He was so alone right now. So empty. They were all gone! He didn't want it to be this way. He never wanted this fate. But it was finally done. He only wished he didn't have to be alone anymore.

Not alone. His magic promised. Never alone again. It said, filling him again with its passionate warmth, its absolute trust, and its unconditional love. Always be here. Promise.

Harry sighed, trusting his magic, and slipping off to sleep.

Harry woke feeling groggy. He was in a soft bed, with warm blankets and a fluffy pillow. Certainly better conditions than he had endured for most of the last four years. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at the stone ceiling, almost wishing it was the hospital wing. But the stone was the wrong color. It was the château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg. The battle came back to him, and he felt each moment: every fleeting hesitation, every instance of fear, every doubt of inadequacy. All the way forward to the final moment of surrender, when he accepted his fate, his cursed destiny, and gave himself and his life over to his magic.

He was supposed to die.

Yet he was still here. Was any of it real? Did it really happen, or did he just imagine it?

Not imagined. Came the answer in a rush of magical warmth and affection.

He wasn't alone. He would never be alone again. His magic had promised him. That was… oddly comforting. Like he had a friend he could always confide in, and could trust implicitly. He sighed contentedly.

"Awake at last, Mr. Potter?" Snape drawled.

Harry turned his head to find his old potions professor sitting in the chair beside his bed. He grinned. "Any idea what happened?"

"Well you started glowing brightly and sort of floated up into the air. Then you burned the Dark Lord to ash, and almost everyone who wore his mark endured several minutes of agonizing pain before passing out. Every one of them are squibs now."

Harry looked down sadly. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Snape asked, enjoying the moment a little too much. The magic thickened in the air. Snape felt a static jolt, and blinked. "I certainly wasn't one of the ones affected." He said quickly, scowling at himself. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty." He had meant to tease Harry for a while, but knew better than to continue it with the boy's magic acting so protective of him. Clearly the boy's magic didn't like his attitude. It was odd that it lingered. Certainly none of them had expected that result. But the tests had been absolutely clear. Harry Potter was now a squib. The boy had no magic of his own anymore, even if what used to be his magic seemed so ridiculously attached to him. He would never cast a spell again.

"Oh." Harry said. "I'm glad you weren't punished twice for the same mistake. We couldn't have won without you. The liquid luck alone kept me alive for two years on the run. And saving Draco's mom meant he helped us. Voldemort wouldn't have come otherwise. Then you risked your life again to take out almost all of the Death Eaters he brought with him. We were outnumbered by so many that our trap wouldn't have mattered if you didn't do whatever the heck it was you did." Harry complimented. "That was some concoction you brewed up."

A grin tugged at the corner of Snape's mouth. "I retrieved Dumbledore's wand." He said, pulling it out of his robe pocket. "I know you're a squib now, so you can't use a wand anymore, but I thought you'd like to have it." He said, handing it over.

Harry took it gingerly. "Thanks." He said.

"I find it fascinating that your magic hasn't left you." Snape said, lost in thought.

"There is so much about that ritual that we never understood. My mother's diary never made it clear how it was supposed to work, only that by freeing my magic I could ask a boon from it, and it would give it to me before it left. She indicated that there weren't really limits on what could be asked for, only that it might refuse if it was too selfish or I was unworthy of the boon. She also noted that it was more likely to agree to the boon if the person performing the ritual made an offering or sacrifice to the magic. So that's what I did."

"I doubt you could be unworthy of anything, after all you sacrificed." Snape said. "What more could you possibly have given?"

"I set it free and then gave myself to it. I offered my life. We both knew the chances of me surviving without my magic weren't very good. I expected to die performing the ritual. The thing that makes it strange is that it accepted my offering. Which makes it even more of a mystery why I'm still alive. Maybe it is like those old loyalty oaths, where you swear fealty by giving yourself to your liege. The words of offering are quite similar. I guess that I belong to my magic? Can magic even hold such a position? If that is what happened, I have no idea what it means for me." Harry said. "It's funny though." He continued after a moment. "I never told my magic what I wanted for the boon. It just took action to kill Voldemort the moment I set it free."

"Those loyalty oaths all required a boon from the liege to the vassal. That is quite similar. But they were also specific in naming the person to whom the oath was made, and would not hold if the name given was false or spoken to an imposter."

"Do you think magic really needs to have a name for it to work? It is magic, after all."

Snape had nothing to say to this. He knew nearly nothing about Lily's rituals. They were something he had never heard of before Harry brought the diary to his attention. She had been called the smartest witch of her generation, but her true potential likely outclassed the wizards as well. Certainly her affinity for delicate spellwork surpassed anything Snape had ever seen. "Come on. Let's get you some breakfast." He urged Harry to his feet and all but dragged him out of the medical ward. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for the last day and a half. I'm sure you're starving." At the mere mention of food, Harry's stomach growled. Snape let the grin spread across his face.

In the days since the second fall of Voldemort, the Wizarding World had begun a nonstop celebration that had lasted for three weeks and showed no signs of stopping. Every marked Death Eater that still lived was a squib. All of those who lived suffered through the pain of their magic abandoning them and burning the dark mark forever into their souls. Only Snape was spared the loss of his magic. His mark had been cleansed and the taint of it was gone. The mark remained visible on all those who lost their magic; a permanent brand to condemn their sins. Some Death Eaters died outright, and it was no surprise that those who did were the worst of the monsters that comprised Voldemort's willing followers.

Magical Great Britain was reviving. Families were coming out of hiding and people were trying to get basic services back up and running. The floo network was still down, and the most basic ministry services were mostly unavailable. St. Mungo's Hospital was barely staffed; almost all of the skilled healers had fled, leaving the remainder unable to provide adequate care. Diagon Alley was mostly closed down and abandoned. What shops weren't destroyed outright or preemptively closed had run dangerously low on merchandise.

The economy was in shambles. Gringotts had been all but destroyed when the goblins refused to surrender their banking monopoly. Voldemort had felt that wizards were better suited to handle their money, and had personally destroyed the wards guarding the vaults of any he deemed to be an enemy. He couldn't breach the protections on the oldest vaults, but most families were not so well protected. The goblins cried foul, demanding restitution. The interim government agreed two weeks later that all gold belonging to Death Eaters that were now squibs would be confiscated, and used to repay the money stolen from the vaults. Squibs were already, by ancient law, forbidden from withdrawing money out of family vaults. Any gold that was left after the looted vaults were restored would go to the goblin nation.

Many families simply abandoned Magical Great Britain in favor of France or Germany or America or Australia. It would be decades before they could begin to recover what had been lost and longer still before they could hope to surpass what they had once been. The population was so severely depleted that there were now less than forty thousand magicals living in Great Britain, down from a previous population of nearly ninety thousand.

In the four and a half years since Hogwarts fell, more than twelve thousand people had died. Many had fled, or were part of the group that lost their magic in the punishment after Voldemort fell. Some of those displaced citizens would return. Fifteen or twenty thousand were estimated to come back to their homeland. But the magical population of Great Britain was cut by a third. Four years of brutal war had left the continent equally devastated. The Death Eaters did not care about collateral damage, and had unleashed truly awful magic in the service of their master.

And Harry Potter: once again he was hailed as the savior of the world. Every citizen of every magical nation sang his praises, blessed his name, and begged his favor. It was maddening. He avoided them all as best as he could, but sometimes it wasn't possible. He hated the attention.

He had unfinished business.

Friends that needed buried.

He returned to Hogwarts to find the castle still mostly standing. The astronomy tower, where Dumbledore and Voldemort had dueled, and Dumbledore had died, had collapsed. Harry found no trace of Dumbledore's body. The rest of the school had escaped damage and was still intact. The house elves were still there, and assisted him in arranging things to his desires. The first he went for was Hermione. Her body was still in the forest, though almost three years had left very little. Susan and Luna left no trace. Hanna survived; moving with her parents to Australia after her injury left her unable to fight. Neville was still beneath the cave in; left there alongside the bodies of three Death Eaters he took down with him. His grandmother had passed, and Harry buried him alongside his mother and father in their family cemetery. Ron and Ginny were beside their mother in the burned out shell of their home. Arthur buried them all on their property.

Narcissa claimed Draco's body, and Snape helped her with the arrangements. More than a dozen Order members were unable to receive burial. The hideout at Grimmauld Place was destroyed with fiendfyre after being sealed shut during an Order meeting. Lupin, Tonks, and so many others were lost forever. It wasn't fair. None of it should have happened.

Harry tracked down Hermione's parents and reversed the memory charms on them. He almost wished he could leave them ignorant, but Hermione would never have wanted that, and they deserved to be able to mourn their daughter. He lost control of his emotions repeatedly as he told them all of what had happened. He relived his school days with their daughter, so that they could know her as he had come to, so they could see her as they had never been able. He cried with them, and attended the burial of their daughter and his closest friend. He felt despair. And hopelessness.

He returned to Hogwarts, and finished his project. There, in the middle of the entrance hall, a stone platform was placed. Upon it stood nine friends etched forever in stone, seven of them dead. They stood in a half circle, one hand outstretched, each reaching forward, committed to all of the others, a look of pure determination carved on their faces. An inscription plaque was mounted on the front of the platform.

'Brave as the lion, Loyal as the badger, Wise as the raven, Cunning as the snake.'

'Here we mark the sacrifice of our friends:

They who died for us and we who would gladly die for them.'

'When true darkness fell upon us, we stood against it:

Let our sacrifice burn a memory so bright it shines forever.'

Neville Longbottom; Hanna Abbot; Susan Bones; Luna Lovegood; Draco Malfoy; Ronald Weasley; Ginevra Weasley; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter

Every student that walked these halls, from now until the end of Hogwarts, would know what they did. The monument was a solemn memorial; a hope for a better future, that their sacrifice would not be in vain. Harry felt the tears return to his eyes. And he didn't hold back. "I miss you all so much." He wept. "I won't ever forget you." He placed his hand on the plaque, kneeling on the ground, and let the tears pour out of him until he could cry no more. His magic comforted him, gently allowing him to grieve. When he finally regained control of himself, he looked up, astonished, to find the stone had all turned to a brilliant white gold. He said a silent thanks to his magic.

Hogwarts would reopen. Students would return. Already plans were being made and the school's magic sang its anticipation. It was so different, now, than he remembered. Harry could feel the magic of the school, the bristling energy of it. He could close his eyes and see the pulsing lines of power imbedded in the walls and coursing through the air. He could touch it and hear the beating of its heart. It was so alive. He felt welcomed. The magic loved him. Called to him. Bid him to stay.

But these halls held too many memories. Every moment spent here was one where he was forced to relive the past he could never have back. He fled the castle, embracing the light summer rain as he roared his frustration to the heavens.

His mirror hummed.

He paused, wondering who would be trying to contact him. He pulled out the mirror and looked into the glass. "Hello?" He asked.

Instead of his reflection, Ansgar Gottschalk stared back at him. "Harry." He said. "I need to speak with you. Come to my lab as soon as you can."

Harry nodded. He owed his friend that much, and more. "I'll be there in a few hours." He promised. He wondered what the 'mad-muggle' had come up with now.

"I've discovered what lycanthropy is." Ansgar explained excitedly.

"What?" Harry asked. "I mean, we know what it is. It's a curse." He elaborated. "Turns you into a werewolf during the full moon, if the sun is down and the moon is shining."

"Yes! But the question is who cast the curse?"

"Some really dark wizard?" Harry guessed. "I don't know. What does it matter, it was hundreds and hundreds of years ago, so unless the bastard has a horcrux he isn't our concern."

"Ah, but the context matters. It always has. Magic is about intention. We can't cure lycanthropy. It's a curse that resists all efforts to purge it, though some containments work. Notably the wolfsbane potion."

Harry sighed. Sometimes his friend just went off on these tangents that led in circles. "We know all that already, so why drag me out here?" Harry was, for all that he acted impatient, quite curious. Ansgar was not one to waste someone's time, but he was a natural teacher and tried to force people to reach their own conclusions.

"You're magic. It's the proof that magic is alive." Ansgar said. "That's the answer."

"What?" That didn't make any sense. What was the question again? Who cast the curse? "So you're saying that magic itself cast the curse?"

"Precisely!" Ansgar said.

"That's… but… why?" Harry asked. It didn't make sense.

"And that's the prize winning question!" He looked at harry expectantly. Harry shot him a look. "I have a theory, mind you." Ansgar grinned, and placed a book on top of a folded piece of paper on his desk. "But I want you to ask first. Independent verification."

"Why would magic curse people with lycanthropy?" He said aloud.

His magic swirled about him, a different tone than before. It almost felt pensive. Punishment. It answered at last.

Harry blinked, and Ansgar noticed. "Did it answer?" He asked.

Harry nodded. "It said it was punishment. But what did Remus ever do to deserve that?" He was angry. That wasn't justice. His mentor had been one of the kindest men he ever knew.

Ansgar pulled the paper from beneath the book and unfolded it, holding it out to Harry. He snatched it from his hands and read. 'Judgment.'

"Close enough." Harry nodded. "So you knew before you had a definite answer. How did you reach your conclusion?"

"One of the laws of magic that I discovered is that magic cannot die. That is to say that no unique form of magic will ever vanish from the world. It will simply be reborn. For instance: there are a dozen families that have metamorphmagus abilities, but most of them are unrelated, and each one is subtlety unique. Some of those families can only change their skin and hair color, others can only change from male to female or female to male. There have been cases in the past where one of those family lines died out. Every time, within a generation, that same metamorphmagus power showed up again in a different population group; a completely different bloodline suddenly showed the same power. Usually it appeared in a muggleborn or a halfblood. The Black family was known to have a very versatile metamorphmagus power that let them change almost any aspect of their physical form."

"Nymphadora Tonks had it. Okay, so where are you going with this?"

"Voldemort was obsessed with collecting these unique forms of magic. I got most of his notes from the Riddle manor while nobody was looking. When the last carrier of a power dies, it gets reborn, but Voldemort found a way to interrupt that process. To force the power to choose him instead of whomever it would have otherwise picked. That was why he was hunting the old families. He was after their unique magics. He has fairly detailed notes, but some of the key pieces of information were only kept in his head." Ansgar sighed. "So moving back to lycanthropy-"

"Wait. What about Tonks?" Harry asked, exasperated by his friend.

"-the thing about it is… We'll come back to that in a minute." Ansgar promised. "Now, the thing about lycanthropy is that it fits a pretty unique description. Only happens on the full moon, includes a shapechange, and related to wolves. That really helped narrow it down. Turns out there used to be a species of magical wolf, called lycans, that would change into humans on the night of the full moon. They were hunted to extinction about eight-hundred BCE. Right when the first werewolves started showing up. Do you understand? Magic wasn't punishing Remus Lupin. It was punishing mankind for killing off the lycans. Remus was just a victim caught in the crossfire."

"So can it be cured?" Harry asked. That would be something worth doing.

"I don't know. Maybe if some form of atonement was made, the curse would be lifted." He shrugged. "We're in uncharted territory here. Nobody else had ever understood even this much."

"So what does this have to do with Tonks?" Harry asked. "She's dead, so the magic picked someone else?"

"No, Harry, I'm afraid Voldemort got to her."

"How? They couldn't find Grimmauld Place. That's why they sealed the whole block and burned it with fiendfyre."

"According to his notes, Voldemort had some method of calling up the dead and subjecting them to questioning. He called Dumbledore, and forced the secret out of his ghost. Then he went after the Order."

"But that's… impossible." Harry said. "You can't just call the dead. Either they move on or they become ghosts. Dumbledore would never have stayed."

"I won't pretend to know yet how he accomplished it, but he did." Ansgar said. "There is no doubt that he was able to take Tonk's power. He kept notes on his progress of learning to use it, but kept the knowledge from his Death Eaters. Except for Nott, who he apparently trusted the most after Lucius and Bellatrix died."

"So? Now that he's dead it will be reborn properly." Harry guessed.

"Harry. Think." Ansgar said. "Why do you think you're a parselmouth?"

"I thought that was because of the piece of Voldemort's soul in my scar." Harry replied.

"Try using it." Ansgar insisted. "You don't have the horcrux in you anymore."

Harry nodded, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a snake in front of him. "Hello." He said.

"That was English, Harry." Ansgar said chidingly.

Harry sighed, then closed his eyes and tried really, really hard to imagine a snake in front of him. There was a yelp of surprise that was definitely human and not snake, and Harry opened his eyes to see a large boa sitting on the desk in front of him. Ansgar had fallen off his stool, and was standing up slowly. Harry wondered how this had happened.

Just helping. His magic hummed, playfully.

Harry smirked and looked at the snake. §Hello.§ He hissed. §Can you understand me?§

§Speaker!§ The snake hissed in reply. It looked up at him expectantly.

"Well. That just gives me more questions." Harry said. "I guess it wasn't tied to the horcrux." He stepped over to the desk and petted the snake, which hissed contentedly from his rubbing.

"No." Ansgar answered. "When Voldemort was defeated the first time, when you were a baby, he was trying to kill you. You were the last of your line, so he was undoubtedly performing whatever ritual allows him to hijack the unique magic and take it for himself. My first guess is that it backfired when he died, and you got all the unique magics he collected instead. Marking you as an equal, if the prophecy can be believed. Even if he lingered on as a wraith, his body was gone, his line extinct, the magic sought to be reborn."

"I don't think so. I still hear the memory of that night when I get too close to a dementor. I've heard the memory dozens of times now, and I don't recall him ever performing a ritual. Unless it was something that he prepared in advance? Otherwise I think you need a new theory."

"There are other possible reasons. It could simply have picked you. Remember, magic is about intention. It intended justice. It took from him and gave to you in restitution for what he did: for the murder of your parents and the attempt on your life. I don't think there is any way for me to be certain without more evidence."

"So you think I have Tonk's metamorphmagus powers?"

"I would not discount the possibility, but that isn't an absolute." He said. "There is another instance you should be aware of. You slew a basilisk in your second year. The last surviving member of that particular species. The breed which survives to this day can petrify with a gaze, but that one could kill. A unique magic."

"So you think I'll become a werebasilisk!?" Harry exclaimed.

"No. The shapechange was already a part of the unique magic that made the wolf what it was, and it was passed along with the power. But if you suddenly start killing people by looking at them, I wouldn't be too shocked." Ansgar smirked. "I would be much more interested in finding out what form of animagus you take. After all, it would not be justice for you to be punished for defending yourself. Not when you were only there to save the life of another. I doubt the magic would punish you."

"Basilisks had a weakness too: the crow of a rooster." Harry said. "Am I going to fall over dead if I hear one some morning?"

"Ah, I do not believe that is quite accurate." Ansgar explained. "The word is cock, and it is a mistranslation. The beast that kills a basilisk with a crow is a cockatrice: another magical creature, and a mortal enemy of all snakes." He smiles. "I don't believe you have much chance of encountering one of those. They have been extinct for almost three hundred years, and that unique magic has come to manifest itself in the cry of an aquatic predator, an atoral, which is a kind of magical sea turtle. The unique magic was a means of hunting prey, which for the cockatrice was snakes, but for the atoral is just fish."

"Work on the animagus transformation. I need to know for sure. Then I can begin to tackle the problem of lycanthropy. I don't want to spend years chasing the wrong question. Even if I find an answer it won't matter if it isn't the right problem. There is more as well. Given the nature of what happened. The basilisk bit you. You should have died immediately. And of more concern is that the venom can destroy the soul, which is why Dumbledore used it on the horcruxes he found. You didn't die, and your soul is intact and undamaged."

"Fawkes came." Harry explained. "He was Dumbledore's phoenix. He cried on the wound to heal it." He had always wondered what became of the bird. With Dumbledore's death, the phoenix had vanished.

"Be that as it may, you were a child, and a small malnourished one at that; the venom should have killed you damn near instantly. There would have been no time to receive healing from the bird. Although if it sang to you, the magic of its song could have shielded your soul."

"So I should be dead." Harry reasoned. "But I'm not."

"So therefore there is something at play which we do not yet understand. Do you see why I must be sure? I need to know if it was the magic of the basilisk passing into you that protected you from the venom, or if it was something else." He paused. "It's also worth mentioning that a chip of the basilisk's fang is imbedded in the bone of your arm. The magic in the fang still works, and it has converted some of your blood plasma into an analogue of basilisk venom. The magic of the fang mingled with your own magic, so the effect is now present in your bone marrow. Removing the fang chip will not solve the issue."

Harry was at a loss for words.

"The phoenix tears may have cured the venom initially, but their potency faded with time. Or maybe the venom just figured out how to kill the magic in the tears. Basilisk venom is adaptive, and almost alive in how it attacks things. It doesn't just work on living things; it relentlessly assaults any magic it touches, breaking it down and eventually killing it. Cursebreakers use it to breach wards that they otherwise can't circumvent, because there is nothing except phoenix tears that can stop it. But in you, things happened differently. As the venom in your blood became stronger, your body built a resistance to it, adapting itself to the venom. It took probably five or six years before your blood became potent enough to be lethal."

Ansgar laughed at something he just realized.

"It had another effect." He explained at Harry's questioning look. "The ritual Voldemort used for his resurrection in your fourth year involved your blood. He used your blood for a reason: he suspected what had happened and that you had inherited all of the unique magic that he had when he died. By using your blood he would have it again when he was reborn. But it had another unintended effect. His new body took on a hideous serpentine appearance! The basilisk magic in your blood tainted the ritual and mutated his new body. He expected to be reborn as the handsome and charismatic bastard he once was, but instead became just as deformed and monstrous as he acted. No nose or ears, and only slits to breathe through on the front of his face. No teeth except for a pair of fangs, and eyes that tended more towards the infrared than the visible spectrum. He was as much a creature at that point as a man. His followers detested him, but were too terrified to stand against him and were already bound to him through oath and mark. I think that was why he was so desperate to attain the metamorphmagus talent."

"How did you find all this out?" Harry asked, too shocked to be upset.

"I may have raided Riddle manor and stolen Voldemort's personal effects." He replied sheepishly. "For research purposes, of course."

"Of course." Harry muttered.

"You asked me to figure out why you no longer received any benefit from liquid luck. I took some blood samples. As I said, the basilisk venom adapts itself. The reason Felix Felicis is next to worthless for you now is that the venom attacks the potion in your body. I suppose it's actually quite staggeringly lucky that the potion isn't destroyed immediately on contact with your bloodstream, given how often you've taken it. But that's liquid luck for you. Healing potions will also start to lose effectiveness if you take them too often. So be careful that you don't use the same ones. Vary the potion and the potency when you can get away with it. The venom adapts, but not that quickly, and it can be tricked into forgetting how to kill something."

"Alright, so I'll work on my animagus form and get back to you." Harry agreed, walking to the door.

"I need Flamel's journals. Dumbledore would have inherited them. I checked the ministry records." Ansgar told him. "Alchemy might be the solution to separate the wolf from the man. And get me Dumbledore's things while you're at it."

"I'll see if I can find them. Voldemort ransacked the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. There wasn't much left." He turned to leave.

"What about the snake?" Ansgar asked. "Are you just going to leave it here?"

"He can stay with you." Harry replied with a grin. "You need someone to look after you." He told the sputtering doctor. §Keep him company for me.§ Harry told the snake. §He doesn't take very good care of himself anymore.§

§I'll make sure he behaves.§ The snake hissed in reply.

Harry took himself to the forbidden forest. It was isolated from anyone who might seek him out, and protected by Hogwart's wards. The magic of the wards chimed an acceptance of his presence. It was not unlike the comfort his own magic gave him. He relished it, the feeling of being welcome, of coming home. He sighed and set about working on his meditation. The book predated the potion which forced a trance and revealed the spirit animal, but the book had been a working method for thousands of years. The potion was clearly not needed, and given that it was unlikely to work, due to his blood venom problem, he decided to follow the meditations instead. He concentrated. Stilled his muscles, closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing. His magic settled about him, a comforting blanket. He didn't feel the damp morning air anymore, or hear the breeze through the trees. It was quiet, still, and tranquil.

Another breath, in and out; focus and contemplation. He concentrated on looking into himself, breathing in, finding the connection that linked him with the animal spirit, breathing out, following it back to the animal. Harry heard chirping, then a hiss and a screech. He opened his eyes and found he was no longer in the forbidden forest. It was still a forest, but the trees were indistinct and felt far away. He was in a clearing, lit by an unseen sun that was hidden by the darkly overcast sky. There wasn't any rain, but it felt not far off. There was a small grassy hill slightly offset from the center of the clearing, with large gray rocks breaching upwards from the ground on the steep side of the incline. A small pool of shallow water sat against the base of the hill, fed by a spring that flowed between a crack in one of the rocks. A solitary tree, not very tall but with many low branches, dug its roots into the soft mud near the water's edge. Within the taller grass at the top of the hill, snake and a bird fought one another.

The bird was large for a bird, and so dark it was almost black. It stood at nearly the size of a large eagle, but it was as indistinct as the trees around it. The snake was also quite large, almost twelve feet long, with the same black color to its scales as the bird had in its feathers. The snake was also indistinct. Harry couldn't seem to focus on it without it becoming blurry. The snake struck at the bird, and the bird swiped at the snake, each oblivious to his presence. He strode forward, intending to separate the two. The bird flapped its wings and scraped talons on the ground, trilling at the snake. The snake hissed and coiled about itself, readying to strike.

Harry stepped between the two just as they attacked. The bird gave an indignant squawk and fell back, but the snake sank its fangs into his arm. He winced, looking at the snake, and where it bit him. It was still latched on, pumping its venom into him. It was the same spot the basilisk had bit him, all those years ago. Coincidence? He stared at the snake, fighting the hazy indistinctness that prevented him from seeing. It faded, and he saw the basilisk for what it was. Black scales, and bright green serpentine eyes. Well, he wasn't dead from looking at it. That was a plus.

§Let go.§ He hissed at it. The snake immediately withdrew in shock. His arm began to go numb, and he glanced at it. Black venom bled out of twin wounds. He turned to the bird, already knowing what to expect; a phoenix, black feathers and bright green eyes. "Would you mind?" He asked it, holding out his arm. The bird trilled once and pressed its head against the wound, crying on it. Symbolism. Magic was about intention. "No more fighting." He told the bird. §Don't fight anymore.§ He hissed. The snake seemed ashamed that it had bit him, but he coaxed it over and it coiled about him contentedly. The bird flapped its wings twice and was airborne. After gliding around the clearing once it landed on his shoulder and trilled happily.

Another shape prowled near the edge of the clearing. Stalking back and forth, watching them. Harry tried to focus on it, but it was too hazy to make out. Finally he gave up and focused on the two animals that had settled into his company. The basilisk watched him carefully, its slitted eyes glowing green with power, but the gaze did not harm him. The phoenix nuzzled against the side of his face, rubbing its head against him, and trilling happily. The sound sent tingling warmth through him, and he sighed appreciatively. Harry sat there for what seemed like hours, content to enjoy the company of both animals. The shadow at the edge of the clearing finally stopped stalking, and yipped at him.

He looked up, watching as it gingerly stepped forward, the haze around it receding. It was a small fox. A normal looking fox, except that its fur was a soft white, and its eyes were a ghostly violet. Could it be an albino? It appeared to be totally nonmagical, but the coloring confused him. Although after he thought about it, he couldn't recall any of the animal forms of any of the animagus he knew that had such distinctly matching coloration as the basilisk and phoenix had with him. He held his hand out to it and it raced forward, eager for his affections.

The phoenix and the basilisk tensed around him, as though fearful of the new arrival. It was silly, that these magical creatures would be intimidated by the cute and playful animal. It was obviously not full grown. Which was another oddity, since Harry was almost twenty-one, any animagus form he had should reflect that he was an adult human. The fox's fur was so fluffy and soft it was like petting something barely more tangible than clouds. The phoenix butted its head against his hair, and the basilisk tightened around his waist, reminding him not to forget them. Maybe they were jealous that he was paying it more attention than them? Harry laughed softly at the thought. He spared them a few pets while he played with the fox, rubbing its belly and petting it. The basilisk wrapped more tightly around his waist and stuck its head inside the front of his robe, while the phoenix sat silently on his shoulder.

The vision ended and he found himself back in the forbidden forest in the real world. It was late evening. At least fifteen hours since he started. His magic hummed at him as he stretched, still wrapped about him like a blanket. He curled his fingers on the silky texture and smiled. "Thanks for watching out for me." He said aloud. His magic surged happily, and he felt the backwash of its love.

Three weeks had gone by. And every day, without fail, Harry practiced his meditation. He returned to the clearing in his mind, and spent time with the phoenix, the basilisk, and sometimes the fox. The fox was more elusive than the other two, and not always willing to meet him when he came. He played with them, talked to them, and tried to tap into the bond between them. Interestingly, the snake never talked back when he spoke to it in parseltongue. It definitely understood him, but seemed unable to respond in kind. Maybe it was because it wasn't a real snake? Could spirit snakes not talk? He had no answer, but he didn't mind. It was actually fun, and more than a little relaxing.

Ansgar had only muttered obscenities when Harry told him about his triple animagi spirits. He could never be certain now that his theory was true. The phoenix might have already been within him, waiting to be born, and was a perfectly valid reason for why the basilisk venom didn't immediately kill him. It also may have been transferred over alongside the basilisk. The phoenix hadn't died, so the magic of the phoenix wasn't being reborn, but it was present when the transfer happened and might have been caught up in the maelstrom of magic. It would remain a mystery for now. Harry would have been meditating today, but he had received an urgent request from Ansgar to meet with him, so he went to the doctor's lab instead. It was mostly unchanged, except that there were more books on his desk, and a large heat-lamp was added in the corner for the snake.

"Finally here." Ansgar said.

"When I got your call last night, I had the impression it could wait until morning." Harry replied. "So what did you find this time?"

"Everything!" He practically danced. "I found everything! Dumbledore had a log book, of sorts, a record of expenses for the school. But it was really a disguise for his journal! I have the man's mind on paper. His thoughts, regrets, intentions, everything! And let me tell you, that man was easily as smart as me. I wish I had the chance to meet him."

"How did you figure out his journal?" Harry asked.

"This!" Ansgar said, holding up a magnifying glass. Harry leaned forward to look at it, and through it, and was so startled he took a step back. The glass drained the color from everything seen through it, but showed the threads of magic as glowing strands of color against the black and white backdrop. "It was in Flamel's things." He explained. "Quite handy, that. I've never seen anything like it, and I have absolutely no idea how he made it. There aren't any runes, and looking through a mirror doesn't work, so I can't use it to look at itself. According to his notes, he named it the Magicka Ocularis. I believe he created the glass through his alchemy, because the frame is just cheap metalwork, but the glass is absolutely perfect. Everything you look at is always in focus."

"And how did you remove the charm?"

"I've been maintaining a correspondence with Master Snape. He was kind enough to stop by yesterday. Using the Ocularis, I was able to direct him in the removal of the charms. The journal would have destroyed itself if they weren't bypassed correctly."

"But Snape hates you." Harry said in disbelief. "He said he never wanted anything to do with the 'mad-muggle' ever again."

"We've come to a professional understanding with one another. We can respect each other's intelligence if nothing else." Ansgar wore his mischievous smile, the one he reserved for when he had some great secret to reveal. "Besides, I figured out how to remove the curse that ruined his hair. You know it was actually your mother that cursed him? They had a falling out when he said something unrepeatable to her and in her shock and fury her magic lashed out at him."

Harry looked at him, waiting for him to crack a laugh and tell him he was joking. Ansgar only grinned silently. "You're joking, of course?" Ansgar met his eyes with total confidence. "Oh my, you aren't joking." Harry didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. Snape had been the greasy git for as long as he could remember. If he wasn't greasy anymore, he just wasn't the same Snape. He started giggling, and it turned into a full laugh, reverberating deep in his chest. His magic was thrilled that he was happy, and promptly celebrated with him, humming joyously.

"Of course, as interesting as that is, it isn't why I called you."

Harry forced himself to settle down. His magic playfully tried to tickle him, wanting him to laugh more. He ignored it except for the occasional smirk of a repressed laugh. "So what did you find in the journal?"

"I haven't really begun to read through Dumbledore's things. I started there, but one of the earliest entries concerning Flamel caught my interest and I shifted over to his notebooks. I trust you remember Nicolas Flamel as being the alchemist who invented the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. He definitely remembered that.

"What do you know about his wife?"

"Uhh." He wracked his brain. His magic helpfully stopped trying to tickle him. "I guess I don't really. If it came up in my first year, I certainly don't remember her being mentioned."

"Well, according to history, his wife Perenelle lived alongside him for the last six hundred years. He loved her and he used the stone to keep them both alive."

"Okay." Harry said, not seeing the direction this was going.

"According to Nicolas's notes, she died before he finished the stone."

"What?"

"He has two notebooks. They are exactly identical books. Some of the heaviest charms for preservation and right of ownership I've ever seen. The pages are watermarked from the parchment making process. Every page in the book has an exact mirror in the other. Even the stiches on the binding are the same."

"What does that mean? He magically copied the book?"

"No. The first book was with him for his original lifetime, and he brought it back with him when he went into the past to save his wife. From then on he had two notebooks."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes. Nicolas Flamel altered history, saving the woman he loved."

It took Harry a full minute to let the impact of that realization sink in. Even then, he almost didn't dare to believe it. It had to be a trick, some lie to get his hopes up. But it was Ansgar Gottschalk who told him: the man who had never once broken his trust, who was the most skeptical and rational person he had ever met, and one of the people who had as much reason to want this as he did. It was after five minutes of silence that Harry finally spoke. "Can we do it?"

"I don't know." Ansgar replied. "There is a lot of stuff that he only kept in his head. And apparently the Dumbledore from the first timeline helped him to figure out how to do it, which is why Flamel went through such great lengths to maintain their friendship in the second timeline. The Dumbledore you knew wasn't the same. In the first timeline, Flamel took Dumbledore as an apprentice just after he finished Hogwarts. They worked towards this for almost eighty years. And Flamel didn't bring anything of Dumbledore's back with him."

"So we have a lot of work to do." Harry nodded. "I'm still young. If this takes eighty years, then so be it. Show me what I can do to help."