Chapter Thirty-Two
For All the Marbles, Part 3

Updated 7/26/2013

~ooo~

A/N: This is the final chapter of Methods of Chaos. Some of the last few chapters have been Debbie-Downers for most of the main characters, but for those of you who hung tough and slogged through it with Hard-Luck Harry and his crew, I hope you find the ending palatable. Many thanks to Less Wrong aka Eliezer Yudkowsky for the excellent original fan fiction, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, which is up to Chapter 96 as I write this, with more chapters to come there. Whether by coincidence or not, I've appreciated some of the touches he's added to HPMOR that I've been able to incorporate here, such as the inclusion of David Monroe in his storyline. I thought killing Hermione was a real kick in the head, but I've killed her in several of my fan fictions, only to bring her back later; I have no doubt that he will do the same (okay, I really really hope he will). And now, on to the story! (By the way, I think this is the 2nd-longest chapter I've ever written, over 19,000 words.)

~ooo~

Draco Malfoy stared stonily at his two — well, what should he call them? Henchmen? Stooges? Minions? In any case, Aurors Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle watched the Minister and Head Auror carefully for any sign of anger. They were normally safe from any type of retribution on their boss's part when they brought him bad news, but this news was especially bad.

Harry Potter had escaped from Azkaban again.

Malfoy glanced down at the report in his hand. Potter had been placed in cell 8 in Block Three of Section 2-C — that was the special cell he'd had his man at the prison, Lesath Lestrange, prepare in case any prisoner needed to "accidentally" perish while in the Ministry's custody.

At some point later that same day a patrol team had "happened to hear voices coming from the cell." Odd, because Malfoy had ordered Potter to be given food and water and left alone until the next day, so Lesath could activate the cell and Potter would be finally be dealt with permanently. The Auror team had tried to open the cell, only to find a metal plate welded over the doorway, a plate that resisted Blasting Curses as if it were true-forged rather than Conjured or Tranfigured. The amount of magical power required to conjure such a plate was beyond the physical and magical capabilities of most wizards, Malfoy knew.

Up in the control room Lestrange, breaking prison protocol, had ordered brooms in the air to stop Potter escaping. Six Aurors had scrambled onto the roof of Azakaban in time to see Potter and another wizard flying away in some type of Muggle flying contraption, a device one of the Muggleborn Aurors at HQ had identified as an "ultralight aircraft." There was a picture of the craft attached to the report, taken with a pair of Omnioculars by one of the Aurors who'd thought to bring it topside with him.

The Aurors had given chase using top-of-the-line Firebolt Mark IVs and had quickly caught up and surrounding Potter and the other wizard in the Muggle flying machine, but they had activated some type of propulsion devices and had quickly outstripped the Aurors in speed. Whereupon the team returned to Azkaban to report the breakout.

He looked up at his two minions. "Is that all?" he asked in a flat voice.

"We're still reviewing images taken by the Omnioculars," Crabbe said in his surprisingly soft, quiet voice. "Auror Reynolds will have a report ready in ten minutes."

"Bring me the Omnioculars, now," Malfoy demanded. "I'll review it myself." Crabbe nodded and left the room, leaving Goyle alone.

"Did Lestrange submit a report?" Malfoy asked him.

"No, sir," Goyle shook his head. "Do you want him to? I can order him to prepare one."

"No. I'll deal with that," Malfoy said, and from the coldness in his voice Goyle knew Lesath Lestrange was not going to fare well in that exchange.

Crabbe returned with the Omnioculars and handed it to Malfoy. Malfoy brought the device up to his eyes and began adjusting the Playback knob until the image of the Muggle aircraft came into view. He twisted the Magnify dial until he could see the backs of Potter's and the other wizard's head. "Come on, come on," he muttered, nudging the playback speed forward to cover the footage more quickly. "Show me who you are, dammit!"

Potter looked back at the Aurors chasing them, then said something to the other wizard. The viewpoint was shifting as the Auror using the Omnioculars pulled alongside the Muggle aircraft, still recording, but the wizard had turned to Potter to say something and his face still wasn't visible. Malfoy growled in frustration as the vehicle suddenly dipped out of view. The viewpoint followed it downward, but the aircraft suddenly put on a burst of speed as blue-white fire erupted from the twin tubes mounted on either side of the craft and it pulled away from the pursuing Aurors.

The image was still tracking the aircraft (the Auror must've hit the Frame Lock button to keep it in view) as it receded into the distance ahead of them. Malfoy kept turning up the Magnify dial until it reached maximum, hoping against hope that the other wizard would — there! He did glance behind him at the Aurors! Mafoy froze the playback. The image was small, however, and the wizard's face was hard to make out clearly. He studied it carefully, trying to identify the man.

Malfoy suddenly sat back, taking the Omnioculars away from his eyes. He must be mistaken. The wizard's identity had suddenly come to him, but it could not be that wizard! He had been dead over a month now!

"What is it, Boss?" Crabbe asked. "What'd you see?"

Malfoy held out the Omnioculars. "Look at the man in there, tell me if you know who he is." Crabbe took the device and stared into the twin eyepieces, his face screwed up in concentration.

"Face is familiar," Crabbe said, after nearly half a minute of looking. "But I don't recognize him from anyone —" he paused for a second. "Well, he sort of resembles that wizard Potter hung out with a lot in the past year. Er—James Monroe, that's who I'm thinking of!"

"I thought he was killed by Potter," Goyle said.

"He was," Crabbe agreed. "But this guy looks just like him." He handed the Omnioculars to Goyle, who stared at the image for several seconds before nodding agreement. Both men looked at Malfoy.

"Don't be ridiculous," Malfoy said chidingly. "It's probably someone Polyjuiced to look like Monroe so we wouldn't figure out his true identity. Find out what make and model that aircraft was; I want you two to check on recent purchases. And see if you can find out what they used to boost that thing's speed up fast enough to outrun Mark IVs."

"Yes, Boss," Crabbe said, and he and Goyle hurried out of the office.

Malfoy had dismissed the idea of the second wizard being Monroe in front of his men, but he had an uneasy feeling about what he'd seen. Could Monroe somehow have survived the Killing Curse? He would have to question Potter's friends, find out what they knew about both Monroe and Potter's latest escape from Azkaban. He took out his wand — his original wand, the thirteen-inch yew with the phoenix feather core. With Potter's wand destroyed, he would have no more trouble with Priori Incatatem. Soon, once he discovered where Potter was hiding, there would be no more Harry Potter; of that, he would make sure personally this time.

~ooo~

A thousand feet above the highlands of Scotland two wizards hovered on brooms, preparing to unleash one of the deadliest magic spells in existence — Fiendfyre, cursed magical fire that consumed any solid matter it touched.

Harry floated on his broom a dozen feet from Monroe, who held the Pioneer 11 plaque in preparation of levitating a safe distance from both of them so Harry could cast the Fiendfyre spell at it. "Ready?" Monroe called, and Harry nodded, holding his wand up ready to cast the spell. The plaque floated out and away from Monroe, coming to a stop about 30 yards away. "Can you hit that, Harry?" he asked.

"Of course I can," Harry muttered, a bit nettled by the question. He moved away from Monroe, putting about 40 yards between the two of them so the Fiendfyre wouldn't swerve to attack him before it reached the plaque.

"Ignis Malum Perimaximus!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the plaque with the necessary wand gestures, and yellow-white flame burst from the tip of his wand, twisting and turning but still aimed directly toward its target. It engulfed the plaque, and Monroe immediately Banished it upwards into the sky, where it receded like a meteor in reverse until it went out of view. Both Harry and Monroe watched for some time before Monroe nodded and they spiraled back to Earth.

"I think we can put this back now," Monroe said, gesturing toward the Pioneer probe. "But first —" he gestured with his wand and a golden plate appeared in his other hand, a duplicate of the probe's original plaque. He fastened it back on the probe, then gestured with his wand and the probe disappeared.

"So what's next?" Monroe asked, turning back to Harry. "Go back and rescue Hermione? Or maybe Sirius? Fred and George? There are actually quite a few people you know stuck in Azkaban at the moment."

But Harry walked over and sat down in one of the chairs Monroe had conjured when they first arrived in Scotland. "I was thinking more along the lines of some questions you can answer for me, such as whether you can show me how to hack into those crystal Sources. That would be pretty handy to know when I eventually get around to fighting Voldemort."

"Well, yes," Monroe agreed, slowly. "That would be handy, if you could learn the internal language of the Sources."

"You did it," Harry pointed out, rather truculently. "I just watched you send Pioneer 11 back to where it was in its trajectory away from Eart, if that's what you really did. How long did it take you to learn the language that you used to control that Source of Magic crystal thing earlier?"

"Several thousand years of subjective time," Monroe said. "Even with me tutoring you, it would take you years — decades — to learn even the most rudimentary elements of the language and speak it correctly enough to engage the Sources —"

"What about just feeding the information directly into my brain," Harry suggested, tapping himself on the forehead. "Like they did in that movie, The Matrix, for example."

"We're not in The Matrix," Monroe hedged.

"So that's something you're incapable of, is it?" Harry asked shrewdly.

"I didn't say that," Monroe said impatiently. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, then grinned. "You know, this sort of feels like we're in a story you've rubbed a magic lamp and me, a genie, pops out and tells you I'll grant you three wishes."

"Except that I don't think you're a genie."

"You don't? What do you think I am, then?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "But I'm not convinced that you are what you say you are."

"Do you think I have a reason to lie to you, Harry?" Monroe asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But I can't be sure you have a reason to be completely honest with me, either. You've been missing for over a month, presumed dead, then you show up saying you've been inside a crystal created by advanced technology, learning how to use that technology directly. While that's for all intents and purposes what I've been trying to achieve for the past two decades, I'm not seeing a lot of evidence to support it beyond a few wizard's tricks."

"You don't thing those things I did were beyond anything any other wizard could do?" Monroe asked pointedly.

"Not really," Harry said, crossing his arms. "There's another wizard who could do things no one else can do — Voldemort."

Monroe chuckled. "You don't think so?" Harry said challengingly. "He knew Interdict-level spells that he got from Slytherin's Monster, the Basilisk, before he killed it. For all I know that Pioneer 11 probe was simply a duplicate of the one in space that you created to fool me."

"What about visiting Hermione in her cell in Azkaban?" Monroe reminded him. "How do you explain that?"

"I don't have to," Harry said. "It's your burden to convince me you're on the up-and-up and not for example Voldemort in disguise."

"Hmm." Monroe looked thoughtful for several seconds. "Okay, if you want total honesty, we can have a Q&A session and I'll honestly answer any question you ask me. Start now, if you like."

"Okay. First question: Are you going to grant me three wishes?" Harry asked plaintively.

Monroe smiled. "I may grant you one wish, but I'm going to pick it — you just get to decide whether you want it or not."

"What's the wish?"

"I'll reserve the answer to that until after you're convinced of who and what I am."

Harry sat pondering for some time. "Well, I think I already know the answer to the question of whether souls exist —"

"And what's your answer?" Monroe asked.

"They don't. That's pretty obvious. But the existence of magic means that your knowledge can be independent of your brain without relying on science. We see a lot of things in magic that display near-sentient behavior. The Sorting Hat is an example, though it mostly borrows the wearer's sentience rather than relying on anything innate in itself. I suppose a Horcrux is the ultimate magical example of the substrate independence of human-level sentience and consciousness."

"Yes," Monroe agreed. "It's too bad that so little was known about the brain and mind back when Herpo the Foul created the first Horcrux. He imagined the worst thing that could happen to imbue an object with your knowledge and experience, and decided that he must rip his immortal soul with the foulest deed imaginable — murder. It was a common enough belief back then that men possessed souls, and Herpo wanted to avoid the punishments of Tartarus in Hades, a place he very likely believed he would be sent to after death for his evil deeds. But what would murder mean to a man who could use it to cheat death?"

"Alright, let's move on to some interesting topics. The Source crystals you said are scattered across the Earth. How did you gain access to them without being a wizard yourself?"

Monroe didn't answer for several seconds. "Well," he finally said. "I suppose saying I'm not a wizard is not completely accurate."

"You don't need to be coy with me, James," Harry said impatiently. "Tell me what you are, not what you're not."

"What I am is going to be a little hard for you to grasp," Monroe answered. "Even if it does vindicate everything you've been trying to do for the past two decades."

"Meaning?" Harry prompted.

"Meaning that I am what you've aspired to be for decades now," Monroe said. "Immortal. All-powerful. In effect, God, though I don't consider myself divine. I'm a post-human, a Power."

But Harry was shaking his head doubtfully. "What you're trying to suggest isn't possible. No one has developed a level of technology that would give them that kind of power. I've been watching all the sources of advanced technology in the world and I know no one has gotten anywhere near that level of sophistication!"

"Of course not," Monroe agreed. "And the answer to that is, I didn't come from this world. In fact, I'm from an entirely different universe."

"Hmph," Harry snorted. "Okay, you can say something like that but I have no way to verify that you're telling me the truth. We can't prove whether other universes exist or not. You've given me information that I cannot falsify. From my viewpoint that's like telling me nothing — worse than nothing, really, it's almost the equivalent of lying to me!"

Monroe blew out a sigh. "I guess another demonstration is in order, this time one that hits a little closer to home. You're a perfect Occlumens, aren't you."

"You should know I am, I've told you so several times."

"I'm just setting up the parameters of the experiment," Monroe explained. "So if I can tell you exactly what you're thinking without ever looking you in the eye or even looking at you, what will you think?"

"I'll think you're using an Interdict-level spell on me, like Voldemort would do if he wanted to convince me he's some kind of god from another dimension."

"Okay, scratch that." Monroe mused for a moment. "Have you ever seen It's a Wonderful Life?"

"Yes," Harry shook his head wearily. "Hermione makes me watch it with her just about every Christmas. Are you looking to earn your wings, Clarence? I can just ring a bell for you if you like — we don't need to go through all of that 'what if you were never born' crap."

"Maybe we can put a slight twist on that," Monroe suggested. Their surroundings suddenly rippled; Harry looked around quickly, but by the time he'd noticed it the effect had gone away.

"What happened? What did you do?" Harry demanded.

"That's what you're going to figure out," Monroe said. He took Harry's arm and they vanished. A moment later they were standing on a busy street in London.

They hadn't Apparated, Harry realized, nor had they used a Portkey. One moment they were in the Scottish Highlands, the next in London. He looked around, trying to orient himself, and discovered they were in front of —

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, recognizing the small, grubby storefront wedged between a bookstore and record store on Charing Cross Road. "Monroe, we can't go in there! Even if Hannah doesn't turn me in, the Ministry may have offered a reward for me — somebody in there will want to collect it."

Monroe clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry, I've got your back, Jack, if anyone makes trouble for you." He opened the door for Harry. "Let's go."

Harry gave Monroe a doubtful look but stepped inside the pub. It was reasonably full for this time of day, with tables of witches and wizards sitting in groups of twos and threes at tables around the bar area. Conversations died down as they entered and heads turned their way. Harry tried not to catch anyone's eyes, but no one seemed particularly interested he was there. By the time he and Monroe reached the bar, people had turned back to their butterbeers and firewhiskies, and conversations were buzzing again. Strange, Harry thought. Maybe someone was contacting the Ministry covertly instead of challenging him directly.

Monroe held up two fingers toward Hannah Abbot, the owner, who was tending bar at that moment. "Two butterbeers," he said, dropping a Galleon on the bar.

"Coming up," Hannah said, reaching for the bottles behind the bar. She set them on the bar in front of the two men. "Are you two gentlemen new here in town?"

"What?" Harry said.

"Yes, we are," Monroe smiled. "Just flew in and boy, are our broom arms tired."

Hannah chuckled. "That's so bad I should cut you off right now."

"Oh, I haven't even begun to make bad jokes," Monroe laughed, picking up a bottle and taking a swig of butterbeer. "Ah, that hits the spot!"

Harry had watched the ensuing conversation with a growing sense of bewilderment. Hannah hadn't so much as looked twice at him. "Excuse me," he said to her. "Do you know who I am?"

"No," Hannah, said, giving him a quick once-over. "Should I?"

"You don't know Harry Potter when you see him?"
"No," Hannah said again. "Is that you?"

"Yes!" Harry said emphatically. He brushed back the hair on his forehead, revealing his lightning scar. "Hello? Harry Potter?"

Hanna was giving him an odd look. "Oooh, cool scar!" she exclaimed. "But I still don't know who Harry Potter is. Excuse me." She went to wait on a wizard further down the bar.

Harry looked at Monroe, frowning. Okay, Hannah could be in on this, but if he was wanted by the Ministry why would she go along? He turned around to face the bar. "Does anyone here know who Harry Potter is?" he said loudly. "The Boy-Who-Lived?"

The murmur of conversations died down momentarily as people turned to stare at him. Harry looked at face after face, trying to find recognition, but saw nothing but blank stares. Then an elderly voice spoke quaveringly.

"I know who Harry Potter was," a very old woman, sitting with two other old witches, spoke up. "He died a long time ago, and shame on you for pretending to be him!" She pointed a wrinkled hand, her aged finger shaking at him in accusation.

Harry stared at the old woman who had scolded him. What was she babbling about? Harry had survived the encountere with Voldemort, why pretend otherwise? Harry peered at her. Her face was familiar but he was having trouble placing her — wait, that hand…

It had happened on his first trip to Diagon Alley, an old woman in this very bar had come over to shake his hand. Harry remembered the feel of her hand in his, old and shaking even back then. A name floated up in his memory. "Doris —?" he said, hesitantly.

The old woman shot him a suspicious look. "Do you know me, young man?"

"We met in this bar," Harry said. "A long time ago. I was with Professor McGonagall. We were in a hurry, but you wanted to shake my hand. I remember…" He remembered it clearly now, as if it had happened yesterday.

But the old woman was shaking her head. "Unless you're Neville Longbottom, you're not the Boy-Who-Lived, my lad! Harry Potter died on Halloween in 1981, along with his parents James and Lily Potter, killed by You-Know-Who."

"Voldemort," Harry said automatically, and there were gasps of horror and fear around the bar.

"Don't say that name in here!" Hannah said loudly from behind the bar. "We don't want any trouble!" She was looking upward as she said this, almost as if speaking to someone directly. "Please, no trouble!"

A large young man walked over to where Harry and Monroe were standing. "Maybe you two should move along," he suggested, pointing to the door. "We don't want any trouble in here."

"Alright, fine," Harry said, walking toward the door, where he turned back to stare at Monroe, waiting for him to follow. "Are you coming?"

"Sure," Monroe said, and walked back onto Charing Cross Road.

"That was either a very elaborately-staged prank," Harry growled, "or you've done something very — weird — to me. I'm not sure which I'd rather it be right now."

Monroe grasped Harry's shoulder lightly. "Shall we try somewhere else? I have just the place in mind." Before Harry could so much as open his mouth to protest they were standing in front of a dilapidated red phone booth in front of a heavily graffitied though faded wall. "Here we go," Monroe said, stepping inside. Harry reluctantly followed.

The handset on the old-style phone was broken almost in half but Monroe picked it up and dialed 6-2-4-4-2. A woman's cool, calm voice spoke. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter-Evans-Verres and James Monroe," Monroe said into the handset. "We're to see — oh, let's see, how about Draco Malfoy?"

"Draco Malfoy does not work at the Ministry of Magic," the woman's voice responded. "Would you prefer to see someone else?"

"How about Arthur Weasley?" Monroe suggested.

There was a moment's silence; then, "Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take your badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Two badges appeared in the coin slot. Monroe took them both and handed one to Harry. "Oh, look," Monroe said, pointing at his badge. "Pictures and everything!" Harry looked; there was indeed a picture of James Monroe on the badge above his name. Below the name were the words "Visitor to see Mr. Weasley." Harry glanced at his own badge. His full name and picture were on it with the same words beneath. When did the Ministry start putting pictures on the visitor badges?

"Visitors to the Ministry," the woman's voice continued, "you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The phone booth shuddered and they began moving downward. "Why are we going to see Arthur Weasley?" Harry asked, not altogether sure the man would want to see him. Harry had met Arthur Weasley only a handful of times, and the man's muddled and confused enthusiasm about Muggle technology had usually set Harry's teeth on edge. Arthur was also not particularly happy that Harry and Hermione had gotten married, an event that he believed had left Ron bitter and emotionally crippled for years afterwards. For the short time Hermione and Ron had dated Arthur had taken quite a shine to her; she happily explained many details of Muggle society and Muggle "artifacts" like doorknobs, toasters and microwave ovens to him, though Arthur seemed incapable of grasping evn the basic concept of electricity.

And there was another thing about entering the Ministry that making Harry uncomfortable as well. "You do realize that once they figure out that 'Harry Potter-Evans-Verres' is really Harry Potter, we're going to have a hell of a fight on our hands."

"If you really think that," Monroe asked, "why did you come with me?"

It was a reasonable question. "Morbid curiosity, perhaps," Harry muttered. "For some reason you obviously don't expect us to be arrested, and I still don't know what that charade in the Leaky Cauldron was about —"

At that moment the phone booth came to an abrupt halt. "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice, and the door to the booth opened of its own accord. Harry looked at Monroe for a moment, then shook his head and stepped out of the phone booth.

As usual, the seat of British magical government was bustling with activity. People were coming and going through the gilded fireplaces set along each wall of the long hall. There were impromptu gatherings happening as two or three wizards would greet each other and begin conversations. Harry glancing up at the ceiling, Harry saw that it was a familiar peacock blue with its ever-changing golden symbols merging and flowing with each other in undecipherable (but interesting) patterns. It all seemed very familiar.

But it also seemed, somehow, wrong. Harry recognized several minor Ministry employees as he walked past them, but if they even looked at him it was only a glance, with no recognition in it. This was beginning to feel quite eerie, he thought.

"Over here," a voice called out, and Harry saw Eric Munch, the Ministry security person, gesturing for their attention. They turned and walked toward the desk. "You're here to see the Minister?" he asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow. This was getting ridiculous now. "We're here to see Arthur Weasley," he said, neither confirming nor denying Munch's question.

"His undersecretary will be down shortly to fetch you up to see him," Munch answered. "Meanwhile —" he held out a hand, making a "give me" gesture. Harry stared at him blankly. He had been to the Ministry countless times in the past, his wand had been on file for decades. What was Munch asking for —

"Here's mine," Monroe said, handing Munch his wand. Munch placed it on an instrument on his desk. There was a humming sound and a strip of parchment appeared from a slot in the base of the device. Munch tore it off and read it out loud.

"Mahogany, twelve inches, dragon heartstring core," Munch said. "Been in use…" he looked up uncertainly at Monroe. "Eighty-seven years?"

"It's a family heirloom," Monroe said, taking the wand back. He turned to Harry and gave a wink Munch didn't see. "Your turn," he said.

Harry slowly handed over his wand. "Holly, eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use 35 years. Is that right?" Munch asked, looking up from the strip of parchment the device had disgorged for Harry's wand. Harry nodded and Munch handed his wand back to him. "Wait here for the Undersecrerary to come down and see you," he said in a bored tone, pointing to a pair of chairs next to his desk.

Monroe sat down. Harry stared at him a moment, then shook his head and sat down next to him. "Arthur Weasley is the Minister of Magic?" he whispered incredulously. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard since — ever!"

Monroe was staring past Harry, at a person who had just walked out of one of the lifts beyond the golden gates and was coming their way. "Wait'll you see who his Undersecretary is."

Harry turned and froze. It was Hermione. He stared, dumbfounded, as she approached the security station. She stopped in front of Harry and Monroe, giving them appraising looks. "You gentlemen are here to see Minister Weasley, I take it? Will you tell me the reason for your visit today?"

"Just stopping by to say hello," Monroe said, pleasantly.

Hermione gave him a stern look. Harry couldn't help but think of Professor McGonagall. "The Minister is quite busy and cannot take the time to simply 'say hello,' as you put it," she said. "I'm sorry," she said, not sounding very sincere, and turned to leave.

"Hold on a sec," Harry said, standing. Hermione turned back with an impatient look on her face. "Are you in on this, too? This can't even be the Ministry, you're supposed to be in Azkaban right now!"

"Sir, I have no idea what you're blithering about," Hermione said frostily. "Now if you'll excuse me —"

"I won't," Harry said, taking hold of her arm.

"Let go of me!" Hermioe said loudly. "Security!" Munch stood up, taking out his wand, but Monroe gestured toward him and Munch suddenly became motionless.

Harry, seeing Munch couldn't interfere, focused his attention on Hermione again. He let go of her arm. "Tell me you don't know who I am," he demanded.

"I don't!" she retorted hotly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter."

She stared at him for several seconds. "No, you're not," she said at last. "Harry Potter was a little boy who was killed by You-Know-Who back in 1981 along with his parents, James and Lily Potter, in Godric's Hollow on Halloween night."

"That's not what happened!" Harry insisted, but the nagging wrongness of where he was beginning to make him think otherwise. He turned to Monroe. "Okay, you win. Joke's over. You've had your fun, or whatever the hell reasons you're doing this for."

"To convince you that I am what I say I am," Monroe said quietly. He gestured toward Hermione. "Mrs. Weasley here doesn't know you because in this reality you died that night in Godric's Hollow. Mrs. Weasley," he said, addressing Hermione directly. "Tell us about Neville Longbottom."

She gave him an odd look but answered, "Neville Longbottom, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived, was a young boy whom it was prophesized would one day defeat the Dark Lord. When You-Know-Who heard about the prophecy, he decided to kill every child born near the end of July. Harry Potter was born on July 31, so he and his parents were targeted for death. Before she died Lily Potter managed to send her Patronus to the Longbottoms and warn them they would be attacked as well. Forewarned, the Longbottoms were able to escape the country, where they lived in hiding in France until it was time for Neville to attend Hogwarts."

Harry had listened to this with growing unease. "Voldemort never found them in all that time?" he asked.

Hermione made a violent shushing gesture. "Don't say his name!" she hissed. "He'll hear you!"

"He's still alive, then?" Monroe asked.

"Of course he's still alive!" Hermione's voice, though shrill, was barely above a whisper. "We thought Neville had defeated him long ago, but he survived, somehow. Neville died, too, so there's no one alive today who can defeat him."

"This can't be real," Harry moaned, utterly confused. He rounded on Monroe. "What did you do to me?!" he said loudly, attracting the attention of those passing by the security station.

"I told you," Monroe said patiently. "You're in a reality where Harry Potter died as a child and Neville Longbottom became the Boy-Who-Lived, even though he was never hit with a Killing Curse and didn't defeat You-Know-Who on a Halloween night."

"I don't know what you two are talking about," Hermione said, frowning at both of them. "But the Ministry of Magic is no place to come round and pull stupid pranks like this. You both need to leave," she finished, pointing to the other side of the Atrium where the Visitors' Exit was located. "Oh, and please take your Body-Bind off Mr. Munch, thank you very much!"

She stood that way, finger pointing toward the exit, for a long time, until Harry realized that neither she nor anyone else in the Atrium were moving. Everything was frozen. Even dropped objects were suspended in mid-air. It was just like that time in front of the Room of Requirement when everyone but Harry and Monroe had stopped moving. "You really are doing all this," he said to Monroe.

"Yes," Monroe said. "I hope you're finally convinced."

"I don't think I have a choice now," Harry said. "So what do we do now?"

"We go back to your reality, find Voldemort, and you defeat him after destroying his remaining Horcruxes," Monroe answered. "Oh, and I suppose I should tell you, there are still two Horcruxes left, not just his wand." Monroe pointed to Harry's forehead. "When Voldemort tried to kill you, the Killing Curse rebounded and hit him. Though it couldn't permanently kill him, it broke off a piece of his soul, which traveled back along the reflected Killing Curse into your forehead, creating the lightning scar you have to this day."

Harry touched his forehead. "You mean — I'm a Horcrux, too?"

"An inadvertent one," Monroe clarified. "Voldemort likely had an object with him he intended to make into one with your death."
"How long have you known about this?" Harry demanded, suddenly angry.

"Well, since you're still able to talk in Parseltongue, I would have known the first time I heard you speak it," Monroe replied. "But I had removed most of my knowledge and power while I was interacting with you and the Wizarding world, before Ginnymort tried to kill me. Just before he did, in fact, he said my entire name, James Harrison Monroe, which I had set as a trigger that would restore all of my memories and power if someone other than me said it. I couldn't have been permanently killed anyway, but it would have been a bit embarrassing if a half-mad genius wizard was able to kill my human body. Are you ready to go back?"

Harry looked around the Atrium at the frozen witches and wizards. "What about this world's Voldemort?" he asked. "What happens to these people?"

Monroe shrugged. "I could find out," he said, "but are you really more interested in this world's Voldemort than your own?"

"I —" Harry really did want to say yes. He didn't want anything to happen to Hermione, even if she wasn't the one he was married to. "Can you at least tell me if he's defeated?"

Monroe stared into nothingness for a few seconds. "Yes, he is eventually defeated," he said, "but it will be years from now and at the cost of many lives."

"Including Hermione's?"

"No," Monroe said after a moment. "In fact, she will help to defeat him."

Harry relaxed. That was heartening news, at least. "Let's go back," he said. "I have a Voldemort of my own to defeat."

~ooo~

Hermione Granger-Potter looked up at the sound of a padlock being unlocked outside her cell door. She didn't know how long it had been since Harry had appeared in her cell, but she had almost convinced herself that it was a hallucination. It hadn't been real, she told herself; when something too good to be true happens, most often it's not true at all.

But she really, really hoped it would be Harry coming through that door—hoped more than anything she had ever dared hope before, if only because it would convince her that she hadn't been hallucinating, hadn't been delusional, and that he wasn't dead.

The man who stepped throught the door, however, was not Harry; was in fact as far from Harry Potter as a person could be and still be a person at all, though Hermione could no longer think of this man as human, whatever his form might be.

"Good evening, my dear Hermione," Draco Malfoy said, as the door shut behind him on its own. "I trust you have been comfortable here while we prepare for your trial at the Wizengamot." Hermione didn't answer.

"I'm sure you realize it takes a little time to prepare such things," Draco went on. "You've been through this before, as I recall."

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Hermione asked without looking up at him. "Come to gloat?"

"No, not at all," Malfoy assured her. "I'm here to make sure you are comfortable." He paused for a moment. "Did you know that Harry escaped from Azkaban earlier today?"

Hermione looked up quickly. "No," she said, after a moment. "But why tell me that?"

"I was curious what you knew about it," Malfoy replied.

"I don't know anything about it."

"What do you know about James Monroe?" Malfoy asked, unexpectedly.

Too late, Hermione lowered her eyes again. "Nothing," she said, "except that he's dead."

"Is he?" Malfoy said, with irony in his voice. "Are you quite sure?"

"You convicted Harry of his murder," she said, bitterly. "You must remember that."

"The Wizengamot convicted him," Malfoy reminded her. "I merely made him available for their judgment. You yourself would not be here if you'd had the good sense not to help your husband break out of Azkaban the first time."

"I didn't help him then, but I would have!" she blazed at him defiantly. "I should never have left the Ministry — you've gone completely mad with power!"

"Sour grapes ill becomes you, my dear," Malfoy said with false pity. "I simply know how to utilize authority more effectively than you ever will."

"Abuse it, you mean," Hermione retorted. "You and your goon squad in the Auror Department — and you haven't even appointed a new Head Auror yet, have you, in spite of the directives that order you to do so within 30 days of your taking the office of Minister of Magic."

"Those are guidelines, not laws," Malfoy said mildly, enjoying the conversation. For years he'd wanted to rub Granger's nose in it when he finally became Minister of Magic, and this was his chance. "Don't worry about it, I'm handling the workload quite well, thank you.

"Now, as to my earlier question, about Monroe," he went on. "I'm afraid I really must insist on hearing what you know about him."

"I know he's dead, according to you," Hermione said stubbornly.

"But you don't really believe that," Malfoy reminded her. "You've already given that away, my dear."

"You can stop calling me that anytime, Draco," she spat. "I'm not your 'dear,' — until a month ago I was your superior."

"In the government, perhaps," Malfoy sneered. "Never in terms of who was the better wizard."

Hermione laughed derisively. "Did you forget I nearly killed you near the end of our first year?"

Malfoy smiled humorlessly. "That was a False-Memory Charm, Miss Granger."

"Ah–ha!" Hermione crowed. "I knew it! That's the first time you've ever admitted that in front of me!"

"Enjoy your moment of vindication, Miss Granger," Malfoy said coldly. "It is now time for you to tell me what I wish to know." He drew his wand and pointed it at Hermione's face. "You can tell me willingly and avoid a lot of pain, or you can keep quiet and I'll learn what you know anyway. Your choice."

"Go to hell," Hermione said.

"You will be there before I am. Legilimens!"

A giant hand reached out and hit Hermione hard in the forehead. It grabbed her head and squeezed, making her feel like it was going to burst open.

"Harry, what in the world —?" She was reliving the visitation — or vision — or whatever it was — she'd had of Harry in her cell just hours ago. "Harry," she was saying, "how did you get in here? I thought they had you locked up — an Auror told me you were brought in a while ago."

Behind Harry Hermione could see that the cell door was open. Malfoy standing just outside, watching them. His eyes were red — she could see them glowing in the darkness of the cell. But he wasn't important now. Only Harry…

"Um," Harry said, "I'm not sure I can tell you how I got here, but —"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "How can you not know how you got here?"

"It was — it was Monroe." Malfoy was suddenly standing next to them. Hermione still ignored him. "Harry, he's dead, isn't he? How can you say something like that — you know it makes no sense."

"I know, but it's true. He managed to avoid the Killing Curse, somehow — he won't tell me did it, but —"
"He will tell me!" Malfoy's voice echoed inside her head, giving her excruciating pain. "What else do you know of Monroe, Granger?!"

"Nothing!" Hermione shouted, and the pain increased immeasurably. "NOTHING! I SWEAR!" she screamed. "THAT'S ALL HE SAID!"

"I don't believe you, liar! Admit the truth or suffer even more!"

"I — DON'T — KNOW!" Hermione fell forward off the bed, hitting the cold steel floor and curling into a ball, hoping somehow it would minimize the pain. "STOP IT — STOP IT!"

"Tell the truth and I will stop," Malfoy's voice said. "Continue to lie and you will suffer until you die or go insane!"

There was a burst of silver light and Malfoy fell back against the door, shielding his eyes. A moment later two men stood between him and the woman curled on the floor.

"What the hell?" Harry said, looking at Hermione on the floor and Draco Malfoy still shielding his eyes from the brilliance of Harry's Patronus.

~ooo~

It took Harry only a moment to figure out what had happened. The Patronus vanished and he lunged at the Minister. "You motherfucking son of a bitch!" he shouted, grabbing Malfoy by his throat and wand arm and pinning him to the wall of the cell. "What have you done to her?!"

"Learning — about your — friend — Monroe," Malfoy gasped around the hand threatening to strangle him. "He seems rather alive for someone who should be dead."

"You should know," Harry growled, as Monroe lifted Hermione from the floor and laid her on the cot, then turned to face both men. "You're the one who tried to kill him."

Malfoy's free hand suddenly pressed against Harry's chest, and a force pushed Harry away and into the air, hard enough to propel him across the room. But Monroe put up his own hand and Harry's backward momentum was arrested, leaving him floating just above the ground in front of Monroe. He dropped lightly to the ground.

Malfoy's wand came forward to point at Harry, but it suddenly flew from his hand and was caught by Monroe. Malfoy looked at the two of them, no trace of fear showing on his face. "Now what, Potter? Do you intend to kill me?" He smiled evilly. "Or kill me again, should I say? No doubt your friend Monroe has told you who I really am."

"I figured it out for myself," Harry said. "And yes, I'm here to kill you again, this time for the last time."

"Really?" That seemed to amuse Malfoy. "Have you figured out how to destroy that final Horcrux yet?"

"Already did it," Harry retorted. "Burned it with Fiendfyre."

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. "No Fiendfyre could travel that far, Potter. You will have to lie more convincingly than that."

"We brought Pioneer 11 back to Earth," Monroe said. "It made your Horcrux much more accessible."

The triumphant sneer on Malfoy's face faded, just a little. "Impossible," he argued. "No Summoning Charm could reach that far into space. You would have to maintain the spell for hours before it even reached the probe in the first place! And it would take days before the probe would reach Earth afterwards."

"Then this should make for an interesting duel," Harry said. "I say the Horcrux is destroyed, you say it still exists. I suppose you'll find out after I defeat you."

"Of that, you have no chance," Malfoy sneered. "My mind is now integrated with three of the most powerful wizards of their day — Lord Voldemort, David Monroe, and Quirinus Quirrell. Add to that to my mind and body and you will not survive a duel against our combined might." He glanced at his wand in Monroe's hand. "Unless you intend to simply kill me and hope I do not return."

"No, we're going to duel fair and square," Harry said. "I'll give you the chance you never gave to anyone else." He turned to Monroe. "How is Hermione?"

"She's doing well now," Monroe said. "I cast a spell to make her sleep dreamlessly. She'll wake up in a few hours feeling refreshed. We should be done by then."

"Good," Harry nodded. He turned to stare with loathing at Malfoy. "Do your thing, James."

The cell walls around them vanished, replaced with the Highlands of Scotland, in the same snow covered valley where Harry and Monroe had arrived after escaping Azkaban.

"Interesting," Malfoy said. "We did not Apparate or Portkey. What type of magical transportation was that?"

"My type," Monroe said. He tossed Malfoy's wand back to him as Harry took out his own.

"Am I going to duel both of you at the same time?" Malfoy asked. "I wouldn't mind that, really. It would make the duel more interesting, in fact." He looked at Harry. "You remember that Auror I fought in Azkaban, Potter? I've improved since then."

"It's just you and me," Harry said.

"I will act as Harry's second," Monroe said. "You may ask for one as well, though we will have to wait until your second arrives."

"I will not need a second," Malfoy declared haughtily. "If you agree not to intervene if Potter is killed or injured too severely to continue."

"I so agree," Monroe said. "Besides," he added, "you wouldn't last one second in a full-on fight with me."

"A bold claim," Malfoy sneered.

"But a true one," Monroe shrugged. "Tell you what — if you happen to beat Harry, and you want to take me on for afters, we can have a go as well."

Harry glanced at Monroe. "Thanks for your support," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm sure you're going to win, Harry," Monroe hastened to say. "Well, relatively sure, at least. Malfoy-mort does know a lot more magic than you do, you know."

Malfoy gave Monroe a sharp look. "Mind your tongue," he said coldly. "Or I will remove it from your mouth."

"Let's just get on with this," Harry said impatiently. Nothing was going to stop him from defeating Voldemort this time — not the Dark wizard's superior skill, nor his greater knowledge of spells, including Interdict level magic, nor the fact that he was actually facing four wizards rolled into one. He looked at Malfoy. "Do you want to observe the amenities of proper dueling?"

"If you like," Malfoy said contemptuously. Both men took steps backward until they were the proper starting distance apart to begin the duel. "This duel is to the death," he said, unnecessarily, his voice becoming cold and hard. "No quarter will be asked or given."

"Agreed," Harry responded. Monroe moved away, off the field of honor, and both Harry and Malfoy raised their wands in preparation for battle.

For a time, no one moved. Then Malfoy thrust his wand toward Harry, shouting the opening words of the duel: "Avada Kedavra!"

As an opening curse it probably wasn't the best choice, given the distance between them, but it was obviously meant to intimidate Harry. He easily Apparated out of the way, appearing only yards behind Malfoy's location.

But Malfoy had Apparated as well, off to Harry's right, and cast two Cutting Curses toward him, meant to dismember him. Harry erected Shields to deflect the curses, Apparating to a different location and casting a spell not at Malfoy but toward his feet — a Gouging Spell to remove the dirt below him and send Malfoy off-balance. Malfoy evaded this by Apparating away to a position behind Harry, throwing a Blasting Hex and immediately Apparating to another location to throw another Cutting Curse at him. Each spell required a slightly altered Shield Charm to maximize its effect agains the curse. Harry cast two Shield Charms, each with the correct harmonic to deflect the curse that hit them.

Harry then cast Expelliarmus, hoping to catch Malfoy off-guard, but the Minister vanished. Harry waited anxiously for him to reappear, but for long seconds he was the only person in the dueling area.

Then Malfoy's mocking laugh seemed to echo around him. "That was a good warm-up session, Potter — now let's down to it for real." Harry looked around, trying to identify the location of the voice, but he saw no one. Malfoy had evidently Disillusioned himself.

Malfoy's voice shouted "Avada Kedavra!" again and on pure instinct Harry dodged to one side again. A flash of green next to him told him he'd evaded the Killing Curse, but it disappeared into the ground. Harry looked and saw that Malfoy was flying, flying without a broom, and he was headed straight down toward Harry. Harry Apparated away, toward an old tree with snow-filled branches, and reappeared beneath it, hoping for a moment of cover from the airborne Malfoy.

There was a rule in formal dueling about staying within the dueling area, but that rule didn't apply in a duel to the death; you could Apparate as far away as you liked, though it might look like you were running away and gave your opponent the right to say you forfeited the duel. Harry didn't know how to make himself fly, but he had to do something to counter the advantage a flying Malfoy had against him. He spotted a long, straight branch on the ground, sticking up out of the snow. Yes, that would do nicely…

Malfoy had pulled out of his dive and was arcing up into the air again. Potter had vanished but there weren't many places he could hide. Malfoy smirked as he angled his trajectory downward again, heading toward the lone tree where he suspected Potter was shielding himself from view by the tree's snowy branches.

Malfoy slowed a bit as he approached the ground, leveling off to fly beneath the tree's branches and hit Potter with a Cutting Curse. That would incapacitate him enough to finish off with the Killing Curse if he survived the first one. But Potter wasn't hiding under the tree's branches. Malfoy pulled up as he left the tree behind, hoping to find another sign of where Potter had gotten to.

A Stunner whizzing just past his ear alerted Malfoy to Potter's location. Above him! Malfoy changed direction instantly and began zig-zagging to make himself harder to hit. Had Potter learned to fly as well?

Harry straddled the tree branch he'd enchanted with a Broom-Flying Charm. The basic spell had been developed a thousand years ago, and the version of the spell Harry was using would propel a broomstick up to 100 MPH and let the rider move it up, down, left and right. The broom couldn't hover, but Harry didn't plan on making himself a stationary target. He shot downward, firing several more Stunning Charms at Malfoy's zig-zagging form before pulling up to try and chase him, but Malfoy suddenly Disapparated in mid-air.

Harry immediately began to change direction, knowing Malfoy would appear above him and try to curse him. He spun the branch so he was upside down, holding on by his legs crossed over the branch, hoping to catch Malfoy unawares. What he saw coming for him made him gasp.

Malfoy had cast Fiendfyre! A stream of magical cursed fire darted toward him, forming itself into a fiery eagle, its talons extended to grab Harry. He knew its very touch would instantly reduce him to ash. Harry let go of the branch and Apparated away as the Fiendfyre caught the branch and destroyed it.

Harry reappeared just above ground level, still on his back, his legs still crossed above him, and slammed sideways into the snow, his momentum relative to the ground the same as when he Disapparated. Fortunately the snow provided a cushion of sorts, and Harry slid for several yards before coming to rest. He could still see the fiery eagle in the sky — Malfoy was searching the landscape for him, prepared to send the Fiendfyre after him when he was spotted. Malfoy had a lot more control over the cursed fire than Harry had been able to muster — the fiery eagle was soaring back and forth and Malfoy looked one way then another. Harry immediately Disapparated again, this time under the tree where he'd gotten the branch.

Enchanting another branch for flying again was out of the question. Malfoy could manipulate the Fiendfyre eagle faster than he could fly. He needed to buy some time, think how to counter the Fiendfyre. Disillusionment took too long, what could he — the snow suddenly gave Harry his answer.

A simple Color Change Charm turned him as white as the snow around him. There was so much snow on the ground he would be almost invisible against it! Now, what to do about the Fiendfyre…?

But at that moment the eagle disappated, spreading its wings and seeming to break apart into smaller fires which also dissipated on their own. Malfoy floated down, smiling triumphantly as he walked toward the tree Harry was using for cover.

"Come, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said, addressing him as Quirrell had done during his first year. "We should face each other as wizards, not as children playing at dueling. It ill-becomes both of us, don't you think?"

He sounds different now, Harry thought. As if he suddenly changed his personality the way another wizard might change his robes. Harry had the feeling he would be facing Voldemort directly now. And if what Dumbledore told him once about their wands was right, he might have a way to beat him.

Harry stepped out from behind the tree. "Is that what you want, Tom? To fight me like a real wizard? I get the impression you've been letting Malfoy do your dirty work so far."

Malfoy's eyes had acquired a red gleam. "The boy was eager to prove himself to me — he believed he could best you on his own. I might have let that continue for a while longer but he was about to lose control of himself — and the Fiendfyre — so I put a stop to his participation in our final confrontation."

"And now you're going to take me on yourself again," Harry said, giving Voldemort a stony look. "It's been a long time coming, but I'm ready now."

"Ah, Mr. Potter, don't delude yourself," Malfoy's mouth smiled Voldemort's cold, cruel smile. "You stand no chance of defeating me this time — I have been preparing for this day for almost 30 years, while you have had only an inkling that I still existed for a bare month or so. You have immersed yourself in Muggle business and finances, building a fortune you won't live to enjoy. It will become mine when I have defeated you and taken every scrap of your knowledge from your brain." That cold smile flashed again. "I may even become you, Mr. Potter, all the better to enjoy the fruits of your labor s and the fame that has arisen around the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry shook his head. "You can keep on thinking that, Tom, but you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. You have yet to actually defeat me, and from my standpoint that is going to be much more difficult than you expect. I've spent the past 30 years studying magic as well as business, and I'd bet I know some things even you're not aware of."

"I think not, Mr. Potter," Voldemort replied coldly. He held up his wand, and Harry recognized the yew shaft, over a foot long. He suppressed a smile. His own wand, brother to Voldemort's, would cause the Priori Incatatem effect if they were forced to duel one another.

His next words, however, were chilling. "Do you think me unaware of the relationship our two wands hold? I had the opportunity, as Quirrell, to talk with Mr. Ollivander one afternoon many years ago. He knew a great deal about wands, as you know; he boasted he could remember every single wand he ever sold. He remembered this wand, for example, and yours as well. He found it interesting that your and my wands, so well-suited to each of us, were brothers, sharing a magical core from the same creature."

"So you know what will happen if we duel," Harry said quietly. "Are you afraid you will lose?"

"Nonsense," Voldemort scoffed. "My will alone is greater than yours, Mr. Potter — add to that the willpower of David Monroe and Quirinus Quirrell, and not even Dumbledore himself could beat me, let alone you."

"Well, pride goeth before a fall, as the saying goes," Harry reminded him. He raised his wand in preparation for battle. "Are you ready?"

"In just a moment," Voldemort said. He raised his wand, as if preparing for battle once again, but then returned it to his robes and withdrew another wand, holding it up for Harry to see. "Do you recognize this wand, Mr. Potter?"

Harry did. He had seen it before, held it before himself. It was the Elder Wand, the wand Harry had won from Dumbledore just before his death at the hands of Voldemort. He had gone to fight Voldemort with that wand, defeating him, and then placed it with Dumbledore's body when he was buried, decades ago. "You took that from Dumbledore's tomb," he said, anger tightening his voice.

"Of course I did," Voldemort smiled his cold smile again. "And if you recall, Mr. Potter, I took your wand from you before handing you over to the Ministry for killing Mr. Monroe. Thus, according to wandlore, I am the true master of the Elder Wand, the unbeatable wand of wizarding legend."

Harry didn't respond. Harry had used it in the past, even against Voldemort, but he had given it up, putting it in the tomb of his former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, out of respect. To have it used against him now, when it was so critical he defeat Voldemort, was a daunting prospect.

But— "Owning the Elder Wand doesn't give you an automatic win," he reminded the Dark wizard. "Dumbledore won against it — Grindelwald lost even though he had the Elder Wand."

"You and I are not Dumbeldore and Grindelwald, Mr. Potter," Voldemort sneered. "Grindelwald kept a dark secret, one that only a very few have ever known about, and one I learned of only a few decades ago, when he was still alive and in Nurmengard. Would you care to guess what that secret was?"

But Harry already knew. "Grindelwald had a Horcrux," he said. "Dumbledore knew when he went to fight him, he hadn't yet found out what it was or where it was hidden. Dumbledore couldn't risk killing him only to have him return years later, like you did."

Voldemort shook his head. "That was true, but that was not the real reason Dumbeldore could not kill him. Have you not realized, Mr. Potter, that Dumlbedore was in love with Gellert Grindlewald for decades, since the time they were boys, only to be rejected in favor of Dumbledore's brother Aberforth?"

That news rocked Harry to his core, but— "And so what? Wizard society has been mostly accepting of relationships between same-sex couples."

"But Dumbledore could not allow his feelings for Grindelwald to become public knowledge," Voldemort pointed out with a sneering smile. "Especially after Grindelwald's defeat in 1945. It would have raised much suspicion against him and his teaching activities at Hogwarts; he had already resigned himself to an ambition no greater than becoming its Headmaster — he could not risk losing that! He might never even have fought Grindelwald at all but for — well, I could say he was visited by a phoenix just as pressure for him to fight the Dark wizard terrorizing Europe was reaching its peak."

"How could you know that?" Harry asked.

"As Head Boy of Hogwarts, one hears a great many rumors about what happens to the more well-known and powerful witches and wizards at the school," Voldemort answered. "There were eye-witnesses to Dumbledore's fight with Grindelwald, they say that after Grindelwald fell, Dumbledore did as well, and would have died of exhaustion had the phoenix he eventually called Fawkes not shed its tears for him." Voldemort looked disgusted, as if Dumbledore's weakness had saved his life, not his strengths.

"So, Mr. Potter, you should understand now that you have no chance against me this time," Voldemort finished. "A rational man, faced with certain death, would choose to retreat rather than engage in a futile endeavor that will ultimatel end him.

"However, it seems as if you will not retreat," Voldemort continued, staring at Harry across the distance that separated them. "You seem to think you must, what is that old expression, play for all the marbles."

"Don't you?" Harry responded. "You want me dead just as I want you dead. I don't think either of us can escape this moment. Besides, you've done a lot of harm to those close to me, and that will undoubtedly continue unless I stop you. While rationality can tell me what my chances of winning the fight are, pure rationality can't tell me what I ought to do. The answer to that is, I ought to make an end of you."

Voldemort nodded, a grave look on his face. He held out the wand before him, poised and ready to strike. "Now, Mr. Potter — are you ready?"

Harry glanced over at Monroe, standing a safe distance away in the gathering night. There was a concerned expression on the wizard's face — he had seen the Elder Wand in Voldemort's hand as well. Nevertheless, Monroe nodded encouragingly at him. You can do this, the words seemed to form in Harry's head.

Harry took a deep breath, hoping Monroe was right and his encouragement wasn't misplaced. "I am ready," he said.

~ooo~

THE DUEL BEGINS —

Harry had fought Voldemort before, he knew what to expect. But the last time they'd fought, it was Harry that had the unbeatable wand. Even as he told Voldemort he was ready, he was erecting shields around himself in preparation for the onslaught of spells that would be coming at him shortly. Before he finished speaking, Voldemort attacked.

Cutting spells, blasting spells, transmogrification spells that could remove eyes or hands or legs splashed, exploded, or bounced off of Harry's shields as they sought out an opening, however small, in his defenses. Harry kept up his shields, sending out an offensive spell only every so often, to be sure Voldemort was keeping his own shields up.

Voldemort was playing with him, Harry knew, testing the Elder Wand to see how it reacted against him. Dumbledore had told him the Wand would not allow harm to come to its true master; its spells would miss or have no lasting effect, or simply not respond if the spell was deadly enough, like the Killing Curse. But the wand Voldemort held seemed to be throwing its full power against Harry — his shields deflected its spells only with difficulty. Harry could not be sure how long he could maintain a defensive strategy. At some point, he would have to attack.

And try to beat the unbeatable wand.

~ooo~

THE DUEL, TIME: T PLUS 50 MINUTES —

The snow in the area of the duel had become pock-marked with holes, slashes, gouges from deflected curses. Multicolored arcs and bolts of light streamed back and forth between Harry and Voldemort, mostly from the latter toward the former, and Harry stoically maintained the status quo of immovable object against irresistible force. Apparation was no longer an option; it expended too much energy to flit around the battlefield, and contending with the discomfort of Apparition on top of spell defense was too distracting. Both men stood in place, unmoving, while their spells hacked, chewed and stabbed at each other.

Voldemort's spells had steadily gained in ferocity. He had begun casting different forms of shield drills — spells designed to poke holes in shield charms in order to let another spell pass. Harry had anticipated that and cast multiple –layer shields, letting the damaged shields fail and vanish and erecting a new layer of defense behind them. The shadow spells followed soon after — spells that weakened shields in specific locations, draining energy from the wizard maintaining them. Harry answered these attacks with a spell he had created specifically to counter thm: the Anti-Shadow Hex would merge with a shadow spell and, like matter and antimatter, the two would annihilate each other. It also damaged any nearby shields, but that was better than having energy drained from your body.

Harry began throwing out attacks of his own. He tried forks — casting two spells almost simultaneously, the first to draw Voldemort's attention away from the second spell, the one he actually intended reach its target, but Voldemort deflected them both easily. Several more forks, from several different angles, fared no better. They seemed to almost amuse Voldemort, for when his face was lit by the glare of spells bursting around him a small smile showed on his lips.

After a while Harry resumed his defensive posture, wondering what else he could try that might slip through Voldemort's shields, but nothing was coming to mind. He would have to do something soon.

~ooo~

THE DUEL, TIME: T PLUS 3 HOURS AND 5 MINUTES —

In over three hours of battle no words had yet passed between the two combatants. This duel had gone on far longer than any of the other fights Harry and Voldemort had engaged in. Malfoy's body did not look tired in the least, while Harry keenly felt the aches and tiredness that preceded exhaustion. Spells continued to crash and splatter and explode against Harry's shields, popping or shattering them, and Harry continued to erect more shields to replace them, every so often sending a spell of his own Voldemort's way, most often the Disarming Charm, as it was of relatively low energy cost.

A victory for Harry no longer seemed in sight. That realization had been a bitter truth for Harry to accept, but he could not keep this up much longer. He would falter, would fail to restore a shield in time, and one of Voldemort's spells would find its mark. Then all of his shields would come down and he would be vulnerable. Then, and only then, Harry's intuition told him, would Voldemort use the Killing Curse on him. He wanted Harry beaten and knowing his death was coming, wanted him to see the green flash of light that would mean the end of him.

Harry would not accept that, however. He would fight on, parrying and deflecting curses, until his wand dropped from his nerveless fingers and he passed out from sheer exhaustion, as Grindelwald had eventually succumbed during his famous battle with Dumbledore. Quarter was not to be given or received, but Harry would fight on until he could literally fight no more.

Voldemort may have sensed something of that in Harry's face, for he paused and spoke the first words since the battle began. "Thinking about your death, Mr. Potter? You don't have much time left before I penetrate your defenses."

"I have all the time in the world," Harry responded, then realized who had said something similar to that to him earlier that very day. His attention diverted momentarily to where Monroe was standing; the wizard had not moved since the battle began. Too bad we agreed you can't intervene, Harry thought between casting Shield Charms.

I agreed not to fight Voldemort unless you fell, Monroe's voice came back in his head. But helping you was never forbidden — if you want my help now, you just have to ask.

Just then one of Voldemort's drill spells collided with Harry's inner shield, shattering it completely. Hell YES I want it! Harry's mind shouted. His wand twitched and the blue light of a shield blazed around him, deflecting a Cutting Curse and a Stunning Spell cast by Voldemort just in time. Harry heard a low grunt from Voldemort — he had not expected Harry to stop both those spells.

Whatever Monroe had done, Harry felt better now, more confident and more energized than he had only moments earlier. The fatigue that had accumulated over the past three hours was gone — he now felt like Voldemort looked: fresh, vital, and willing to battle as long as it took to win.

~ooo~

THE DUEL, TIME: T PLUS 7 HOURS AND 38 MINUTES —

Sometime after the seventh hour of their duel Voldemort, perhaps realizing that Harry was not going to succumb to exhaustion as quickly as he had expected, had redoubled his efforts to penetrate Harry's shields, casting spells in such quick succession that Harry was nearly hidden from view with the light of shields flaring and failing, and immediately replaced with new ones. Harry himself felt as if he was in some kind of fugue, that he was no longer Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres-Granger, but had become simply the Boy-Who-Lived, who 35 years earlier had stared unknowingly as the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Harry's forehead and cast the Killing Curse at him, which rebounded and destroyed the Dark Lord's body and blasted the house around him and Harry, though Harry remained unharmed in his crib.

Parry. Riposte. Deflect. Harry's wand moved with precision, even after more than seven hours of battle. He anticipated Voldemort's spells now; his opponent had fallen into a pattern of curses, jinxes and hexes that Malfoy's body was unconsciously telegraphing. Could it be that one of the other personalities in Voldemort's head had temporarily assumed command of the battle, to give Voldemort himself a chance to rest, a respite from the constant battle? Harry did not think Voldemort would allow that, but the tenor of the attacks had changed. Perhaps he was seeing David Monroe's fighting style now? It did not matter to Harry. He simply kept up his defenses, letting the other wizard expend his energy while Harry conserved his own.

~ooo~

THE DUEL, TIME: T PLUS 10 HOURS AND 47 MINUTES —

Voldemort's attacks had begun to slow down, though they retained the ferocity of his initial attacks. Harry scarcely wondered at that — this battle had gone on for a ridiculously long time. Had even Dumbledore's battle with Grindelwald lasted this long? Harry didn't know; Dumbledore had said only that it had taken long, long hours for him to fight that Dark Lord to the point of exhaustion, when Grindelwald fell and Dumbledore with him, even more exhausted than he, exhausted to death had Fawkes not saved him.

Their battle had continued through the night; it was now sometime in the early morning hours, with the moon beginning to go down and the sun soon to emerge in the east. The space between the two men had been cleared of snow by the spells that had passed between them and spattered off their shields. It was smoking, too — the energy they had spent on this battle should have left them both dead — but whatever spell Monroe had used to sustain him, Harry had begun to feel his energy waning once again. Voldemort looked ready to fall over, but he continued to throw spells against Harry's shields, testing them, cracking them, while Harry dropped the weakened ones and erected new ones to replace them. How much longer would he last before he fell over, utterly spent, and Harry delivered the —

The what? The Killing Curse? Not his style. Would he bind Voldemort and send him, in Malfoy's body, to Nurmengard to languish as Gellert Grindelwald had for more than 60 years? He had outlived Dumbledore that way, ironically!

And what was he going to do about the bit of Voldemort inside him, the part of the Dark Lord that was somehow in the lightning scar on his forehead, that Monroe had told him about? How would he destroy that without killing himself?

He would have to worry about that, he told himself, after Voldemort was defeated.

~ooo~

THE DUEL, TIME: T PLUS 14 HOURS AND 12 MINUTES —

"Enough," Voldemort suddenly said, lowering his wand.

What's this? Harry wondered, and stopped firing curses though he did not dispel his shields or completely lower his wand. "Are you giving up?" He asked Voldemort aloud, expecting some kind of trick.

"No," Voldemort said. His wand came up again, lightning fast. "Avadakedavra!" The green light of death burst from his wand, streaking toward Harry —

— who was suddenly gone from the spot the Killing Curse passed through, and a moment later stood next to Voldemort, inside his defenses. But instead of raising his wand, his left fist slammed into Draco Malfoy's stomach, doubling him over. Harry's left hand grabbed a handful of hair and jerked down and forward, and his knee came up into Malfoy's face, breaking his nose with a loud crack. Malfoy's legs buckled and he fell to the cold, wet ground. Harry finished by pointing his wand at Malfoy's stomach. "Stupefy!" and a red bolt slammed into the Minister, knocking him the rest of the way out.

As he bent over to pick up the Elder Wand, Monroe Apparated next to him. He leaned over to peer momentarily at the unconscious Dark Lord. "That was an interesting victory," he said. "I wonder how many wizards' duels were won by a knockout."

"Not many, I would think," Harry said. "Considering Voldemort was supposed to be quite good at martial arts, I think I just surprised him — he wasn't expecting me to attack him physically. Even I wasn't expecting to attack him physically — it just came to me when I realized he was going to cast the Killing Curse at me."

He leaned down once again to search through Voldemort's robes for his original wand, the last (okay, the next to the last) Horcrux. There were a great many hidden pouches in Malfoy's robes. "That damned wand has to be in here somewhere," Harry muttered, then jerked when Monroe extended a hand and a wand-shaped object hidden within the folds of cloth glowed bright blue. He searched for the opening for nearly a minute before sighing and pointing his wand at the robe, saying, "Diffindo." The robes did not split, however, and Harry repeated the spell with the Elder Wand. That time it worked, and Harry held up Voldemort's yew wand. He took it in both hands and tried to snap it in half. The wand barely bent in his hands.

"It's a Horcrux, alright," he said. "I suppose you don't have any spare Basilisk venom on you, do you?"

Monroe shook his head, smiling. "Fiendfyre worked before, it should work again this time."

He pointed his wand and the yew wand shot upward in the air, stopping about 50 feet above them. "Just a short burst this time," he suggested, "and I'll throw it into the sun." Which was now just above the horizon in the east, Harry noted. Harry pointed the Elder Wand skyward, incanting the words to the curse, and thin jet of writhing flames shot upward, engulfing the wand. Harry immediately ended the spell, and the wand shot upward and eastward, passing out of view in only a few seconds, leaving a trail of flame that slowly dissipated.

Harry stood silently for several seconds, staring at the flames as they slowly disappeared, then looked back at Voldemort's unconscious host body. "It seems a bit anticlimactic now," he said, sounding disappointed. "One quick curse and that's the end of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Except," he pointed to his lightning scar, "what do I do about the bit of Voldemort that's in me?"

"Did you ever stop to think what that bit of Voldemort might have done for you over the years?" Monroe asked. "It's not a fragment of his soul, you know — it's an image of his mind that connected with your brain on the night he tried to kill you. That image has been wrapped up in yours since you were one. It could be the reason for your rationality as well as the high level of intelligence you've displayed throughout your life."

"Hmm," Harry said, considering that. He had deduced that Voldemort was somehow responsible for his "mysterious dark side," though he hadn't concluded it was because his mind had become mingled with Voldemort's somehow. "I don't know if I buy that, but it's an interesting hypothesis.

"However, that doesn't help me with what I should do with Voldemort now. I can't just let him go. I don't think I can kill him, either — Dumbledore thought he must be destroyed, not just defeated, because he thought there was no humanity left in him, and that might be true of Tom Riddle, perhaps even of Quirinus Quirrell, but I don't think David Monroe was an inherently evil person. And Draco Malfoy, for all his flaws, is little more than Voldemort's pawn right now."

"All that might be true," Monroe allowed, "but after all this time it will be impossible to distinguish in Malfoy's brain where Draco ends and Voldemort, David Monroe and Quirrell begin."

"I'm not sure what to do, then," Harry said. "If I can't let him go, and I refuse to kill him, there's no option left except put him in Nurmengard and try to keep him there for the rest of his life."

"I may have an alternate solution," Monroe said in a quiet voice.

"I don't want you to kill him either, James," Harry said firmly.

"Oh, it's a little more imaginative than that," Monroe smiled. He looked down at the unconscious Voldemort. "And it would solve your problem of what to do with that bit of Voldemort kicking about in your head."

"Really, how?"

In reply Monroe pointed his open hand toward Malfoy's body for a few seconds, then said, "Cast Homenum Revelio on him."

Harry frowned, but flicked his wand at Voldemort. "Yeah, so?" he said a moment later. "It shows he's there, of course."

"Now try Venificum Revelio," Monroe suggested. Harry recognized that as the spell to identify a wizard. He cast the spell at Voldemort, then shook his head and cast it again. "What the hell?" he muttered. "I'm not getting a response. What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing," Monroe said. "You're not getting a response because he's no longer a wizard."

Harry stared. "That can't be," he argued. "You can't turn a wizard into a Muggle any more than you can turn a Muggle into a wiz—" he cut himself off. "But — how? What did you do, make him forget he was a wizard? No, that can't be it — I would stil detect that he was a wizard even if he didn't remember being one."

"You can't detect him as a wizard because he's not a wizard anymore," Monroe said. "I've changed the locus in his genome that made him a wizard into the genetic combination for a Squib. While he can recognize magic and wizards for what they are, he can't access magic himself at all anymore, not even with the most powerful wand in the world. You can wake him up and test it if you like."

Harry smirked at the idea, but — "I'd rather just take him back to the Ministry and let them sort it out with Veritaserum."

"I suggest you just drop him off at the visitor entrance," Monroe said. "When they start questioning Malfoy they'll figure out what's going on, and someone will probably decide to use Veritaserum on him. After that they'll get the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"I wouldn't underestimate the Wizengamot's ability to be pigheaded about their decisions," Harry warned, "but hopefully in this case they will realize how badly they blew it." He waved his wand at Malfoy's body, floating it into an upright position, and the three of them Apparated away to London.

~ooo~

EPILOGUE:

Ron Weasley lay staring at the ceiling above his bed in the Janus Thickey ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, silently cursing the pain he felt in his left arm. The arm that was no longer there because Malfoy had cursed it off him after Ron broke his nose. The Healers couldn't do anything about the pain other than inducing dreamless sleep, and they refused to provide the potion more than once per day, during the nighttime, so Ron would sleep without disturbing the other patients in the room.

Most of the other people in this ward didn't realize how bad off they were. Two of them, the Longbottoms, had been famous Aurors back in the day when You-Know-Who was terrorizing magical Britain for the first time. They had been tortured by Death Eaters, tortured so horribly that they had been driven insane and no longer knew who they were or who anyone else was. Ron felt sorry for them because they had sacrificed everything to protect others and their country.

The other permanent resident he didn't have my sympathy for, given what a perfectly wretched arse he was. Gilderoy Lockhart, who'd taught Defense Against the Dark Arts during Ron's second year at Hogwarts, was here because he'd tried to Obliviate a student at Hogwarts at the end of the school year, only to have that spell somehow turned back on him, erasing most of his memories permanently. That was the only time during his seven years at Hogwarts that Ron could remember really feeling grateful to Harry Potter, who'd been the student Lockhart ambushed and attacked. Whatever Harry had done to deflect Lockhart's spell back at him had also somehow given Harry many of Lockhart's memories, and they showed a man who had spent decades collecting other people's memories then erasing theirs, so he could write books pretending their exploits were his own.

Ron sighed gustily, looking around. The reason he was in this ward was because it was kept locked at all times; otherwise he would be out the door in a heartbeat and back at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, arm or no arm. The Healers wanted to keep him here for "observation," they said. Ron knew that was a lie — they were afraid he would do something rash if they let him go. They probably weren't entirely wrong; Ron didn't know what he'd do himself if he could get out of here. He might go after Malfoy, though that would probably end badly. Ron didn't much care how it would end, though, if he could curse one or two limbs off Malfoy before they got him.

"Hello, Ron." Ron jumped, startled. Two men were standing next to his bed, though he hadn't heard the ward doors being unlocked or any footsteps moving toward him. Even more surprising, it was Harry Potter and another man Ron didn't recognize. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Ron wanted to know. "Aren't you afraid the Ministry will —"

"Everything is fine," Harry interrupted. "I've been cleared of all charges. So has Ginny, and your brothers as well. Malfoy gave a full confession to his part in framing Ginny and me."

"And who's this, then?" Ron asked, nodding toward Monroe. "He looks familiar…"

"I'm James Monroe, the man Harry supposedly killed," Monroe answered.

Ron's eyes went wide. "I thought I recognized you!" he said. He looked back at Harry. "So everything's cleared up, then?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny's back home with your mother, recovering. Your mum thinks she and Dean will work things out between them."

"Yeah, well —" Ron shrugged slightly. "Mum's always thought the best of Dean. We'll see how that goes. What about Fred and George, then? They cleared of breaking Ginny out of Hogwarts?"

"The Wizengamot ruled their actions were justified by unusual circumstances," Monroe said. "Apparently Voldemort coming back from the dead once again was enough to jerk them out of their comfort zones. They even voted to reinstate Hermione back as Minister of Magic if she wants the job back."

Ron looked at Harry. "…Does she?"

Harry nodded. "We talked about it," he said quietly. "She decided to go back until things are running smoothly again, then she'll announce her retirement. I think she wants to go teach at Hogwarts, actually. She wrote an owl — wouldn't tell me who it was for, but it looked like she was writing Neville's name on the envelope when she addressed it."

"Huh," Ron said, noncommittally, wondering at the same time if he could wrangle a professorship at the school teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Well, I hope she gets what she wants, whatever it is."

"How are you doing, Ron?" Harry asked interestedly. "Everything all right, then?"

"As well as can be, I guess," Ron said, unconsciously lifting his left shoulder for a moment. "Not sure how much use I'll be around the shop, now."

Harry and Monroe glanced at one another. "That's what we came to talk about," Monroe said. "How would you like your arm back?"

Ron gave him a puzzled look. "Too right I'd like my arm back!" he agreed quickly. "But it was cursed off — the Healers can't do a bloody thing about it. His puzzlement turned to anger. "What the hell are you asking me something like that for, anyway — you know they can't fix this!"

"Well, when you wake up from this dream," Monroe assured him. "Harry and I both think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Ron shook his head. "I just woke up a few minutes ago," he said. "I only get one Sleeping Potion a day," he added, bitterly. "This damn arm hurts, and it isn't even there anymore! Not even Harry bloody Potter is going to tell me I'm dreaming this…" he suddenly slumped back onto the bed, snoring softly.

Harry looked at the stump of Ron's arm, frowning a bit with sympathy pain. "Well," he said to Monroe. "Do your thing."

~ooo~

"Mr. Weasley? Mr. Weasley?"

Ron abruptly stopped snoring and opened his eyes. Two Healers and their assistants were standing around his bed staring at him. "What — what?" he mumbled, trying to wake up. He felt groggy, like the Sleeping Potion he'd taken last night hadn't fully worn off yet. "What's going on?"

"How do you feel, Mr. Weasley?" one of the Healers asked.

Ron pushed himself half up on his right elbow (the only elbow he had now, he reminded himself bitterly). "You woke me up to ask me that?" he snapped testily. "What the hell kind of bloody fool question is that?"

"We found a note on your chart this morning," the other Healer said. He held up a scrap of parchment. "It said, 'check on left arm regrowth status of Weasley, Ron.' No one on duty knew what that meant, so we came to see you."

"I don't know what it means, either," Ron growled. He jerked the stump of his left arm up off the bed. "My arm can't be regrown, it's been cursed — oh, bloody hell, what's this?" He stared at his left arm. Below where the stump should be was a wrapping of bandages around what appeared to be an elbow, forearm and hand. "Where'd that come from?" he asked, loudly.

"We don't know," both Healers said. They had come around to his left side and were poking and prodding gently at the bandages. "Feels like a real arm under there," one of them said. The other nodded silently.

Ron was watching all of this very carefully. "Well, it feels real to me too," he said. "Let's unwrap it and find out!"

"But don't you know what happened?" one of the assistants asked. "Who put the bandages on your arm?"

"Look it, I didn't even have an arm last night when I went to sleep!" Ron retorted. "I have no idea what all this is about? You people don't tell me anything about what's going on outside this ward!"

"Oh, that's right!" one of the Healers suddenly said. "You haven't heard what happened yesterday!"

"What happened?" Ron asked, his bandaged arm temporarily forgotten.

"Minister Malfoy turned himself in yesterday," the Healer said. "He made a full confession — said he was really You-Know-Who and that he'd taken over Minister Malfoy's body, that he'd killed the man Harry Potter was accused of killing, and the three Aurors Ginny Thomas was sent to Azkaban for killing."

"That's not even the weirdest part!" the second Auror chimed in. "His magic is gone! He can't even perform the simplest spell now! He said he must've overloaded his magical ability somehow and burnded it out."

"That's bloody wild!" Ron said. "So what're they going to do with him?"

"They don't know yet," one of the assistants said. "But Minister Granger-Potter said he wouldn't be going to Azkaban."

"Minister Granger-Potter?" Ron blurted. "You mean Hermione's back as Minister now?" This sounded eerily familiar — had he dreamed something about this last night?

"Oh yes," the assistant said. "They practically forced her to come back, the way I read it. She said she would until things were running smoothly again, then she'd retired."

Something familiar about that, too, Ron thought. "So what did Harry Potter say about all this?" he asked, his tone cooler than before.

"Nobody knows," the last assistant said, shrugging. "He broke out of Azkaban the night before Malfoy turned himself in, but the Wizengamot voted to drop all charges against him anyway."

"Huh," Ron grunted, not knowing what else to ask. He glanced at his bandaged arm. "Maybe we can get back to this, then…"

The two Healers began unwrapping the arm. They started at the top, unwrapping his bicep, which looked completely fine — there was no discernible scar where the limb had been severed — continued down the forearm, and finally unwrapped his hand and fingers. Everything seemed just fine, Ron opened and closed his hand with no problem.

The first Healer was waving his wand over Ron's arm, shaking his head and looking at his fellow Healer. "Absolutely no trace of a wound," he said. "It's like the arm was never removed. I can't understand it."

"Problem?" Ron hadn't been listening to the Healers, he was too busy being happy at his arm being back on.

"No, and that's the problem," the Healer said. "I can't even tell that your arm had ever been removed."

"Good," Ron smiled. "Tell whoever put it back on he or she did an excellent job!"

"But that's the point!" the second Healer spoke up. "Nobody can do something like this! It's completely beyond our skill!"

"Really?" Ron said. The dream he vaguely remembered having was coming into sharper focus now. He had been talking with Harry Potter and James Monroe. They told him he was dreaming and when he woke up he would be pleasantly surprised. They'd told him other things, too, things about Malfoy and his family and Hermione, but had they been in his dream or was he just confusing the dream with what the Healers had just told him? He held up his arm. "Well, somebody did something, because my arm's back on now."

"We want you to stay another day or so until we can figure this out," the first Healer said. "This could be very important…"

At that moment the ward doors opened and another staff member stuck her head in. "Mr. Weasley's sister is here," she said. "It is okay for her to visit?"

"No," both Healers spoke at once.

"Yes," Ron said over them. "Yes, she can."

The point became moot as Ginny pushed her way past the staff member. "Yes, I can!" she said loudly, then stopped short as she saw Ron. "Ron… your arm..."

"Yeah, it grew back," Ron said, grinning. "Good as new."

"It couldn't have —" one of the assistants began.

"Get out," Ginny said, jerking a thumb at the door. "I want to talk to my brother in private."

"But —" one of the Healers tried to object.

"Out!" Ginny said, brandishing a new wand. "Go on!"

The Healers and their assistants beat a hasty retreat. "You too!" Ginny said to an orderly delivering a tray of food to one of the patients. The orderly took one look at Ginny's expression, dropped the tray on the patient's bedside table, and got out of there.

Then, once they were alone — "Oh my god, Ron!" Ginny said, giving Ron a long hug. "We thought your arm was lost forever! How'd they put it back on?"

"Hell, Gin, they couldn't even tell me!" Ron exclaimed. "I just woke up this morning and there it was, wrapped in bandages, good as new, like a late Christmas present!"

"Well, however it got back on, I'm glad it's back!" Ginny said, relieved.

"Even more relieved than being out of Azkaban?" Ron pressed teasingly.

"Well I wouldn't go that far," Ginny said evenly, then giggled. "Oh! Did you hear that Hermione's Minister of Magic again —?"

"Yeah, they told me," Ron nodded. "They said Malfoy actually confessed to framing you for those murders. Why would he do that?"

"I dunno," Ginny shrugged. "The Prophet had a theory about it, though: they think Malfoy — oh, he's really Voldemort, by the way! — panicked when his magic powers fizzled out when he was performing whatever Dark ritual burned them out, and didn't know what else to do. He has no experience living as a Muggle, so he ran to the Ministry, gave himself up, and confessed everything."

"That sounds like typical Prophet bullshit," Ron said dismissively. "They're just making stuff up again."

"Well what's your theory, Mr. I-Know-More-Than-The –Ministry-of-Magic?" Ginny challenged, though she was secretly thrilled Ron was arguing with her just like old times.

"I had a dream about Harry Potter just before I woke up," Ron told her. "And that Monroe bloke, you remember him? The guy Harry began hanging out a lot with last summer? I think they had something to do with it."

"Ron, we haven't even seen since Harry since he disappeared from Azkaban the night before last," Ginny pointed out. "And Monroe is dead; Malfoy — I mean Volde— er, You-Know-Who — confessed to killing him."

"Whatever," Ron said, rubbing his head. "Let's just get out of here. They want me to stay for some 'tests,' even though they can't tell me what happened to my arm, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stay here any longer than I have to."

"Okay," Ginny smiled, reaching into a pouch under her coat. She pulled a bag out of it and handed it to Ron. He looked inside; it was a complete change of clothes plus a winter jacket.

"Bless you!" Ron said, hugging her with one arm. He stood and reached for the hospital robe he was wearing, then stopped. "Er — you might want to look away while I get out of this."

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Ginny groused. "We used to go skinny dipping in the pond in the orchard before it dried up!" she reminded him.

"Sorry, only Luna gets to look at my junk nowadays," Ron told her. "By the way, why didn't she come?"

"She insisted she had to go into work today," Ginny said, moving to the opposite side of the bed and facing away from Ron. "But she said you were definitely coming home today, so we should stop by the shop on our way home and surprise her."

"It'll take more than that to surprise her," Ron mused, pulling the robe over his head and throwing it on the bed. He reached into the bag, trying to find some shorts —

"Pardon me," an unfamiliar voice said in his ear. Ron jerked away and turned to stare at the intruder. It was Gilderoy Lockhart, holding a plate of bangers and mash in front of him. "Would you have any Grey Poupon?"

"What the hell?!" Ron shouted, in shock. Ginny had turned around as well, her wand drawn. See Ron standing there naked and Lockhart with a perplexed look on his face, she laughed.

"Not funny!" Ron yelled, covering himself. He whirled back to Lockhart. "Of course I don't have any bleedin' Grey whatever-the-hell-you-said! Go back and eat your breakfast!"

"You don't have to be so surly," Lockhart muttered, picking up a sausage off his plate and moving away as he munched on it.

"Bloody nutter," Ron muttered, grabbing some pants out of the bag and jamming his feet into them. "And you're not helping!" he said over his shoulder as Ginny continued to giggle. He snatched a T-shirt out of the bag and threw it on. There were socks and trainers in the bag but Ron didn't bother with the socks. Or even with tying the trainers. "Let's go," he said sourly. "The sooner we're out of here, the better. Besides, I want to go see how Hermione's doing after all that."

After getting back his wand from Patient Inventory and winning their arguments with the staff, who were steadfastly bent on keeping him in the hospital (along with the help of a few well-placed Bat-Bogey Hexes from Ginny), the two of them Apparated to the visitors' entrance of the Ministry and stopped at the Information and Security station.

"Sorry," Munch told them. "The Minister didn't come in this morning. She left word she would be working from home today."

"Fine," Ron said. "We can go there," he told Ginny.

"No, you can't," Munch informed them. "She also left word that she wasn't to be disturbed today. At all. By anyone," he added firmly.

Ron said nothing, but he had a mutinous look on his face. "Just let her have today, Ron," Ginny told him. "You can see her tomorrow, I'll come with and make sure you get in."

"You'll come with?" Ron looked at her, mildly affronted. "You think I can't get in to see her on my own?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Ginny said calmly. "But she knows you won't act too squirrelly if I'm around."

Ron snorted. "Fine," he said. "Tomorrow it is, then," he said reluctantly, then looked at her askance. "Up for a bit of breakfast, then?" he asked. "Seeing Lockhart's breakfast reminded me it's been a while since I've eaten."

"Okay," Ginny said, smiling at her brother again. If Ron was hungry, he was pretty much back to normal.

~ooo~

EPILOGUE TWO:

Harry and Hermione sprawled comfortably across the sofa in their apartment residence sipping at their morning tea. Hermione was nestled comfortably against Harry's shoulder, quietly basking in the glow of their first night together since Harry went to Azkaban more than a month before.

"Are you thinking of going back to work tomorrow?" Harry asked her, his eyes closed, enjoying this moment of perfect peace and contentment.

Hermione sipped at her tea before answering. "Well, yes," she said, matter-of-factly. "You know Malfoy — or Voldemort — whoever — left the Ministry a perfect mess. I'd like to get it back in shape PDQ so I can get out of there as soon —"

"You can stay home one more day," Harry suggested.

Hermione sighed. "I probably could. But every day I take off now means three more days I'll have to stay before I can retire."

"All work and no play makes Jean a dull girl," Harry paraphrased.

"Not the way we play," she giggled. "You're a nasty man, you know that?"

"Well, you know what prison can do to a man," Harry shrugged. "I have needs."

Hermione snorted laughter. "So you've shown me. I'm just glad they didn't put you and Sirius Black in the same cell together — no telling what might have come from that!"

"Well, Sirius said he didn't bend that way," Harry told her. "He said he and Pettigrew were never lovers — that was just Peter's wishful thinking."

"Interesting," Hermione said. "So what will he do now that he's exonerated?"

"Dunno," Harry murmured, sipping at his tea. "He'll probably go live at Grimmauld Place, at least until he finds someplace he'd rather be."

"And what about you?" Hermione asked him. "Any place you'd rather be?"

"Nowhere but here," Harry said firmly. But a distant expression came over his features. "Although…"

"Now don't you tease me like that!" Hermione said warningly. "You've already promised not to go back to work for at least a week! Let Ginny and your board of directors run TBC Enterprises for a change…"

"I didn't mean that," Harry said, downing the last of his tea. He let the cup float from his hand to the saucer on the coffee table. "I told you what went on with me and James Monroe, right?"

"Right," Hermione agreed, becoming as serious as Harry seemed to have gotten. "You said no one else knows he's even alive."

"Well, he made me an offer before he, well, 'left,'" Harry said. "He's more powerful than any wizard — a lot more powerful, and he offered to let me share in that power if I would leave Earth with him, travel to other universes and do — well, whatever it is he does."

Hemione was silent for some time, staring at him. "And you turned that down?" she asked, incredulous.

"Sure," he nodded.

"But why would you do that?" she exclaimed. "You said he was some kind of post-Singularity being. You've wanted to see the Singularity for decades now! I can't believe you would give all that up for — for what?"

Harry was smiling gently at her. "For you, love."

Hermione smiled back at him, her face as radiant as the sun. "For me? Harry, that's — that's the most wonderful thing you've ever said to me."

"Well, I am a wonderful person, you know," Harry acknowledged.

"You know what I mean," she said seriously, and Harry nodded agreemnent.

"Do you want some more tea?" Hermione asked, pointing to his empty cup.

"Please," Harry said. A strainer on the tea service floated onto his cup and the teapot tipped, pouring hot tea into the cup. The strainer floated off the cup and onto a plate; two teaspoons of sugar poured themselves into the cup and stirred it. The cup floated into the air and into Harry's hand. He sipped at it and smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, love."

"You're welcome," Hermione replied, beaming. Her expression became thoughtful. "You know, I was wondering…"

"About what?"

"Well, what do you think it's like, being someone like Monroe? From what you've told me he's much more powerful than any wizard. And those Magical Source crystals? They're what give us magical ability, right?"

"Right."

"But they're not really magic, they're just very sophisticated Muggle technology, technology that comes from the future."

"Right."

"So if they stop working, there won't be any magic anymore, right?"

"Yes, that's true," Harry agreed. "But they'd all have to fail at once, otherwise the crystals that are still working would repair the others."

"Do you think it would be possible to create a Source of Magic crystal for everyone?" Hermione asked. "If everybody had one, then there'd be no Muggles and wizards, just, well, people with advanced technology."

"Actually," Harry grinned at her like the Cheshire cat. "That's what I plan to do someday — find a way to make those crystals something anyone can use. Now that I know they exist, I will be doing some experimenting to see if I can find a way to access them directly. From there, if I can find a way to reprogram them, we might be able to make them replicate themselves in a smaller form, something each person can carry around with them."

"That would be amazing," Hermione said enthusiastically. "But — will everyone be ready to use that kind of ability, that kind of power?"

Harry looked solemn. "That will be a concern. Merlin created his Interdict because he feared that wizards were becoming too powerful too fast. He set an upper end on how powerful magic can be transferred from generation to generation. Making magic universal might cause another problem like that, so we will have to be careful how we introduce that into wizarding and Muggle culture. Even Monroe told me before I turned down his offer to join him that I wouldn't be given power equal to his own until I learned how to use it wisely. And he wanted to know if I wanted you to come with him and me."

"Did he?" Hermione's expression became pensive. "What did you tell him?"

Harry looked a bit discomfited by that question. "Well, I'm afraid I kind of spoke for you on that point. I didn't think you'd want to come with us even if I decided to go — that suddenly being a person who could travel between dimensions and control energies we can barely imagine right now would not make you happy unless you could use it to help everyone, and Monroe said he hardly reveals himself to anyone anymore. I thought that being around someone like that would gall you to no end. But I knew that if I went I'd want you to come with, so I decided to stay here as well."

"Hmm." Hermione was giving him a piercing look. "That was presumptive on your part, speaking for me like that, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Harry lowered his head. "Sorry."

She reached out and rubbed him gently on the shoulder. "But in this case you're exactly right. I would not want to merely observe, I'd want to help everyone I could. I probably wouldn't like it if Monroe didn't act the way I thought he should. So it's better that I'm here and helping to put the Ministry back in order, and that you're working to give magic to everyone, not just wizards." She leaned forward and kissed him. He put an arm around her and kissed her back.

~ooo~

EPILOGUE THREE:

Harry and Monroe watched, invisible and intangible, as Harry and Hermione kissed. Monroe had a somewhat wry expression on his face.

"Well, you were right," he said to Harry. "She likely would have turned down an offer to join us even if 'you' were going."

"Yes…" Harry watched himself and Hermione kissing. "I just hope I haven't done something I'll regret."

Monroe smiled. "Even if you end up regretting your decision to join me, Harry, you can take comfort in the fact that you also made the right decision for you and her." He pointed to Harry and Hermione. "Not many people get the opportunity to have their cake and eat it, too."

Harry nodded agreement. Monroe had created an exact double of Harry Potter-Evans-Verres (himself) and gave him the power to control matter down to the atomic level — a technology they were just beginning to understand and make progress on at his company, a.k.a. molecular nanotechnology.

Harry's brain capacity had also been expanded to orders of magnitude greater than human. He could understand how things worked at the molecular level — even his own up-until-now human body. It wasn't anywhere near the level of technology and reality that Monroe himself commanded, but it had taken Monroe over a hundred years to progress from a bog-standard human to what he was today — a self-described "Power," a being capable of altering space, time and reality itself.

"I wonder how things will go here now that normal-Harry knows about the Source crysals," Harry mused. "He will try to hack them, you know."

"He'll probably succeed if he proceeds cautiously," Monroe said. "The crystals are femtotechnology-level devices — only a level above where you are now, though the potential for advancement is a thousand times greater than nanotech. It could take most people 100 to 150 years to crack the crystals' code, but Harry could possibly do it in 30 or 40."

"I'd bet I do it in 25," Harry said. "Maybe we can come back after 25 years have passed here and see if I was right?"

"Why not?" Monroe grinned. "It may be in 25 years that you'll have the ability to return here on your own."

"Do you really think so?" Harry asked, curiously.

"I guess we'll see," Monroe replied. "Just don't expect things to happen like — that." Monroe snapped his fingers as he said the last word.

"Very funny," Harry muttered. But there was something he was still curious about. "So what will we be doing as we travel from universe to universe?"

"Whatever you want," Monroe told him. "At least, if I don't have something better for us to do."

"Alright, then, what have you been doing in all these universes you keep hopping around in?"

"Mostly visiting universes with you in them," Monroe said, candidly. "Or universes you had been in, until Voldemort killed you."

Harry looked nonplussed. "That doesn't sound very heroic of me," he complained. "Don't I ususally beat Voldemort and win the day like the hero of the story should do?"

Monroe shook his head slowly. "Sorry, Harry. In 99 times out of 100 universes Voldemort kills you, forces you into hiding, or drags the war on for years, even decades sometimes. Just look at the universe we visited where you died on Halloween night of 1981 — that's a good example."

"Yeah… about that," Harry said, ponderingly. "I was thinking we might go back to that universe and have another go at that Voldemort."

Monroe raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to go A.K. on me, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Never mind, it's a long story. I'll tell you sometime over a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. Let's go see about that Voldemort."

The two men vanished from this universe, leaving the still-normal Harry and Hermione alone and planning their future together.

~ooo~

The End