11 Cutting Time in Two

Day: 10 (continued)

It was Sirius's scream that tore through the air, following in the wake of a spell that would destroy everything that mattered to him. His arm swung wide at the last moment, sending the curse far over James's shoulder, a burst of willpower allowing him to break through the curse that was shackling him. He dropped his hands to his knees, taking in air as if he had been drowning.

Harry watched the scene numbly. It had been terribly close. He looked around cautiously, his head tilting slowly as he examined the area. The noise from the fight with the Death Eaters was filtering down the street, but otherwise there was no sign of life in this portion of the wizarding village.

"Impressive," a voice said from above.

Harry resisted the urge to swear violently; it was a voice that seemed disturbingly familiar.

Standing above a stationary store, dressed very plainly, a man with dark hair looked down on them. He seemed very ordinary, if perhaps a bit handsome even, his thin frame dressed in gray trousers, black vest and charcoal robes. His white shirt was buttoned up tight on his throat, making him look every ounce of respectable. His eyes, however, gleamed like hot coals, their red color unnatural but also somewhat fascinating.

Lord Voldemort took a step off the roof, stepping down as easily as if he were merely descending some stairs. Sirius stumbled to his feet as the man crossed elegantly toward them. A white wand that loked like carved bone looked delicate in his hand.

"I've heard of you, Sirius Black," he commented conversationally. "You've done well in your classes, Defense particularly. And now defending against an Unforgivable curse," His head tilted and he viewed Sirius through sideways eyes. "It's not something most can do. Your heritage is ancient and well known. But even you must admit that you've chosen the wrong path—it has cost you your family power and the wealth you'd have been given as the eldest son to the Black name." Voldemort's words hung over them as Sirius stared back, his lack expression was actually more of a danger.

Harry, couldn't help but feel almost amused. He had never been this close to Voldemort without inciting threats upon his person. Yet, those eerie red eyes weren't even glancing in his direction. He was nothing more than a bystander, a student not worth the Dark Lord's notice.

The man moved silkily, only a few steps forward, a faint look of, well it could almost be called appreciation. Harry was surprised how human the man looked; his voice was smoother as well, dripping from his mouth like venomous honey. "Join me, and I will restore your former glory—your family will welcome you back in their arms."

James scoffed and Harry silently agreed. Voldemort noted the gesture and his smile widened.

"If you would join me you'd be in a position to give protection to those whom you do claim," The dark Lord lowered his eyes on James, another shifting of expression that was difficult to read.

Sirius however bit his lip that hd been trembling slightly, "I'd never join you," Sirius ground out through his teeth, his face a mask of fury. His anger at the Dark Lord's threats seemed to have pushed all other emotions away. He wasn't afraid now.

Voldemort stood rather still, a small smile playing across his face.

"Accio, " Harry called quickly.

The summoning charm jerked Sirius to the left pulling him off his feet just as a bolt of green light flashed where he had been. The light had leaped from Voldemort's wand with only a slight twist of his wrist, the same motion one might use when swatting a fly.

"You never took rejection well," Harry replied casually. He tried to sound as glib and unconcerned but he knew his face was tinged with anger. James had moved beside Sirius, his own eyes flashing. He helped Sirius to his feet, trying to stand beside Harry.

"And you are...?" Voldemort asked icily, his red eyes finally glancing in the young man's direction.

" Not really important, right? Names are riddles, after all." Harry's own expression grew cold. Why had he said that? Better me than them, he thought—he could handle a Dark Lord's attentive eye.

Voldemort's expression flickered imperceptibly at the word "riddle". Suddenly Harry had his full attention. The Dark Lord raised his wand, running his slender fingers down the yew wood, a smile playing on his lips.

"You seem to know a great deal," he laughed softly. "But if you knew more you'd think wisely about airing such an attitude."

Harry elbowed James slightly; the young man had been edging closer and Harry'd prefer him anywhere but there. His gaze shifted around slightly, he had reason to believe that assistance would be arriving sometime soon—this was happening in the shadow of Hogwarts, after all. If he could drag this out longer he might be able to keep James and Sirius safe. They weren't supposed to die today.

"I know a lot of things," Harry agreed, moving his gaze back to Voldemort.

"Confidant," Voldemort said with a slightly mocking tone. "Fools always are. Have you learned the real secret yet, or are they still telling you bedtime stories about good and evil." He looked away for moment, speaking to the air around him, "There is only power. Which I have." He turned back as his hand gestured around the small village, eyes alight at the destruction. The Apothecary still smoldered nearby, the scent of smoke heavy in the air.

"Stupefy!"

Harry started as a red glowing light burst from under his elbow, shooting toward the Dark Lord. He turned his head slightly to see James with his wand raised.

Voldemort batted the spell away like it was a fly, his distaste apparent as he looked at James.

"A Potter, I believe," he said, he looked closely at Harry and James. "I wasn't aware of two young Potters," he stated. His wand moved rapidly, a silver dart shot from the tip like an arrow. Harry conjured a wooden shield on the spot; the blade struck the wood with enough force to sink thee inches into the shield, its tip visible and pointed at James's head.

James moved forward just as quickly. "Expelliarmus," he cried. He jumped in front of Harry.

Voldemort didn't even need to dodge, following up with two red spells that coursed through air, burning like sparklers and leaving shattered light in their wake. Harry wasn't familiar with the magic, but the light spiraling around the three teens left him with a very bad feeling.

"Get down!" Harry dragged James and Sirius to the ground while creating a protective layer above them. The two spells met in mid-air, bursting into a flame so hot that even behind his protective shield, Harry began to sweat.

From their position on the ground Harry turned his head to face James, "What do you think you're playing at?" he cursed under his breath.

"Fighting against a Dark Lord," James deadpanned. "What were you doing? Chatting him up, asking him to pop over for tea?"

"Point there," Sirius added.

"Stay out of this," Harry told him. "And you can follow that too," he directed this last bit a James, throwing in a glare for good measure.

"Why?" both asked simultaneously, their faces marred with rather identical expressions.

"It's like lecturing Fred and George," Harry decided suddenly feeling a sort of sympathy and sense of companionship for the Weasley matriarch.

Another spell burst from Voldemort's wand, striking the ground near Harry. The blast hit hard, sending pieces of the brick road through the air and firing shrapnel underneath the protective shield Harry had erected. Harry caught the worst of it, pieces of the sharp stone hitting his ear and tearing long cuts along the edges.

He clutched a hand to the side of his head for a moment, "Your way is working much better is it?" he gripped.

Harry pushing himself back into a crouching position, firing off a concussion hex and foot-tripping jinx; the blue and yellow spells shot so close together that for a moment it looked like a single green light. Voldemort would easily dodge them, or block them, but Harry used the distraction to summon a piece of debris that had probably once been apart of the Apothecary roof.

"Stay down," he ordered, tempted to lock James in a body bind.

"And how'd you become a bleeding expert?" James called back.

Harry ignored his father's protests as he rose to his feet, sweeping his wand downward motion as he did so, a faint yellow light sped from his wand, hardly noticeable on the sunny day. But before it even reached Voldemort's shield charm, it exploded, sending a blinding glare into the street.

Harry slapped a hand over his eyes at the last moment, keeping much of the light from hurting his own vision, he used the distraction to send a powerful slicing charm, the silver light leaping through the air flying through the air like the shine of a blade.

A piece of the broken street rose up to block the spell, the brick diced by the force of the pushed the rest aside with a wave of his wand. His suit, marred with some dirt from the upheaval of the street, was the only sign that he had been in a confrontation at all.

Harry wasn't tired. His magic was reacting to the need in the forceful, protective way that it had since the ward's collapse, and the energy burning in his chest was eager to be spent. Harry knew he would have to be careful not to let his anger and sincere hate of Voldemort color his intent. If this battle had to be, it would only be to protect James and Sirius. This could not be some renegade attempt at killing his parents' murderer.

"Fractus!" Harry shouted, he pointed his wand at the ground. The power behind the spell made it appear almost solid, a hammer of black light hit the street bucking the ground up three feet, creating a small division between the three Gryffindors and Voldemort. The power behind the spell made a ridge that was three meters at it's highest point and ran for over ten meters.

"Okay, that was pretty neat," Sirius muttered.

"How's that going to let you fight him?" James argued. His father was still blinking somewhat, the blinding blast of light seemed to have caught someone. Course he would have been fine if he'd been behind the roof Harry mentally chided.

Voldemort's red eyes were watching him closely; Harry was feeling as if he were some sort of clever pet. While his expression didn't deviate from that carefully regulated smile, the rapid examination was easy to discern.

"Impressive, and I mean it this time," Voldemort said. "Black would have been amusing." He waved his pale hand dismissively. "But you are interesting."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I thought you wanted to recruit him into your merry band of murderers and fiends—you were going to give him back his family and spare his loved ones right?" Harry's fingers twitched as he recalled Voldemort's offer.

The Dark Lord showed little concern at being caught in a lie. "I said it would be amusing, but you can't imagine I'd really want such a failure. You would be a good addition," he said softly.

"We both know you'll kill me for what I know," Harry said slowly, his own eyes never leaving the older man. He was not the monster Harry knew; that part of himself was still well-hidden behind a cunning guise.

"I'd never get rid of a useful tool," Voldemort allowed with a smile.

" Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous/ Tranfeso Animati!" James had emerged again, his wand moving faster this time. His first three spells pointed at the Dark Lord—the fourth, however, struck another piece of roof, transfiguring it into a large dog that then turned to attack with a growl.

He had stood up from behind the shelter Harry had provided, his expression a mixture of pride and determination: he would have made an excellent recruitment the overeagerness a bit; he is still really smart But the reality is never as good as the illusion. His spells were batted away and the dog was shattered into a thousand pieces.

Sirius reared up. "Etico!" A bolt of bluish lightning shot from his wand, fleeing through the air. The light striking the dark wizard and crisscrossing against his skin.

"Who's amusing now!" he crowed.

With a wash of energy that left them stumbling, the electrical energy died. "The adults are talking," Voldemort said patronizingly. He brushed his clothes, looking rather disdainful. With a subtle flick he shot an arching orb of blue light, forcing James to dive behind the piece of roof Harry had summoned.

"Are you being diverted by students?" The voice was familiar, but the speaker unseen. A weak tangle to bluish light shot from a direction opposite of the voices's origin. It got caught in Voldemort's sheild making the man offer a laugh that could almost sound genuine.

"Barten, Barten, you and your pathetic little games." The tone was almost jovial.

The Defense professor stepped forward from where the spell had been cast. Harry wondered for a moment how he managed to throw his voice like that. Still, whatever Voldemort claimed Harry thought it was a rather clever trick. Pity it hadn't worked.

Barten was walking with weary steps. He was sporting a cut on his cheek and another on his chin, the red seeping into the collar of his shirt and robe.

"Ah, Barten, I see you aren't wasting your time playing at auror anymore." Voldemort he laughed coldly his face twisting, "You've taken up the simple post of Defense teacher, how suitable a for a near-squib Mudblood." The insult was uttered with a slight snarl.

"I'm sure you'll be missed. Avada Kedavra." The green spell flew from Voldemort's wand, forcing Barten to join his students behind the chunk of debris. Sirius crouched, his wand clutched tightly in his hand as he peered over the . James was fuming, rubbing at his wrist with a frown. He'd landed on it in his recent dive for cover.

"Been busy Professor?" James asked.

Barten didn't seem terribly amused by the playful attitude. "This isn't the place for you."

"Stupefy !" James cast fiercely turning his back on the professor. Harry rolled his eyes; at least his father was persistent.

Voldemort spun at the last minute, an excited expression on his face as he missed the red light by inches. James seemed to take some sense of courage from this, he rose to his feet and stood beside Harry.

Harry glanced back at the professor, silently urging him to take charge of the other two, a glum shrug from Barten was his only response.

James had fired another spell which Voldemort blocked with a wave of his wand. James wasn't bad, really; he had a fluidity that was above average and an ease in casting. It was only his lack of battle experience that made him a pain in the ass.

" For the last time, don't interfere," Voldemort snapped; once again, his distaste for James incited little emotion. He flung his wand out in a sharp flip, the end coming down hard. "Crucio!" he cast, the pronunciation a snarl.

Harry reacted instinctively, swinging between James and the spell; the magic locking into his nerves produced an unimaginable pain. He dropped to his hand and knees, screaming as the red hot magic burned through his body. Through the pain he forced his hand to keep hold of his wand, trying to think only of the grain of the wood under his fingers. The surplus of magic he constantly dealt with was rushing through his body faster than the pain.

"Crutoes," Barten cast, a jet of fiery orange light catching Voldemort's elbow as the man held the spell on Harry. The force of the Defense professor's spell forced the wand away.

Harry wheezed on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He shook his head, removing some of the fuzz that had latched onto his brain. He caught James's eyes somehow; his young father kneeled beside him, the expression on his face had lost all bravado. He stared at Harry as if he were watching the worst sight he'd ever seen. And maybe he was.

Barten had moved in the predictable professor manner, in other words, acting as a human shield. Harry could see his knees very well from his vantage point. His posture was lank and yet still defiant: he stood before the dark lord as other people had done. All those other people had died—Harry knew this well enough and he was certain Barten did too.

The wall that Harry had created to limit Voldemort's movements was working against Barten. The man's physical fighting skills were impossible to tap into without landing right next to the Dark Lord. Harry frowned, Barten was magically tired, and he'd likely been relying on physical attacks for some time now. But then, not many wizards could manage a Patronus and then engage in a fight with Death Eaters. Harry shakily rose to his feet, not certain if it was the remnants of the torture curse or his own hot magic coursing through his veins that left him feeling rattled.

Barten twisted his wrist back, his robes shoved back at his elbows. The oak wand he held came down with a striking motion that released a glowing blue light. Harry thought he felt a chill from the magic as it passed. But the spell splattered across the front of the ethereal glowing shield that Voldemort had conjured.

"Fractinous," Voldemort cast in a bored manner. The red spell pushed Barten to the left, another spell, a muttered word and an orange streak of light, forced him to the right. Barten's physical ability was helping to strengthen his dueling, but his movements were slowing. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he moved to avoid another silent curse Voldemort had sent his way.

Harry knew a cat playing with a mouse when he saw one.

Barten raised his wand, his tired voice shouting a curse into the air. But a spell needed both power and concentration to be effective, and Barten was already losing what power he had to begin with.

Voldemort flicked his own magical tool, sending a fractured light spiraling away from him. Without pausing another silent burst of magic issued from his wand, a gray light that didn't seem to shine. The second spell was wide, flying through the air like a sledgehammer. Barten swerved for the first but couldn't correct for the massive blast of gray magic that caught his abdomen.

Harry heard a gasp behind him, James's eyes were opened wide.

The light absorbed into his body like water into a towel. For a moment, the Defense professor stood very still. His wand hand dropped slightly, almost as if to clutch at his stomach. Harry's green eyes narrowed and his mouth opened slightly. Barten's chest exploded outward.

Nothing Harry had seen could have prepared him for it. It was almost like a Muggle grenade had been released inside Barten: the muscle had exploded out, looking like raw meat under the glare of the sun. His intestines curled from thehis body like snakes. Barten's skin had paled to the color of milk, and the splattering of blood stood out in sharp contrast to the lack of color. His body dropped bonelessly, hitting the ground hard in a manner that made Harry think that some thing had fallen; Barten wasn't a person anymore. It lay in the dirt, blood filling the hole that had opened where the chest should be, eyes closed.

James stood mutely; a splattering of red made his face look freckled. Sirius had been closer than any of them and a side of his face was practically painted. He touched his cheek with his fingertips, his eyes widening when he realized that the wet coating his face was blood.

Harry swayed for only a moment when he stood to his feet.

"Now that has been taken care of," Voldemort allowed, tipping his head, a charming smile oozing from his face.

"Convincing," Harry muttered, looking down at the street at all the destruction. Harry could feel the magic within him struggling. A few pieces of brick and other debris pulled free of gravity and hovered unnoticed at ankle level. Harry focused on a sharp bit and sent it spinning, trying to put the excess magic to work.

"Ventus," Voldemort cast, a dark green blur shooting in Harry's direction; the light was quickly followed by a silent spell that barely displaced the air as it moved.

The magic hanging around him caught the spells like a spiderweb, trapping them in the air before him. Harry's mind continued to toy with the spinning brick, watching the speed increase as he pushed more focus. Unlike most wizards, Harry's magical levels didn't drop due to physical weariness; instead, they seemed to grow fed by his own

The spells caught in Harry's net fell to the ground like glass when he raised his head. Voldemort seemed to spy those green eyes and a thrill seemed to fill the air.

They both reacted at the same time, a crisscrossing of magic that made the air smell like ozone. The colors from the spells bled into each other and their voices bounced off the buildings in the village. The magical volley left them at a standstill as both fought the other with tightly controlled powers. It must have only lasted for less than a minute but when the pair paused the street was littered with scorch marks.

Harry propelled the still spinning piece of brick, and all the others that were floating nearby. One stone cut to the side, slicing through Voldemort's magical shields, its momentum too fast to control tightly. It drew a long gash along the Dark Lord's cheek. Those red eyes narrowed but there was no other emotion as Voldemort blasted a sharp edged silver spell that broke through the roof protecting James and Sirius, slicing through the debris like a knife. Sirius hissed and brought a hand to his shoulder, pressing into the sleeve of his shirt that was rapidly turning crimson.

"Lesson boy," Voldemort hissed, "you fools always have more to lose."

Harry nodded. "It's better than nothing."

" Bastard!" Sirius yelled letting his wrist rest upon the remaining structure. "Foroctious!" His spell arched wide, a spinning disc of magic that drove forward like a sledgehammer.

Voldemort's shield shuddered as the spell hit, forcing him back a few feet.

Sirius was breathing heavily, anger licking at his expression.

Voldemort raised his wand, preparing another spell for the Gryffindors, but Harry stepping away moving outside the ring of upraised road. The concussion hex was more reaction than skill but knocked Voldemort away from his intended targets.

Harry pulled to the right, nearing the Dark Lord with a faint, challenging gleam in his eyes. It was almost as if the world had stopped. The smoke stopped coming from the Apothecary, the air died to nothing. There was a sense of expectation in this confrontation and Harry found himself forgetting some important things. Like where and when he was. Looking at the Dark Lord he had a tired feeling; he'd done this too many times.

Harry wasn't prepared for the blast of black energy that spiraled toward him, moving with a fluidity that sliced through the air. There was something hypnotic about that light—he only managed to spin out of reach a second before it would have hit his face.

Harry responded quickly, his magic reaching out and grabbing the debris on the ground and throwing debris through the air like horizontal rain.

Voldemort blocked fairly well, pushed most of it away, fragments breaking through and tearing at his clothing. But this seemed to matter little, his arm reached over his hand and moved behind like a lasso, a spell that looked like a whip of fire sprang from his wand.

Harry did what seemed natural, he pushing back with a wall of water that met the Dark Lord's spell in the space between them, sending up a wave of steam that hissed thunderously between them.

Behind him, Voldemort laughed, a high tone that brought back Harry's nightmares and he forgot himself again. He might have plunged ahead, bearing down on the Dark Lord with all his surplus magic, but he realized that the steam wasn't fading. It was filling the air; not disappearing like a cloud but keeping a solid shape. Harry could see Voldemort grinning, or rather baring his teeth, through the mist that continued to hiss.

Hissing, indeed, in a way that was starting to seem vaguely intelligible.

"Attack ," came a hissed order, forcing Harry to turn in the Dark Lord's direction. He quickly looked upward at the swirling mist, its shape now fully formed. It was serpentine but without much distinction a curl of steam that made the air hot. A blast of scalding steam ripped through the air, it hit the brick near Harry leaving the masonry unmarked by anything except moisture. However, Harry didn't need to experience the creature's 'touch' to understand the danger represented. He was sweating already from being close to the monster.

"Left ," Voldemort hissed, sending the creature down on Harry. He spun out of the way of a direct hit but he gritted his teeth to avoid yelling out as his hand managed to catch some of the spray. Saying it like that minimized it, the feeling was akin to sticking your hand in a pot of boiling water. In moments the back of his hand was already turning red. The thing was massive: there was no blocking it.

There wasn't a mouth on this thing that Voldemort had created, and while the steam hissed, it remained indistinct to Harry's ears. Yet as Harry observed it he noticed the creature move even further to his left, Harry glanced over his shoulder shook in head.

It had to be a bloody Thursday—there was no way this was Saturday.

"Stop ," Harry ordered, his voice just as firm and commanding, as if he knew it would work. There was no way that it would, actually. "Stop!" he repeated, if only because of the futility of the situation. Damn it; how did one stop a monster made of steam? He must have dozed off in one of his Defense classes because he really didn't recall them covering this.

But for all the futility his hissed order did seem to make a slight difference.

The steam creature seemed to still, the hissing noise increased. Harry looked hopeful. Well, that would be nice.

"You," Voldemort's human voice came through the hissing, filled with an odd interest. Harry realized now why the beast had stopped.

He focused on the Dark Lord, using this moment of distraction to think clearly. His wrist twisted along the tip of his wand to spin in a tight circle, not casting but letting power flicker near the tip.

"You are mine, boy. There is no doubt. We are the same, and no one else would have you but me." Voldemort's words were uttered with a knowing tone that sickened Harry; but the mention of rejection sent his eyes flickering toward James. Sirius and James were the only ones near enough to have heard his Parseltongue command. Call him a coward, but he couldn't look. He didn't want to know what he'd see.

Harry's wand twisted and turned; the magic that was building beneath the tip was so icy cold that Harry felt the skin on his hand stiffen from the chill.

"I might have been looking for acceptance once," he said without looking at James, "but I'm my own now." He didn't yell; it was his magic that diced open the sky, not his voice—a fearsome twist of blue and silver light striking the stream serpent. The spell was co cold that the temperature dropped five degrees. The creature hissed louder, its screeches making those near cower. The thing broke apart, raining down as if a cloud had burst open. The street was soaked in water; puddles piled up in the holes that had been created and the blood around Barten diluted some and began seeping among the cracks in the brickwork.

Harry heaved as he looked down at the ground, the magic still heavy around him, leaving a chill to the sunny day. He was drenched from head to toe, his black, messy hair laying flat against his face, his clothes dripping. Not far from him the Dark Lord was in a similar condition, but Voldemort's quickness of breath was more from anger than exertion. His temper, usually well-contained, broke to the surface. He looked around angrily, his wand moving to the side and capturing a metal bench in a black energy.

The bench flew through the air, aimed at Harry's head with a reckless force.

Harry reacted more on instinct than thought. His wand jerked upward sharply, blasting the bench with a banishing charm.

Harry watched numbly at what happened next, the bench was revolving, so fast that one of the legs struck Voldemort's wand arm fiercely as it passed. The bench kept flying, finally finding its resting place in the window display of the stationary store, scattering paper and quills throughout the street.

Voldemort stood stiffly, silent; his arm was bleeding heavily, a piece of bone visibly jabbing through his skin and robe, his fingers just barely managing to keep his wand from tumbling between his fingers.

Harry would later find it amusing that the closest he'd come to defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort, since he was a baby would involve a metal bench. Power the Dark Lord knows not, eh? Well-crafted British ironwork, a possibility indeed.

But he was spared this humorous introspection when a loud pop heralded another arrival. Albus Dumbledore looked even more impressive than he did in Harry's years. He swept into the village, his turquoise robes looking very sharp under the bright sun. He turned toward Voldemort, his wand raised and a grim expression making him look very different from the friendly headmaster he was known to be.

"This isn't over," Voldemort said to Harry, making no notice of the pain that must have been coursing through his arm.

Harry nodded.

With a pop, Tom Riddle was gone, leaving nothing but destruction to show he had been there.

"Mr. P—Tempus," Dumbledore said, nearing him steadily.

"Nice timing," Harry said his eyes flashing, he adopted a false mocking tone. "Busy buying lemon drops, were you?"

Dumbledore examined him as Luna might examine a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. "Not quite so enjoyable. The Minister needed some of my time." He rested his hand on the boy's shoulder cautiously.

Further up the street, another troupe of aurors had emerged and began to march about in a very official looking manner. Harry wondered why he'd ever wanted to be an auror.

"I'll see to matters, if you're alright..."

Harry nodded, dismissing the concern and gesturing toward the Ministry employees.

He watched as the old man walked away. Dumbledore was in his element, easily finding the person in charge and establishing some control over the situation. Harry wondered how he did it, but then being either Headmaster or teacher to most of the wizards in England did give him plenty of blackmail: the old man had the goods on him.

Another batch of aurors arrived and soon the figures were crowding the street. Harry watched as they broke apart looking for any stragglers, but it seemed that the battle was done.

Harry wheezed. It was surprising, but for once, Dumbledore's arrival didn't save him; it didn't trumpet a feeling of relief. Harry didn't know how he felt. Despite knowing better, he did feel a desire to defeat Voldemort now, back in this time when he couldn't destroy so much of Harry's life. This was perhaps a very normal response, but no one would be able to foresee what such meddling might result. Thus, when you considered the consequences, Dumbledore had saved him yet again. The barmy old codger.

"Harry! HARRY!" James had approached without his noticing and waved a hand in front of his face. Harry looked up negligently.

"Yeah?" he asked, not giving James much of his attention and looking out at the town instead. Another group had arrived. They didn't look military issue, as those previous, and were seeing to the Apothecary fire and assisting the townsfolk who were emerging from their hiding places.

Harry found himself moving back to where Sirius was still sitting, leaning against the shattered remains of the Apothecary roof that had guarded them well. He avoided looking at Barten. A bunch of aurors were crawling all over him. Harry didn't know what they hoped to do; maybe just clean up the mess. The dead and injured were all being portkeyed away, probably to St. Mungos, with little distinction being made between them. In a moment, Barten was gone as well, leaving only a street stained with blood and still drenched in water.

Sirius stood up straighter when they neared, watching the rescue operation in the same uninterested manner that Harry was. It had been a difficult afternoon for the young Gryffindors. James was sporting a large scrape on one side of his face that would probably blossom into an impressive bore a similar mark from earlier and his shoulder was looking gruesome. He'd wrapped some cloth around it and Harry trusted that it would keep until he was subjected to Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies. He was actually a bit more curious about how they were mentally handling all this. He hadn't heard much out of James since the Cruciatus curse and Barten's violent death. Still as they stood among the wreckage Harry wasn't about to ask.

"Harry, how did you do that?" James asked, striding beside his dorm mate.

"Practice," Harry answered tiredly. "You know, makes things perfect and all that. Eat your sweets." He shrugged, not meeting James's eyes.

"Harry!"

The shout forced Harry to look up, meeting a similar pair of green eyes. Lily's red hair was scattered about messily and she tripped over the debris in the street as she ran towards them. Harry was a little surprised at the concern she demonstrated, but he accepted it without question.

"Hey, Lily," he replied weakly.

"I wanted to come and help but everyone was so frightened in the Three Broomsticks, and then I thought maybe I'd only make it worse..." She trailed off once she'd gotten close enough. She patted his arm and gnawed at her lip. "Are you alright?"

Her question was met with a smile as Harry stood in the street, watching as the cleanup crew continued to hustle about. More citizens were emerging; with the aurors, rescue workers and Hogsmeade residents, the streets were filling up. Harry ducked behind his friends when he saw the injured woman and girl he had helped earlier. She seemed to be looking around for a moment but one of the rescue workers spotted her still-bleeding arm and whisked her away before she had a chance to thank her hero.

But the rescue workers and aurors didn't seem to be the only people who had come; Harry spotted a handful of reporters and photographers. They were wandering through the carnage like buzzards, asking the dazed victims for firsthand accounts.

Harry wasn't worried until he noticed a pair of journalists over at the Three Broomsticks. Rosemerta spoke to them hurriedly, raising her hand and pointing in the teenagers' direction.

The pair, one tall, the other short, hurriedly crossed over.

"You boys are quite the heroes, standing up against You-Know-Who," the short, weedy-looking reporter said. He tapped his chin with a pencil before poising it on a small notepad. "Anything you want to tell our readers? What sort of curses did he throw at you? Did you think you'd die? Which of you fought back?" The man rattled off a list of questions and no one seemed eager to respond; even James's love for the limelight seem to be doused at the moment.

Flash.

Harry blinked as the tall man with the magical camera took a picture of their little group, green smoke rising into the air.

"We didn't really do much," James finally said, looking at the ground. He glanced at Harry.

"No comment," Harry said coolly, taking a cue from famous movie stars.

The reporter zeroed in on him. "Come on, boy: what did you have to do with it? Three witnesses said that a dark-haired young man fought the Dark Lord. Which of you was it?"

James, Sirius and Harry all had dark hair. They glanced at the others, James raising in eyebrows in a manner that seemed to be urging Harry to step up and take his reward.

Harry's equally stony expression had them each remaining quiet.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine," the annoying reporter said. " I can make the story just as interesting with any of you. What year are you in school? Sixth? Seventh?"

"I don't think this is really any of your business," Lily said in a snotty manner. "You and your kind are just blocking the apparation points that emergency personnel need." She had crossed her arms and looked every inch the prefect she was.

The photographer snapped another picture, blinding them for a moment.

"He's the one," an old man said, wobbling over on a cane. His crooked finger pointed out Harry to an Auror. "He fought the Dark Lord and saved us all," the man rasped.

"Some questions, if you don't mind," an auror said, bustling the reporter out of his way. The small journalist simply hunkered down a bit, his ear almost directly below the auror's elbow.

Another flash had them all blinking as the photographer managed to get an auror into the shot.

"If you'd follow me for a moment?" the auror asked Harry, trying to tug him away. The man was tall with ginger hair and a heroic looking chin.

Harry dug in his heels. "And why should I be following you? I didn't have anything to do with this."

"YOU blasted A BENCH through my shop, sob, window!" the owner of the stationary store yelled, his voice quivering either because of anger of sadness. The frazzled old man kept tugging at his shoulder-length hair as he examined the damage to his shop. His face really was the most amazing shade of puce.

"Well, it's not like that was on purpose!" Harry argued right back. "It was sort of...flung my way."

This seemed to enough of a confirmation to send the reporters into a buzz. A few more of the scavengers had gathered, clamoring for attention.

"How did you fight the—well, you know who?" A red head with a bad perm asked, shoving her way past a bunch of old witches who had huddled near him gaping.

"What's your connection to the Dark Lord?!" the weedy man from earlier shouted, not to be outdone by his competition.

"What's your name?" questioned a strict-looking man with a thin moustache.

Harry smiled as one might when faced with a rabid dog. "Well, now, I really must be going—cake in the oven, got to feed the cat, hate to...but, hey, really must run." Harry politely ploughed his way through the gathering crowd, even managing to lose the auror who was following him by sliding behind a group of dim-witted teenagers that were standing around not really certain of what to do.

Those dim-witted teenagers managed to block the path nicely. They were especially useful considering one of them looked a fair bit like the young wizard who was the center of attention.

"Wait there, young man," an older auror with thick grey hair said, pinching the look-a-like's ear and tugging him back into the crowd.

"Ow," James groused as the auror didn't show any sign of releasing his lobe from the vice-like grip. "I'm not him!" he yelled, lifting his hand and gesturing toward Harry who was escaping in the direction of Hogwarts.

His gesture spurred the crowd to pick up its pursuit, James remaining behind and frowning as he rubbed his ear.

The tall photographer from earlier must have been a sprinter at one time (he certainly had long enough legs), or maybe his skills had been built by chasing celebrities. He managed to draw near and snap another picture of Harry's retreating back, which oddly enough caused Harry to pause and turn around.

"Accio," Harry called, yanking the magical camera from his pursuer's grasp.

"Hey!" the photographer yelled taking a few march-like steps forward.

Harry had already turned around and was examining the magical camera with a smile on his face. The speedy photographer was quickly on his tail, and tapped Harry on the shoulder in an irritated manner.

"That's private property," the man began to say, taking a deep breath. "The newspaper has a right to print the news if it is newsworthy, freedom of the press and—" It was the sort of tirade that any good rag pusher would memorize, and the man was somewhat shocked, or so his expression seemed to say, when he was locked in a full body bind and left lying in the street.

When the photographer's report-partner arrived he was released, but only looked up to see that the crowd from earlier had gathered beside him, watching the young wizard, but not pursuing him.

"He took my camera," the man complained, mostly to himself because he realized that no one looked particularly sorry for him.

"Who's gonna stop him?" Sirius Black questioned, causing the heads around him to nod.

The photographer was left to bemoan his purloined property without much commiseration as Harry Potter, the nameless hero of Hogsmeade, wandered up the path to Hogwarts and out of sight.

The crowd soon dispersed. The teachers had arrived and, after huddling around Dumbledore, they began rounding up students still in the village and pushing them to Hogwarts as well; James and his comrades were treated no differently. They had lingered for a moment longer, watching the spectacle, but McGonagall was soon giving them the boot, her sharp eyes ignoring their protests and pushing them along.

Most of the other students were walking ahead, the crowd of heads appearing and disappearing on the winding path. Lily was among them; she'd caught up with Morgan and seemed more than eager to leave James and his friends behind now that Harry was gone.

"Where do you think Harry went?" Remus asked. He was walking next to Sirius, slowing his steps to match Sirius's stride as the Marauders wearily began working their way back to the school. While none of them had been badly injured, they all felt drained from the ordeal. Peter hadn't said a word since the group was reunited, and James didn't try to draw him into a conversation despite walking beside him.

"Back to the school, I suppose," Sirius said, he looked behind him at the village.

"I think maybe we should talk to him about this. You know, before the rest of the school gets a hold of him." Remus looked ahead; the transfer student didn't seem to enjoy attention much. It stood to reason that he could use some friends to get through the coming week. Merlin help him when the reporters found out: he might prefer a Dark Lord.

"Yeah, maybe," Sirius answered distractedly. He glanced back at James, but James Potter's face was set firmly, nodding along with Remus.

"Yeah." He glanced at Sirius. "He'll need friends."

"Where do you think he'd go, the dorm?" Remus speculated.

Sirius shrugged.

"Wait a tick," James paused. Digging into his pockets. James's pockets really were the most amazing things: they were known to hold practically anything, his mother had charmed them to be bigger inside than out. He reached his arm in past his elbow, finally pulling out a piece of parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," James chanted, tapping the parchment.

"You found it?" Sirius asked. He fell back a bit until he was walking beside James. Peter got shuffled out of the way a bit and trailed behind, seemingly not interested.

"Yeah, it was buried in an old Transfiguration book—can't even imagine how it got there." James scratched his head in a puzzled manner.

Remus snorted and continued walking ahead. "I can; your trunk is a mess."

The three paused and Peter kept walking, until he finally seemed to have moved as far away from them as he dared to go. He shuffled from foot to foot.

"Come on, guys," Peter called. "Let's get back to the castle."

"Just a minute," James argued, not looking up. "Harry, Harry..." James peered closely at the parchment. The map didn't show Hogsmeade but it showed a good bit of the path that led up to the Hogwarts grounds. It had been added only the past year, after they'd nearly bumped into McGonagall heading down to the village one evening. (Sirius claimed she was probably on a date but the thought of the Transfiguration teacher dating was too disgusting to consider and so the discussion was promptly dropped.)

"Let's go," Peter urged again.

"If you want to go back so bad, well, go on then," Sirius snapped angrily.

Peter shut his mouth and remained a slight distance from the others.

The transfer student couldn't be that far ahead. James scanned the trail leading up to the grounds, skipping over the mass of students that were ahead of them.

"There, Harry..." James stared blankly at the small dot that was standing just outside the castle's gates.

"What is it, James?" Remus asked.

James stood woodenly, his eyes glued to the two short words imprinted on the map."The map...never lies...?" he asked, voice cracking with doubt.

Remus lifted an eyebrow, stopping to look back at the frozen teenager. It was an odd question coming from James, as he had been the one to find the 'seeing spell' which allowed the map to see things as they really were, not tricked by disguises or even animagi forms.

"I—someone else needs to tell me that they are seeing this." James pushed the map away and handed it to Sirius.

"What am I looking for?" his friend asked.

"Harry. He's up by the gates. Um—see anything odd?"

"Nope," Sirius answered with a shrug.

"What do you mean, 'nope'?" James jerked the paper away, scrutinizing the parchment.

"I mean 'nope' as in, there is nothing there. Harry isn't there. Where did you see him?"

James's eyes flickered over the page. He shook his head. "I saw him there a moment ago. He couldn't have disappeared so fast."

"What was the matter, anyway?" Remus asked.

James paused for a moment. "I thought...well, I thought I saw his last name."

"So?" Sirius asked, turning to Remus with a curious look.

"And it was 'Potter'," James answered, his mouth feeling dry.

"POTTER, BLACK, and Mr. Lupin—I'm surprised at you." Professor McGonagall was trudging up behind them, her pointed hat askew. She yanked it off her head as she neared them, slapping it against her leg irritably. "What do you think you are doing? Get back to the castle. Mr. Black, you need to be in the hospital wing! I should have had you all Portkeyed there. Now stop straggling." She took their shoulders and lead them toward the castle. She didn't even need to say a word to know that Remus would follow.

James had reacted on instinct to the sound of a professor's voice and had stuffed the map out of sight, but he sorely wanted to take it out and find the little dot labeled Harry Potter.

A few insignificant moments prior.

Harry stuffed the magical camera into his trunk, looking hesitantly at the Boa Vine. It really wasn't looking good; he had to plan some time for sun, maybe. Still, he closed the lid of the trunk for the moment, shrinking it before stuffing it back in his pocket.

He grinned slightly at his latest achievement: snagging that camera was a real lucky break.

Oh, and the Voldemort thing had gone well, too. At any rate, he hadn't killed his parents which was always a positive thing for any time traveler. He was starting to worry less about what his intentions back there had been; it had all worked out for the best, yeah? Not worth quibbling about now at the moment. He might have to hide out for a few days, but he supposed that Dumbledore could contain any overly curious Ministry officials and infuriating reporters.

He was nearing Hogwarts's gates, walking towards them at a steady pace. The sun was getting a little lower and some clouds were moving in. Maybe there will be a storm tonight, he mused. Maybe it would help in washing things away.

Harry paused for a moment to enjoy this, to simply enjoy his continued existence. It was then that he noticed the chill. He found himself wondering for a moment if his magic was remembering the bolt of cold he had sent at that snake-like steam. But then he realized that it was coming from inside of him, coursing up his spine and covering his skin in goose-flesh.

Yes, he thought. This seems about right.

And with that, Harry Potter disappeared.

James Potter and Sirius Black had finally been released from the Hospital Wing. Remus had been the lucky one: he'd managed to leave an hour ago with only a bar of chocolate. Sirius and James had been captured by the enemy. Indeed, Madame Pomfrey's rant had been more an ordeal than what had happened in Hogsmeade. Apparently Sirius's shoulder was worse off than even he knew, they got an earful for that. ("Did you WANT to loose your arm?") A few scraps and bruises, which she'd left as a lesson, still existed but any major injury was completely healed. Sirius thought the shoulder wound would give him a sexy scar. Something that he seemed to think would really aid in 'wooing the ladies', as if the dog needed any help.

James finally got a chance to look around through his pocket again, fishing out the map and opening it up. He hadn't been able to wipe it clean earlier and so the lines and moving dots were still present. He scanned the page trying to find some evidence of Harry Tempus, or Potter as the case may be.

"Looking for your brother?" Sirius teased.

"We don't know...he might not be my brother," James argued.

"Face it, Prongs: your dad's got a secret branch on the family tree." Sirius moved on ahead a bit. "Let's head to the Hall for dinner; I'm starving. Your brother will probably be there."

James's face had a sour expression as he continued searching the document: the Great Hall was empty of any Harry Potters.

"Hello, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black," another voice intruded. James once again hid the map into his pockets; he really had to be more self-aware. Then again, it wasn't everyday you learned of your bastard half-brother.

"Evening, Headmaster," he answered, offering a weak smile.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen Mr. Tempus?" the older man asked.

James blanched. "Er, no sir."

The old man looked thoughtful for a moment. "As I had thought," he said simply. "I hope you boys are planning on a dinner after today's difficulties. Nothing like a rich pudding to remedy such trying times."

James nodded. "Yes, sir." He cringed upon realizing that he was sounding a little too obedient.

The headmaster moved away towards the dungeons, and James sagged.

"We'll find Tempus later and you can ask him. Maybe he was adopted or something, don't know where the map gets the names from," Sirius said with a shrug. "I'm hungry."

James paused. "Sirius, about today..."

"I wouldn't have done it," Sirius said suddenly. He looked away, almost as if he couldn't look at James. "I didn't, I wouldn't have..."

"Huh?" James quirked his head, confused about the course of this conversation.

"When I was, you know...well, I didn't do it. You're well, you know I wouldn't, right...?" Sirius looked at the empty halls.

James slowly realized what they were talking about. "Of course you wouldn't." He slung an arm around Sirius's shoulder. "Marauders don't AK other Marauders. I think that's a rule somewhere—have to have Moony check the mission statement or something."

Sirius's shoulders sagged some, releasing the tension that had been holding him so stiffly.

" No, what I was thinking about was...well, you heard Tempus, didn't you? Hissing to the Dark Lord."

Sirius nodded.

"I was thinking we wouldn't mention that to anyone. He sort of saved our lives—"

"I wasn't planning on it," Sirius stated sincerely.

James glanced his way, dropping the mental arguments he'd been preparing. "I expected righteous indignation. Well, he must be a Parselmouth."

Sirius looked ahead. "Doesn't matter to me— not if it's him, anyway," he stated.

"Nor to me," James agreed.

The Great Hall was ablaze with voices. The students who had been in the village were running at the mouth while the younger years were eagerly listening. Speculation about the 'Battle of Hogsmeade' was running rampant. Of course, most of the people who were doing the talking hadn't been anywhere near the battle, not from what James had seen anyway. Really, they all seemed a little stupid: gossiping and chatting about it as if it had been an exciting Quidditch match. James found himself getting angry, and he glared at a fourth year who was richly detailing the deaths of the first auror squad. Those listening to him "oohed" and "ahhed", making him want to punch them. And physical violence usually wasn't his thing.

Remus and Peter had saved them some seats and he plopped down grumpily. The food hadn't arrived yet so he focused on his plate, trying to ignore the stares and comments that were erupting around him.

Remus was talking about something but James found it hard to pay attention. Bill Hodgins, a fifth year Gryffindor, was sharing what little he'd managed to see of Harry's battle with Voldemort.

"Then Professor Barten shows up and tries to take on the Dark Lord. They fought and Barten was pretty amazing. Tempus got hit with some curse and just started screaming."

James frowned at the implied tone. Tempus had taken a Unforgivable for him; even if the guy was his bastard half-brother, he wasn't going to sit by when others talked bad about him.

Hodgins continued, unaware of Mt. James and its increasing chance of explosion. "Then I saw Barten start fighting the Dark Lord. He was amazing! He dodged and started around—he even hit, well, you know, with a curse to save Tempus."

"What happened next?" a young girl asked, glancing up at the teacher table. Barten was nowhere in to be seen.

"I don't know," Hodgins said with a shrug. "It was then that they got this idea to board up the windows with some of the tables."

"I heard Tempus fought the Dark Lord," another fifth year chimed in.

"He couldn't do that," another person stated.

" I heard Barten's dead," a girl with pigtails added.

Hodgins glared at her. "Who told you that?"

The girl shrugged.

James glared at his plate. This wasn't something to gossip about: it wasn't a scandal or prank. Suddenly, he vividly remembered Tempus thrashing on the ground, his mouth like a gaping wound as he screamed. And Barten. James took a sip of water. He suddenly wanted to take a scorching hot shower. All of their professor's blood had been magically wiped from his person, yet he could almost still feel the spray that had coated his face. It was almost like he was back there—he had really thought he was going to die. To hell with that, he really could have died. It wasn't a "what if?" Given the odds, it was probably more likely that he wouldn't have walked away from that.

"Shut it!" Sirius yelled beside him, knocking him from his thoughts. "Don't talk about what you don't understand."

The students near them quieted before whispering began again. About what, James thankfully couldn't hear.

"Stupid little pricks," Sirius muttered.

"You can't blame them from being curious," Remus said softly. "What did happen?"

"Barten died and Tempus fought Voldemort until Dumbledore came," Sirius said simply, not bothering to elaborate.

Remus seemed filled with his own curiosity but knew that this wasn't the time to ask. James was glad of his friend's tact; he really didn't want to go through it again either.

James managed to glance down the table. Lily was patting Alice's arm gently, her lovely face drawn in concern. The usually friendly blonde was very pale; she kept licking her lips and her eyes looked red.

"What happened to Alice?" James asked, looking toward Remus.

The werewolf shifted uncomfortably. "I heard that Frank is still in the Hospital Wing; they may have to send him to St. Mungo's. Apparently they got caught in some crossfire past where we were." Remus's gaze seemed a little flinty as he glanced at Alice.

James swallowed. It could have been worse, couldn't it?

"Excuse me," Dumbledore called out, tapping the staff table with his wand. James looked up at him, numbly. This produced no effect, giving the Headmaster the opportunity to let off purple sparks, something he very much enjoyed doing.

The room quieted to a lull. "Good. Now, I know we are all concerned about the event that happened in Hogsmeade. It was indeed very troubling. I think we all rest relieved that no Hogwarts students were killed today."

James noted the man didn't mention the staff.

"This dark time is growing; I will not do you the dishonor of lying to you. There will likely be more such events before we emerge from these troubling times. But I want all of you to understand," the old man paused for a moment, "I sincerely want all to understand that even among the darkest of times...there is always the hope for the light."

Dumbledore paused looking toward the left. From his chair, Slughorn nodded.

"Good. Well, in better news, our caretaker Mr. Filch has discovered a very noxious mold growing in the castle. Professor Pod examined it and has informed me that the spores are very dangerous."

The students all seemed to choke slightly. They looked at each other with much confusion. How was this better news?

"I did?" Pod asked, looking bewildered. "Well, I must have," he finally agreed.

"Yes. Thankfully, our Potions Master has provided everyone with a potion that will protect you from any of the dangerous effects, such as: pustules, swollen lips and tongues, permanent discoloration of skin, increased body odor and..." He coughed before continuing, "In males, the shrinking of specific portions of the anatomy. So I encourage you to all drink up."

The students were grimacing. One first year with braids asked why only men had to worry about shrinking.

Several house elves moved between the aisles, carrying large baskets filled with little bottles of Slughorn's antidote.

Sirius eagerly snagged a bottle. He winked at a seventh year girl. "Never fear," he said with no trace of mocking, "Little Sirius will be well guarded." The girl colored while her friends giggled.

Soon most of the student body had thrown back their heads and guzzled down Slughorn's rather foul-looking potion.

"Have to warn Harry about the mold," James said, looking at the small vial.

"Huh?" Sirius asked. He made a grimace and took a sip of water to try and wash some of the taste away.

James drank deeply from the small vial, chocking back the liquid as it clung heavily to his throat. If he had to categorize it, he'd speculate that it was made out of chili powder and an old shoe.

"Harry who?" Sirius asked.

James looked at his best mate. "Huh? What hairy?" He scratched his head.

"You said we had to tell Harry about the mold," Sirius reminded him. He cocked his eyebrowsdel, looking very confused.

"Harry who?"

"Is there an echo in here? That's what I said." Sirius paused, an all-knowing expression taking over his features. "Oh, I get it; not very funny." He clucked his tongue and gave James an unforgiving look.

"What?" James looked at his plate. Was the food coming soon? He couldn't understand Sirius on an empty stomach.

" Trying to prank me—you'll have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over this dog's eyes," Sirius claimed. He shook his head and turned back to Remus.

"When was I...?" James was interrupted from trying to figure out his best mate when the food arrived. "Good, I'm starving. Risking life and limb makes me hungry." He quickly reached across and pulled some chicken onto his plate, as well as a good helping of pudding.

The other students around him were joining in as well. They were discussing the battle in Hogsmeade still and James tried to focus on his food. The fight hadn't been anything like he had thought that it would be like. It wasn't nearly as noble as his imagination had painted: reality was more dirty and unfair. He'd been a fool to think about playing hero. Why had he left the Three Broomsticks anyway?

Now that he considered that, he realized he was a little fuzzy about some things in general, but then he supposed trauma did that. It seemed like the sort of thing that a Healer would say. On the other hand, some images were emblazoned in his mind. He glanced at Barten's empty seat at the staff table and tried to eat.

The professors themselves seemed less than hungry, perhaps because they were already hearing some of the statistics from the attack on Hogsmeade. They muttered to themselves as Dumbledore passed the vials of potion among the staff.

"How did such a dangerous mold happen to grow here?" McGonagall asked, an obvious attempt to break away from the gloom surrounding their previous conversation. The headmaster was correct: the knowledge of a dangerous mold was less troubling and it proved a wonderful distraction for the moment.

"I suspect that the house-elves may have been slacking," Professor Pod said very seriously. He swallowed his dose, gagging and taking a sip of juice.

The small elf carrying the potions looked scandalized.

Dumbledore smiled gently at the creature. "I'm sure that wasn't it," he said simply. "If you wouldn't mind dropping in on the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey, they will need to drink these as well. Poppy already knows they are coming but I want you to see that everyone drinks."

The small determined elf nodded, the creature looking haughtily at Professor Pod before disappearing to the Hospital Wing.

Along the line, the professors drank as well. Out of the corner of his eye, the headmaster watched closely to make sure they did. Finally, only Slughorn and himself remained.

"You know, we're quite lucky that the Ashwinder finally laid her eggs; otherwise, I'd never have been able to finish the potion in time. The entire thing would have been ruined," he commented while moving the vial between his hands.

"Yes." The headmaster looked further down the table at Professor Kettleburn, whose hands were hastily wrapped in a white bandage. "It is lucky, I suppose." He smiled at Slughorn. "You too old friend," he directed.

"Surely I..."

"It's better we don't know." Dumbledore issued the words with a finality.

The tubby little walrus of a man sighed. "Well, if you insist. Still, he was quite an interesting lad. You think we'll see him again?" He toyed with his moustache before raising the glass to his lips.

"I guarantee it," the headmaster replied with a slow smile.

"That's nice, then." Slughorn tipped his own potion back, scrunching his nose at the unpleasantness of the flavor. "If only one could get them to taste better, but then— these sort of anti-bacterial things usually are most foul."

Dumbledore nodded, tucking his own potion in his pocket.

Later that night, the headmaster wrote a short letter to himself, before following like all the other inhabitants of the castle and drinking the potion. After drinking the concoction he realized he was tired and went to bed.

The next morning, he discovered a note on his desk. It was written in his hand and said simply, Do Not Open Until 1996. Well, that was a ridiculous suggestion and if he knew himself as well as he thought he did, then he must have known that he was terribly impatient. He ripped open the letter examining the parchment though his spectacles.

Dear Myself,

You have undoubtedly opened this letter early. I would hazard to guess that it is not the year 1996—in fact, I would be surprised if you have waited even a day. I am tempted to place some sort of hex on the envelope as punishment, but that really would just be hurting myself.

As the next few weeks will probably be very confusing, I wanted to provide a little information to soften the irritation:

I think the future will be better. That is cheering isn't it.

Oh, and in the year 1996, Professor Binns with dust a class with Time Sand again.

Yours,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

He stared at the letter for a moment before reaching into a drawer for one of his favorite candies.

The future would be better? What an oddly cheerful if unhelpful thing to say. He had undoubtedly written the letter. He smiled slightly and made a note about Binns.

But the future, while it might be better, was very much out of reach at the moment. He opened his newspaper with a frown, seeing images of the destruction of Hogsmeade. The future would have to wait; at the moment, he had to deal with the present.

Only a few years later.

Severus Snape was not certain why, precisely, he had been called to his Master's chambers. While he was a given the trust of his Lord, he spent much of his time brewing in the elaborate potions lab that had been provided for his use. Not that he wouldn't do whatever had been called upon him to do...but it was still an unusual request.

Perhaps his presence had more to do with the fact that he was among those who knew why this day had some meaning to Lord Voldemort.

Here, on this night, as the seventh month died.

It seemed providential that he had seen Dumbledore that night, and that he had chosen to follow him. He'd been disappointed at first, overhearing a job interview of all things...but then the evening had turned. And while he'd been hauled away before he could hear the end of the prophecy, he had still brought the most important part to his Master.

"We already know of the Longbottom child," the only other individual in the room stated. Lucius Malfoy was a pretty figure, his gold hair gleaming in the gloom. Severus thought the aristocrat looked out of place among the solemnity.

"Yes, we know of him." Lord Voldemort was seated in a wingback chair. The only light in the room was the fire crackling in the hearth. He watched the flames and his eyes seemed to glow even more unnaturally as the light reflected."But the Potters..." he trailed off thoughtfully.

Severus ignored the slight twist of his gut.

"As my Lord will, but surely the Longbottoms would be better suited for..." he trailed off. Perhaps he had been about to 'honor' and had realized the foolishness of the statement. Malfoy covered up the silence hastily, "That Mudblood whore would never be able to produce a wizard of notice."

Both Lord Voldemort and Severus Snape remained silent at this comment.

"I don't like Potters," their Lord finally said, his hands flexing in the light of the fire.

Snape agreed with him on that point.

"Aren't you going to ask 'why', Severus?" Voldemort tilted his head in a gesture that seemed friendly. It was moments like this when Severus remembered the charming persuader who had convinced him to brand his skin.

"I assume that it's because he's an attention-seeking, arrogant, incompetent— " Severus vented his thoughts because that was what his Lord was expecting.

"I daresay you could keep going," Lord Voldemort allowed, his voice dismissive, "but you would be wrong."

Severus bit his lip.

"Go ahead and ask," Lord Voldemort taunted, the friendly tone rolling off his tongue in way that made both Lucius and Severus feel more at ease. In his genial moments their Lord was almost kind, but only a fool would think this attitude allowed carelessness.

"Why, m'lord?" he asked lowly.

"Do you recall an attack on Hogsmeade? It would have been during your sixth year." Their Lord didn't bother to look at them as he spoke; his eyes remained focused on the fire and his voice somewhat faint.

"I recall it," Severus agreed. "I wasn't present."

"More pressing matters than visiting a silly little village?" Voldemort asked, but he didn't seem to expect an answer. "That event is more lie than fact, so it wouldn't have mattered if you had been there. And you mustn't trust what you have heard." He rubbed his knuckles.

"I would never trust Potter's claims of bravery," Severus scoffed. Despite himself, he found he was intrigued. That battle had very much catapulted James Potter to his fame—it had guaranteed him the Head Boy slot even though there were doubtlessly others that were more suited. After that incident, there had been no stopping the pompous wretch whom everyone said was a hero.

"James Potter didn't fight me in that village," Voldemort said softly, a light chuckle in his tone, "Well, he tried. I fought another boy. They looked alike, and I can understand the confusion."

Severus knew that his Lord never understood or forgave but he remained silent.

Voldemort raised a hand to his head, pushing down the black hair that rested on his skull. "Very alike indeed."

"He fought with a power that— " he finally turned to look at them, his gaze patronizing. "You wouldn't understand. But the potential was intoxicating. Later he was gone: disappeared as if he had never been. I only ever learned one thing...quite trivial, really. It was as if he had been completely erased from the minds that should have known him. I sought out Potter first to try and answer these questions but his mind was blank on the subject: wiped cleaner than even a memory charm could provide."

Not surprising, Severus thought to himself. There probably hadn't been much there to begin with.

Severus remained quiet, hoping that he would be told more. How had Potter taken the glory from this powerful stranger? Several residents of Hogsmeade had identified Potter as their savior; it had been a very sickening period of time for the young Snape. But, now that he thought on it, he never remembered James actually saying he had done anything. The people had identified a teenager with messy black hair and glasses, and the papers had run with the story. James had been given the credit and the rewards. (Not that he had turned any of them down.)

But the Dark Lord remained silent, and it was usually best not to ask for information that their master wanted to provide.

Still. "What did you learn my lord," Snape asked as formally and politely as he could.

The Dark Lord seemed to be in a humoring mood, his red eyes gazed for a moment at Snape.

"Nothing of consequence, really. His first name—James Potter and Lily Evans were both heard to have called him by it."

"Surely that must have helped..." Malfoy said softly, rapidly silencing himself at his master's cold eyes.

"It wasn't a name of much distinction," he finally said, turning back to the fire and ignoring them once again.

The clock chimed somewhere in the shadows, heralding the end of June. And it was then that a knock sounded on the door.

"M'lord..." A feminine voice purred, noticeably distinct among the darkness.

"Any word from Mungos, Bella?" Voldemort asked from his chair, the fire crackling providing the only noise in the expectant room.

"Another boy was born," she said simply, keeping her head bowed the entire time. Severus found her servile manner a little over the top, but she was another of their Lord's favorites.

"Harry James Potter was born to the Potter and Mudblood an hour ago."

As soon as the words left her lips the fire began burning more wildly, the flames growing and licking the edges of the fireplace while they all stood frozen. Their master's chair seemed almost demonic, silhouetted in the darkened room, encircled by a frame of flames.

"Harry?" the low voice growled.. The fire reached greater heights, escaping the hearth and setting the mantle ablaze. They all stood hesitant to do anything least it bee seen as an irritation. A familiar terror shaking their bones, as the wall before them burned.

Just as suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness, the fiery red coals providing the only light.

"He will die."