I had become somewhat adept at traversing the Null World, but familiarity never quite managed to supplant the awe I had first felt when I beheld it. It was one thing to know that alternate dimensions existed, to accept it as fact and truth, but another thing entirely to have free reign over which universe you were currently inhabiting.

The things I had learned from my dimension hopping were varied and informative. I passed through worlds in myriad different iterations, each branch of choice made by humanity spinning another bubble into the frothy foam of existence. In one, the Nazi's won and the Third Reich was a global empire. Right next door, Hitler was an accomplished and respected artist. Aliens invaded, or made peace treaties. Magic flowed like water, or was completely absent. A million million possibilities, all true, and most unknowing of their neighbors' existence.

Perhaps the most surprising and exciting bit of knowledge that I had gained was about myself. I had always been a mage, studying the Chronicler's craft since I was a young boy and learning to ply the mystic threads of creation in extraordinary waves. A constant, however, was its inherent limitation. Reality was a consensus, and everyone is allowed a vote. The vast majority of humanity did not believe in magic, and reality took a dim view of those that violated its generally agreed upon laws.

This, however, was no longer a problem. Somehow, and I couldn't fathom what could have done it, but somehow I was no longer held to this fact of life that I had known to be true.

"Klaus, if you could only see me now," I thought to myself with a melancholy grin.

There was one particular cluster of bubbles ("I have to think of a better name for them," I thought) that kept drawing my attention. Generally, the universes floated about, unattached. Very occasionally I would see two clumped together, or even three, but this batch was holding together tightly.

It looked for all the world like bubblebath, as incongruous as that was. Easily a thousand or more universes, all bunched together and passing through the Null World. I floated through the foam, not entering the various universes but simply observing through the walls at the edge of reality.

What I saw chilled me.

This entire… cluster… was in disarray. I only caught glimpses as I passed between the worlds, but in every one was death. Mages battled one another on the streets. Mundanes at war with their magical brethren. An entire series of worlds populated by corpses with a madly laughing caricature of a man, (glowing with a black light?) sitting atop a throne of bone, served by scantily clad and emaciated men and women. And all of them, every one in the cluster, with a tendril of green tunneling and weaving through the morass to a central bubble, larger and more real than the others in some undefinable manner.

It was completely unlike anything I had seen elsewhere in the multiverse's flow.

Driven by morbid curiosity, I moved closer to this central bubble, this seeming lynchpin to the madness around it. The bubbles closer to the center began to revolve around a single theme, A group of teenagers, sometimes more and sometimes less, fighting a running battle through a labyrinth of twisting halls and spectacular rooms. In each one, a boy glowed brighter than than the others, not visibly, no, but he seemed more real than the others.

Without warning, I understood.

"A Childe of Prophecy," I murmured in wonder, gazing around the cluster with new understanding.

True Prophets were vanishingly rare, rarer even than Seers and Diviners. They didn't just speak of the future, they spoke of Truth. A prophesied event always occurred, was inevitable, a fact of the universe that had simply not come to pass yet. A Prophet spoke, and empires tumbled, gods rose, and entire worlds were shifted along a radically different path.

It was horrifying. What was this prophecy that held such a large part of the multiverse in sway, held so many possible futures just a decision away from existence? And what part did that Dark Lord and that Golden Boy have to play in it?

More importantly, was there anything I could do?

I had never felt so impotent, so useless. I had somehow managed to slip reality's leash and possessed seemingly unlimited power. Yet, I never felt more humble in the face of adversity. I was, after all, just a very small person, insignificant flotsam caught in the flow of this universe of universes.

An echo of a memory came to me then, my younger self speaking to my mentor as I delved into magics better left forgotten in my home universe so far away.

Can I not be of greater service with greater power?

Setting my features to a grim expression, I muttered an answer to my younger self.

"Not if I don't try."

Heedless of the danger, and without a plan of any kind, I opened a slit into the core universe for this cluster of potential universes and passed through.

I found myself standing in a cavernous room, in a corridor formed by shelves that stretched from the floor to the darkness that shrouded the ceiling. A perfunctory glance at the shelves' contents showed them to be small orbs, about the size and shape of a snow globe.

Hearing a crash off to my right, I began to jog over to the source. A cacophony arose, shouts and screams along with an unnerving number of voices speaking in raspy, even tones.

But before everything else, what I noticed was the sheer magic of the place! The very air was saturated in it, and it was the work of a few minutes before I managed to dial my mage-senses down enough to take better stock of my surroundings.

Much of the noise had faded, and I found myself in a bit of a quandary regarding which way to proceed. Trusting to instinct, I started to run down aisles more or less at random. Soon enough I found one with shattered glass littering the ground, the feel of active magic still tingling in the air.

Nodding decisively, I followed the threads of active magic at a run. I was far behind the group, but I hadn't noticed any great indication that the children had been seriously injured just yet. I passed through rooms and chambers that defy description, each catalogued neatly in my mind for later perusal. At this point, my whole focus was on reaching those children who were fighting against those with more experience and, likely, savagery.

It took too long, far too long to wind my way through this labyrinthine collection of rooms, doors, and halls. Eventually, however, I found myself in the room that I had seen from my vantage outside of this universe.

The room with the arch.

It whispered to me, that arch, in tones both sugary and bitter. It spoke of promises, deceits, and power. It leaked power, cold and dark as the ocean floor, as inexorable as death.

But my target was not here.

Most of the teens were, and a collection of adults both on the floor and standing. I assessed the situation quickly, judging from the relatively relaxed state of the teens that the adults still on their feet were, if not allies, at the very least not enemies.

Good. I could move on.

I hadn't stopped my run during my assessment, and the room had several exits. I couldn't waste time by dithering, and my options were limited. "Which way?" I shouted out as I entered the room.

My question had a range of responses, from open mouthed surprise to the leveling of wands in my direction. One of the children, however, pointed the way to go with an expression of mild curiosity on her fair face.

Throwing a hurried salute towards the blonde girl, I veered off and went in the direction indicated. Behind me, spells splashed against the stone walls as the adults figured it better to cast first and question later.

Good strategy, if a little slow.

Thus far I'd been running on adrenaline and hope, and I prayed that they would remain enough as I slid into an atrium lined with… fireplaces? I spared a thought for mages and their eccentricities as I took in the space before me.

A woman lay sprawled across the marble floor, the boy standing over her. Appearing out of nowhere, the disfigured man with the dark aura appeared behind him, whispering black encouragement and positively reeking of necromancy while the woman chuckled..

I waited for an opening. I couldn't be sure that they hadn't seen me yet, but after the man disarmed the boy they seemed to be entirely focused on each other. Suddenly one of the fireplaces lit, and an elderly man walked through the flames. He, too, held power close to him, smelling of summer and sunshine. They exchanged words, and then…

...spells.

It was madness, magic twisted to specific patterns but all so obvious and vulgar. Either these madmen cared not for the consequences of such displays of wizardry, or such displays had no consequences in this world.

Judging by the surrounding magical ambiance, I'd guess the latter.

Things seemed to be well in hand, excepting the escape of the woman, and I settled myself to watch the fight until something happened to necessitate my involvement. I kept an eye on the boy, and rolled my eyes as he failed to capitalize on the distraction the duel provided to recapture his wand. Well, maybe he didn't need it.

Stray bolts of magic sparked off of the two dueling spells, shooting tiles off of the wall over the boy's head. I wove a small, discreet spell in front of him to redirect the bursts so that he wouldn't come to harm, and shifted my weight to the balls of my feet.

With a chuckle and a roar, the dark man conjured a beast of fire and flame, a snake of gargantuan proportions that moved to strike the elderly man down. Never faltering, the elderly man undid the conjuring, blasting fire down the atrium and leaving the air hotter in its wake. The dark man barely managed to dispel the wall of flame hurtling towards him before the elderly man drew water from a fountain into a raging vortex, capturing the dark man within its grasp.

As the elderly man advanced, the boy stood as well, pacing behind the elderly man as he moved closer to the watery attack. Without warning, I felt a build up of magical energy within the water sphere. A glance showed that the elderly man's attention was devoted to his spell, and the boy noticed nothing amiss. I chose that moment to charge forward, grabbing the boy and dragging him to the ground as I shouted, "Down, you fool!"

My timing was fortuitous. The dark man burst out of his liquid prison and hurled a stream of black energy at the elderly man, which he just barely managed to block with some form of shield spell. The dark man was not finished yet, and with a shout and a burst of raw, unfocused magic, he blew the atrium apart.

Shards of glass, dagger sharp, fell all around us even as the marble on the walls and floors shattered and cracked. I threw my hand into the air, circled once and shouted, "Bastille Fortississimo!"

A brilliant dome sprung into existence around the boy and I, woven of translucent bricks the color of pure gold. The dark man wrenched the falling glass from the air and directed it towards the elderly man, who formed a barrier of his own that changed the glass flying through it into sand.

The look of disappointment on the face of the dark man would have been humorous if it wasn't tinged with cold malice and a sort of calculating cast which boded ill. A deceptively gentle wind picked up, swirling sand in a dervish and obscuring the dark man's figure before it died down, revealing his disappearance.

The elderly man turned around, hiding his surprise at my presence quite well. I allowed the bastille spell to dissipate, and was about to make introductions when the boy started to seize on the floor next to me. The elderly man rushed forwards, but then checked himself as the boy spoke in a voice not entirely his own.

"You've lost, old man."

The elderly man looked at me, and I saw desperation and helplessness in his eyes. The boy seized again, shouting out in pain as his eyes jerked erratically, as though he were dreaming. I could recognize possession as easily as anyone, but still I hesitated. In the end it was the cornflower eyes of the elderly man that made my decision for me.

I carefully placed my hands over the boy's head, fingertips gripping lightly on certain specific places on his face and neck. I took a centering breath to quell the nerves I was experiencing, and began to chant.

"Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts. We are one, you and I. Together, one mind…"

And I saw.

(My/His) godfather falling through the arch. The spectre of (Voldemort/the dark man) hovering over (me/him) in First Year. (A boy/Cedric) falling to spellfire in a graveyard. Behind everything, a constant litany spoken by (the dark man/Voldemort), calling (him/me) worthless, weak, vulnerable…

"No," I whispered both within our mind-meld and out loud, "we are strong." The elderly man (Professor Dumbledore) spoke as well, softly stating, "Harry, it isn't how you are alike. It is how you are not,"

We flitted through Harry's memories, and Voldemort continued to throw obstacles in our path. He appeared, ghost-like before us, blocking access to the memories we were attempting to access. Our friends arrived in the atrium then, gazing upon the sight of us with horror and concern.

There!

A new path opened through our mind, triggered by the sight of our friends. Hermione hugging us at the end of Second Year. Studying with Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room. Our parents in the Mirror of Erised. Sirius hugging us at (12 Grimmauld place/?). We poured through the memories of our past, throwing ever more memories of love, camaraderie, and trust at the foreign presence in our mind, weaponizing the good memories and driving the dark lord away.

We spoke in tandem, our voices as melded as our minds. "You're the weak one, and you'll never know love, or friendship." Then, Harry and I spoke differently.

"And I feel sorry for you," he said, while I commanded, "Now begone!"

With that, Voldemort's presence left our mind, and I broke our meld. Voldemort stood over us, panting slightly as he recovered from the forceful expulsion he had just been victim to. He loomed over us and spoke.

"You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose everything." He spared a glance towards me, and seemed about to speak before the sound of fireplaces lighting and boots striding swiftly across the atrium interrupted him. He looked up and, sneering, disappeared.

There was a momentary pause.

"So," I said, turning to the boy. "Harry, right? I'm Jon."

Bemused, Harry shook my hand.