"Fire," Snape had said once, "is one of the most dangerous weapons a wizard possesses."

"Because it's one of the original four Greek elements?" Harry had guessed.

Snape had looked impressed. "Close, but it's more than that. Fire is heat, heat combusted into a contained force that seeks to devour all objects in its path simply for the pleasure of growing and adding to itself."

"Water is destructive, too," Harry had frowned. "The way rivers crack through the rock eventually. And we can drown in water."

"Yes, but water will eventually seek its own level and calm down. What does fire do?"

Harry had turned on his stool, his face serious as he had pondered Snape's questions. "Fire gets bigger and bigger. Without something to feed, it dies. Fire needs to be controlled – humans and wizards can create it, but they have to maintain it so it doesn't die or grow too big."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape had said, almost reluctantly.

Harry had laughed. "We're not in class. And I don't think you can reward me during training sessions."

"Don't argue with me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"Fine, fine, give me the points and I'll try not to set anything else on fire."

Snape had pretended to glower at him, but he did return the points back.

In the cold air of the forest, Harry's head spun as he tried to calculate how long it would take to set the whole forest ablaze. The wizard he had just stunned would be in danger. What about Muggles nearby? Did the forest belong to someone, someone who might object to having their nice forest burned to a crisp?

What would Snape do?

The memory of the early fall swept over Harry – when Mrs. Longbottom disguised as Moretta had asked Harry to sneak out for a secret meeting. Snape had punished him for that, and worst of all Snape had known who Moretta was at the time. Snape had been plotting with Moretta and McGonagall the whole time, but they hadn't included Harry because they thought he was just a child.

Harry bristled with the memory, and the incident afterwards when he had to pretend to be sick to get away from her in the Great Hall. He hadn't meant to scare Snape or the whole school by faking an attack, but he had felt so out of control then, so helpless, so caught between wanting to please Snape and wanting to show the world that he, Harry Potter, was capable of taking care of himself.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Snape had scolded him for faking. Snape had pulled off the greatest trick of all with the switching of the marks and the hidden lab, and Snape had never apologized for punishing him or for tricking him or for any of it. Nothing but scolding and punishment.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Snape would get his later, but one thing was absolutely certain. Mrs. Longbottom would get hers now.

Harry eased behind a tree and closed his eyes.

His Cloak. His Cloak. He needed his Cloak.

Mrs. Longbottom set a tree branch on fire and McGonagall reluctantly made the blaze grow bigger and bigger.

Harry concentrated on drawing the Cloak to him as he watched the fire blaze. How did one fight fire?

Harry ran his thumb over the Dark Mark on his arm. Sometimes he thought it burned, but more often it lay dormant on his arm, an ugly tattoo. Forget fire - how did one fight evil?

Another memory rose in his mind, powerful and crystal clear. One evening after a tiring training session, Harry had lay on the cold stone, defeated.

"You gave it your best," Snape had said.

"Wasn't good enough," Harry had muttered as he rolled over and crawled to his feet. "I'm never going to fight evil this way."

Snape had stopped him with a hand on Harry's shoulder. "How do you fight evil?"

Harry had scoffed, "With good of course."

"That's a child's answer. You're almost a man now. How do you fight evil?"

"With power? With magic? With anger? I don't know!"

"You fight evil with anything you can. Fight it with power, with good, with your own evil – as long as you're fighting, you're winning. Winning only stops when you stop fighting."

"Or if you get killed," Harry had said, still a little sullen.

Snape had smacked him on the rear. "Don't joke about things like that."

"Sorry. But sometimes I get all beat down. I'm not getting any better."

"You're doing twice as much as you did a month ago. You don't realize how strong you're getting because I keep increasing the workload. It's always going to be hard."

Harry would have felt a moment's regret at being so sullen with Snape, but at that moment in the forest, the Cloak hit his hand. He flung it around himself and rolled off the branch.

He landed on the ground with flat feet and loose knees, taking the impact the way he had trained in the dungeon for so long. Hidden by the Cloak, he ran forward and grabbed the branch out of Mrs. Longbottom's hand.

Both women gasped, but Harry knocked the Cloak off his head to hang off his shoulders so he was a floating head in the middle of the forest with a burning stick in front of him.

"Potter!" McGonagall scolded.

"Evening, ladies," Harry gave them a half-smile. "I would advise against setting the forest on fire. I stunned a chap up in the branches," he pointed overhead, "and he would much rather not be burned to a crisp. You both seem a little slow on the uptake tonight. I expected better from you," he looked at McGonagall, "but not you, you old hag," this at Mrs. Longbottom.

Mrs. Longbottom whipped out her wand, but McGonagall stepped forward.

"Potter . . . Harry, Harry, please don't make us fight you. If you just give up now, I promise nothing bad will happen. Your friends will go home to their parents and you'll just go to St. Mungo's for a little while. When you're better, we'll let you go back to school. You only have another year there and then you'll be of age and can go anywhere you like."

Harry pretended to listen to her words, but he was watching Mrs. Longbottom edge closer. The important thing was to keep the attention on him. If all the wizards were hunting him in the woods, chances were the others had escaped with Snape.

"But I did magic at a Muggle's home," Harry said, biding his time. "I tried to blow up the home where I lived before. I hated living there!"

"I know, I know," McGonagall soothed. "And the Ministry will forgive you for all of that. No one was hurt, no one was injured."

Harry hid his smile. That meant they hadn't figured out that Snape was back, well, his body at least. As long as Snape stayed hidden, Harry had room to play. He wasn't sure but he guessed that bringing a wizard's body back without a soul was not exactly legal. But once he had Snape's soul back in his body, then it would be fine because Snape could step in and uh, take care of things. (For now, he pretended that taking care of things wouldn't involve him over Snape's knee, but that was all in the future for now.)

"I just don't know what to do," Harry ducked under the Cloak, dropping the burning stick.

He jumped back from a blast of Mrs. Longbottom's wand. The stunning spell hit the tree, but Harry was running through the woods, firing blasts with his own wand to keep her chasing him even though he was invisible. He ran around a large tree and cast a hasty charm on the roots and vines below.

"Potter!" Mrs. Longbottom ran into the space by the tree, the color bright in her aged face. "Potter, you rotten boy, show yourself! I'm going to get you for this. I did all of this for Snape. He once loved Alice and I did this for her and my own poor boy. But enough is enough. My boy and his wife are in St. Mungo's and you're going there, too, you stupid –"

Her voice broke, and Harry felt his throat tighten with grief. He still remembered seeing the Longbottoms in the insanity ward. He hated that they were there, tortured into insanity, but at the same time, he wasn't willing to go there himself.

He hit the vines with an attacking spell and they snagged around Mrs. Longbottom's ankles. She shrieked, but Harry pointed his wand at her.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he yelled as she screamed,

"Mobiliarbus!"

His spell hit her first and she fell backwards into the vines. Harry tried to remember exactly what her spell would do when a tree slammed into him.

He fell backwards and the tree tumbled on him.

Normally it would have hurt, but nothing other than bruise him with its two hundred pounds, but one of its branches had broken off and the splintered end slashed down onto Harry's arm.

It cut through the Dark Mark, and the tattoo burned as dark smoke began churning over Harry's head.

"No," he groaned as he rose to his feet. "No, I'm not him. No, go away."

Mrs. Longbottom was frozen, but her eyes looked triumphant as Harry staggered away, the black mist trailing after him.

His arm hurt so bad that he flung off the Cloak to survey the damage. Pieces of wood stuck out of the wound which was beginning to leak blood. Setting his teeth, Harry put his wand in his left hand and reached for the biggest splinter.

A cat jumped down from the tree, and Harry froze as he looked at the familiar tabby.

The cat reared back and transformed into McGonagall.

Harry moved to switch the wand back to his dominant, unhurt hand, but McGonagall stopped him with a shake of her head.

"Ah-ah!" she held her wand at him. "One move, Harry, and I stun you."

Harry didn't move, wishing the black mist away. She saw the Dark Mark but didn't look surprised.

"Yes, Poppy told us about that. Oh, Harry, I know you are so angry. What happened to you is so unfair. I didn't agree with Snape about transferring the marks – I promise you that. But he was so certain. He felt sure you would die if you fought Voldemort alone."

Harry smiled sadly. "Snape had that little faith in me?"

"Yes, after Sirius died and you ended up at Snape's home, he came to all of us and proposed a plan to switch the marks. Dumbledore wasn't sure, but he trusted Snape."

"Dumbledore's gone now," Harry watched a drop of blood bead up on his arm and then run down towards his wrist. "Snape's gone. Voldemort took away everything I had."

"Not everything. Ron and Hermione are here. The school is still here. We just want you to get better."

His arm was throbbing now and bleeding heavily. Tears formed in Harry's eyes and one rolled down his face as he looked at the old woman. She looked so tired and sad.

"I'm sorry," Harry lowered his head. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," she came closer. "You must be exhausted. No one blames you though. We just want to help you."

"I never meant to do any of this, I promise," Harry blinked, and more tears ran down his face. "You have to believe me. Please believe me."

"I do," McGonagall put a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to get you fixed up. We'll heal your arm, and then you'll get to rest in a warm, soft bed tonight. Doesn't that sound nice, Harry? Isn't that what you want?"

He nodded and whispered something.

"What is it?" she leaned close to him, one hand brushing over his unruly hair.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. "Please forgive me. Petrificus Totalus!"

Her face barely had time to register surprise as the spell from his wand hit her. She went rigid, but he grabbed the front of her coat before she could tumble backwards.

"I'm sorry, I promise," Harry lowered her gently to the ground, ignoring the agony in his arm. "I never wanted to do this. But Snape taught me to cast spells with both hands despite any injury. And he always insisted I never get caught. I've always respected you, professor, but his orders come first."

Harry straightened and pulled several long splinters from his arm. Blood dripped on the ground next to McGonagall's head as she stared up at him with startled eyes.

"A spy took me in, trained me, taught me all he knew. Are you surprised I took after him?"

A drop of blood flicked onto her coat, and Harry reached down to wipe it away. His hand felt something hard against her chest, just under her throat.

He hesitated. If he saw another teenage boy pawing at McGonagall, Harry would have performed Crucio on the kid without a second thought.

"I'm so sorry about this. Feel free to take your cane to me when this is all over," Harry unbuttoned the top two buttons of her coat. "I deserve it and a lot more, I'm sure."

He pulled at the coat to see what he had thought the bump was – a timeturner.

He laughed ruefully.

"This is how it all started," Harry pulled the chain free from her neck and held up the tiny hourglass. "I went to Snape's in the first place to find a timeturner to go back in time to save Sirius."

McGonagall was still frozen, but her eyes looked frantic.

"Don't worry, I gave up on that idea," Harry pocketed the timeturner. "But I am going to use this to get away from you."

He heard noises approaching, and he knelt by McGonagall, angling his bleeding arm away from her. "I'm not crazy, I'm not sick, I'm not mental. It's the power from killing Voldemort. I think some of it got transferred to me. I'm more powerful now, but I'm still good. I'm still Harry Potter. Still the same impulsive, over-active, and to quote Snape, thoroughly disobedient boy I've always been. Look at me, professor."

She couldn't move so he gently tilted her chin towards him.

"I'm always on your side. Please, please . . . be on mine."

Then he stood and grabbed his Cloak and ran. He slipped his wand into the carrying case he had received for his birthday, the case that wouldn't let the wand loose regardless of what happened to him.

Blasts of fire and spells boomed behind him.

He scrambled up a small hill pulling the timeturner free as he wrapped the Cloak around his bleeding arm. How far back should he go? Not too far back or he would mess up even more. Just enough to give him a fighting chance and maybe even a head's start.

He jerked to a stop at the top of the hill. He could see that the ground dropped off into a river about thirty feet below.

Harry turned around. Two wizards were running for him and a dementor was hovering over them.

"Stop him!" one wizard yelled. "The others are gone – he's all we have left."

A stunning spell whizzed over his shoulder, and Harry jumped off the hill. As he fell he turned the hourglass as many times as he could.

The light around him brightened into a full glare.

Then he hit the water.

It was icy and brutal, and had Harry not trained in the snow and cold, he would have frozen and perhaps drowned in the icy depth. But Snape had not trained him to collapse under a little cold water, even in the middle of winter.

Harry's head broke clear of the water and he swam towards the shore with short, strong strokes.

He clawed for the bank and climbed out before falling on the rocky bank.

He still had the timeturner clutched in one hand. His Cloak was wrapped around his hurt arm.

He stared up at the sky, judging it to be about ten in the morning. He had turned time back about eleven hours.

Which meant the other him was with his friends, travelling to the inn.

Harry knew he should get up and start drying and bandaging himself, but he lay there, closing his eyes, willing Snape to come to his mind to talk to him, to tell him what to do.

But he was all alone.

"Snape?" he said out loud. "Snape? Just come talk to me for a second."

Nothing.

"I have a timeturner," Harry threatened. "I will use it, and I won't be responsible."

Again, nothing.

Disappointed, Harry sat up. Would Snape only show up when his body was nearby? Lousy bastard! Never there when you needed him.

"Okay, okay," Harry groaned as he shivered. "First things first."

He unwrapped the Cloak around his arm, wincing at the blood and leftover splinters. He cleaned the wood off his arm and performed a simple cleaning spell on his arm. He cut off a piece of his shirt and bound it up as bet he could.

The irony of his situation made him smile. He had hated taking the healing potions after training, but Snape insisted and they got more disgusting each night. Harry would have sworn that Snape was putting stuff in there just to torture him, but the man had said that was nonsense.

"But they're getting worse," Harry had whined one night when Snape presented him with a glass of black sludge. "No, I'm not taking that!"

"Stop being such a baby," Snape had chided. "And yes, they're getting stronger because your body is undergoing incredible physical strain. They have more vitamins or proteins or healing powders depending on what you've done. Now swallow it."

In the training dungeon, Harry had huffed and groaned while swallowing the stuff, but in the cold air by the river, Harry would have given anything for a potion to heal up his arm and a few other cuts and bruises he had sustained while fleeing.

And here shivering in wet clothes, there was no Snape to prod him to his feet, to tell him what to do, to look after him and take care of him. He was on his own.

Harry shakily got to his feet. He knew a mild drying spell that would help with his clothes, but everything else would have to wait.

Miraculously his glasses were still all right. Out of habit, he had put a hand to them right before he hit the water. He dried them on his Cloak which had magically dried itself while he was sitting. The drying spell helped, but it didn't work fully mainly because his magic was exhausted and because he had no practice with the spell.

With slightly damp clothes, he limped down the river bank, heading back to the inn.

Chances were, Ron, Draco, and Hermione had figured out how to get Luna and Soulless Snape out of the inn safely. Where they went was a mystery, but Harry pushed down the urge to go find them by flipping the timeturner forward. Have faith in them – they knew how to take care of themselves.

He had the whole day to do whatever he needed to do. And as long as he had the timeturner and was responsible with it, he could have more time than that.

Harry reached a dirt road, and paused by an aged sign that read London 41 m. He had gone back to the morning. Right now, the other him was with Ron at the Dursley's house. That meant everyone was busy looking for him, but Hermione was leading them on a wild goose-chase. So as long as he kept quiet in a disguise, Harry had the whole day. And as long as he was careful not to run into any of his other selves, he could repeat the day if he needed.

Research was what he needed. He was no Hermione, but he could find research about attaching bodies and souls back together. He would start in Diagon Alley. Well, more specifically, he would start by getting a disguise in Knockturn Alley.

Harry raised his wand. "Lumos."

The wand's light was weak in the morning light, and Harry called out, "Knightbus? Can I get a lift?"

He waited for a few minutes, ignoring the throbbing in his hurt arm.

He heard the crunch of tires on dirt and saw the purple, double-story bus appearing.

Harry grinned and flung the Cloak over his head and shoulders.

Not only was he getting a lift, he was getting a free lift.

His long list of crimes was really getting quite shocking.