So, we're fairly close to the end of this story, but there are still several surprises to come. Hopefully you'll enjoy, and won't hate me for being evil.

Harry Potter sat in the Room of Requirement. It was calmer than the Common Room around now; and the mirrors gave him some small comfort. Reflections of Ginny, his parents; ghosts of a sort, echoes. Comforting.

Sometimes he'd heard that child's voice; the girl, mature beyond her years, and sad beyond what anyone should feel. A kindred spirit of sorts, he felt.

But the girl, she hadn't seen what he had.

The visions still gave him nightmares. Harry Potter of the future, a twisted thing, committer of genocide for no purpose other than fun, and wrecker of his own soul. Because he could.

The emotions were still in him; the thoughts, the feelings. That tiny seed of darkness, that part everyone had in them; the monster, the thing capable of atrocities, Mr Hyde, the personal Devil, whatever you called it… It had been fed; nurtured, spurred on by that vision.

The world fell to the wand of Harry Potter. And Harry Potter laughed; and felt no remorse. Felt only elation.

The Boy Who Lived curled up in disgust; unwilling to look up at the mirrors. Unwilling to taint them with his eyes.

Silence.

Then, a voice. A boy's; a man's.

"Harry," it was Draco. The Boy Who Lived didn't move; he stayed where he was, curled up on the floor.

The…creature from what could be his future; that twisted Harry. It was still in him; and that savage part of him ran through all the ways to kill Malfoy, the quick, the easy, and those that would take years… A part even contemplated making a Horcrux; the recent knowledge as to the ritual made Harry want to cringe.

There was such a thing as forbidden knowledge. While in many cases, it was because of the application of the knowledge: an idea being able to do no harm, instead, a person doing harm with it: in this case, it was not.

There were some things too basely wrong to exist in the world. The creation of a Horcrux was one such thing.

Harry could not help but retch at the thought. He'd lost the elation of that twisted future, yet had lost none of the knowledge: and he still felt that rush at the memory. The whole world trembled, his hands slick with blood, as-

No!

The black haired boy gasped; trying to drown out the memories. Think of something else: Hogwarts, Ginny, his parents…

Sobs now; yet it was better than the all-consuming sickness, that revulsion at himself, at his future. He'd do anything to stop that happening; yet he couldn't help but feel it was coming closer. That twisted part of his mind, the part that revelled in carnage and abomination; it was opened up now. Fed.

"Harry," Draco spoke; not grateful, but with an odd twist of emotion that seemed out of place in the blonde's tone.

The Boy Who Lived did not turn; staying, motionless, close to lifeless on the Room's floor. Listening. Footsteps; and a rustle; near. Draco sat just beside the black haired student.

"What is it?" curiosity more than compassion in the Slytherin's voice; yet there were traces of both.

Harry was silent, save for the sobs. What was there to say? He'd felt the world end: and been happy about it. Had caused it; for those few seconds, he'd well and truly become that twisted creature. Soul joyfully torn to the degree where it ceased to exist on any reasonable level, and murder reduced to the significance of dust. He did not care. Memories of Voldemort become tame.

Some things went beyond words. Some things cut too deep.

"I saw-" Harry began. Then stopped; no faltering, no stuttering. He just stopped.

What had he seen? The future, apparently; but he didn't want to admit it. The fact he had the potential for…that in him, disgusted him. The thought wouldn't leave him; flashes of that pale, twisted, scarred face.

"That's helpful," Draco muttered; traces of bitterness in his voice, but again, not entirely dominated by it. Then, softer; "Is there anything you will say?"
Silence again. Harry couldn't bring himself to speak. The events kept playing, again, and again, and again, and again… The floor was oddly fascinating; his eyes never left it. Featureless. Stone. Lifeless.

An impossible feeling seized the room. Like fog; a thick fog, choking, stealing. Cold pervaded the air, and the mirrors began to frost. From out of the corner, a swirl of black; a cloak, a creature.

A Dementor.

Harry snapped. Those terrible memories, and now the wraiths appeared. Too much.

Quickly, he stood up; wand soon coming to hand. A flash of red light: no Patronus, simply spark upon spark, curse upon curse, using the Dementor more as a punching bag than anything, trying to let out all frustration. He screamed.

And in his mind; no noise. For the first time, Voldemort was not present. Something far worse was. Streets littered with beating hearts; and the wizard, soulless, striding through. On his forehead, a-

"No," Harry shrieked suddenly; Draco took a step back. Away from the impossibly present Dementor; away from the seemingly mad Harry. "Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted the word, doing his best to conjure up happy memories; Sirius, his parents…

Nothing.

No wisp of white, no light, no shield, no stag.

Harry repeated the charm again; hoping at least for some reaction. Nothing. Malfoy didn't know how to cast a Patronus; and Harry's had faded to nothing; not even the basest flicker of light. The Dementor approached further-

And dispersed like smoke in the wind.

Seconds later, and it was hard to believe the Dementor had ever been there; no trace of the all-consuming sorrow, no darkness, no shred of the black cloak. A hallucination induced by the Room of Requirement, perhaps; the Room was certainly capable of many mystical feats.

"What was that?" Draco spoke, demanding almost. Harry fell to the floor; kneeling, then sitting before speaking. Broken.

"A test," the black haired boy's voice was thin, hollow. "The Room must have been testing me. I failed. I can't cast a Patronus now."

"Why?" Draco frowned; sitting beside the Boy Who Lived. He felt a strange sense of forbidding; whatever had caused an inability to cast a Patronus must have been awful, traumatizing.

A few more seconds of quiet. Harry couldn't just leave the conversation where it was; yet he still felt a reluctance to express the experiences.

"It happened days ago," a quiet start; the Boy Who Lived inhaled, resigned now to telling the story. "I ended up…somewhere else. Don't ask me how; I don't know. But there was the crystal ball there, changed somehow. A voice, called it 'Hybrid Technology'. I looked into the ball, and it showed me m-my future."

Harry was falling over his words to such a degree it was a small struggle to understand him. About a minute passed as Draco pieced together the segments. Then a little more time as he thought on it.

"What did you see?" the blonde's speech was faltering; not from any real fear, simply from tension. If it was enough to affect Harry's mind to the degree he could never achieve the happiness needed for any Patronus, it wasn't likely to be pleasant.

"Me," Harry hesitated; "But different. Pale, scar still there; I looked like Voldemort. And I-I'd killed everyone. Everyone. The streets were covered in hearts; their hearts. Horcruxes," Harry had started to rock slightly as he spoke, shaking; and the last word was scarcely more than an appalled whisper.

"Horcrux?" Draco murmured eventually; unwilling to admit the lack of knowledge yet, after skimming his brain, being unable to think of anything useful about the term, save for a vague, nagging familiarity.

"It's a word," Harry muttered; voice filled with a trace of emotion now; bitterness. "A magic I shouldn't even know about. Voldemort uses them. And I can tell you exactly how to make them, exactly how it feels, exactly the look in the victim's eyes," a shudder ran through Harry. "Voldemort uses them for immortality. A wizard can break their soul, and put part of it inside an object or animal, keep it outside the body. They tear their soul in two."

"Merlin's…" Draco's voice trailed off, unable to complete the oath; surprised by the horror of it.

"Voldemort has seven," Harry murmured; barely audible now. "He killed someone for all of them. Every- every one."

"That-" Draco hesitated. This wasn't a situation anyone should be used to; "You can't have been as bad."

"I had billions!" the sentence started off as a quiet whisper; and soon became a shout. All the rage, the anger, the bitterness, the frustration, the confusion… All of it let out in one word.

Draco tensed; falling back a short distance. Purely involuntary; an action in response to the sudden yell, but Harry's tainted eyes saw it as simple proof that Draco was disgusted by him.

Mind wrecked to the degree it was impossible to produce a Patronus. Filled with the knowledge of abominable Dark Magic rituals. Given the memories of a timeline that should never come to pass; and able to remember the deaths of almost every man, woman and child on the planet. And pain, so much pain… The screams of the Captain Jack, the fires, the curses, the whimsical tortures… He'd duelled Bellatrix Lestrange; won, and put her through a hell even she would have balked at.

"It wasn't you," Draco shook his head eventually; speaking quietly, haunted. "Wasn't you doing it."

"You weren't there," Harry's voice was almost a spit now; repulsed. "I remember it. Every little detail in my head. I looked less human than Voldemort."

"You're not that creature," Draco shot back; not so much comforting, as arguing. It seemed to be what Harry needed. "You won't be."

"I might," Harry's voice rose to a broken shout. "It's still in me; and you don't, you can't know how that feels. A taint, it's right inside me, and I can't get rid of it!"

Silence. Then, Draco moved closer, slowly, until he was just to the side, and just in front of Harry. He met the black haired student's eyes; and stuck his arm out, forward, and bared the pale skin of his forearm. The blonde spoke after a few seconds; his Dark Mark exposed to the air.

"I know exactly how that feels."

O

River, Amy, Rory and the Doctor, all gathered in Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster had been with them, until he'd decided to leave upon realizing River had been making more than a few innuendoes on the correlation between age and experience.

Now the four time travellers sat there, thoughtful.

"Ok," the Doctor began, "Time to list. Students are going back in time, forward in time, and Bellatrix is probably wandering around somewhere, the timeline's wrecked, and we've got a Weeping Angel wandering around the castle. Have I missed anything?"

"Awful hats?" Amy suggested.

The Doctor shot her a look; not a particularly happy one at that. Luckily, he didn't notice River nodding thoughtfully, just beside him.

"What I'd like to know, is how the Angel got here," River muttered. The Doctor frowned; looking back at her. She stopped nodding.

"Oh, that's easy," the Time Lord shrugged. "Probably the same one as before."

"There was a before?" River rolled her eyes, "Ever think that it might be important?"

"Um…" the Doctor winced guiltily.

"What happened?" River asked before the Time Lord could comment again. The Doctor sighed.

"Well," he began, clapping his hands, inhaling. "There were two Weeping Angels, one with the Philosopher's Stone, one wandering around the castle and zapping everyone back in time. Trying to get to the Stone; and almost did, if I hadn't been remarkably clever, and hopped back in time."

"Ok, two questions," River rolled her eyes again; "What would an Angel want with the Philosopher's Stone, and what the hell did you do to make it this mad?"

"Well," the Doctor hesitated; a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, now River came to express it like that. He wasn't used to some emotions, as seemed all too evident sometimes; "The Angel then did have a wife… She was injured; I mean, really injured, couldn't even tell that she was an Angel. That's why it wanted the Philosopher's Stone; to cure her."

"And let me guess," River rolled her eyes yet again, irritated by the Doctor's, well, inhumanity. It wasn't that he tried to be cruel or heartless; but no matter how hard he tried, the Doctor would always be a Time Lord, with Time Lord tendencies, as well as his own eccentric mind. "You killed one, and let the other escape."

"Well," the Doctor looked down; "Kind of. I gave it a chance; you know I always do that. The living one died; and the other…actually, not sure what happened to it. I left her there, in front of-" the Doctor's voice cut off; semi-embarrassed, semi-on-the-verge-of-hitting-himself.

"In front of what?" River sighed. What'd he done this time?

"In front of the Mirror of Erised." The Doctor mumbled quickly; possibly hoping no one was paying any attention.

A few seconds of quiet. Rory blinked; and shrugged, looking away, without any past experience of Weeping Angels. Amy just shot a disbelieving glance at the Doctor, while River simply stared.

"Whatever holds the image of an Angel," Amy quoted; a sigh. A second passed; "Ok, seriously, do you just make things up as you go along?"

"Of course!" the Doctor seemed offended she'd think otherwise.

"Try not to," Amy groaned; "Or at least look out for mirrors when you're leaving an Angel around."

The Doctor winced slightly; looking momentarily guilty, before brightening, finding some vague silver lining. He looked up.

"Doesn't explain everything though," the Time Lord nodded once, hoping it would lessen his error

"I think it does," River murmured; semi-taunting, amused.

"Huh?" the Doctor blinked, surprised, "Can't do. People are going into the past, that could be the Angel, but plenty have ended up in the future too. Luna, that one at Storm-"

"It's the Angel," River interrupted. "Think about it."

"I am," the Doctor protested; "I always think. Well, mostly. An Angel probably can send people into the future, just a quick inversion of the temporal nexus sets, timeline streaming, simple stuff, but it's like swimming upstream; it'd have no reason to, it'd-" the Doctor's eyes widened. A pause; "Oh," then, a few seconds later, dull; "Oh," and finally, slumping back; excited and depressed by the realization. "Oh."

A few seconds passed; River with a triumphant smile, the Doctor slumped back in his chair; and Amy and Rory looking between them, confused.

"I get the feeling we missed something," Amy remarked conversationally to her husband. River responded.

"It's simple really, if you think about it," the time travelling woman met Amy's eyes; "The Angel doesn't normally send people into the future, because it uses up a lot of energy, and there's no potential to feed from; but this one had. It's intentionally using up a lot of energy, starving itself. When I first saw it, I could barely recognize it; wrecked, barely humanoid at all."

"Why?" Amy asked; leaning forward now, anxious to hear the answers.

"You tell me," River lay back; mildly smug. "How would you feel?"

Silence; thoughtful, and ever-so-slightly confused. Rory was just listening, unused to the Angels.

"I- I killed her partner," the Doctor spoke; voice a croak now. "Imagine- imagine Rory died, Amy; it happened before. Dream Lord. What did you do?"

"I-" Amy's eyes widened.

"Exactly," River spoke; "The Angel's killing itself, intentionally. I don't know what made it feed on a few people; the ones back in the past, but one thing it's definitely trying to do; it's trying to use up all the temporal energy it's accumulated, by flinging it into the future. It wants to die."