By Your Side

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Eleven

Careless

As the days passed, becoming hotter and hotter as July crept closer, Harry became more and more ill. His energy completely left him, leaving his body constantly shivering with cold, aching all over, his muscles not much more than goo sticking to his bones.

And he knew why.

Ever since the day when he had figured out how to overpower the demon plaguing his mind, Voldemort had stepped up his game. In some inexplicable way, he had now gained so much power over Harry's body, he could weaken it from the inside. Like a freaking tick, like a leech, he clung to him and sucked him dry until he was left in this weakened state.

Harry found that in the moments of extreme fatigue, it was child's play for the other to get the upper hand, to take him over completely. Therefore, he was doing his best to take naps, keep his temper under control, drink Pepper Up Potions and the like, just to keep Voldemort off his back. It was a constant struggle, and it was taking its toll on his already stressed mind.

He spent every day at Riddle Manor, sitting inside in front of the fireplace, wrapped in blankets while working out the kinks in his theories. Despite the cold atmosphere between Tom and him, Harry felt at ease with the familiarity of it. He'd become accustomed to this new relationship of theirs, this new level of understanding that despite everything that had happened between them, they still cared enough for one another to keep it up. Their struggle to stay with each other. And as the days passed, both of them engrossed in their respective works of study, it almost felt like the good old times again.

Harry sometimes forgot that Tom was supposed to be angry at him, and gladly engaged him in discussions about how his own work was coming along, about what had happened over at the Ledfords' when he'd visited and overall chatter about the weather and what not. And every time Tom took the time to humour him, to answer and in turn ask questions, Harry felt his hope for their future return. Perhaps they could get through this after all was said and done.

He also felt a strong sense of relief each day at noon, when he usually arrived at the manor, simply because he did not have to pretend to be well. At home, with his loving and often over-protective family, he refused to let it show how far gone he'd become the past couple of days. If they knew, they'd never let him off the hook. They'd chain him to a bed before forcibly taking him to St. Mungo's for evaluation. And that way, he'd never get through with his plots and Voldemort would eventually win this power struggle of theirs. Hence Harry pretended as best he could.

In the evenings, he went to the graveyard of Godric's Hollow to see his diseased cousin.

Lora.

He hadn't believed his eyes as he first caught sight of her shimmering form. It had felt like a painfully real dream, where he couldn't get a word out, he would just stand and stare at his surroundings. It was all so surreal. How she had just appeared out of nowhere, just from a few flips of a small ring.

She wasn't a ghost, she was sort of more corporeal than that. But she was still translucent. Her colouring could be seen, unlike all the ghosts Harry had ever met, but if he ever tried to touch her his hand would simply pass through her.

Even so, he had been so incredibly happy, thankful, to get to see her again. Her abrupt death had been extremely traumatic for him, having watched it happen in front of his very own eyes, incapable of changing it or doing anything about it. He had, of course, expressed his regrets to her, and had earned himself a violent, but painless, swat through the head for it. Lora clearly didn't blame him at all but found it almost insulting he would take the blame for something he had had nothing to do with.

His conversation with Harold the other day had come to mind, when he had claimed he'd stopped blaming himself, but it wasn't until now, when Lora herself had expressed her opinion, that he felt the truth in his confident words at the hospital. He had finally let it go.

So, here he was, once again, standing in front of Lora's grey tombstone, next to the one standing in front of the soil where they had laid her father only yesterday. The dirt was still dark and wet, emitting a fresh and sombre smell, the script on the stone so newly written shone brightly in the moonlight. The letters of Leonard Potter standing out sharply, creating a stark contrast to the one for his daughter.

Harry took a deep breath and focused on the girl he longed to meet; flipping the ring in his hand over to make her appear before him.

It was a silent evening, neither wind nor wet in close proximity, and the sky was entirely clear of clouds, the stars and the big golden moon shining brightly, lighting up the entire graveyard around him.

And then, he breathed in as he felt the cool evening air swirl around him, the magic stirring the air, and he knew she was standing in front of him.

"Always this place, Harry? Isn't it a bit depressing?"

Harry smiled softly and opened his eyes, his smile widening, his chest prickling with affection as he caught sight of her slim form, forever captured in her great grandmother's green dress, her long black hair falling down her back in rich cascades.

"I like it here... it's calm. Comforting," he answered and went to sit down at one of the wooden benches lining the gravel path in the middle of the fenced area. Lora sat down next to him, and he raised his eyebrows when her body didn't go through the hard material. "That shouldn't be possible," he muttered, making Lora giggle amusedly at him with a knotted fist in front of her thin lipped mouth.

"I'm not corporeal, Harry," she answered in a teasing tone. "This is just a shadow of my former body; a suit I pull on whenever you call me here. I can shape it any way I want, place it wherever. I'm not really touching the surface of the bench, I'm sort of hovering over it."

"Oh," Harry answered, his heart beating fast in his chest as the subject closed in on what he had been both dying to ask, but still dreaded at the same time. He was desperate to know, but at the same time, he wasn't entire sure he wanted to know.

Still, he'd had a couple of days to mull over it now, and he'd decided to push through his own anxiety this time.

"You're awfully silent today," Lora pointed out, smiling serenely, in that otherworldly way she so often did now when she wasn't alive any more. A small wrinkle materialized between her raven black brows, and a couple of children shouting to one another through open windows could be heard from the village centre. Harry could distantly smell the sweet scent of freshly picked lilacs.

"What happened?"

"What happened, when?" Lora asked in her slow, distant, slightly monotone voice.

"When you had died..."

Lora watched him with a tense expression for quite a while, possibly judging if he was ready to hear it or not, whether she should keep silent or not. Her small mouth shivered slightly as she made her decision.

"It was all a blur at first; a white blur. I could feel my body fall away, as if I had simply slipped out of a heavy set or robes, and then I was nothing more than soul. A light essence fleeting around. Content, calm... It was the best feeling I have ever felt, I think... I don't know if you can really grasp what I am now, Harry.

"I can't hear, I can't smell, can't feel... I can't see either. It's difficult to explain, but, even though I have lost every one of my senses... I can still experience, somehow... I still have a sense of self, I still hold my memories. It won't be long until they are gone too. I will forget, but I still am Lora Potter."

"If you can't see, hear or feel anything," Harry began in a rough voice, second guessing his own decision to ask about death, "how do you hear me, see me and just... How?"

"It's the magic of the ring," Lora explained in a quiet voice, looking at it resting in Harry's hand, as if she both loved and detested it at the same time. "It calls me back, makes my essence take form, puts my senses back in place... but I can't really use them. I still can't feel, taste or smell... But I do see, although it's blurry. I can hear, although it takes a long time for me to understand what it all means, just like it takes a long time to form the words I want to speak."

Harry nodded in understanding, now having an explanation to Lora's extremely slow way of speaking ever since this all began for the two of them.

"I am not what I was any more. I am not human, or a witch. I'm not even myself any longer... I have merged, in a way, with the essence of the world. I am part of the world. The universe. I am the universe..."

"Leda called you Gaia," Harry whispered to himself, looking up at the crescent moon ahead. "The earth personified... The mother of all..."

His quiet speech hadn't reached Lora's numb ears, and so she continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "It's like... I can't feel anything, but at the same time, I can feel everything. Everyone. I am everywhere, a part of everything... But I still hold a sense of self."

"But, you said it won't be for long," Harry spoke in a tone loud enough for the other to hear this time. As a response, Lora smiled ever so softly, looking serene – as if she longed for the day when she would no longer be Lora Potter, but somebody new.

"My essence is drifting apart, my soul is shifting, becoming something new... Fate is entwining me into its web, to make me fit, become somebody else with a new life. I will be reborn, very soon. But not until I have drifted apart completely, forgotten all my memories and left my old life behind."

"And I am stopping you," Harry concluded in a dull voice, trying to comprehend the greatness of life, thinking on the pointlessness of it if it was to be forgotten at the point of death anyway. Tom had reason to fear it, he thought with a slight sense of dread, if the life they were so desperately trying to cling onto was to be tarnished and forgotten in the end...

"You're not," Lora said very quietly. "One day, it will be done, and the ring won't work on me any more."

"When?" Harry asked, feeling his heart quench at the thought of losing his dear cousin once again.

"Soon," Lora simply answered, looking up at the stars with a dreamy expression on her translucent face.

It was a hot summer day, in the beginning of July, and the weather forecasters claimed the temperature had reached an all time high. War was over and the sun shone over the world like a sparkling star of victory, like a warming, glimmering sign of peace.

Despite this, some were less content with the outrageous heat than others. Inside the library of the lavish Riddle Mansion, two young wizards sat hiding away from the glaring sun; Tom dressed lightly and fanning himself with that day's newspaper; Harry bundled up in a bunch of blankets in one of the armchairs, sitting shivering in front of the lit fireplace, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

In front of him, on the heavy coffee table, lay countless calculations, outlined theories and heavy tomes on soul magic. He'd become an expert after these many months of constant research and trials. He'd laid out many theories, most of them easily shot down by Tom's sharp critique, but one of them had stood out. Not even Tom had been able to find any fault with it, which had made him take immediate action. Only problem was: he was currently in a waiting process, having spent the last two days honing his finished product while waiting for the owl that would deliver the answer to the final problem.

Even though Harry had come this far, Tom had still kept up his own work and finished a theory of his own, completely ignoring the other's progress and keeping his thoughts to himself. Harry had no idea what the other idea consisted of, since Tom kept the little black notebook with all the calculations on his person constantly, never revealing a thing.

He had been keeping up his cold disposition ever since they left Hogwarts, but as of late, his mood had brightened up significantly, and he actually engaged Harry in a couple of short-lived conversations every now and then. At first, the responsibility of picking up a conversation had always lain on Harry's plate, but lately, Tom had shouldered the responsibility as well. It had completely befuddled him, of course, the stark contrast to his previous behaviour so great it could impossibly be ignored. But it was also such a relief, Harry felt no need whatsoever to complain or question – so he accepted the change with ease.

Today, Harry was even more worn out than usual. Despite having taken to sleeping over at the mansion most nights, just to spare his body the torture of travel, this had barely helped at all today as simply getting out of bed had been a losing fight. In the end, the Butler, old Mr Bryce, had had to help him both get up and get dressed. It had been extremely awkward on Harry's part. But, what could he do about it, really? Magic could only take him so far, after all, what point was there in levitating garments from off the floor when he couldn't even bend far enough to put on his own pants and socks?

After getting onto his two legs, his body waking up properly, he had regained his usual control, thankfully. But it had never been this bad before. It had gotten so far out of hand that even Mr Riddle had taken notice and circled around him for a while, questioning whether he should call for the family doctor. But Harry had politely declined, explaining that this was a magic related illness that Muggles could do nothing much about, which had made Mr Riddle kindly, but reluctantly, back off. Harry for his part had sighed in relief, and thanked all mercy he had been away from home when this had happened.

Therefore, Harry realised that it would be best if he didn't leave Riddle Manor until all of this was over, with the exception of visiting Lora in the graveyard of course.

Thankfully, no one seemed to mind his constant presence, weirdly enough, not even Tom. He just seemed to become happier and happier as the days passed, and today, he seemed outright giddy. He was sitting next to Harry in his own armchair, facing away from the fire and towards one of the open windows instead, still fanning himself with the newspaper, a pleased look colouring his face.

"I have completed my work," he suddenly stated, his lips twisting into a vain smile, his chin facing upwards.

"Let's hear it then," Harry answered in his rough, slightly weak voice, basking in the warm feeling he got from watching Tom in this relaxed and untroubled state. "You've been keeping it to yourself for so long, I thought you'd never tell me about it."

"What would be the point of that?" Tom scoffed in amusement and started tapping his fingers against the leather armrest, a sign of anxiety, Harry knew. That meant the other wasn't as confident as he tried to make it appear. "In order to banish the foreign soul piece out of your body, the most obvious solution is for you to create a Horcrux of your own," Tom said in a confident tone.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said hesitantly, "but didn't we already rule that one out, months ago, when Slughorn told us more about it?"

"Did you really think I would drop the subject just because you're afraid to get your hands dirty?" Tom answered in a teasing tone that had Harry's insides turn ice cold.

"Get my hands dirty... We're talking about murder here, Tom, not some sort of Herbology lesson."

There was a drawn out, tense silence as Tom kept fanning himself slowly, his left eye twitching slightly as a brave sunbeam found its way through his dark lashes.

"Yes..." he said, still turned away so that all Harry could see was his head in profile. "Murder, well... If you'd like to see it that way. There's also the other end to it – saving a young boy from abuse. Something you've previously expressed a certain wish to do."

Tom had stopped his fanning, having put the newspaper to rest in his lap as his left hand instead had taken to tap its fingers restlessly against the leather armrest of the chair. Harry regarded him silently, trying to vainly figure out the answers to his many outraged questions before mindlessly blurting them. But in the end, he was too befuddled.

"You're speaking as if this is a plot where you're planning to murder someone, one certain person."

"Oh, I am not going to murder anyone, Harry," Tom answered with a slight leer, his hand travelling upwards to his chin, so that he could lean on his elbow in a relaxed pose, finally turning around to face his friend. "You are," he concluded challengingly.

"Never," Harry said though clenched teeth, his daily headache beginning to cloud his mind as the prickle of annoyance started setting in. "I will not forsake my own solution just to travel down to the pits of the darkest of magic, killing somebody to save my own skin. No! Besides, there is no way to manipulate the Horcrux ritual to make sure that the piece of soul I rip out of myself is in fact not mine, but Voldemort's."

"What do you think I have been working on all this time, Harry," Tom said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "It is most certainly possible, I assure you."

"I'll still not do it," Harry argued, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Not even if it would save your precious Severus Snape?"

Harry just stared at the other as his mind went though piece by piece of clue as to what Tom might be suggesting. Then, it hit him, the answer making his stomach churn in mixed excitement and nausea. "You want me to kill Tobias Snape..."

Tom didn't answer at once, simply twisting his mouth into a pleased smirk while watching him with intent eyes. "It would save your life, Harry. And Severus'... Besides, you wouldn't have to put up with Prince either that way..."

Harry swallowed against the tightness in his throat, his ears flushing uncomfortably hot as he caught on to the indications Tom made. If he got rid of Snape, he'd be free of Eileen, and he could pursue a relationship with his best friend instead...

Suddenly, a certain memory popped up into his mind, taking him back to the day he'd visited the Ledfords.

"Fate is completely static while chance is a dynamic force," Pollux had said. "All that fate deals with is birth and death. When you are born, when you give life and when you die are the only things in the world that is completely set in stone. Everything else, every little detail and occurrence leading you on your path towards your fate, is decided by chance."

The churning in Harry's stomach sank away, the heat colouring his ears slowly easing. "It won't work," he stated, meeting eyes with the other bravely. "Snape is fated to die in 1976. No matter how hard I try, I won't be able to kill him. Fate will not allow it."

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" Tom said, his voice coated with amusement, as if Harry was pulling his leg.

"I'm not joking," Harry stated coldly, turning back to his completed calculations to re-read them for the umpteenth time.

"You can't seriously mean to say you are not going to do this, not based on some sort of moral complex of yours, but instead because of something of which the lunatic Leda has convinced you of."

Tom was scowling darkly at him now, still not convinced in the least of the validity of what Harry had told him about Fate and Chance. In fact, he'd rather treated it as a laughing matter, preferring to ridicule it instead of accepting it. Harry, of course, wasn't surprised – this was something Tom had done many times before, after all. Every time he'd been challenged with something he himself had a strong opinion about. The value of women, the possibility of another explanation to Harry's state as a Parselmouth, the thought of some knowledge being better left alone because of its destructive nature...

But, as always, Harry would stand tall to challenge him out of the comfort zone. "I assure you," he began in a cold tone of voice, "there are moral points to my decision as well. But above all, the risk is too great. Because I can't possibly succeed, as I am convinced I can't, I will most likely be stopped by law. I might get arrested and thrown into Azkaban, Tom. Murder isn't only wrong by my moral standards, it's also against the law, if you hadn't known..."

"You're being paranoid," Tom scoffed, although the humour didn't reach all the way into his dark eyes.

"I'm not," Harry concluded confidently. "Besides, I find my own conclusion far better. Why, not even you could find a flaw with it. With a Necromancer at our side, it all will fall into place."

"It will take too long," Tom exclaimed impatiently, raising his voice slightly, signalling a lack of control. "I will not sit around, rolling my thumbs while you could lose your own body any moment. Just look at you!" he expressed, casting a meaningful glare at the thick blanket coating Harry's shivering form. "You're a wreck!"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Harry contradicted calmly, conjuring a glass of water with a flick of his wand before taking a slow sip of it.

"It is exactly as bad as it looks," Tom hissed angrily, his hands clenching the leather armrests harshly as if to hold him back from jumping to his feet.

Harry just shook his head slowly and vanished the glass of water. "Look, we've still got time. I'm far stronger than you think. And with a little help from our friends, it won't be too long before we've made the necessary connections. I sent the owls just two days ago. They will get back to us any moment now. We've already got answers from both Aby and Silsel already, although they couldn't help us... But perhaps Al, or Romulus..."

"I've waited enough!" Tom exclaimed, finally flying to his feet, coming to stand immediately in front of Harry, leaning over him with both hands clutching the backrest of the sofa, on each side of his head. "Do you really think I will let you go just like this? I can make you do what I want. It's very simple."

"I'm not a murderer, Tom," Harry said tensely, his chest fluttering nervously at the other's proximity.

"I don't care what you think you are," he hissed coldly, leaning even further in. "Under my imperious, you will be whatever I want you to be."

"Would you really do it, Tom, even though you know that I would hate you for it?" Harry wondered, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

"I would," Tom said coldly. "I will. Because it will save you. I'd rather have you hating me than having you dead."

"I'd rather die than kill someone," Harry concluded quietly, swallowing nervously as Tom leaned in so far their breaths mingled between them.

"I won't give you that choice," he whispered, his lips barely moving against the intimacy between them. Harry could both feel and hear his own heart beat speed up, ringing loudly inside of his flushed ears. The chilling breeze from the open windows hit his sweating neck, making a shiver run down his spine. The warmth from the blazing fireplace in front of him made him shift uncomfortably as the warm body hovering over his raised his body temperature to alarming levels.

The silence between them had been too long. Harry would have to say something, but every coherent thought seemed to have left his mind the second he felt Tom's breath on his face. He could only sit still in mixed dread and eagerness as the soft, cool lips in front of him closed in on his, making an explosion of feelings emerge in the depth of his guts.

He was light-headed, shivering, eager. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help meeting the slow, tantalizing movements of the kiss with his own. It felt far too good. Far too right. It felt like something he'd thought he'd tasted before, but at the same time knew he hadn't, which made the experience both familiar and exciting beyond belief.

This was nothing like the kiss they'd shared once before. Perhaps it was because they were both sober, perhaps it was because Harry was responding this time around, or perhaps it was because this time it had come to a point when they couldn't hold themselves back any longer...

Harry knew he should stop, but he couldn't. It wasn't even an option. He would never stop.

But then, the lips connected to his stopped on their own anyway, left his little cocoon of warmth and then, Tom was walking away from him.

Just like last time, Harry's sluggish mind supplied not so helpfully.

"Tom," Harry called out, wincing and clearing his throat as his voice broke awkwardly. The other stopped in the doorway, not turning around, but showing he was listening. "You won't have to. Force me, that is."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked in a very controlled voice.

"If I won't make it in time. If Voldemort is winning... I'll let you carry out your plan. I'll let you imperio me... If I promise you that, will you give me more time? Will you let me try it my way first?"

Harry held his breath as he watched the other stand still in indecision, twirling the wand between his fingers as he thought. It didn't take very long.

"As you wish."

And with that, he was out the door.

Later on that day, Harry felt much better. He'd received an owl from his mother begging him to visit his grandmother, as none other in the family had the time to look after her tonight. Harry had accepted, of course, what else could he do. And it wasn't exactly like he had anything better to do until he would get to see Lora again at ten, or so.

It was also a good idea because, well, after what had happened between Tom and him in the library, things had gotten a bit tense, one could say. Tom was back to his cold old self, probably feeling deeply betrayed his work had become second best choice, as well as feeling angry at the reminder the kiss had been a step over the line for their current relationship, and could become nothing more than a mistake.

Harry, on the other hand, did not feel angry. He felt ashamed at his own actions. He should have been able to push Tom away, to stop it all. As it was now, it felt like he'd been doubly cheating. He'd betrayed Eileen by kissing Tom in the first place, and he'd also betrayed Tom by encouraging him. Giving him false hope.

He also felt a strangely content. Happy. And that, if anything, scared him so badly he had to get out of the house and stay away from temptation, at least for a day or so. He'd sent Eileen an owl, asking her to meet him in Diagon Alley for a luncheon the next day. Hopefully, by meeting with her, he could get his feelings straight. Literally.

Therefore, he bade farewell to Tom and his father, assuring he'd return in a day or so, and left. He arrived in Godric's Hollow with a dull crack and immediately made for his grandmother's house. He walked up the gravel path to the front door of the blue little cottage and knocked thrice. As he stood outside waiting, he took the time to admire the many bushes of roses the garden was littered with. Someone must be taking their time caring for them quite often – they were beautifully groomed and in full bloom. Harry was glad, it was sure to please the old lady in the house; Grandma Bella had always loved her roses.

The door creaked open and the old, dark-eyed woman stood squinting out at him, her back very crooked as she stood leaning heavily on a thick, wooden cane.

"Harold?" she asked in a shrill voice that made Harry wince.

"No, Grandma, it's Harry."

"Harry?" Grandma Bella asked with a surprised expression, raising a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the rays of the setting sun.

"Yes," Harry said with a smile. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," the old lady croaked, smiling a bit shakily, "come on in. Would you care for some tea? Biscuits?"

As his grandmother led the way into the living room, Harry watched her walk very slowly, but steadily. She seemed to be very weakened, but still her sturdy old self.

Once seated in the plush, old sofas, adorned with loads of pillows, wrapped up in knitted pillowcases in varying colours, she waved her wand in the air and looked very annoyed when nothing happened.

"Harry, would you be a lamb and get the tea for me?" she asked, sounding a bit bitter, and Harry immediately did as told. A steaming hot tea pot zoomed into the room, two cups and a little jar of biscuits following suit.

The old lady seemed to be faring quite well, and Harry was glad to see that she could manage most things around the house entirely on her own. He started to suspect it was in fact Grandma Bella herself who had tended the garden so beautifully. Last time he had seen her, at Uncle Leonard's funeral, she had seemed so weak and out of it – not at all like the attentive and agile old woman who now sat in the sofa next to him. He was glad to see the change.

Something that wasn't going as well for her was the magic. Ever since the loss of her husband, her magical powers had visibly diminished, with the darkening of her once pale blue eye-colour. It seemed her power level had now almost hit rock bottom as she failed over and over again to complete the simplest of tasks. It quite obviously agitated her, as she had once been one of the most powerful witches in the country, her political influence in the magical society well known. And now, she was reduced to this. Harry feared that therein lay most of the reasons why her seemed so sullen and sad.

Her mind was still clear, though, and she happily engaged Harry in stories of her glory days; when she was a sturdy Ministry Worker, bossing that time's Minister around whenever she felt like it; when she met James and how he hated her at first, but how he came around once she'd been away travelling for a month and realized he'd missed her.

Surprisingly, Harry had had a wonderful time at his grandmother's, and wouldn't mind visiting the next day, if he could. But the handsome grandfather clock in the corner was closing in on ten, and it was time for him to leave.

But when he'd made his excuses and was about to arise from the plush, pink sofa, Grandma Bella grabbed a firm grasp of his wrist to keep him back. The look she gave him was one he'd seen before on her face, occasionally, whenever she had something very important and insightful to say.

"You are in pain," she stated calmly, and skimmed her eyes over his face and torso, as if she tried to read the truth in his very skin.

Harry knew there was no point in denying it, he'd only get ignored anyway, so he nodded slowly in response. "Yes," he admitted.

She grunted thoughtfully, meeting his eyes head on with a look of purest concern. "You yourself are the cause of your pain."

Harry figured she wasn't talking about the pain Voldemort caused him, so he nodded again, although a bit hesitantly this time.

"The most important thing, Harry, is to listen. Truly listen to what is best, what your heart is telling you. No one other than you can know and decide that, so you will have to do it for yourself."

"But what about loyalty?" Harry asked, swallowing against his suddenly very dry throat. "What about responsibility?"

"And who has given you this responsibility, Harry?" Grandma Bella asked, leaning forwards to point a wrinkled but sharp finger into his chest.

Harry looked down at the digit, poking uncomfortably at his ribcage, and then up at his grandmother again. "Are you telling me to be selfish, Grandma?"

The old lady smiled at him and let the hand travel up his neck to lay to rest against his cheek in an affectionate gesture. "I am telling you to live, Harry," she said calmly. "You have one chance at life, so it is essential you make the most of it. There will be no next time. If you hold yourself back now, when will you ever have the chance again to do what you want?"

Harry didn't know what to say, he felt speechless. His grandmother was essentially telling him he was living his life wrongly. That he was causing himself great pain. And Harry could only figure one point in his life that he sorely regretted he hadn't treated differently – his relationship with Tom.

So what it boiled down to was that the wise old lady, that held his cheek so lovingly, was telling him to forsake Eileen. To be selfish, and forget about Severus altogether. To follow his heart and choose to be with Tom.

But a big part of him was screaming at him to stop having these thoughts, that he couldn't just forsake the very man that saved him – more than once. That he couldn't just leave Eileen, who had come to adore and respect, to a life of abuse and poverty.

He opened his mouth wide, but it was hard to speak. "I," he began. "I just..."

"There, there," Grandma Bella said, her sharp and attentive tone of voice back. "No need to think too hard on it, not right now. Take your time. But now I think it's about time you leave, wasn't there somewhere you wanted to be at ten – why ever you would want to go anywhere at this hour when one should be tucked into bed, I do not understand."

Harry was kindly, but roughly, shoved out of the house after that, barely making it out the door before it slammed shut on him with a gruff "Good night" from his grandmother. It was with a soft, grateful smile that Harry walked out of the rose garden and towards the old graveyard of the Hollow.

The evening breeze was bitter this night, and Harry shivered as it chilled him to the bone, his already broken down body refusing to get accustomed to it, even with a warming charm to his outer cloak. It was time to leave.

He looked at Lora's transparent form, sitting next to him on the graveyard bench, as per usual. Her body, forever captured in her 17 year old self with a beautiful green dress and wild, dark black hair, seemed far more translucent than ever tonight. And her face was set into a solemn expression. It felt like she was very sad about something, and Harry felt almost guilty to be leaving her behind in this state.

"It's time for me to leave," Harry said in an excusing manner, watching the delayed reaction of his cousin as the sound finally reached her ears and she turned her head to face him.

"It was great seeing you, Harry, as always."

"I'll be back tomorrow, as always," Harry promised and arose from the bench, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. It would be wonderful to crawl down under the thick covers of a warm bed – his own bed for once.

"No, you won't," came Lora's dreamy voice from behind him, making him turn around in surprise. "This will be our last time."

"Whatever do you mean?" Harry wondered, sitting down again, slowly, a strong ripple of sorrow coursing through his body.

"Just what I said," Lora answered, the sad expression suddenly making sense. What she said was true, only, she didn't want it to be. "Tomorrow, it will all change, and we won't get any more time together."

"Why, what will happen tomorrow? Will you get re-born?"

"No," Lora said with an amused smile. "Not yet... But Harry, you must listen to me, very closely. I have something of great importance to tell you, so please, let me speak without interruptions."

Stunned, Harry nodded his promise and watched as his faded cousin took a deep breath, although he wasn't sure if it would help her or not.

"As I once told you, the state of life and the world is very clear to me, as I am now a conscious part of it. There are two forces of life, as I know Leda and Pollux has already told you: chance and fate. And as you know, you have pulled free of your fated death because you travelled back in time. What you don't know about are the consequences this has had for the people around you.

"First, Tom. He does not have a fate either. The two of you, your souls, are connected by powerful magic. This tie constantly affects his position in this world, as well as yours. What's more is that your presence here has affected the fates of the people connected to you by blood as well. That means, your parents, my parents, your real parents... All their fates have been rewritten. Mine probably was as well. If I was supposed to die this young or not, I will never know. Perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn't... But that isn't important. The important thing is that all of these people who are connected to you, Harry, you can change their fates.

"This also means that the people who are not connected to you still have the same fates as always... I know what you are trying to do, and I admire you for it, but... You can not change the fate of Eileen Prince, Harry. You just can't. She is fated to have a child with Tobias Snape. Severus Snape is fated to get born – he is out here, with me, waiting for his time. It has to be done. Only then, you can change his life, by manipulating chance... But you can't fight fate, Harry, it's impossible."

Harry was lying face down in his warm, cosy bed. He knew it was late, but his body didn't seem to want to cooperate with him. Thankfully, he would get away with snoozing today, since his family still wasn't home, and wouldn't be until the day after tomorrow. Harold was away having a sort of Quidditch camp with a couple of friends of his from Hogwarts. And their parents were away, travelling around Scotland for a couple of days, having some private quality time together.

So Harry was left to his own devices, being completely free to stay in bed as long as he wanted – even Tom wouldn't pester him, as he had told him he wouldn't get back to Riddle Manor until later that afternoon. He could just sleep some more, regain his powers, and then...

Terrified, Harry raised his head from out of the thick pillow, staring in disbelief at the clock on his bedside table.

Noon!

Eileen!

He was going to be so late!

Scrambling out of bed, almost tipping over as his low blood pressure made his head swim, he hastened to get ready. Shirts and shoes flew around him, trying their best to look the most attractive for him so that he would choose them. Soaps, brushes of various kind and even bottles of his mother's perfume started chasing him around as he made his way into the bathroom and threw himself into the shower.

Finally dressed, groomed and ready, he was very very late. As he emerged via floo in the Leaky Cauldron, he was later still. When he, at last, turned up at Eileen's and his meeting spot, outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, he was oh so, so very late.

To his immense relief, and wonder, Eileen still stood waiting for him, and sour expression on her long face, a melting strawberry sorbet struggling for air in her hand.

"Eileen!" he called out, running, as best he could, to meet her. Her expression soured further, if that even was possible, as she caught sight of him, and her mouth twisted into a chilly smile.

"Harry, there you are," she said holding out the ice cream in her hand for him to take. "Here," she said bitterly. "I bought you one as well."

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry," Harry begged, reluctantly accepting the weeping candy. "I overslept."

"Oh, I see," Eileen muttered, turning on her heel, walking down the twisted road of Diagon, Harry scrambling to life behind her to try and keep up with her brisk pace. When they came to the lunch place where Harry had half-planned for them to eat, Eileen simply passed it by, not giving it a glance, and he followed her without complaint. She obviously had something of her own planned for them.

On their way, every one of Harry's tries to pick up conversation was shot down by an impatient hand gesture from Eileen, silently begging for him to shut his mouth. Affronted, but still curious, Harry did as told and didn't speak one word until they arrived at an old, shaded park of oak trees, seemingly having sprung up out of nowhere in the middle of the alley. What he said then was: "I didn't know this was here..."

Eileen led him to one of the park benches, with an annoyed pull on his right sleeve, and sat down on it. Harry looked around at the wild scenery they'd happened upon, looking up into the depths of the tree branches, watching little blue birds jump from twig to twig, twittering merrily.

He was startled as something cold and wet started cascading down his left hand. "Er," he said, licking melted strawberry ice cream from off the back of his hand. "Look, I appreciate the gesture but... I'm not really that, er, I mean. It was kind of you to buy one, but..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Eileen exclaimed and vanished the melted candy with a sharp twist of her slim, hawthorn wand.

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling like a huge, bumbling idiot. "Can't seem to do anything right today..."

The silence between them became drawn out, and Eileen refused to meet his eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

"I was surprised by your owl yesterday," she suddenly said, face still turned away, her tone cold.

"You were?" Harry said, relieved it seemed to be alright to speak now. "Well, I did promise to write you, didn't I?"

"You did," Eileen agreed crisply. "But this was the one and only time you did so, wasn't it?"

"What are you saying?" Harry wondered, his stomach clenching in worry. "Should I have written sooner? If you thought so, why didn't you write?"

"Because," Eileen intoned, glaring upwards at the birds above as one of them let out a particularly shrill screech. "Because, I wanted to see how long it would take for you to do so... Almost a month, Harry, congratulations, you definitely exceeded my expectations."

"No, wait a second, that wasn't..." Harry stuttered, caught off guard. "I had... I didn't think...I was busy!"

"Yes, but isn't it curious," Eileen hissed out viciously, "that all the while you've been this busy, with something you refuse to tell me about, you didn't even see it fit to call out to me so that I could be there for you. Not once! You just sit on your bum and expect nothing more out of me than to happily be your girlfriend, whatever that means to you, and then meet with you whenever you feel like it. Well, let me tell you, that isn't good enough!"

Eileen flew to her feet and started to march away, but Harry hurried after, stopping her with a grip around her wrist. "Eileen, wait! Please, let me make this right," he called out, but she only looked at him with contempt in her eyes.

"I once found your insecure and shy ways sweet, Harry, in the beginning when we started going out. Because you were trying, then. You were doing your best to be with me. You wanted to back then. But now..."

"I want to be with you," Harry argued, but only succeeded in making the other even angrier, as she pulled her wrist free and pierced him with a glare from the pits of hell.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me," she said through clenched teeth, backing away slowly. "I don't know why you went through all this trouble, but I don't think you ever did. You were just leading me on. Don't deny it, I deserve that much. Now leave me alone, Harry. It's over."

With a last glare of the utmost hate, Eileen turned on her heel, and ran.

A/N: I'm so happy to be writing again. The hold up has been much too long. Hope I get to keep this up. I also hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Thank you, all of you, for the support and the kind reviews you've sent me.

Mischief managed!