The village of Tristram, overlooked by a massive stone cathedral, stood before them. It was raining. The obsidian hellscape flickered with flames and steam, and smoke, and flames. The three stood on a hill looking down at the abandoned village.
"Here," said Etienne "We must make a tragic decision."
The three walked down a muddy path into the center of the village, where an enormous portal was open. The portal was blue. "How did this place come to be here?" asked Harry.
Etienne gazed around the little village. "Diablo...this is not the first time he has schemed to conquer the earth. Once, long ago, he came to France – in a bid for power, he tore a hole between worlds, and entered into Tristram. I stopped him. Barely. But I had to sacrifice everything, Harry. This is where I was born. I was named for this village. And to stop Diablo, I had to let it die."
There was a moment of silence. Harry gazed, wordlessly, at Etienne. He thought, for a moment, that a ghostly tear ran down the cheek of Etienne.
"The time must come for the most important decision, Harry." said Etienne. "You see, I never told you this, but to close the portal one of us must stay behind. You must make...the ultimate sacrifice."
"I'll do it." said Harry, without thinking. "I must, because, well, I'm dying slowly, Etienne. The augments are killing me."
"But Harry, the world needs you. You must stop the Diablo."
"I can't!" Harry wailed.
"You can!" said Hermione.
"You must do it, Harry, you are the chosen one." said Etienne, smiling wisely. "Hermione can stay."
Hermione blanched. "What? No, I-"
But it was too late. Etienne grabbed Harry by his long red hair and flung himself and Harry through the portal, cackling like a deranged madman.
Harry crashed onto the pavement in the courtyard of Hogwarts, a tear in reality itself sealing behind him. He rolled with the velocity, bits of metal coming off him, but he quickly rose into a standing position. Ron was there wearing a long dark trench coat, staring at Harry in bemused disbelief. It was raining and rain was running down the side of the building and forming puddles. Ron lit a cigarette.
"Harry," he said "You're back."
Harry stood up and dusted himself off.
"Also you have wings now." Ron observed curiously. Harry pretended not to hear. "Ron," he said "I've just been to hell and met the spirit of Etienne Tristram, and Hermione was there too-"
Ron cut him off "There's no time for that now, Harry. Detective Phelps is here to arrest you."
Harry blinked. "Who?" And a moment later, he felt a blackjack swing down on the back of his soft, augmented head and everything went even blacker than it already was, which was pretty impressive given that it was both night, and raining out, overcast and devoid of light pollution since the city could no longer afford to keep the streetlights powered, and, well, you get the idea.
Harry Potter sat in the holding cell in the jail cell. He lay on the lumpy, uncomfortable jail bed.
There was a retched smell of bowel movements and soiled linens emanating from a shadowy corner of Harry's cell that contained the remains of his cellmate, Fred Wesley, who had committed suicide last month. Harry had taken up a complaint with the staff and was assured they would respond promptly to the issue. They didn't. Aggravated by this, Harry sighed, happy that his augments prevented him from smelling the grisly remains.
It was raining and Harry's black trenchcoat was dripping wet from the rain, slowly forming a puddle under him.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the cell door. Harry looked up to see a man in a blue suit with spiky hair that looked like it had been blown back in a windstorm and his preteen psychic girl assistant. The man sat on one side of the plate glass simplex-glass window and his preteen psychic girl assistant sat on the other. Harry knew who it was at once because psychic preteen girl sidekicks were so rare in Vegas. Harry loved her.
It was raining and the spiky haired man's trenchcoat was dripping wet from the rain, slowly forming a puddle under him.
"Hello, Mister Potter, my name is Mister Wright, but you can call me Phoenix." The man told him.
"I know who you are." Harry said.
"I'm here to defend you. But in order to do that, Harry, I must know, are you innocent?" He asked.
Harry gasped, mammaries rushing back to him in a maddening torrent, like the suppressed, traumatic memories of a reclusive, traumatized patient, the repression being the only thing keeping them from going into a psychotic killing spree, in a mental hospital, that had been reopened by a careless therapist during a hypnotherapy session in which the therapist would feel the full wrath of the patients vengeance. Hermione. Hermione who had sacrificed everything for the sake of Harry's humanity. Hermione who was in hell. Harry loved her.
Harry shook his head, clearing away the phantoms of the past. "I am, but prisoners aren't given state-appointed attorneys since the combine took over, who sent you?" Harry asked, suspiciously.
The spiky haired man smiled at this remark, "You're very clever," He replied, "a friend of yours hired me to defend you on his behalf, Ginny Wesley."
Harry gasped, mammaries rushing back to him in a maddening torrent, like the suppressed, traumatic memories of a reclusive, traumatized patient, the repression being the only thing keeping them from going into a psychotic killing spree, in a mental hospital, that had been reopened by a careless therapist during a hypnotherapy session which in which the therapist would feel the full wrath of the patients vengeance. Ginny. Ginny, who had made him passion's plaything with the scorching radiance of her incredibly powerful emotional love affair. Ginny, with her sparkling, laughing eyes. Harry loved her.
"Now that we have that out of the way, What do you make of this?" Phoenix said, proffering his attorney's badge to Harry. Harry shook his head. "It's just a little bit of metal, Mr. Wright." Harry sighed. "If I had any faith in the court system, it died a long time ago."
Wright only sighed in response, knowing full well how long it would take to prove his innocence.
"Well, Harry, I'll do what I can for you, but I'm not sure how it's going to go. I don't have much to defend you with."
At this point, Wright's companion piped up. "Don't worry, Wright. I can sense his innocence with my psychic powers."
Wright gave her a skeptical look. "You can?"
She gave him a thumbs up. "Yeah!"
Wright shrugged. "If you say so, Maya."
She nodded emphatically. "You'll just have to keep the prosecution on their toes and on the defensive the first day, until we have some more time to indict one of the witnesses."
Wright gave his friend a quizzical look. "You mean...one of the witnesses did it? You can tell with your psychic powers?"
"Wright," she explained with a kindly yet condescending tone, "It doesn't matter if the witness actually did it or not. We're just getting our client" and here she gestured at Harry, who was staring at the two of them with disbelief "off, regardless of his innocence."
"But I only help the truly innocent!" Wright declared.
The woman laughed in his face, purple kimono shaking up and down with the force of her laugh. They excused themselves and left arguing. Harry smiled to himself, knowing he was in good hands as the visitation cell filled with knockout gas. Little did he know, this wouldn't be his only visitor.
Tonight, he would dream.
Harry tossed and turned on his grubby, lumpy, cot. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because he was dreaming.
It had been years since his last dream. In his mind of minds he could see the nightmares he had had in the past, about cold metal running in rivulets down his wrists, up his arms, smothering his face with the glossy, glass-like reflections cast on the metal as it poured down his throat. Harry did not like to dream.
Harry always wondered when he would next dream. It was a battle each night, falling asleep with the anticipation of yet another horrible nightmare only to wake up without dreaming at all.
This had all began after he had been approached by Hagrid, ever since he had been untimely snatched away from his family. Years had passed and he couldn't dream. Years had passed and he hadn't heard from his family, from Vernon, Penny, or Sylas. Harry reminded himself to write to them.
Anyway, he was dreaming. Pictures flew through his mind's eye as fast as someone with a mixture of Tourette's and ADHD having a seizure while operating the machine for a slide show. Too many scenes to count. Too many deaths that he had witnessed and/or caused. He dreamed of when Hagrid died in his arms. He dreamed of when Dr. Reed was kidnapped during the raid on Hogwarts, and how he was powerless to stop them.
Harry awoke at this, jerked up at the sight of Dr. Reed being dragged onto the boat, screaming for help and remembering being helpless to save her. His face felt moist and his pillow was wet. Harry realized he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face like the raindrops falling in torrents outside the window.
It was raining outside, Harry noticed.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light that looked like lightning followed by a deafeningly loud crash that sounded like thunder.
A contrastingly quiet voice compared to the previous boom of thunder appeared out of the shadows.
"Hello, Harry."
Harry sat bolt upright and reached under a pile of grubby laundry for his 34. Automatic, only it wasn't there because Cole had taken it away when he arrested Harry. He turned to see it was Ginny's ghost!
Harry gasped, the memories rushing back to him in a maddening torrent, like the suppressed, traumatic memories of a reclusive, traumatized patient, in a mental hospital that had been reopened by a careless therapist during a hypnotherapy session which in which the therapist would feel the full wrath of the patients vengeance. Ginny. Ginny, who had made him passion's plaything with the scorching radiance of her incredibly powerful emotional love affair. Ginny, with her long, sparkling, ash blond hair and rough, pebbled, ebony skin that rippled like rainbows in the gasoline lamplight. Harry loved her.
Only it might have been Hagrids ghost. It was hard to tell, because the cell was dim. Harry lit a cigarette.
"Harry, you must never forget why you fight, why you're here. It was so long ago that we met, when you killed my family and we ran away together." Ginny said. Harry began to cry again as he remembered the event, how romantic it was, he reminisced.
"There is no time, you must stop Dumbledore before his evil plans succeed!" Gunny continued. "You must stop him and then travel to the ruins of the Black Mesa building and reverse the Event Horizen. It's your destiny, and you can't fight destiny." Hagrid told him.
The ghost then slowly faded into nothingness, leaving Harry by himself.
And then Harry was alone again, like he always was, like he knew he always would be.
Harry soon drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
Alone.
Like he always knew he would be.
Like he always was.
Alone.
Like he always knew he would be.
Alone.
