Chapter 22: And How to Lose One
• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •
As chaos reigned across the grounds of Hogwarts, two Harry's remained motionless at its core. One was sprawled in the grass, eyes glassy and unseeing, while the other stood beside him, eyes wide as though he were seeing far too much. And in a way, he was. He rotated on the spot, mouth ajar as he watched the witches and wizards around him and struggled to process what he was seeing.
Their chests were glowing. Everyone had a golden mass of pulsing light at the center of their being, flickering along with their heartbeats. Those still fighting had souls that were so bright they was difficult to look at, while figures on the ground had lights that were waning and fading, or not there at all.
This is what it meant to be Master of Death. To be a witness of the very essence of humanity. To gaze upon the very souls of his fellows.
His gaze fell upon Voldemort. He had just one mangled fragment of a soul inside him, stained a violent shade of red. There was a throbbing mess of smoldering black tethers trailing after him. Only one tether was taut. It led straight to Nagini, and he could see within her two souls; the golden one was hers, while the small red fragment beside it was clearly Voldemort's.
The sight filled him with revulsion. How could Voldemort have done that too himself – and to another living thing? The souls of those around him were beautiful and pure, pulsing with each other in some secret rhythm, all of them belonging in a way that Voldemort's raped soul did not. It was an abomination upon nature itself.
And to think that in another life, Voldemort had forced that onto Harry as well.
Harry fell beside his counterpart in despair. His soul was still there, flickering like a candle in a strong wind, dangerously close to being snuffed out. His counterpart's soul was marked red where a fragment had been gouged out. A tether stretched from his soul straight upward into the heavens, undoubtedly tying him to his horcrux in his universe. It was sickening to look at, but Harry was more concerned by his soul that was fading almost imperceptibly.
How was this possible? How was he dying when his horcrux should be tying him to life? Harry had to do something. There had to be a way. He couldn't become Master of Death just to let his counterpart die.
His gripped his counterpart, heart thumping. Desperate to try anything, he tentatively reached out and grasped his counterpart's soul, painfully aware that he had no idea what he was doing. One wrong move and who knows what destruction he could cause?
The soul quivered in his hands. He froze in awe. He could feel its warmth, it's very life essence, but he could also cooling quickly. Following his instincts, he leaned in a blew as though he was stoking a fire, and his counterpart's soul responded in kind, roaring to life.
• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •
There was a train.
The thought came to him all at once, yet he felt as though he'd known it all his life. It was the Hogwarts Express, blanketed in white and bathed in a glow that made its interior too blinding to distinguish. Its doors were cast open expectantly. He was seated on a bench before it, waiting. It felt as though he had both just woken up and been sitting here, waiting, for a very, very long time.
Was the train waiting for him, or was he waiting for the train?
He glanced around the station, squinting through the evanescent glow permeating the world. He'd never seen the platform so empty. He was the only soul there. The still silence of the station gave him the impression that he was the only soul anywhere.
And just as he was beginning to feel very alone, there was a voice.
"Harry?"
A soft voice, full of hope and fear and confusion.
Two figures emerged from the train. He didn't need to see them to know who they were. He'd know from the voice. His parents. Not the alternate James and Lily, but his real parents, not a day older than twenty-one. They were smiling at him with hungry looks in their eyes.
"Am – am I dead?" he asked with a mixture of hope and confusion rising in his chest.
James shook his head. "Not quite."
Harry slowly got to his feet. He was barely three strides away from his parents. His real parents.
"Where am I? Why wasn't I ripped from my body like Voldemort was?"
"Magic is a funny thing," Lily said, her voice ringing like bells. "Sometimes mere intent can make all the difference. You made a sacrifice, so you were rewarded."
"So, it worked? The others – are they protected?"
"Yes, your sacrifice worked," said James, smiling proudly. "They're safe from Voldemort, and now you have a choice, son. You can go back, if you wish, or you can come with us."
"But… my soul."
"We can repair it," Lily said earnestly, reaching tentatively out to him. "We're in the In-Between, here. Between universes, beyond the laws of the natural world. You can be whole again, and then we can board the train. Together."
"Where will it take us?"
Lily gave him a bittersweet smile, eyes glistening. "Somewhere you can rest."
A lump formed in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. "But what will happen to the others? Everyone I leave behind?"
"You won't know. You can't know," said James.
Harry felt a strange, distant tugging in his chest. He was a kind of tired he felt in his bones. He was ready to board that train. He was ready to be done. To be home.
He gazed at his parents, hungrily drinking in every detail. They looked just like they had in the photographs. James was a tall, thin young man with dark tousled hair and square glasses. They were nearly the same height. The age difference was so slight they could have been brothers. Lily beside him was simply beautiful with her dark red hair and her eyes just like his – or how his used to be. His eyes hadn't been like hers for a long time.
"What have you seen? How much do you know?" he asked quietly.
"Everything," said James.
Harry's stomach twisted. "You must hate me."
"We're so proud of you, Harry," Lily said. "You've been so strong."
"Don't you care?" he asked, hands bunching into fists. "Don't you care about everything I've done? What I've become?"
"You are exactly who you are meant to be, Harry," said James. "You are more than what Voldemort has done to you. Look at what you have just done. You were willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your family. You are exactly the kind of man I had always hoped you would be."
Harry bit down on his lip and averted his gaze, unable to stand his words. His eyes went to the Hogwarts Express, still waiting in anticipation to take him somewhere better. Somewhere he belonged.
"Will I get to be with you?"
"Yes, Harry," Lily said, her face cracking a thousand emotions. "We'll never be parted again."
She reached out, ready to take hold of him, and he realised in that moment that there was no hesitation within him. He was ready to be taken hold of. Before she could, the tugging in his chest crescendoed, yanking him away from them.
"What – what's happening?" he cried. He tried to reach out to them, but they were held just beyond his grasp.
"You're being pulled back to the world of the living," James said, frowning. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really thought you'd get to choose."
"No! No – I don't want to go back," he said frantically, but the pull grew and grew. "You said I could stay. I want to stay!"
"Be strong, Harry, please be strong," Lily cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Trust your counterpart. Let your parents help you. They'll find a way! We will always–"
His eyes snapped open and his parents were replaced by a dark sky full of smoke.
"Mum!" he cried, screwing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get back to that brilliant white world, but he only found a chaotic blackness beneath his eyelids. The stench of smoke of singed magic filled his nostrils. The cacophony of war filled his eardrums.
It was too soon.
It wasn't enough.
His counterpart was staring down at him in awe with his hands pressed against Harry's chest. Beneath one hand was the Resurrection Stone, while beneath his other was the Elder Wand, while draped over his shoulders was the Cloak of Invisibility. All at once Harry understood exactly what had happened.
"You meddling bastard!" he snarled, seizing his counterpart by the front of his robes. "Why didn't you leave me there? Why didn't you leave me there!?"
"I saved your life!" his counterpart burst out.
Harry lurched up and slammed his counterpart onto his back. "Send me back," he growled down at him, voice cracking. "They were right there! Please!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" his counterpart wheezed, utterly bewildered.
Harry punched him right in his meddling face. His counterpart groaned and coughed incredulously, then retaliated with a blow to Harry's gut. The air left him in a whoof, and suddenly the two of them were brawling on the ground.
Harry barely registered his counterpart's blows. He barely had the brain power even to try and block them. Everything in his mind was a red haze. The beast – the dragon – roared in his chest. All he knew was that his stupid childish counterpart had just taken away everything he'd ever fucking wanted. He pounded his fists into his counterpart, and his counterpart returned the onslaught with a vengeance.
He only stopped when he realized his counterpart's blows had stopped coming. He'd gone deathly still beneath Harry. His eyes darted between Harry and something over his shoulder, his breathing ragged and his eyes wide with fear.
It was then that Harry registered the pain lighting up his scar, and the force sucking at his magical core.
He stiffened, going so still he could feel his own heartbeat marching relentlessly, mercilessly onward. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know who was behind him.
"Get up, Potter."
His eyes closed, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around his counterpart's robes, he let his head hang in defeat, overwhelmed by the childish impression of just how unfair this was. He'd been so close. So close to freedom, to death, to everything he'd ever wanted. Now he was back on earth underneath the Dark Lord's thumb.
"Get. Up."
Harry compelled his body into action, his movements stiff and rebelling against every effort. He gave his counterpart one last spiteful shove, pinning him with his iciest glare, and forced himself to his feet. He swallowed down the crushing disappointment, and as he turned to face the ethereal, smoky form of the Voldemort from his universe looming over him, he squashed down everything that had been overwhelming him became a soldier.
Voldemort surveyed his surroundings with an indifferent eye. "Is my counterpart mortal?"
"It's just Nagini and him."
Voldemort's lip curled. "Then why aren't you tussling with her instead of your idiot counterpart?"
Harry said nothing. He retrieved his wand and the fang from the grass, stepping over his counterpart to do so, who was still frozen on the ground. He looked terrified. Terrified for him. Harry ignored his counterpart and, upon spying Nagini by the lake, marched decisively in her direction. He had to force one foot in front of the other.
He weaved and dodged his way across the battle scene, still with a vague sense of detachment from everything around him. He ducked as the Weasley Twins zoomed past on broomsticks, leaving a shower of firebombs in their wake that latched themselves onto the surrounding Death Eaters and exploded, causing the Death Eaters to burst into fire and run screaming for the lake.
Over by the Whomping Willow, Remus was helping a disheveled Peter to his feet while Sirius fended off Rudolphus several feet away, a taunting grin on his face. Harry passed Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, who had their backs to a young boy, clustering him in the center of their ring to protect him from Bellatrix Lestrange's crazed assault.
Most of the Order were facing off against Voldemort by the Entrance, with Dumbledore leading the charge. Harry flinched when a Voldemort's Confringo blasted Kingsley in the chest, but it shattered against him to no affect. He hadn't even tried to block it.
Harry realized with a start that his sacrifice really had worked. Voldemort's curses were meaningless to them.
It was a little easier to put one foot in front of the other with that knowledge at the forefront of his mind. He could feel his Voldemort's presence at his back, but he didn't turn to look. Nagini had a woman cornered against by the water's edge. She lunged, the woman screamed, but Nagini's fangs clanged off her chest as though the woman were forged of stone. Harry grinned. His sacrifice protected them from Nagini as well.
He sent a stunner at her. Nagini's head snapped to him, and immediately the woman was forgotten, darting toward him with a confidence that was no doubt due to the success of their last encounter.
Harry didn't wait for her to strike. He lunged to meet her and brought down the fang, but she evaded him with ease, striking him against the ribs for good measure. She coiled around herself and gave him a spitting hiss, as though daring him to try that again.
"Fool," Voldemort muttered as Harry gasped for breath. He stepped between Harry and Nagini and knelt down tenderly before her. "Nagini, my beautiful girl, be still."
Nagini paused. Her head twitched to the side as she listened, tongue flicking at Voldemort. He continued to murmur in Parceltongue as Harry dragged himself to his feet. He crept toward her cautiously, but now she took no notice of him, entranced by her master's words.
Harry brought the fang down upon her head like a dagger, skewering her skull and forcing her head into the ground. She let out a gut-wrenching, high-pitched wail of a hiss, body flailing and thrashing. Harry struggled to keep hold of the fang pressed against her head until finally the life bled from her and she was still.
Harry sat back with relief and flung the fang away from himself. Voldemort remained where he was, kneeling before Nagini, and did not move for a long moment, his eyes trained on Nagini's corpse with a cold expression.
Finally, he straightened and glared at Harry. "Let us end this once and for all, Potter."
Harry followed in kind, but as he stood he swayed dizzily, his vision clouding over for a moment. Nagini's venom was still in his veins. He wanted this over with just as much as Voldemort did. And he was close. Nagini was the seventh horcrux. Voldemort was mortal. He was so close. He knew this would be the hardest part, though, and he was already weak from venom. He swallowed hard a surveyed the battlefield, searching for Voldemort.
Before he could find the Dark lord, a scream he only ever heard in his nightmares split the air.
Lily.
He was moving before Voldemort could stop him, scanning the chaos around him, when he came upon a truly baffling sight. He froze in place, utterly dumbfounded. He chose to believe the snake venom was making him hallucinate.
Severus Snape was keeled over in the grass, sobbing and rocking back and forth with the lifeless form of Lily Potter cradled in his arms. Her eyes were open, the green of her irises dull and sightless, her skin already a pale pallor.
His sacrifice had been for nothing.
All he could do was stare as Snape wept and muttered over his lifeless mother, so overcome with confusion and repulsion and horror that he couldn't move. James, however, was not suffering from the same affliction.
"No, no, no, no, what have you done? What did you do?" he howled, thundering toward Snape. "Lily!"
"I - I didn't... Lucius cast – before I could–" he gibbered, holding Lily close.
"You slimy, slithering, sniveling bastard! You killed her! YOU KILLED HER!"
"No – I swear – I tried–"
"Get away from her! Get your filthy hands off her you bastard!" James growled, blasting a curse at Snape.
"This is your fault!" Snape lashed out, dodging the curse. He let Lily's form fall to the ground and stumbled to his feet, jabbing his wand at James. "You were supposed to protect her. You failed her. You – you wanted her all to yourself and now look what you've done!"
James roared with fury and the two of them were trading curses over Lily's body. Harry started forward, desperate to do something – anything – but Voldemort materialized in front of him and shoved him back.
"This is not your fight, Potter," he snarled. "My alternate self is mortal. Finish him."
Harry glared at Voldemort, his vision blurry with tears, his brain muzzy with poison and his heart breaking with grief. This can't be happening. His sacrifice was supposed to protect Lily. It was supposed to protect all of them.
Protect them from Voldemort. Not his Death Eaters.
He spied Voldemort by the Entrance, locked in battle with Dumbledore. Harry wanted to scream, to drop to his knees and pound the earth until it opened up and swallowed him whole. Instead, he ran.
Voldemort was struggling. His curses had no effect on Dumbledore and the Order. The Dark Lord was, perhaps for the first time in his life, dueling entirely on the defensive. The Order had him penned in with his back to the outer wall of the Great Hall, red eyes flashing with unhinged fury as he blocked and dodged their curses.
Harry saw Lily's dull eyes. He heard James' snarls of grief. He saw Holly's trembling hand holding the Cat. He felt the beast stir in his gut. The dragon. He leapt into the air on instinct and transformed, sweeping upward with an animalistic screech before plunging down upon the Dark Lord.
Voldemort cast a shield just as Harry's fiery breath enveloped him. Harry twisted in the air and touched back down in front of Dumbledore, transforming back into himself. He gathered every bit of hatred and anguish he had inside him.
"Are you afraid of me now?" he snarled.
Voldemort eyes widened in shock. There is was again. Surprise. Harry raised his hands, thinking of nothing but pain and hatred and suffering, and the brilliant green curse thundered from his fingertips. Voldemort tried to evade it. He tried to duck, to run, to Apparate, but the blast was too large, too powerful, too quick. There was a blinding flash, a sizzling boom, and Voldemort fell forward onto the ground, his black robes billowing in his wake.
Just like that.
Harry stared at Voldemort's body, hardly daring to believe it. The chaos that had been overwhelming the school had dissipated all at once. Now, with Voldemort's body lying face-down in the grass, it was stillness that reigned. It was so quiet he could hear the ringing in his ears.
This did not feel like a victory. When he turned, he realized why. All the battles had ceased. All eyes had turned his way, to the Champion of Worlds and the visceral figure of Lord Voldemort standing beside him.
Harry turned and met Voldemort's gaze, who stared back at him with cold, narrowed eyes. Dread pooled in the pit of Harry's gut at the sight of those eyes. His grip on his wand loosened and he took a subconscious step away from the corpse.
It didn't matter that this was an alternate Voldemort in another world on a parallel timeline.
Harry Potter had just killed Lord Voldemort.
Harry Potter was capable of killing Lord Voldemort.
And now both of them knew it.
Voldemort turned from Harry dismissively, as though deciding that he would be dealt with later. His red eyes locked onto Dumbledore.
"Your Champion has completed the task for which you abducted him. You will return him at once."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, regarding Voldemort with a guarded expression. "A battlefield is no place for such conversations. Allow us to further the matter in my office."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore, but said stiffly, "Very well."
He turned to Harry, who tensed. The world was going fuzzy and indistinct, as though he was dreaming with his eyes open. It made him feel off-balance and out of control. Voldemort grasped his shoulder and the world spun away with a sickening lurch.
When it righted itself, Harry found himself in the Headmaster's Office. Fawkes squawked in surprise at their arrival, ruffling his feathers indignantly. Harry gripped Dumbledore's desk to steady himself against the wave of dizziness that washed over him.
A pop, and Dumbledore appeared. "I was not aware of your ability to Apparate within my school," he said as he sat heavily behind his desk. He looked haggard. Old in a way Harry and had never envisioned him. His eyes swept cautiously between Harry and Voldemort.
"I am not a part of this world and therefore not subject to its limitations," Voldemort said dismissively. "I demand my soldier's return."
Dumbledore's eyes shifted to Harry. Harry refused to meet them. He stared at the grains in Dumbledore's desk, shame clouding his brain. The adrenaline was wearing off, and with it he was beginning to remember that he had been poisoned. It didn't help that Voldemort was leeching off his magical core.
"You must understand that returning him is no simple feat," Dumbledore said slowly. "The returning ritual requires a complex rune to be drawn, which will take time to perfect. Trust me when I say that rushing this task and making errors will result in disastrous consequences for both our universes."
Harry's scar twinged. "Were you aware of this?" Voldemort hissed at him. "How many months have you been here? All that time you could have been preparing this ritual to be enacted the moment you were able. Fool. Did you not think to discover the details of your return?"
"You didn't either," Harry retorted, then gasped at the lick of pain that shot through his scar.
"Very shrewd of you, Albus. I don't care what needs to be done, you will enact this ritual as soon as possible. I'm giving you three days to prepare it."
"Like hell we will," said James, bursting through the door. He was gaunt and bloody, his eyes rimmed red from tears that had carved streaks down his face. He immediately went to Harry, holding his arms out to support his unsteady son.
The Cruciatus Curse ripped through him, lighting his skin on fire and setting every atom inside his body ablaze. It was quick, though. It would have been barely ten seconds, but it still left him keeled over on the floor and gasping for breath. James was crouched over him, gripping him with both hands.
"Get your hands off my soldier, or we'll be conducting the rest of this conversation of his screams."
James glowered up at him, holding Harry tighter. "My son is not your soldier.
Voldemort gave him a serpentine smile. "Wrong on two counts, Potter. He most certainly is my soldier, and what's more it would be more accurate to describe him as my son than yours, connected unfathomably as we are."
"You bastard–" James began, but if he had continued it was lost on Harry as the Cruciatus overwhelmed him once more. He lost all sense as his body erupted with pain. He locked his jaw shut against the searing hot knives on every inch of his body and when he resurfaced he was on his back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. James was silently fuming several paces away from him.
"There, that's better," said Voldemort. "I'll be shown some respect."
Humiliation churned in Harry's gut at being used like some scapegoat – his pain merely a punishment for others. He forced himself to his feet, his muscles heavy with exhaustion.
James watched him struggle to get up, clearly desperate to support him. His expression set with determination and he darted to the bookshelf behind Dumbledore's desk. He yanked a pale black tomb from the rest and held his wand to it, a small blue flame flickering from its end.
"I'll destroy it," he announced. "The ritual will be gone forever and he'll never be in your hands again."
Dumbledore slowly rose from his seat. "Now, James. Be rational."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Think carefully about your actions, Potter."
Harry's heart sank. What could James be thinking? He wasn't thinking. He was grieving and desperate. Harry raised his wand.
"Dad, just put the book down," Harry said, fighting to get the words out through the lump in his throat. Maybe it was the snake venom's fault.
"Harry..." James murmured, his voice low and pleading. But what was he pleading? Neither of them had any choice. Harry cast an Accio and James let the tomb sail out of his grip. Harry caught it and dropped it onto Dumbledore's desk with a heavy thud. James just shook his head. "Why?"
"Shall I spell it out for him, Harry?" Voldemort asked, casting Harry an amused glance. He lifted Harry's horcrux from around his neck and let the pendant dangle from its chain for James to see. "I trust you recognize this. There is nothing that boy won't do to protect this shard of his soul. I will not hesitate to destroy it if he is not returned, and I daresay he will barely wish to live after the act is done. What's more, back home I have an entire army of soldiers Potter is somewhat irrationally attached to. I will dispose of all of them, one a day, until he is back within my grasp. Do I need to go on?"
The muscles in James' face were contorting with suppressed rage. He glowered at Voldemort but he said nothing.
"That's what I thought. What am I, Harry?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, to say the words he knew Voldemort was demanding of him, but he couldn't, and not because he'd been poisoned by some snake but because the words themselves were poison.
"Master," Harry ground out in the direction of his feet.
"Precisely."
"How dare you do this to him," James muttered, red in the face.
Voldemort's smile never wavered. "You needn't worry for Harry. He is perfectly safe under my control. It is you who have torn him from where he belongs and put him in peril more times than I care to count."
"Oh, Tom," Dumbledore spoke up. "Do you really not see the irony in scolding us for taking the boy and putting him in a fight that isn't his? For all our faults, not once did we feel the need to tear the very fabric of his being in two."
"Ah, so you were content to let him die for your foolish cause, while I have ensured he will outlive you all."
Harry couldn't believe they were actually arguing over who was the lesser of two evils. He twisted away from the lot of them in disgust and stumbled to the opposite end of the room. He was done with the puppeteers. Let the discuss the semantics of exactly how his strings should be yanked without him.
He braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breathing, but his knees decided standing was far too difficult and he slid to the floor. Spots were appearing before his vision again, his brain heavy and clouded, as though his thoughts had to fight their way through a thick fog. He closed his eyes, willing the darkness to take him.
Time passed slowly. The puppeteers' conversation dimmed in his ears, and painfully slowly he could feel his body succumbing to exhaustion. He welcomed it with relief until a presence too close by for comfort jarred him into wakefulness.
"Try to stay awake, Harry," Daphne murmured, cupping the side of his face in her hand and staring closely at his eyes. She lifted a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid to his lips. "Drink this."
The potion was sweet and soothing and filled his stomach with warmth. He closed his eyes and savoured it, feeling the warmth drag him down. A pinch from Daphne and his eyes jerked open.
"I said awake, Potter," she said. He moaned in complaint. "Where did Nagini get you?"
"Eve'where," Harry mumbled. "She... She got me good."
"She certainly did," Daphne murmured. She inspected the welts on his chest and shoulder with a sickly expression. She uncorked a fat, round glass and dipped her hand into a brown, jelly-like potion. With a grimace, she smeared it on the bite on his shoulder. It sent a shock of pain through his chest, but Harry barely reacted. Pain felt like a faraway thing.
Daphne set to work treating his bites. Dumbledore and Voldemort were discussing the ritual, pointing to the open book that lay between them while James stood between them, dividing his time between glaring at Voldemort and casting worried glances in Harry's direction.
Harry didn't want to think about James, so he watched Daphne's face while she worked. She'd gone very pale, her face screwed up in disgust and wincing every time she applied another dab. A lock of hair fell into her face. When she tucked it back, she inadvertently scraped her cheek with a slash of Harry's blood.
"You..."
He reached to wipe the stain away, fingers juddering, but he only smudged even more blood and grit from his hand across her face. She caught him gently by the wrist before he could do any more damage and set to work cleaning and treating the bite on his forearm, wiping off the blood that had caked into his skin with her sleeve.
"You're sweet when you're delirious, Harry," she said with a small, private smile.
A shadow fell over them.
"What are you doing, girl?" Voldemort asked, looking down his nose at Daphne.
Daphne stiffened. "Stopping your soldier from falling into a coma."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he stared down at her, saying nothing. Daphne took the hint and ducked out of the way, scooping up her potions as she went. Voldemort took her place and knelt unnervingly close. Harry shifted in discomfort, pressing himself into the wall.
"Made some friends, have we?" he asked with a rueful smile. "Let's hope you haven't become too attached."
He snatched Harry's wrist and frowned at the bite on his forearm. Blood still trickled from it in dark red lines, his veins protruding angrily from his pale skin. He pulled back Harry's collar to inspect the wounds on his shoulder and chest next, then suddenly had Harry gripped by his skull with both hands. Harry jerked back, smacking his head painfully against the wall, but the Dark Lord's grip was firm. He pulled back the lid of Harry's eye, forcing Harry to stare into Voldemort's eyes as he gazed searchingly into his own.
"You'll be fine, Harry," he murmured. "Nagini's poison is not enough to kill, just enough to subdue her enemies long enough for her to devour them."
Harry's mind flooded with images of Voldemort unhinging his jaw and swallowing him whole.
"Now listen carefully," he hissed, causing Harry's scar to prickle. He had not relinquished his grip. "What you have accomplished in this world? It was a grotesque fluke. Do not dream for one second that you could carry out the same thing in my world. I am stronger – I am smarter, and I have already learnt from my counterpart's mistakes. You are mine, Harry. I trust you have not forgotten. Your counterpart and your ill-begotten family are nothing but–"
"I get it," Harry growled hoarsely. "I get it. This world is just a fantasy."
Voldemort relinquished his hold and withdrew from Harry. "Exactly right," he said. "You have done well, Potter. I fully expected you to be detained in this world for at least a year, but nevertheless I'm anxious to get you home. We have much to accomplish, and I have put far too many plans on hold in order to wait for you. You have three days to get back where you belong. I expect you to ensure Albus keeps to his word, or I will start killing soldiers – starting with the red-haired one."
Voldemort stood to face to occupants of the office and said before dissipating in a cloud of smoke, "Repair him. Return him. There will be no second chances."
Oh boy, I finally got to share my favourite scene. I've had that train scene written in various forms pretty much from the beginning and I'm glad I can finally say its finished! Let me know what you're thinking! We're at the very pointy end of the story but there's still plenty to happen...