Actual POV

Earlier in the day, Eva had managed to beat Molly's record for potion-mishap-caused property damage, and I'm not even sure how she managed it. Everything had been fine, and between when I left to grab a cup of water and I came back, everything had gone wrong. Thankfully Eva hadn't gotten hurt, but my lab had been contaminated and some of my journals damaged. So after making sure everyone was okay and sending Eva back with Ælfflæda, I had started on the process of rewriting the destroyed segments.

I was putting the finishing touches on the whole lot of nothing that had happened over the past four-and-a-half months when someone knocked at my door. I sighed, put the quill aside, and looked up – then jumped.

"Hell's –"

The wardflame that warned me about people approaching my house was an angry, enormous red, so big it was licking at the walls. I quickly extinguished it and then started thinking furiously. Anything that strong should've triggered the wards around Berkhamsted even if they came in through the Nevernever, so someone either managed to bypass them or tear them down without me noticing and now they were right here, in front of my house.

I stood up quickly, called first my staff and then Snickers to my hands, and prepared to fight when the strident voice of a young woman, muffled by a few layers of wood, called out in rather accented English, "Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden! You have guests."

That made me freeze. No one was supposed to know my name. I'd never shared it with anyone. Even my friends only knew the initials. The only way this person could know my name was if they had some kind of Intellectus or–

Oh. Right. There was one person.

"The Archive?" I called out hesitantly.

"Who else?"

I tentatively made my way into the foyer, brought down the door-linked wards, and opened the door. Then I properly realized what the Archive had said.

Standing in front of the right-hand door from my perspective was a young woman clad in a long, clingy green dress. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark olive skin, light-brown curls that came down to her shoulders, and blue eyes. She was slim and short, but not unhealthily so, and could easily have found work as a model in more modern times.

And then there was the man to her right. I had to crane my neck slightly up to look at him properly. He was seven feet tall, his thin frame covered by a dark purple, nearly black cloak that went from head to toe and included a hood that normally would hide his face. He had a long face with sharp features, and a short beard and head of hair. One of his eyes had scars somewhat similar to mine, though where I had escaped with my eye, he hadn't. His replacement was a plain silver ball bearing.

"Gatekeeper," I managed.

"Harry," he said. His accent wasn't like I remembered it, lacking the British-ness it had in the future, and I still couldn't place the rest of his accent any closer than "Middle Eastern."

I looked down at who I presumed to be the Archive. "Did he, uh…"

"He did not hear your middle names. I'm not careless," the Archive said. Up close, her accent was very obviously Greek, though with a mix of various other accents as well, like Saxon.

I spent a few seconds looking between the Archive, who stood there with a placid expression and open hands, and the Gatekeeper, who leaned on a large, dark staff almost as tall as he was, and wondered who the bigger threat was right now. "I'm guessing this isn't a social call?" I asked.

"Not quite," the Gatekeeper murmured.

"Well. Uh." I stepped back and lowered the rest of the wards, figuring that being impolite in this instance couldn't possibly end well for me. "Come in?"

"Thank you," the Archive said, then stepped inside. The Gatekeeper followed a moment later.

"How did you get past my detection wards?" I asked as I closed the door.

"Veil," the Archive replied. "As to why, I wished to repay some of the irritation you have consistently visited upon me."

"Uhm… sorry?"

I led the pair inside into the main room, put down my staff and sword, and went to get some clean cups and old, boiled-then-preserved water. When I came back the Archive was peering over Snickers, while the Gatekeeper sat calmly in the chair nearest the one at the head of the table. I poured water for everyone, then handed the cups out. None of it was cold or even cool, as the room had turned quite toasty over the past minute.

"Gatekeeper, your questions have primacy," the Archive said idly, pausing only to grab the cup I offered before returning to her inspection.

I sat down across from the man and tried not to look nervous.

"Do you know why I am here?" the Gatekeeper asked.

"I'd say because of everything I said to Malfoy, but that was almost a year ago," I said.

"In part. There is also the matter of your temporal translocation."

I took a long drink. "You, uh, you know about that," I said.

"I've suspected for a while," he said. "But the Archive confirmed it on the way here. Her explanation has done much to alleviate my concerns, but not entirely."

I nodded jerkily. "Okay."

"Now, the part that is of most concern to me: describe to me, in detail, your encounter with the Walker," he said.

I drank some more water, took a deep breath, and did so. I told Rashid what I'd told my godmother, about how I ran away, what I tried to do, how it appeared, how I beat it, and so on. He questioned me on some points, particularly Justin and how I fought. By the end of the story, the Gatekeeper looked disturbed.

"A Walker should not have been free to walk this earth, not without much effort and sacrifice," he said.

"Really?" I asked.

The Gatekeeper furrowed his brow. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just… I saw it get summoned through a botched ritual, years later. One woman with only a small amount of power screwed up and it puppeted her corpse, briefly, to tell me it was returned."

His brow furrowed further. "From a single sacrifice?"

"Well… maybe. She and a few others had been sacrificing people to the Walker to send out some powerful entropy curses, but they couldn't have sacrificed more than a dozen people," I said.

"Hmm. This is very concerning," he said.

"The Walker could have been summoned beforehand," the Archive commented. "Which would have greatly simplified subsequent callings, so long as it was on the material plane."

"Yet he believes he defeated the Walker," the Gatekeeper replied.

"Walkers are not bound to tell the truth," the Archive replied. "It could have faked defeat."

"Perhaps," the Gatekeeper allowed, then turned back to me.

"So?" I asked hesitantly.

"In my opinion, you are exactly what you appear to be: a man unfortunately cast adrift across time," he said. "Unfortunately, your boasts to Wizard Malfoy have attracted the attention and concern of the Senior Council, to which there is no adequate explanation at present."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm guessing 'I'm a time traveler from the far future' won't go over too well."

"Indeed not," he said.

"Then, Rashid– uh, can I call you Rashid?" I asked.

"If you wish. Were we acquainted?" he asked.

"Vaguely," I said. "We met a few times. Talked a bit. You gave me a bit of help once or twice. That's about it."

Rashid nodded.

"What are the exact points the Senior Council is tripping over?" I asked.

"The primal ghouls, the great demons, the warlocks and necromancers, and the Walker," Rashid said.

"The second one's easy, Denarians, done," I said. "And for everything else can't you just cover that up behind 'it was centuries ago'?"

"The Senior Council is unlikely to accept such a claim, at least as a full answer," Rashid said. "And they will definitely desire a full explanation regarding the Walker."

"Alhazred," the Archive said, finally turning around to face us.

Rashid frowned. I looked confused. "The guy who wrote the Necronomicon?" I asked.

Rashid and the Archive both looked at me then. And I mean looked.

"Uh… what?" I asked.

"Yes, that is correct," Rashid said calmly. "How do you know that?"

"There was an author in my time, Lovecraft, who wrote a bunch of books about stuff like the Old Ones, and the Necronomicon," I said. "They got sort of famous."

The Archive looked at me harder.

"What kind of hellscape was your past?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said slowly.

Rashid, meanwhile, was stroking his beard with concern. "I thought knowledge of the Necronomicon eradicated, outside certain portions of the Council. I will need to revisit that assumption." He shook his head and looked over at the Archive. "What about the Mad Arab?"

The Archive spent a little while longer looking at me, then turned to face Rashid. "Very few beings are aware of when and how and to whom he died," she said. "It would be simple to attach Harry as an unknowing participant in that debacle."

Rashid stroked his beard some more, then drank some water. Finally, he said, "Perhaps. That would prompt more questions, however."

"The only one who could force you to answer has been dead for years," the Archive replied.

"That is true," Rashid conceded, then turned to face me again. "It seems you've lived a very exciting life."

"Yeah, just chock full of it," I replied dryly. "In fact I can never seem to get enough of it."

Rashid smiled faintly. "We should talk more, when I have the time to dedicate to a… 'social call', as you said. And I'm intrigued by your description of the Wardens. I don't think it is an institution that we require right now, in the sense of enforcing the Laws, but a more dedicated arm of protectors is definitely worthwhile. I look forward to seeing what you do with Hogwarts."

It took me a few seconds to fully process what he just said, at which point I frowned. "Uhm… what?" I asked intelligently. "Are you… encouraging me to start the Wardens?"

Rashid's eye twinkled. "Did I say that?" He stood up, picked up his staff, and nodded to me. Then he glanced at the Archive. "Don't forget about our companion."

"I'll get to him, don't worry," she said.

Rashid nodded, said farewell, and then left the room. I heard the front door open and close a few seconds later.

"Companion?" I asked.

"I'll get to him," the Archive repeated, taking a seat across from me.

I nodded slowly. "Okay. What should I call you? The Archive, something else?"

"Eve," she said.

I blinked. "Huh."

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, I just… wasn't expecting a name, is all," I said.

Eve frowned, the motion kind of pushing her lips up and out. "Why?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that when I met the Archive in my time, she said she didn't have a… a familiar name. I think that's what she said, anyway," I said.

"Curious," Eve said. "She may not have wanted to share it, but she definitely should have had a name. Is she the Ivy you wrote about?"

"Yeah. I came up with that name actually, and she stuck with it," I said.

Eve's frown deepened. "How old was she?"

"When I first met her? Seven."

Eve hissed. "That's far too young. What happened to her mother?"

"Uh..." I wracked my brain. "She killed herself, a little bit after inheriting the Archive and, I guess shortly after giving birth to Ivy?"

For a few seconds the air practically crackled with power as Eve's expression turned into one of complete, utter, absolute contempt. "What a bitch," she seethed. Then she shook her head, the moment passed, and I didn't die of a heart attack. She looked up at me and sighed. "My apologies. I shouldn't have lost control."

"It's… fine," I got out.

"It clearly isn't," she said. "You have not put your wards back up, have you?"

I shook my head.

"Good." She switched chairs to one closer to me, the windows in the corner opening on their own as she moved, and after she sat down she pulled a large hookah out of… somewhere. She lit it, and started puffing. "Every Archive struggles with the burden of carrying on. I myself was forced to inherit at a young, if not necessarily early age. But to willfully condemn your infant daughter to a fate like that…" She shook her head. "I hope she burned in hell. It's no wonder Ivy didn't have a name until you gave one to her. She probably barely even had an identity."

"She didn't seem that bad when I met her," I said.

"Hmm." The Archive puffed a few times, blowing the smoke out in the direction of the windows, before sighing. "Do you have alcohol? Some beer or ale or wine?"

"Yeah."

"Go get it."

I went to go grab some beer I'd bought from a local tavern, and when I came back Eve had rearranged a few chairs and somehow produced a pillow, and was currently lounging and smoking. I set a cup down in front of her and poured her a beer, and she nodded in thanks.

"How are you doing that?" I asked. "The hookah and pillow and… whatever else."

"Magic," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Well, duh, obviously, but can I get a little more?" I asked.

"Do you ever give me any context?" she asked archly. "Or explanation? Or anything other than endless questions?"

"Uh…"

"No," she said, gesturing in my direction with the hookah. "So you can live with the confusion and the questions just as I have." The cup started floating on its own, and she only picked it up once it was in front of her mouth. She downed the entire cup in one go, then slammed it down on the table.

"Can I ask why you're here?" I asked.

"You just did," she said. "But to answer that question, I'm here to meet with you. And screw with you. And…" She trailed off thoughtfully. "Screw you? Is that a proper euphemism for you?"

I coughed and spluttered, her question having come as I'd started drinking. "I'm… ugh… I'm seeing someone, you know," I said.

Eve shrugged. "And? It's just sex." The small cask of beer floated and angled itself over the cup to pour into it.

"I…" I took a deep breath. "Okay. You want to get some petty revenge on me. I get it."

Eve smirked and leaned forward, her dress starting to slide off of her. "Do you now?" she asked sensuously.

I held up my hands, closed my eyes, and looked away. A moment later Eve laughed, and I dared to squint in her direction. She'd resumed her prior position, the dress back in place.

"Ælfflæda and the Sidhe stalking you have the right idea; this is fun," she said.

I scowled in her direction. "You are not what I expected. At all."

"What, did you expect some staid, boring nun?" she asked. "Pah. As if. I'm young, vibrant, and beautiful, and I fully intend to enjoy the best years of my life while I can, because the moment I choose to bear a child, I have to be careful and cautious and motherly." She downed another full cup of beer. "But very well. I'll humor you somewhat and come to the other of the two reasons I came to see you: your headaches."

I frowned. "What about them?"

"I think you want to figure out what they mean, and I believe I know," she said. "These headaches started shortly after you lost your shadow – Lash, yes?"

I nodded. "That's right."

"How long ago was her death, from your perspective? In years, I mean."

"I'd say… seven and a half, eight, depending on whether we count the time I spent dead before coming back as a soul," I said.

"Call it eight," Eve said. "And she sacrificed herself for you?"

"She took a psychic bullet for me," I confirmed.

"And there you are again with your futuristic metaphors," she sighed. "Would you say it was an act of love?"

The question caught me off guard. I gulped, was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "I… I'd say so. I think."

Eve nodded. "And the headaches have been getting worse with time, from the moment you started having them?"

I nodded, and Eve smirked. "Well, Harry Dresden, I gleefully inform you that you are going through some of the pain and inconvenience known to every mother."

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, what?"

Eve laughed. "You, Harry, are pregnant."

I stared at Eve in complete, flabbergasted silence. "But… uh… what?"

"I take it you've heard the tale of Zeus and Athena?" Eve asked.

My eyes went wide, and my thoughts spiraled off into the cavernous warrens of my mind. The first response that came up was, "But I didn't eat Lash!"

Eve laughed some more. "Perhaps not in the literal sense…" she trailed off suggestively.

"I never had sex with her either!" I said. "Or mind-sex. Or… whatever."

Eve arched an eyebrow. "Really? For shame." Her expression grew serious. "In any case, you are currently the bearer of a nascent spirit of intellect. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be a serious problem, most spirits of intellect born in this way simply don't form with enough knowledge to be a deadly threat to their mortal parent. But considering what Lash was, this gestating spirit full of incomprehensible quantities of knowledge is quite literally growing too large for your skull."

"So… I'm going to die by head explosion?" I asked.

"If the spirit is not extracted before that point, yes," Eve replied. "But there is also something distinctly different in your case."

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, then considered her words. "The memories," I guessed.

"The memories," she agreed. "They should not be leaking over. It would be as if… as if a growing child started spreading beyond the womb somehow. It should be impossible, or at least terminally deadly. But somehow you have managed to maintain this state for years, and I can only assume it is somehow the product of your stay in Avalon."

"Like… like my head exploded, and then got put back together, but not all the way, by Avalon, or on Avalon?" I asked.

Eve shrugged. "Potentially. Or the sheer size and power of the spirit meant this was inevitable, and Avalon's influence simply bought you more time and ensured it was not lethal. Or I could be completely wrong; as I said, I assumed your current state was impossible, and yet here we are."

"So you have no clue why I'm different?" I asked.

"No."

That was a little terrifying, to put it simply. If even the Archive had no clue what was going on... "Okay," I said. "So, what can I do? Obviously I don't want my head to explode."

"That would be a true shame," she agreed. "And is where I come in, potentially."

"You can get it out?" I asked.

"Most likely a her, or rather she," Eve said. "Most spirits are indeed sexless but considering Lash… saw herself as female, from what I understand, that preference is likely to carry over."

I blinked leaned back in my seat. "A daughter," I said slowly, mulling the thought over.

"Yes. Now, as things stand right now, I can't quite help you. As the Archive I am allowed to provide information, within reason, but I can only rarely act beyond that, let alone in such a significant way. I can only bend that restriction for an exchange, when someone provides a service for the Archive, or the Archive incurs a debt, something of the sort."

"Okay. What can I offer you?" I asked.

"Right now, unfortunately, not much. However, symmetry is pleasing, and if you agreed to have sex with me and at some point get me pregnant, I could deliver your daughter for you." She smoked as I coughed and spluttered. "But I think that's not happening."

I got my breathing under control and looked at her. "Are you paralleling… her offer deliberately?"

"No, I am not," Eve said. "Though she is another individual that could deliver your daughter."

"Absolutely fucking not," I said immediately. I was not letting Mab anywhere near this child.

"I thought so."

I drank my own cup of beer to steady myself. Maybe not the best idea, but it was the one at hand. "So, okay. Say I'm considering this. You get pregnant and then, what, you leave, forever?" I asked.

"Essentially. Your only involvement with this hypothetical daughter of ours would be in the conception. When it comes to raising her, you would not be involved."

"Because of potential neutrality concerns," I guessed.

"Quite. In the case of regular fathers and lovers they aren't a problem as they are far more transient, but a powerful, long-lived wizard that may get involved with generations of the Archive can have a much larger impact. Which means that yes, you would have to be uninvolved."

I sighed and shook my head. "Yeah, I don't think I can do that. Just… have casual sex and abandon a child like that. That's not me."

Eve smiled wanly. "Well, good for you. And as I expected, really. But I still had to make the request." She poured and drank some more beer. "But can I interest you in the sex anyway? I guarantee it would be some of the best in your life; in fact, I'm rather interested to see how I'd match up to your knighting."

"I'm… going to have to pass on that one," I said.

"Really? What if it were me and your lover, and I gave advice for the future?"

I took a few deep breaths and tried to push the image out of my mind. In the meantime, Eve pouted and said, "Bah. Fine, be monogamous and boring."

"Can we get back to my impending death, please?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, turning serious again. "Well, excepting me and your stalker, the only other person with the proper combination of skill and trustworthiness would be Rowena Ravenclaw. She could likely perform the procedure, especially if you told her I told you to tell her to use her heirloom."

"Her heirloom?" I asked.

"She can explain it herself, should she choose to," Eve said. "But suffice it to say that she could do it. Though, it would be riskier than if I were to do it. And you are too amusing to let die in such a fashion…" She trailed off, humming. "I'm unsure what other options you have, really. From what you wrote you've already dug into the spirit's memories, and given the spirit has provided information unprompted before, it feels safe to assume that the details regarding psychomancy you retrieved and provided Rowena were all the relevant pieces the spirit retains. Perhaps you could prevail on Rowena to put you in touch with the Sidhe that safeguarded her inheritance, she could manage as well, but that would be quite the disaster."

"Why?"

"Ask her, and if she decides to tell you, it should become obvious," Eve replied. "Perhaps I could offer a more limited exchange? Sex for some preliminary work to make the process easier?"

"What is it with you people and using sex transactionally?" I demanded. "Seriously, why?"

"Well, the Winter Queen is of Winter, whereas in my case sex is transactional," she said. "It's an exchange of pleasure, nothing more."

"I don't agree with that in the slightest. And even if I did, why me? That's the part I don't get."

"You're handsome, powerful, capable, and not too old. What's not to like?" Eve asked in a rhetorical tone.

I sighed and put up a hand. "Look, I'm seeing someone. That's the start and end of it. And, on a different note, do you believe this procedure would be the difference between my life and death, honestly?"

"It would improve your odds, but I suppose it is not crucial." She sighed and smoked some more. "You really are suicidally brave and loyal, aren't you?"

"Seems to be a common theme with me," I replied. "I've gotten complaints about it before."

Eve sighed. "No wonder you were chosen." Before I could ask what she meant, she reached into a small slit in her dress I hadn't even realized was there and then pulled out a tiny model of a chest. She floated it over the middle of the table, and then it rapidly expanded and changed until it resembled a giant suitcase. She opened one of the compartments, and a moment later a large, swan-sized, scarlet-plumed bird with a golden beak and talon and a long peacock-esque tail flew out and settled down in front of me.

I stared in sheer incomprehension for what felt like a full minute. Finally, I managed an intelligent, "Uhwha?"

"Congratulations Harry Dresden," Eve said dryly. "A phoenix has taken mercy on you and chosen you as his companion."

"Uhwha?" I asked. I gesticulated wildly at the phoenix with both hands. "What?"

The apparent fucking phoenix then chose that moment to lean forward and shed a single tear, which fell onto the skin of my right hand. Immediately, a million different tiny aches I hadn't even realized I'd been living with suddenly fell away and I sighed in relief. The shift was so sudden, so great, that I missed the next few seconds, and only caught on to the end of the phoenix's crooning.

"Yes, I know, he's an idiot," Eve said.

"I take offense to that," I said, my voice sounding remarkably clear even to myself.

"See, he's even too stupid to realize it," Eve said to the phoenix.

I shook my head, looked over at the phoenix, and said, "Thank you. Really."

The phoenix trilled in response.

I glanced over at Eve. "Does he have a name?"

"Not one you or I could pronounce or even truly comprehend," Eve said. The phoenix trilled some more, and she added, "Though he will accept a suitable moniker or nickname."

"Oh, so we're back to that. In which case… really?" I asked. "I mean, really? Me? What the hell?"

"Are you that surprised at being chosen?"

"Uh, yeah, obviously," I said. "I mean it's a goddamn phoenix, why the hell is it interested in me, let alone letting me name it?"

"Because you're worthy," Eve said after waiting for the phoenix to trill.

"I just, I…" I took a deep breath and looked at the phoenix. "Okay. Okay. Fine. Whatever. He chose me. Alright. I should've learned this lesson with Mouse."

"You've mentioned him a few times in your writings. Who's Mouse?" Eve asked.

"My dog. He was a Temple Dog," I said.

Eve arched an eyebrow in surprise. "And you're surprised about the phoenix."

"Well obviously, one's a dog and this is a phoenix!"

She sighed. "They are really rather more similar than you imagine."

I sighed and shook my head. "Okay, fine, back on track, alright, uhm…" I looked at the phoenix, and spent a long time wondering what a good name would be. When one finally came to me, I almost smacked myself for not thinking of it earlier. "If you consent, I shall call you Guy. As in Guy Fawkes."

Eve let out an aggrieved groan. "Another untimely reference?"

"Yes," I said. The phoenix trilled a second later, and I could tell he sounded pleased.

She sighed and shook her head. "You two deserve each other."

I turned from Guy to Eve. "Is there anything I should be aware of, in terms of looking after him? Or making sure my house doesn't burn down?"

"The phoenix–" Guy's trilling interrupted her, and she sighed. "Guy can handle the latter himself. As to the former, take care of him as you would any other bird: feeding, grooming, nesting, so on. He is not substantially different in that regard."

"Okay. Will anything do for nesting material?" I asked.

"You may wish to pick something not easily flammable," she said. "Or rather, a material that won't spread beyond the container. And that is something you can handle yourself, thank you very much."

She pulled her legs back and stood up, putting her hookah and pillow back into the pseudo-suitcase. As she closed everything back up and shrunk the suitcase back down, she paused. "How did Lash make herself known to you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You've described how you came to touch the coin. You've described how she perished, and some of what she did for you, how you resisted her influence. But how did she start, or first appear?"

"Well…" I looked over at Guy hesitantly, then figured that he was probably more informed than I figured, and wasn't going to get hung up about the Hellfire I didn't have access to anymore. "There was a bit of Hellfire, at first, but she first appeared to me in disguise, sort of. She created a persona and illusion of a woman called Shiela, and tried to catch my interest with her, seduce me. It worked fairly well, I'll admit; she hit my interests and fooled me for a few days, and I only figured it out once some oddities were pointed out to me."

"I see," she said. "Oh, yes, and your condition. Especially with… Guy's assistance, you should be fine for the next month, though delaying past mid-November is not a good idea. And on review, Rowena should be able to handle the process without any further guidance." She put the suitcase away and smoothed out her dress. "And good luck on your journey."

"My journey?"

Eve cocked her head. "You do wish to avoid death, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then aren't you going to see Rowena and explain everything?" Eve asked. "The sooner she knows the sooner the two of you can start preparing for the delivery."

Then, without another word, Eve turned around and left. I waited until she was gone, then let out a sigh of relief. That had been… terrifying, to say the least. Though at least I'd managed to avoid broaching any topics that might get her to kill me.

I looked over at Guy. Eve's farewell had seemed strangely insistent to me, less an idea and more a strongly-worded suggestion. And so if haste was necessary…

"Say, Guy," I asked. "You can fly, right?"

Author's Note: So there is a lot in this part. A lot a lot a lot. I hope you enjoy. I have one last Actual POV planned for this stretch of the story, for one of the climax points of this chapter. Also, for reference, this chapter is set in mid-to-late October 1070.