Harry is filled with an explosive mixture of rage and confidence as he walks to his nemesis' house; one more death and no one will be able to stop him anymore; born as the seventh month dies, a child of summer; as he is a child of winter and darkness. The Fidelius charm is gone and he laughs softly to himself; turning Pettigrew had been so easy, he wouldn't even have needed his Legilimency skills to read his wishes, to see his craving for recognition. It wasn't hard to give him the praise he so desperately wanted and that his friends had never given him, and even easier to promise him the mudblood woman after he had killed her son. Gryffindors, such fools.

Potter is waiting for him in the door, he's in his pyjamas, but he has his wand and looks ready to fight. Harry laughs; does he truly think he could defeat him? "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –"

Harry can hear the fear in his voice clearly and he doesn't even need a shield charm to deflect his Expelliarmus, so weak is it. "Holding me off, are you?" he asks, amused.

Potter's slashing curse has some more power to it, but not enough to do more than make him smile. "Leave my family alone!" he yells, and Harry sees the pearls of sweat glistening on his skin, he can smell his fear, and he just keeps walking, not even using a spell, and yet Potter is withdrawing into his house.

He understands why when he steps over the doorstep, there is a trap built in behind the door, blades with iron thorns that rush towards him from all sides, but they burst when they hit his shield. "Give me your son and I will leave you unharmed," Harry says to amuse himself, not because he actually plans to, but it will save him some time, he can still have some fun and kill him after he has killed the baby –

"Suffocus!" Potter yells and Harry frowns as the choking curse leaves a little mark in his shield – this is getting annoying. "Silencio!" he hisses in Parsel, laughing as he watches Potter pointing his wand at himself, obviously trying to silently end the spell, but of course he cannot, the fool – it is one of his favourite games to play, to curse his victims in Parsel and watch them struggle, unable to reverse even the simplest of curses. It does get boring quickly, though, and there is never a challenge in it since none of his victims can speak Parsel to make the next move in the game; time to end him.

"Avada Kedavra!" he hisses and smiles, the familiar rush of joy of killing flooding through him, as Potter tumbles over, mouth opened stupidly, and then he crashes to the floor ungracefully, his eyes dead and empty, his glasses broken. Harry does not waste another thought on him as he steps over the dead body to climb up the stairs, the sudden rush of joy already fading. There are photos along the wall of the little family, wedding photos, two proud parents with their baby, smiling while their child is sleeping, the Potters with their friends, with Pettigrew even. He stops for a moment to look at the photo more closely; four teenage boys laughing into the camera, Potter, all arrogant confidence, Black, the blood traitor, Lupin, the werewolf, and Pettigrew, his own little pet.

There is a certain beauty in betrayal, he thinks to himself, a pity he has not been able to watch as the Potters came to the horrifying revelation that they themselves, in their own arrogance, had arranged for the death of their child.

Upstairs, all doors are closed, but a quick Homenum revelio points him to the right door – it has been locked skilfully; a Charms expert at work, he notices with a certain appreciation – not an obstacle for him, but it would have been for many others wizards. The door clicks open and he hears her sharp inhale, almost like a sob.

There are faint traces of magic in the air, he notice absent-mindedly; she looks very young, almost like a child herself, tear tracks down her cheeks. "Where is James?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"What do you think?" Harry says and this time, she sobs, but she does not step away from the cradle behind her.

"Why are you here?" she asks as if she didn't know.

"To kill your son, so hand him over to me and you shall be unharmed."

"Not Harry!" she cries, "please no!"

"Step aside, you foolish girl!" But she shakes her head fiercely, her wand raised – and he is just so quick enough to conjure a shield when she makes the shelf topple over with a wordless spell.

"You dare –" he hisses, and her magic is too weak to hold her wand back from his silent call. She whimpers when breaks it, spreads her arms to shield the cradle behind her, tears spilling down her face. "Crucio!" She screams, her body shaking with fear and pain, and she falls to her knees, but, crying, she gets back up and still doesn't step aside.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead," she sobs; Harry can smell the sweet fragrance of her hair and the even sweeter fragrance of her fear.

"This is my last warning," he says coldly, wand pointing at her pain-distorted face.

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything –"

"Avada Kedavra!" Like a puppet, she falls over, hitting the ground with a thud, her long red hair like blood around her face; and Harry breathes in, closing his eyes for a second to bathe in the second rush of joy tonight – the third and sweetest of them is yet to come. The boy sits in his cradle, little fists curled around the wooden rods, not even crying as Harry comes closer, stepping over his mother's dead body; but of course, he does not understand.

"You," he whispers, "you caused your parents' death, do you even know that?"

The baby blinks at him, with bright green eyes, not making a sound. Harry takes his wand, pointing it at the baby's forehead – his unending invincibility just seconds away – "Avada Kedavra!"

Everything is dipped into bright, deadly green, and the baby screams as a pain he has never known hits Harry, as if his soul were torn apart –

Around him, the world falls apart, falls away and then he is falling, and then he sees him – the Dark Lord – and Voldemort sees him and both are just staring at each other, sharing the pain and the fury and the fear and their souls for a split second, Harry was Voldemort and is Voldemort and Voldemort was Harry and is Harry and then Voldemort screams and everything distorts and

xXx

"How are we feeling, Mr Longbottom?" Madam Pomfrey's voice was very close to his ear when Neville tried to open his eyes, squinting at the bright lights in the Hospital Wing.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Ah, we can talk. Nasty fractures there, Mr Longbottom, really nasty, cost me three bottles of Skele-Grow to remove and regrow all of these bones. How are you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

"Y-yeah?"

"That'll be over very quickly, just take this potion – lovely. Better?"

"Hmh," he murmured. "What happened?"

"Why, Mr Longbottom, I ought to be the one asking you that – what possessed you to fly out at night at this time of the year? I know you meant well, but you should have gotten a teacher instead of going out yourself – you could have gotten killed, and Mr Potter as well." She frowned. "I know you did it to save him, but that was really dangerous – though very brave. Dinner for you?"

Neville shook his head – he was still feeling slightly ill. What on earth had happened? "Breakfast it is, then. Try to sleep a little, Mr Longbottom, good night." The nurse bustled back into her office and Neville sat up very slowly, trying to move all of his limbs to see if they were still fully functioning.

There was a soft squeak when the door of the Hospital Wing opened and a burly figure entered – and suddenly it hit Neville like bricks. Flint had pushed him over the edge! Immediately he reached for his wand on the nightstand, but Flint was already beside him then and pulled the wand from his still weak fingers.

"Don't even bother," he said. "I'd be a lot faster than you even if you weren't in a hospital bed."

"What have you done?" Neville would have liked to yell at him, but his voice was still very hoarse.

"I am sorry," Flint said unexpectedly, leaving Neville speechless. "I didn't mean to – ah, break your bones when I pushed you, but you were preparing to fight when we needed to flee before he found us."

"What happened?"

"I pushed you over and jumped down with Harry where the thestrals were waiting already, then tied you to one of them and took the fuck off – no use in fighting. Think he didn't see us. Then we flew back to Hogwarts and I made up some story for Pomfrey about a flying accident."

"Who was… he?"

"My father." Flint's eyes were cold and unreadable, but Neville thought there was the tiniest tremble in his voice.

"How did he know…"

"Maybe the Dark Lord somehow… noticed." Flint's eyes flickered towards a bed which was probably Harry's, judging from the sudden softness in Flint's eyes. "How are your fractures?"

"Madam Pomfrey healed them," Neville said.

"Right." Flint cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that. But it was the only way I could think of within these few seconds. That's probably the reason I'm not in Ravenclaw."

Neville couldn't help but laugh and Flint flashed him a short grin, but then his usual grim expression returned when he walked over to Harry's bed. Neville's heart clenched for a second when he bent over Harry to kiss him – he still was not sure what to think about Flint's little story, but Harry and he were in the Hospital wing and not in You-Know-Who's claws and there was one thing he had definitely not lied about – well he hadn't mentioned it, but he was in love with Harry, and very much so.

Without a sound, a window on the other end of the Hospital Wing opened and Neville gasped when he saw the dark silhouette of Harry's thestral glide into the room, together with a breeze of shockingly cold air. Neville felt the sudden urge to stand up and get between Harry and his thestral, but suddenly he found himself unable to move; Flint, next to Harry, frozen mid-movement, seemed to feel the same. Like paralysed he watched as the thestral (Hades Harry called him, he thought, shuddering) stepped next to Harry's bed, nudging him with his snout before he sank his teeth into Harry's wrist and licked away the spilling blood.

A mumble came from Harry's bed and then he sat up, looking like death himself. He said something to the thestral, his lips were moving, but no sound came from his lips, and the thestral nudged its head against Harry's side as if to comfort him – or as if to bite him again, Neville thought – there was something deeply unsettling about this thestral and his relationship with Harry, Hermione was definitely right in that. "Don't," he wanted to say, not knowing what he even wanted to say. The thestral jumped onto the window sill (he did seem a lot more like a cat than like a horse at this point) and Harry looked after him as he took off into the night.

"Mr Potter!" Until Neville had made it to Harry's bed, Madam Pomfrey had already tucked him back in, performed quite a few diagnostic spells and dosed him with at least a dozen potions. "Finally, Mr Potter! I was getting very worried indeed."

"'m awake, aren't I?" Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. He looked so pale and fragile as though he could be blown away by just the gentlest breeze – which was not the Harry Neville knew. "Marcus?"

Flint seemed too stricken to say anything, he just held Harry's hand and stroked his hair.

"Good to see that you're awake," Neville said and Harry squinted at him – probably he couldn't see him without his glasses.

"Neville? What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

"I am," Neville said. "You?"

Harry shrugged and didn't answer.

"A few more potions and a few hours of sleep and you'll be your old self again, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding only half-confident.

"Could you get Professor Dumbledore to come here, please?"

"It is already past midnight, the Headmaster will be asleep," Madam Pomfrey said with a frown.

"It's urgent," Harry said, "really urgent, couldn't you please…?"

"As you will," Madam Pomfrey said with a deep sigh. "Expecto Patronum!" A silver snake burst from her wand and she whispered something to it before it slithered through the closed door of the Hospital Wing.

"I'd best be leaving," Flint said courtly, "good night, Harry, Longbottom." He kissed Harry's forehead, which made Neville's heart clench in the oddest way, and gave Neville a curt nod before rushing from the Hospital Wing.

xXx

"I think it would be best if Mr Longbottom returned to his bed," Dumbledore said with a slight frown. He wore a floor-length night gown with silver stars and moons stitched onto it and seemed unbothered by the late hour.

"Neville should hear it," Harry said, "he's been there… after all. So, remember when you told me not to venture into the Dark Lord's mind?"

Dumbledore's eye twitched shortly, but apart from that, he kept his serious impression. "And I meant that, Harry. It was not a challenge for you."

"It was the only way to save Seamus," Harry said, "I had to do it."

"I am sure time would have brought forth a way how to heal him."

"No, only the Dark Lord or I can do it – unless there are more Parselmouths in this world. A permanent spell in Parseltongue can only be undone in Parsel, did you know that?"

"That would explain why a lot of his victims could never be healed," Dumbledore said softly. "I had suspected it, but there is no written record of Parselmagic and I assumed he might have found other ways to make his spells irreversible. How do you know?"

"I…" Harry turned even paler and then he turned to the side, gagging up what could only be bile, Neville thought, feeling ill. Madam Pomfrey quickly vanished it and sat on the bed and did something Neville had never seen her do: she took his hand, stroking it, and then she hugged him firmly, as if she were his mother.

"You don't have to say it, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "I am sorry, Harry, I am sure you have seen the most horrible things."

"I was inside his head, Professor," Harry said hoarsely, "I was inside his mind, I was him, do you understand? I was him, and he was me."

"You were not him," Dumbledore said very sharply. "You might have been inside his mind, yes, but you were not him. Tell me what you have seen – if you can."

"Mostly memories of his childhood and his youth and… some other things," Harry said, "and you should know more about that than me because you knew him then."

"I did not truly know him; I never knew his motives nor did I know the extent of darkness in his soul."

"And I wish I didn't," Harry said, shivering, "I wish I hadn't seen any of this. He… I… he…enjoyed…"

"You don't have to say it," Dumbledore said hurriedly, obviously because Harry looked as if he needed to throw up again. "Maybe some Calming Potion for you?"

Harry nodded which meant something because the Harry Neville knew never would have agreed to that, but he just opened his mouth obediently when Madam Pomfrey poured the potion into his mouth.

"Maybe you would like to tell your part of the story, Mr Longbottom, while Harry recovers?" Dumbledore suggested gently. Neville nodded and quickly told their story, leaving out Flint's part entirely apart from mentioning that Flint had brought them to the Hospital Wing. "That was very brave of you, Mr Longbottom," Dumbledore said, "you are proving over and over that the Hat has chosen the right House for you."

Neville blushed fiercely – a compliment from the Headmaster himself, his Gran would be so proud – but then, he probably should not tell her that he had left Hogwarts without an adult, flying on a thestral's back, accompanied by a Death Eater's son.

"Can you… check my mind?" Harry asked hoarsely. "See if he's… see who I am."

"If you want me to, I can try," Dumbledore said, again in that very gentle voice. "Look at me, Harry." With his wand, he tipped Harry's head back ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Harry's. "I see a lot of darkness and a lot of pain, but it seems to me that all of this is yours. I do not wish to meddle in your private memories, but it seems the connection has broken – do you remember how that happened?"

"After one… particular memory," Harry swallowed, "it felt like I was ripped apart and then I saw him and he saw me and he just screamed and then I lost consciousness, I think."

"You saw him?"

"I saw his mind, I guess, I can't really describe – I just knew it was him and he knew it was me, but I was him and he was me, I…"

"I want you to do your Occlumency lessons tonight and every morning and every night from now on," Dumbledore said gravely; he looked very frail, all of a sudden. "Remember, it was just in your head and that means it is not real, do you hear me? I know it felt very real, but it was not, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry whispered.

"Let's do it together, tonight, Harry, think of the fire, think of the flames." Like Madam Pomfrey before, he took Harry's hand, holding it tightly. "Do you see the flames?"

"Yes," Harry said in a very weak voice.

"Very well, just look at them, I will stay with you until you fall asleep, my boy." It didn't take long, but with every minute that passed, the frown on Dumbledore's forehead grew deeper.

"Do you think he needs a Mind Healer?" Madam Pomfrey asked as Dumbledore let go of Harry's hand very gently and she tucked him in properly.

"He probably does, but as I know him, he would probably not open up to a Mind Healer; and quite frankly, I do not know if these are things that Mind Healers could or even should know about, for his own safety. For now, he shall rest, and then we can ask him," Dumbledore said with a sigh, then he turned to Neville. "Fifty points to Gryffindor for your exceptional bravery, Mr Longbottom, I wish you a speedy recovery and a good night."

"Will Harry get well again?" Neville whispered, feeling very small all of a sudden.

"I do hope so," Dumbledore said gravely and with a swish of his robes, he disappeared from the Hospital Wing, leaving Neville with Madam Pomfrey.

"Some Dreamless Sleep?" she offered kindly and after a second of hesitation, Neville accepted.

xXx

A/N: Stay safe and healthy, my friends! xoxo