Harry had watched from his bed the past hour as the light of the sun slowly moved up on the wall at the far end of the cell, until it grew redder and eventually disappeared. And still the one question in his mind was how he had ended up here. Life had seemed so hopeful before, that one glorious moment when he had found the edge of the forest, but it had all come crashing down when the two police officers came across him.

He wondered how he could have ever been so naïve. How it could be that he hadn't learned a thing from what had happened during his time on the run. Of course the happiness wouldn't last. That much was clear now. He was cursed.

He knew, deep inside, that his wallowing was useless, and that he was only giving his defeat-embracing mindset more room. But he could not find the will in him to stop it and focus on something else instead.

Voices trickled in from the corridor outside his cell, and he veered up. But he only heard a few bangs on the wall, a man screaming obscenities, followed by the calmer voice of a policeman telling him to shut his mouth.

Harry sunk back down onto his bed again. For one moment he expected that the voices belonged to people who had come to free him. He half expected the cell door to open up as well before it became clear what the shouting was really all about. He almost wanted to laugh at the last sliver of hope he apparently still possessed.

It was the environment, he realised, that was getting to him. The smell, slightly off, the evenly grey walls, the green-painted iron door, the sparse furnishing. He knew that he had no space to stretch and walk to give his nervousness an outlet, which in turn fed his anxious feelings even more. It was a vicious cycle with two causes that reinforced each other, deepening his restless stirrings, his troubled heart more and more, beating faster and faster. He thought back to his numerous patrol shifts on Azkaban, the cursed, clammy atmosphere of the monolithic prison, the oppressive walls that leaked water, algae and foul residue of lingering curses, confining him to dark, narrow corridors where the echoes of furious maddened prisoners reverbed around his head constantly, penetrating through his ears, into his brain…

As he recalled those horrible hours, the man in the cell next to him began screaming again. After a few seconds it was followed by clattering sounds of the man banging on his door as he shouted unintelligible vulgarities. Footsteps could then be heard in the corridor. A latch opened, and the screaming subsided somewhat as an officer spoke to him. Harry then heard the prisoner shout something that sounded like "you fucking knobhead" before the latch closed, and the footsteps went back out of the corridor.

As he listened to the seething curses next door, he closed his eyes and let his breathing even out again, finding a strange comfort in the difference between himself and the man in the cell next to him. That his sanity had not sunk that low yet.

And then something peculiar happened. The lamp mounted into the high ceiling of his cell giving off a cold white light, started flickering briefly. At the same time, the stream of curses in the adjacent cell stopped.

Then he heard footsteps again, but this time two people. They came to a halt in front of Harry's cell.

He veered up and froze, staring at the door as he heard a key being pushed into the keyhole, followed by the clicking and grinding of the lock mechanic, and then the door swung open.

In stepped a policeman in uniform, who Harry didn't recognise, and followed by him was none other than Corban Yaxley. His long white hair and dark clothes were immaculate as always.

"Here you are," the policeman said. As he turned around, Harry saw a strange glassiness reflected in his eyes.

Imperius Curse, he thought, the hairs on his neck raising up. The door closed again, leaving him alone in the small cell with Yaxley, who hadn't taken his eyes off him since he'd entered.

"Dear, oh dear, Harry, how the tables have turned," he said. Harry noticed he lacked the air of nonchalance he normally had.

"If you're gonna kill me, then please just get it over with," Harry said as he stood up from his mattress.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said. To demonstrate, he pocketed his wand slowly. "But you and I need to leave, right now."

"What the hell is–"

"I've got no time to explain," he interjected. He took a step closer but stopped when Harry raised his fists and stepped back.

"Then make time, Yaxley. I don't believe you for a second! You've placed that policeman under the Imperius Curse, didn't you?"

Yaxley sighed and furrowed his brows as he briefly looked down at his feet.

"They know you've been arrested," he said, raising his head again to look Harry in the eyes. "Aurors are on their way now, I'm fairly sure."

Harry opened his mouth but closed it again as he stared in shock at the man in front of him. "Damn it, of course!" he whispered after a moment of silence. "And what about you, then? How did you find out?"

"A few ears here and there. That doesn't matter. What does matter, is that I'm your only way out of here, so if you want to avoid the Ministry, then I'd suggest you and I make ourselves scarce right now."

Harry said nothing, and then slowly shook his head.

"Why do you think I'd go with you, then? I'd rather get arrested than get killed by you, to be fairly honest with you."

"For God's sake, Harry, there's no time!" Yaxley sighed, scratched the top of his head. "Here, will this do, then?" He then stuck his hand in the inner pocket of his coat and brandished a wand.

Confusion mounted as he saw what it was. "Is that my wand?" Harry asked, peering at it. An urge to laugh at the absurdity came up.

"Yes, it is," he replied. He laid it in the palm of his open hand and extended his arm towards Harry. "Take it!" he urged. "C'mon, quickl!"

Harry slowly reached out and grasped his wand. Nothing happened. Yaxley didn't close his hand around his, nor did he use the occasion to curse him. He simply pulled back his arm and nodded in apparent satisfaction.

"I hope that convinces you," he said. "Look, a lot has happened recently. Safe to say, the cards have been shuffled since you've left. It's absolute chaos, and you and I are going to find a way out of this mess. Now stop dallying and come with me!"

Before Harry could interject again, Yaxley banged on the iron door.

"We're done here," he announced. Again, the lock mechanic turned, and the door swung open with a considerable amount of noise, revealing the same policeman. As they passed him by in the door opening, Harry clearly saw the misty, absent look in his eyes that was so characteristic of the Imperius Curse.

"You still need to get your possessions back, right?" Yaxley asked as he pulled Harry through the hallway towards the exit.

"Yeah."

They arrived at the main desk, but there was no one there behind the counter. Harry realised they hadn't passed anyone at all on their way here.

"Where is everybody?" he asked.

"It's almost midnight, there's no one in here at all," he replied while he pulled his wand from his pocket. He waved it twice. A few bangs could be heard in the room behind the counter. Then the wooden door slammed open, and out zoomed Harry's Invisibility Cloak and wand holster.

"Take them, quickly!" Yaxley hissed, throwing a look over his shoulder as Harry strapped the wand holster around his left arm and crammed the Cloak underneath his shirt.

"Alright, don't be scared, I'm gonna Apparate us out of here," Yaxley said. Before Harry could register the words, the man seized his arm, and the police station disappeared before their eyes as they Apparated away.

They appeared, and the first thing Harry noticed was a strong gust of wind blowing through his long hair. It was dark here, and he saw no sign of civilisation anywhere. His feet stood in a layer of wet heath, and around him he saw the dark contours of a moor stretching out as far as he could see. The moon was nowhere to be seen behind a blanket of fast-moving clouds.

Harry spun on his feet to face Yaxley.

"Where are we?" he asked, whipping out his wand and aiming it at the man. He saw only the contours of him in the near total darkness.

"Yorkshire," he replied. "Please, Harry, I want to explain some things to you before you Disapparate or curse me."

"This had better be good, then," Harry called as another strong gust of wind swept past them on the bare hill they stood on. "I've been investigating your handiwork for far too long to be able to trust you."

"And yet here you are," Yaxley said. "I haven't cast an anti-Apparation curse on you, so you could have left at any time, yet you're still here. Thank you for showing that faith in me."

"It wasn't faith," Harry said. "Lumos."

The tip of his wand lit up, illuminating them both, as well as the shrubbery and rocks they were standing on. From this close proximity to the man he had been chasing for so many years, he saw many lines showing old age and fatigue, lines that had always been invisible from the faraway position he had always been forced to observe him from.

"Recent times have taken a toll on you," Yaxley said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I was about to say the same to you, old man."

Yaxley's wrinkled face shifted into a wry grin. "How alike we have become, my fellow fugitive. Do you realise where we are standing right now?"

"Some moor in the middle of nowhere?" Harry asked. Something at the back of his mind stirred in recognition, but why that was, it didn't dawn on him.

"Correct," Yaxley said. "But partly. Follow me, and it'll become clear to you."

Yaxley turned his back on him. A rash urge sprung up inside Harry to curse the man in the back and run away. But another, stronger, voice told him to wait and hear what the man had to say to him. His behaviour had intrigued him, and he moved to follow the man downhill.

"It's not far from here," Yaxley called to him, turning his head slightly as he walked ahead of Harry. "But the protective spells around it have not worn off yet, so we couldn't Apparate directly to it."

"What do you mean, "worn off"?" Harry asked, still aiming his lit up wand to the back of the man in front of him.

"You'll see."

The sneakers Harry had borrowed from the policemen were not waterproof, and as they walked through the heath, which was still wet from earlier showers, his feet became progressively wetter and wetter, slowly chilling his body. As the wind picked up again, he started shivering. His wand shook feebly in his hand.

"Just around this bend," Yaxley then called. "Be careful not to step in the small stream here."

Harry looked down at his feet to see water flowing over the rocks in the deepest point of the small depression they were walking through. Looking up again, he saw the dark contours of a moderate-sized oak where the valley took a turn to the left. They passed it, and once it no longer shielded the view from them, Harry could see a hill emerge, rising steeply. On top of the hill stood a house, or rather a mansion, its large form outlined starkly against the stormy night sky.

"Welcome," Yaxley said, "to Blackwater Park."

Harry didn't avert his gaze from the mansion towering on the hill above them. He saw a central main building, the most prominent part of the structure, that was surrounded by a few other wings, some rising higher than the others. Behind these parts he saw some other roofs that barely stuck out over the hill.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked.

"You'll see, once we get inside," Yaxley replied, still marching on.

They came to a stop at a low stone wall that was barely visible above the shrubbery.

"Here's the path that goes up," Yaxley said, stroking his chin. "It's been taken over by the moor for the most part, but just follow me, and try not to trip over the roots."

With that said, he placed his hand on the moss- and algae-covered rocks and stepped over them. Harry followed him and jumped over as well, landing on a thick net of heath plants and roots.

"There used to be a road here, wide enough for carts to ride over it," Yaxley said as he carefully began walking uphill.

"It has completely disappeared," Harry remarked. Only here and there was a small glimpse of light-brown gravel underneath the creeping foliage.

They came closer and closer to the house as they trudged along what once was a road up the hill, and the imposing nature of it only increased now that they stood in its shadow underneath the high stone walls. And fleeting wisps of cloud stormed by low in the sky, vaguely distinguished from the scarred, ever-changing blanket of stormy clouds above them.

As they got closer to the main entrance and the clearing in front of it, the gravel road became more and more visible, appearing further from underneath the blanket of heath that had taken over. The clearing itself was bordered by hedges, or what used to be. The plants, which he recognised from the tidy hedges used in all English estates, reached not higher than his hip, and instead of an even green leaf cover, they were marred by bald spots, where a maze of bare brown branches could be seen. He imagined that they were once neatly trimmed, with the same height and thickness. But that was far from how it really was: these plants reached random heights and didn't really have the rectangular shape anymore that they were supposed to have. And reaching underneath them, into the clearing, were the creeping fingers of the moor, grey and brown strings of heath plants snaking towards the still bare centre of the clearing, where he stood.

"This way, Harry," Yaxley said. They moved across the faded, mossy clearing, towards the main entrance, and climbed the short but steep stairs to the grand double doors. The feeling of having been here before only grew stronger with every step that Harry took. The feeling was so strong that the hairs on his neck raised up in disquiet. But his memory was too muddled.

The door was made of sturdy wood, but the many years of harsh northern weather had had an impact on it. The wood was coloured, blotchy, and many holes made by woodworm could be seen. The knockers and doorknobs were rusted into a virtually unrecognisable state. The classical pillars on either side of the doorway were marred by missing stone chips here and there, and the white paint had faded away almost completely.

Yaxley placed his wand on the rusty lock and murmured some enchantments that Harry couldn't understand, until they heard a click, and the doors slowly swung open. The hinges protested loudly as they gave way for the first time in ages. Echoes from inside reached their ears as the opening half-arched doors opened with much creaking and groaning.

Apprehension struck Harry as they were faced with the obscure darkness of the other side. Sounds came from there as well: dripping water, howling wind, and other sounds he didn't know or understand the source of.

"It's quite safe," Yaxley assured him.

"Coming from you, that's not reassuring," Harry mumbled.

Yaxley simply grinned at him. "Safer than in the hands of the Ministry, that's for sure," he said, and he stepped through the doorway. Harry followed in behind him.

Ginny's visit to Proudfoot's small apartment went by in a frenzied haze as she and the Aurors Craig, Proudfoot and Claire Johnson quickly discussed what was happening. Ginny found it hard to concentrate, as the thrilling anticipation of finally seeing Harry again took hold of her firmly.

"All we know was that a local precinct in the countryside near Wrexham arrested someone called Harry Potter," Claire said, her voice and stature assured and authoritative. It was a complete turnaround from the year before, when she had been under the Imperius Curse from Yaxley for months. "It alerted the charmed fax machine that Robards installed in the office in his hunt for Harry, but me and Proudfoot were the only ones in the room at the time. No one else knows, and because we have approximately no time whatsoever, we'll just have to keep it that way. We're not supposed to be here, by the way, and I don't know how long we can keep Robards and his goons from knowing what is happening. So we're going to Apparate in there, get Harry out, and leave, hopefully before anyone else shows up. Got that?"

They Apparated into the open area before the police station. The road it was situated next to was abandoned, it was dark outside, and there were only a couple of lights on inside the building. They strode inside quickly after making sure there was no one else there. They found an empty reception area, and after finding their way to the holding cells, they also found a police officer with a dazed look in his eyes as he sat on a bench and stared blankly at the wall ahead.

"Hello there," he announced when he saw the four people walk towards him through the narrow hall. He stood up to face them. "Are you here for a prisoner as well?"

Ginny saw Claire and Proudfoot exchange concerned looks.

"His eyes…" Proudfoot muttered.

"No time," Claire declared softly.

"Where's Harry Potter?" Ginny demanded, stepping forward to face him.

"Oh, I'm afraid you're a bit late for him," he replied with a cheery voice. "A gentleman came by just now and visited him. They left together. Warms my heart, it does, to see that even these criminals here have people who look out for them."

"What did he look like?" Craig demanded, his voice shaking with the same dreadful fear that Ginny felt stab through her heart.

"Oh, he had long, grey hair and very nice clothes. Bit strange to see his sort here, but we're living in strange times after all."

"Alright," Claire said. She took out her wand, and Ginny saw it shaking in the cold light of the hallway. "Finite!" she said, pointing her wand at the policeman's forehead.

His gaze changed, and lost its muddled nature. He stumbled for a moment, and then clutched his head with one hand.

"Wha…" he muttered.

"Sir?" Claire asked. He looked up at her just in time to see the light of the Memory Charm hit him.

"He'll be alright, I hope," she said as they collectively turned around and strode out again. "God damn it! How the fuck did Yaxley get here ahead of us?"

"Never mind that, where do we go now?" Ginny asked, looking back at the three Aurors behind her.

"The Yaxley family home," Craig said in an assured tone. "Blackwater Park, in the Yorkshire Moors. Do you all know where that is?"

Ginny met Craig's tense gaze, and she groaned. "That's where we searched just after Harry disappeared!"

They Apparated there, but as they approached the manor, she felt a physical force pushing her and Craig back out, away from their destination. They landed in the middle of a craggy field next to Claire and Proudfoot.

"Anti-Apparation Charms," Proudfoot breathed. "Come on, this way!"

The four of them set off through the heath, in the dark of the night. Water that stood still splashed around their feet, soaking their shoes and pants, but they didn't stop as they ran through the small valley towards the manor where, hopefully, Yaxley and Harry still were.

"Please," Ginny heard herself say. "Please, let them be there."

Yaxley waved his wand at various places in the entrance hall, lighting up candles that were mounted on the walls. The room was increasingly illuminated, and Harry now finally saw the full extent of it. The idea of faded glory continued here. The marble floor had lost all its gloss and was covered in dust and dark smudges. The ornamental wooden panels on the wall were in a similar state and had started to rot here and there. The walls had several doorways in them, some of which were opened, and one of them even lacked a door to begin with. The candles, set in holders that were mounted to the plastered walls, illuminated and emphasised the many faults and tears that marked the walls. Centrally in the long, high entrance hall stood a grand staircase leading up to a landing. Cobwebs decorated the railings, which looked ready to collapse if he leaned against them, and the steps, made of the same marble that made up the floor, looked faded, and plenty of chips were missing from them.

And above it, Harry's memory and sight started to blur and merge into one, as time seemed to stand still and warp itself, folding itself over until he vividly saw happenings of long ago before him… The Yaxley patriarch standing defiantly on the landing, speaking to the sea of Aurors that stood below him… The first spells struck, and the man collapsed under the ceaseless spell-fire of the Ministerial forces… And afterwards, silence, and hushed whispers of the Aurors as they realised that the man wasn't a Death Eater… And finally the grey eyes of the young Corban, that widened in disbelief as he drank in the sight of his dead father.

Harry sucked in a shocked breath as he pulled his consciousness back into the present, and he turned to the man next to him. His eyes still had the same colour, but emotion had long since left them, and they were now lined with baggy, wrinkled skin. It all clicked in place.

"This is the Yaxley manor," he slowly said. "And on that landing…"

They turned towards the torn apart balcony at the top of the stairs.

"You know the details, then?" Yaxley asked, speaking through his clenched jaw.

"Oh yes."

"Then do you understand me?" he asked as they turned back to each other and Harry once again had to look in his eyes. "What they've made me become?" he gripped Harry's shoulder. "How could I ever have become a normal member of our society after witnessing that? After seeing the Ministry's true face violate me and my family like that?" As he spoke, his wrinkles became more and more pronounced as grief malformed his face more and more into an expression of anguish.

And a shock of empathy for the man before him pierced his heart, but at the same time another image was conjured up in him: Ollivander, the old wandmaker, tied to his chair in his living quarters above the shop, his body mutilated in a horrific manner…

"What grief the Ministry caused you…" he swallowed as that sharp sting of empathy constricted his voice. "What the Aurors caused you… is nowhere near the grief you caused yourself." He breathed in and felt himself strengthened by that conclusion. Yaxley winced as he spoke. "You've killed, tortured, tore families apart…"

And Yaxley broke. A short anguished cry was wrenched from his throat, and he sank to his knees before Harry.

"I know, I know, I know," he stammered, his hands reaching up to clench Harry's jumper, his fingers curled up like claws. Harry took a step back. "But I can't help it, Harry! I can't help the second person that is inside me, telling me to do things! Telling me to kill, maim, to take revenge on everyone! I kept him inside as long as I can, so I can behave like people want me to, like a gentleman at the top of the pecking order, but…" He crawled forward, and Harry moved further back, up a few steps of the stairway.

Yaxley squeezed his eyes shut. Tears were pushed out through the lines there during his outburst. "And then He came for me, and offered me a place by his side, where I could let go of my repressed second self, my Mr. Hyde, my unconscious being, and at the same time make those people who killed my father pay… You know, Harry, you know the insidious power that the Dark Lord had over others, don't you? You know! Remember Ginny Weasley, how he made a completely innocent girl do all those things, and that was only with a fraction of his soul! When you're kneeled in front of him, and he enters his mind, sifts through your entire being, and judges you, understands you, and wants you…" A shudder went through the curled up, impassioned figure as he breathed in deeply, yet the tension never left his body language. "He understood what the world had done to me… They all made me the way I am now, Harry. The Ministry planted the seed, and the Dark Lord tended to it, grew it, refined it… Do you see it? Tell me that you see it! That you understand it!"

Harry swallowed as he looked down at the broken figure at his feet, who had exploded into an outcry of the very core of his being. The sight of the Ollivander was conjured up in him, what Yaxley had done to the kindly old wandmaker, how he tied him up in a chair and tortured him in horrific manners. Yet at the same time he remembered the child, who witnessed the murder of his father inside his own safe home, his familiarity. The two images, the past events, conjured up from his memories, fitted around him, and were accompanied by sights of the Rookery, and Xenophilius Lovegood's blood splattered all over the living room, and the small limp body of the Hogwarts House Elf, perforated by obscenely large stab wounds… The violence of all these images, offset, contrasted sharply, by the seemingly calm countenance of Yaxley. After more than a decade of chasing after him, of grasping at loose straws, whispered rumours, weary stress-fuelled meetings and discussions among the Aurors, he now finally felt like he completely understood the man who was now in the flesh before him. Here, in the dim hallway of Yaxley's faded glory, Harry got as close as any human being could ever come to understanding another man, to breaking through that boundary that separates each individual from one another. And he knew now that Yaxley hadn't brought him here without a particular reason.

"What do you want with me?" Harry asked, his voice trembling, tears pooling in his eyes from sheer empathy.

The tears made his vision swim, but through that he saw Yaxley's rapturous grief morph into something else. A beastly look appeared on his face, and he uttered something between a sob and a roar as he jumped up and reached for Harry. He was prepared for that, and he jumped further up the staircase. But he hadn't used his wand in such a long time that he did not react in time to Yaxley's drawn wand. It shook in his grasp, but the Body-Bind Curse took hold. Harry's arms and legs snapped together, and he slowly toppled backwards, landing painfully on the marble steps.

Yaxley sobbed and slowly crawled forward over to enter his vision. And pain seared through him as the man crawled on top of him and sunk a knife into his stomach.

"I hate this," he spoke in between his uncontrolled sobbing. "It wasn't a lie, what I told you. Every word, Harry, I meant every word! But my Mr. Hyde is still here!" Tears streamed from his face and landed on Harry's chest and throat. "I can't help it! It's too late for me, the monster inside has already won!" He laid his head on Harry's chest, and Harry felt another shock of intense pain rush through him as the knife entered him once again. Confusion, panic, pain, it all seared through Harry's body as it was violated by the man lying on top of him.

Yaxley brought his fist down onto Harry's chest, and the air was wrenched from his lungs. "I…" he began, but he could not finish that sentence as sobs overtook him once again. Harry feebly tried to move his arms, but the heavy weight of Yaxley was pressing down on his whole body, and he felt his powers flow away through the wounds in his chest.

"I want to go home," Yaxley then croaked, his wheezing mouth close to Harry's ear. "I miss my Papa." His arm slid across Harry's body, down towards his forearm, where it found the Elder Wand.

And Yaxley took the holster from him and strapped it around his own arm. Harry felt not only the leather depart him. The gravity of this event was far more than that. Yaxley had bested him and the Wand recognised its new vessel. The Elder Wand was torn from him, and with that action the link that tethered the tainted artefact to his soul, was severed.

Yaxley shuddered as he breathed in, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head for a moment.

"I feel it," he uttered. He opened his eyes, and fear stabbed through Harry. Something had changed. The grey in his eyes was brighter, it almost emitted light, and Harry felt something supernatural in that gaze pierce through him. The tears, the sobbing, the uneven breath, it stopped, and was replaced by the calm countenance that Yaxley usually showed.

"And I want revenge, Harry," he said. Something in his voice had shifted, deepened, sharpened. It was the same, except that there was something terribly wrong about it. "And with these Deathly Hallows, I will deliver it to every son of a bitch wearing red robes or a Ministry badge."

Harry's vision began to fade.

The manor was not far now. Ginny saw it on the top of the hill, its contours dominating the cloudy night sky. They reached a low, overgrown, stone wall, and climbed over it. That's when they saw a road, peaking through the heath here and there, and they followed it up the hill.

"Wands ready," Claire said. Not that it was necessary – they all had their wands out already.

With every step they took up the hill, Ginny felt herself shaking more and more, the anticipation of seeing Harry again overtaking her emotions more and more until there was nothing left but thought-numbing excitement.

They reached the top, and walked across the clearing at the front entrance.

"Do we sneak in silently?" Ginny heard Proudfoot whisper behind her, but she paid no mind to that, and instead aimed her wand at the front door.

"Bombarda!" she called, and the heavy wooden doors were blasted in with a terrible noise. She ran in, vaguely aware of the Aurors following her. They stopped in the centre of the entrance hall and looked around, taking in the wasted state of it.

"I don't see anyone…" Proudfoot began, but Ginny's eyes fell on a suspicious dark spot mid-way up the stairs.

"Look here," she said with trembling voice. They climbed up the steps and kneeled next to the dark spot. "Blood." Harry's blood, she continued in her panicked thoughts.

Claire stuck her wand in it. "Fresh," she commented.

"Harry's," Ginny stated. She closed her eyes at the touch and breathed out. "So where could they have gone?" she asked at a more even tone. "There are no footprints or anything, and there's no trail of blood."

"They probably Apparated away," Craig suggested.

"Can we find out where to?" she asked.

"I can, I think," Craig said slowly, but his pensive expression told Ginny otherwise.

"I sense a "but"?"

"There's no time," Craig said. "I'll get started. Stand back, you lot, and then you can explain it."

"This is very advanced magic that few people know," Proudfoot explained as Craig began murmuring strange incantations and waving his wand around in the air around the pool of blood. "When we Apparate, a bit of magic gets left behind. Because it's a spell, right? And all spells leave their traces."

Ginny nodded.

"What Craig is doing now, is he's trying to pinpoint the magic that's still present here, and to see if he can find the Destination of the Apparition in there," Claire went on. "It's a form of Legillimency, but then instead of trying to read a mind to find thoughts, you read residual magic."

"I didn't know this was possible," Ginny said. "Why don't more people do this, then?"

"Because this is very advanced magic, for starters," Claire said. "Not many people are able to do it, in the first place, as it takes immense amounts of practice. Even then, it's very hard to perform, because the circumstances have to be perfect. It has to be quiet, so that the caster is able to concentrate, the air has to be still so that the magic doesn't dissipate, and if there were too many magic spells cast in the area, it gets harder to pinpoint the Apparition in the mess of magical traces."

"So this room here is perfect?" Ginny asked, lowering her voice and keeping half an eye on Craig, who was now busy jabbing his wand in seemingly random directions.

"Yes, but even then, it has to be done quickly, or else the magic has already diffused throughout the room too much," Claire said. "I mean, it would be a small miracle in itself is Craig is able to–"

"Got it!" Craig announced at that exact moment. He turned around to face them. His face shone with a layer of perspiration and he was breathing heavily, as if he'd just run a marathon.

"What do you see?" Proudfoot asked.

"I see a beach," he replied, his gaze becoming distant. "It's abandoned, the waves are quite strong, and there's a rowing boat in the sand nearby."

"Are you able to get us there?" Claire asked.

"I think so."

"No time to lose, then."

When Harry came to again, he immediately became aware that he was rocking back and forth, and then side to side. Then he smelled salty air, and heard waves rushing. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the night sky and Yaxley. The man seemed to sense his wakefulness, because he turned down to meet Harry's eyes.

"You're still alive," he said. His eyes glittered unnaturally bright in the moonlight, and there was no trace left of his ragged emotions.

"Where are we going?"

"Out to sea," Yaxley replied. Harry tried to lift his head to see where he was, but as he attempted to do so, a sharp pain slashed through his belly and chest as he was forcefully reminded of the gaping knife wounds there. "I'm going to bury you once and forever, Harry, so that we can finally set this feud of ours aside."

Harry wanted to come up with a reply, a comeback, any act of defiance to show the man that he wasn't done for just yet. But he had nothing, this time. He was grievously wounded, he had no idea where he was, and Yaxley now had the Elder Wand. There was no hope left. They sailed on, the only light coming from the stars above and the pale lantern that was attached to the front of the boat.

"If you…" Harry began, but he had to stop when something blocked his throat, and he coughed. He tasted blood, and something dribbled from the side of his mouth. Yet he looked up at Yaxley. "If you think you're done after killing me," he said, breathing in with a strange gurgling sound, "you're wrong."

The corners of Yaxley's mouth curled up. "Mm, coming from a man who has been a lonely fugitive for over a year, that's not too convincing."

"They're looking for me," Harry wheezed. He didn't know why he said this, but there was a steely conviction somewhere inside his dying body that would not abate. "And they won't stop."

"We'll see about that," Yaxley said. "Chances are that I'll find them first, Ginny included. I know where she lives, Harry. Remember when I had your ex and that adorable Auror trainee under my command? They were right there, you know, wherever you and your girlfriend went. Julie was even in your home, listening in on everything that you were doing. And they told all that to me. And after you left, I never stopped watching." The corners of his mouth curled up. "I've seen Ginny. Looking for you. Convincing others to help. Going to Quidditch practices, to friends, family… your Godson… And then coming home all alone, oh so vulnerable…" For a moment his smooth façade twisted. "I was tempted to do something, but she hasn't made it easy for me. She was too watchful, too quick." He shook his head. "But no matter. I have the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak now. She'll be no match for the Master of Death."

He tapped his wand against the boat, and they came to a stop.

"I think we've come quite far enough now," Yaxley said. He turned down again, and there was a strange affection in his expression. "Good-bye, Harry. You've been a worthy foe, but this is the end of the line." He paused. "Thank you for understanding me. It comforts me that there was at least someone out there who knew what I've been through."

And then Harry felt himself being levitated in the air, pushed to the side, and then he fell into the sea.

The water was cold, freezing cold. It impacted his body with full force and wrenched his breath from him. He tasted salt, and his ears filled with water. He desperately kicked his legs and moved his arms until he surfaced again, but he felt like he had used the last of his strength with that.

When he came up, he was in near total darkness. The moon was nowhere to be seen, the stars seemed dimmer than normal and in the distance he saw the pale, solitary lantern of Yaxley's boat fade out of sight.

He watched it disappear and continued staring even after he could no longer see it, and then the drowsiness returned in full force. His legs and arms felt like they were made out of lead, and the stab wounds started to sting more and more as they came in contact with the salty water. His chin submerged, then his mouth, and then he couldn't breathe anymore and he was sinking fast down to the deep, dark bottom of the sea.

Ginny and the other Aurors appeared onto the scene that Craig had described to them. The smell of the sea and the sound of waves crashing onto the beach greeted them. In the distance, Ginny thought, there was something moving, on the surface of the sea.

"Look there," she said, pointing towards the dim light.

"Looks like a boat," Proudfoot said, squinting his eyes.

It was indeed. It neared them with a lot of speed, and then seemed to change direction, so that it beached at a considerable distance from them. In the little amount of light that the stars gave off, she clearly saw long, grey hair fluttering in the wind.

"It's fucking Yaxley," Claire growled. It was as if those words were magic. The three Aurors jumped into action and ran as fast as they could towards the man, but Ginny didn't follow. There was only one person in that boat, and he was returning from sea.

The Aurors reached Yaxley, just as he Apparated away. They stopped for a moment, seemed to be in conversation, and then disappeared as well, leaving Ginny all alone on the dark, deserted beach. She peered out. Somewhere out there, she was sure of it, was Harry. But there was no sign of him. She walked forward until the waves kissed her toes, but it was impossible to see anything in this utter darkness.

"Harry!" she called hesitantly. She immediately felt stupid for doing so. The words were taken from her mouth and carried away by the wind.

Pressure built in Harry's ears as he descended deeper and deeper. What little light was left near the surface, now disappeared as well. Dark forms he didn't recognise swam by in the distance, then came closer, and then he saw a thing before him that resembled a grotesque parody of a grinning face. It was entirely black, its eyes glowed red, and it had far too many teeth. He heard its mocking laugh (was the sound real, or did it just echo in his head?), and for a moment he was transported back to the pool of leeches, back in the forest in Wales. He'd seen this face before, he realised. Then, as soon as it had emerged from the vast underwater darkness, it disappeared again. He wondered who, or what it was.

Oh, what does it matter, he thought, it's all over now.

However heavy his body felt, his heart felt heavier. Never again would he see Ginny, Teddy, or his two oldest friends Ron and Hermione. Never again would he feel the utter freedom of flying on a broom. All the people he loved, all the joys in life, he had to say goodbye to all of that now. And there was no Dumbledore waiting for him now at King's Cross station. No trickery with the Deathly Hallows, no well-timed discovery. His tears went unseen and unnoticed in the water. This was the end.

The first specs of light started to appear, and Harry, thinking it was a sign of his life slipping from his body, welcomed them. There were more of them, and now sounds started to wash into his consciousness as well. Waves rushing towards land, seagulls screaming in the salty air.

Waves… seagulls… salty air. But that wasn't possible, was it? He was deep underwater, he wasn't supposed to be hearing this.

Then he began to feel things that didn't belong this deep underwater either: the sun warming the top half of his body as he floated in the water. The sun, reflecting against the vibrant surface of the water, casting off the very specs of light that he saw earlier. And a warm body that was pressed against him. Wet, red hair cascading over his chest. Ginny's content, smiling expression as they floated together, hands linked, their everythinglinked.

It was that glorious sunny afternoon, he then realised, that they had spent at the beach with Teddy, during the summer before the misery surrounding the Elder Wand had kicked off.

And as he realised this, he let the rest of the scene wash over him, and he immersed himself in the little details that delighted him: Ginny's laugh, the delicious warmth of the sun, and the utter content of feeling completely ungrounded, unattached to their worries and fears. Heaven and Earth seemed linked together as one at that moment, and the line where the blue sky ended and the sea began blurred.

What a shame to lose that, he lamented in his head.

But another voice in his head, a voice that sounded eerily like Ginny's, also spoke.

Harry Potter! It said. He could almost imagine her, with her hands on her hips, her brown eyes blazing with energy. I'd better not be hearing that anymore! After all that we have been through, are you really going to lay down and accept it here?

Harry feebly kicked his legs. And again. But the scene, the feeling of floating weightlessly under the brilliant blue sky, it didn't leave him. And he kicked his legs again, and waved his arms, and he felt himself lifting upwards. He kicked off his heavy, water-soaked jeans, his underwear, and ripped the constricting shirt from him as well, until he had nothing on him but his wand in his hand.

And all the while he swam up. The pressure felt less and less. He didn't even feel the gaping wounds Yaxley had inflicted on him, totally immersed as he was in that glorious, burdenless memory.

Ginny paced up and down the edge of the water, watching, peering, for any sign. She still considered jumping in herself, but she didn't know where to begin looking. She didn't want them both to be lost out at sea.

But Harry was out there, she didn't doubt about that. Neither did she doubt that he was still alive, although she didn't understand why or how. But the conviction was too strong for her to question it. And so she stayed. And waited… and waited… and stared until the sea and sky seemed to be blurring into one before her eyes.

Minutes, seconds, hours, she had lost track of time.

And then she saw it. Far, far away from her, a head appeared, breached the surface. She jumped in excitement and smothered a scream. She made to kick off her shoes and jump in, and then changed her mind again, several times over. In the end, in her giddy excitement, she ripped the wand from her pocket, pointed it proudly up at the night sky, and summoned the strongest light that she was capable of.

Harry's vision fitted between the bright, summery sky and the grey surface of the water that got nearer and nearer, until finally, finally, he came up.

His soaring hopes were dashed, though, when he looked around and saw nothing but the black night sky and wave after wave looming over him.

But this new despair was put out before it could settle in, when an unbelievably bright light flared up in front of him. He squinted his eyes and saw her. There, basking in her own light, the beach around her illuminated so brightly that it could just as well have been the middle of the day, she stood. Her vibrant red hair was unmistakable as it fluttered in the strong wind.

His heart soared. He called her name and, in his clumsiness, he swallowed a dose of sea water.

But he was unperturbed and he finally set off, swimming as fast as he could towards her, towards his beacon in the night. He got closer and closer, and saw more and more of her, and heard her scream his name. Eventually, without ever dousing the light, she forewent her position and ran into the sea.

His feet found sand, then, and he stood up just as they met there in the surf, the stars that twinkled above temporarily crowded out by Ginny's light.

"Ginny," Harry croaked, and he fell into her arms.

"Careful," she breathed. All strength that he had felt when he'd swam back to her, now left him. It was as if reality set in once more, and he was suddenly aware again of his aching, wounded body.

"You're hurt," Ginny said, her voice cracking.

"S'ok," Harry said. "You're here."

Ginny emitted something in between a sob and a laugh. Somehow, with their combined struggling efforts, they made it to dry shore.

"I've missed you," he mumbled as they stumbled over the sand.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny sobbed. He felt his throat constrict when he heard the grief in her voice. "You're here now. I'm here. C'mon, let's sit down now."

She plopped down onto the sand, and Harry fell down with her, his head resting in her lap. He pulled his legs in, and felt her soft hands stroking his wet hair.

"I'm so tired," he wheezed.

"Shh," she soothed him. "It's over now, I've got you. You can close your eyes."

To Harry, that sounded like an excellent idea. But there was one more thing, burning inside him, that he wanted to say. He turned up to her once more. Tears leaked from her eyes and streamed down her face, and Harry realised with a start that he himself was crying as well.

"D'you remember that one summer afternoon we had at sea?" he mumbled. "Almost two years ago?"

She nodded and bit her lip, her face contorted as she cried.

"I meant what I said there," he said. He tried to smile and reached up to capture her hand in his. "I still do."

Ginny closed her eyes, leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. "Me too," she whispered.

His eyelids drifted shut, and consciousness left him.