Chapter 23: An Unexpected Visitor

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry awoke from dreams of King's Cross Station. As the steady hubbub of a busy Infirmary filled his ears, he kept his eyes closed and tried to hold on to that sense of peace and completion. The feeling slipped away quickly, leaving in its wake a heavy headache. He opened his eyes reluctantly and watched the bustling Infirmary. Every bed was filled, with healers rushing about in an alert but orderly manner. He spotted Mrs Longbottom dealing out potions from her cupboard.

His counterpart was asleep in the cot beside him. Harry sat up in concern, the movement sending stabs of pain through the constellation of snakebites along his shoulder and chest, but his alternate self seemed unharmed. His Deathly Hallows sat in a neat pile on his bedside table.

The sight of them brought back in a rush all the memories of the previous night. Nagini's lightning-fast attacks. Meeting his parents in the afterlife. Lily's death. Killing Voldemort. The arrival of his world's Voldemort.

He jerked, shoving the memories and their accompanying emotions away.

This world is a fantasy.

That's what he'd told Voldemort. That's what he'd told himself from the very beginning. That's what he had to tell himself to make any of what had to happen now even remotely bearable.

He sat up stiffly and moaned a little. His ribs were bruised and tender to the touch, but he could not think of what had caused it. He was clothed but shirtless to make way for the thick bandages wrapped tightly over the bites. The same had been done for the bite on his forearm. There were already two spots of red staining the white. He supposed Nagini's venom was cursed to keep the wound open as long as possible.

He got up, swayed for a moment, and after his vision cleared, he ducked easily past the distracted Healers and out into a unnervingly quiet hallway. It was deafeningly still, in a way that stretched beyond just the hallway. The school was silent in the aftermath of the attack. The few witches or wizards he passed felt like ghosts, weary and solemn, and refusing to meet his gaze.

He entered Dumbledore's office to find the wizened wizard bent over the rune designs for the ritual that would send him home. He started at Harry's arrival, but then leant back and looked genuinely relieved.

"Harry, how are you, my brave young man? You are just the person I wish to speak with. Won't you have a seat."

"I've just come for the book, Professor," said Harry, gesturing to the rune designs. "Voldemort doesn't enjoy being kept waiting."

"Please, Mr Potter. Won't you humour an old man?"

Harry hesitated only a moment before sitting. Dumbledore closed the book and nudged a bowl of lollies toward him.

"Sherbet lemon?"

Harry plucked one from the bowl. It made his whole mouth tingle. It was the taste of nostalgia. Dumbledore followed in kind and took a moment to savour his.

"Mm, I do love sherbet. It was a particular favourite of my dear sister's, also. Sometimes a sherbet lemon as a bribe was the only way I could coax her out of her shell. I won't bore you with the sordid details of my family history, but what I learned from my sister most profoundly was the value of kindness." He shifted the bowl to a more prominent position. "I thought keeping a dish of her favourite sweets on my desk would be a constant reminder of that, but I must confess that I have forgotten to offer you one on every single occasion. For that I owe you an apology."

"I can manage without sweets, Professor. I really just need–" he reached for the book, but Dumbledore set his hand firmly upon it.

"No, Harry. I won't let you spend what little time you have left in this world labouring over a rune design in the frigid squalor of our dungeons."

The solemnity of his tone unnerved him. "This has to be done."

"And I am more than happy to. I am more than capable. I drew the rune that brought you here, after all. And a ritual of this complexity rather requires an experienced hand. Please, go and be with your family."

"What's left of my family."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted it for the look that came over Dumbledore.

"Indeed," he said, voice heavy with sympathy. "What a perfectly wretched circumstance. No one should have to experience the death of the same loved one twice in one lifetime."

In that moment Harry despised Dumbledore for the sorrow in his eyes and the compassion in his words. He hadn't experienced the death of his mother again. He'd been the cause of it. Again. And Dumbledore was the reason he was here in the first place. Dumbledore was the one who was supposed to protect them. He should have known.

"Last night you were arguing with Voldemort over who was more at fault. You are. You're supposed to be better. You're supposed to save people."

"I understand," said Dumbledore. "We all have those in our lives who we hold up to a higher standard. But the truth is that I am in many respects a foolish old man. I'm sorry I failed you… In this world, and in yours, but it is folly to believe that all lives can be saved in a war. Despite my many faults, Voldemort has been vanquished and the world is safe. Sacrifice is a necessary, though unfortunate fact of war."

Harry stared at Dumbledore's desk. He supposed that it was exactly what he expected him to say. This was Dumbledore. His mentor, his hero. Beneath Voldemort's rule, he'd come to idolize the late Albus Dumbledore as a beacon of light whose demise had been the tragic catalyst for the era of darkness that followed.

The truth was that Dumbledore was a man like the rest of them. His did what he thought was right, but in the end he was human, which meant he was fallible. Just as Harry was.

That didn't mean he was capable of forgiving him, though.

"You know the virtues of sacrifice better than anyone," continued Dumbledore. "I saw what you did last night. Your great act of sacrifice, and love, saved a great deal of lives. You have truly gone beyond your role as Champion of Worlds. I could not have hoped for a more deserving hero, so I thank you."

"I am not a–"

"You are, Harry. You are. Which is why I must also apologise. Somewhere along the way I forgot that you are, in many respects, just a boy. Yet I treated you as a dangerous wizard who needed to be kept in line. It was foolish of me, but I will not ask your forgiveness though I am sorely in need of it. Now please, go and find your family. I will get started on this rune momentarily, and it will be completed with plenty of time to spare."

Harry sighed, stood, a plucked a handful of sweets from the bowl. He hesitated, but could not think of anything to say to his old mentor, so he averted his gaze and stalked from the office. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He found that he really did, in fact, want to find his family. He could only imagine how they were coping with the loss of Lily. He didn't know where James and Holly would be, but he could at least check if his counterpart was a awake.

When he arrived back at the Infirmary, he found his counterpart still in bed, ensconced in a three-way embrace with Holly and James, heads bowed in shared grief. Harry stopped short and backtracked as quietly as he could. He could not stand to inflict his presence upon them. Not now. Not like this. Not when their grief was his fault.

"Don't you dare, Harry," came James' voice. He lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed red and his skin was pale. He looked beyond exhausted. "Come here."

Harry reluctantly joined them. James stood and gave him a fierce embrace before holding him at arm's length, his hands grasping his shoulders so that they looked eye-to-eye. He looked as though he was going to say something, his mouth opening and closing, but then he just enveloped him in another bone-crushing embrace, as though everything could be made okay if only he could hold Harry close enough.

"You're okay, Harry," said James when he finally drew back. His eyes were blazing with the same determination he had seen last night. "We're going to figure this out. You're going to get through this. He turned partially to his counterpart and Holly and gripped Holly's hand. "We're all going to get through this."

"How?" Holly asked, her voice bitter. "In a few days we'll never see Dark Harry again."

"Yes, we will," James said. He sat heavily in the chair beside the cot. "There's got to be a way. We just have to find it."

He rested his chin in his hand and scowled at the far wall. His scheming expression was so determined that Harry couldn't bring himself to voice the fact that Holly was right, and nothing could change that, so instead he turned to his counterpart.

"What are you doing in here, Mr. Master of Death?"

"He exhausted himself trying to bring people back from the dead," said Holly.

His counterpart focused his attention on his hands. "Well, I brought one person back, didn't I? So I thought… but even as the bloody Master of Death I'm not even strong enough to save my own Mum."

"You can't bring people back from the dead," said James.

"I brought him back, didn't I?" Harry said. A touch of hysteria edged into his voice as he angrily gesticulated at Harry.

"I wasn't actually dead," said Harry. "I sacrificed myself to Voldemort to protect all of you from him, and I guess because of that I was given the choice to live or die, but you made the decision for me. Mum would not have gotten a choice."

His counterpart continued to glare bitterly at his hands. Harry could almost hear the accusations.

"I'm sorry. She's dead because of me. If I hadn't done that–"

"Don't be ridiculous," his counterpart muttered. "You probably saved countless lives with what you did. Mum's actions were her own."

"But she was the reason I did that in the first place!" Harry insisted. "If I had known–"

"But you couldn't have known, so stop it! I'm the one who became Master of Death and then watched her–"

"Enough," James growled. "Merlin, I don't think you've ever been more difficult to tell apart than in this moment. Sons, this is just… life. Sometimes the unthinkable happens despite your best intentions. There is no doubt in my mind that either of you would have laid down your lives for your mother, but sometimes that just isn't enough. Nothing is enough. Life is chaos. You can't fight it. You can't bargain with it. You just have to accept it."

James fell silent and stared at the floor. Harry He wondered how much of that he needed to hear for himself as well. He had never seen his father look so defeated. It was disconcerting.

A heavy silence befell them.

"Did it hurt?" Holly asked quietly, staring intently at Harry. "Would it have hurt when Mum…"

Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat. "No. It didn't hurt," he murmured. "It… happens slower than you would think. I remember falling, and for an instant all I could do was look at the sky. I couldn't feel my body, but I could still see the smoke and embers in the sky. Then all I could sense was the smell of ash. It was as though that was all there was to the universe. All that existed was the smell of ash and singed magic… and then I saw them."

"Saw who?"

Harry blinked, brows furrowing. "My counterpart staring down at me," he said quickly. "But death isn't a permanent state. You die, and then you become something else."

"What do you become?"

Harry shrugged. "You only find out when you get there. It doesn't hurt. It was peaceful. It felt right. I knew it was to make sure all of you could have better lives."

James let out a breath, and whether is was a sigh of awe or exasperation Harry couldn't tell.

"You truly astonish me, harry. That you would go and do something like that…" he trailed off, struggling to find the words. "After everything you've been through… I can't decide whether I'm more angry at you for having so little concern for your own life, or proud of you for being precisely then man I'd hoped you would be."

Harry jolted as James' words mirrored his ghostly counterpart's. he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm not a hero, James. I barely knew what I was doing. I was high on snake venom."

His counterpart snorted. "Are you telling me you sacrificed yourself for the good of the Wizarding World because you were tripping?"

"Something like that," Harry muttered, thinking of Lily's red hair flailing behind her.

Mrs Longbottom approached them hesitantly, holding a vial and a roll of gauze. "Excuse me for interrupting, Potters, but Harry, your bandages are bleeding through."

Harry glanced down and saw that his bandages were peppered with red dots grouped in twos. He sat on the cot he'd woken up on and allowed Mrs Longbottom to cut his bandages free.

"I should heal those bruises as well," she said as she applied a salve to the bites. "What caused them?"

"I have no idea," Harry said honestly.

"Oh, er, I think those might be my fault," his counterpart said sheepishly. When Harry just stared at him he said, "I was really angry at you for being dead."

"So you chose to pound the death out of me?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he said. "I hadn't figured out what my Master of Death abilities were yet. I actually don't think I would have awakened them at all if I hadn't watched you…"

"You mean the powers are like seeing Thestrals. You can't until you've seen death?" continued Holly.

His counterpart stared at her and then laughed a little. It was the kind of laugh that came right before you burst out crying. "I always did want to be able to see Thestrals."

Harry kept his eyes on the ground as Mrs Longbottom wrapped him in fresh bandages. He could not afford to get swept up in his emotions now. There were far too many of them. They felt like a tidal wave, a tangled mess he couldn't even begin to sort through without fear of being completely engulfed. He couldn't sit here much longer. When Mrs Longbottom finished and handed him a clean shirt, he put it on quickly and got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" asked his counterpart.

"To see if Dumbledore needs help with the rune," said Harry.

James sighed and was about to say something, but Holly spoke first.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you just deal with it and carry on?"

Harry noticed how she and his counterpart were leaning on each other. How James was bowed forward in exhaustion. The three of them looked as though they could not bring themselves to do anything more than simply sit and exist.

"Holly, if you're looking for someone to be a pillar of comfort and emotional support during a time of hardship, you're looking to the wrong person."

"But aren't you tired?"

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Of course I am. How do I deal with it? I don't. How do I carry on? Because I have no choice. I just – oh bloody hell."

He flinched at the tell-tale sensation of something tugging on his magical core that meant a visit from Voldemort was imminent. James, Holly, and his counterpart all sat up in alarm. His hands went reflexively to the runes, but they'd been deactivated. How was Voldemort doing this? Come to think of it, how had he done this last night?

"Leave me alone," he muttered as he retreated from his family and made a bid for the exit. Voldemort clearly didn't intend on letting Harry spend time with his family, and he wasn't about to let his family be yet another witness of whatever threats Voldemort had for him. Harry screwed his eyes shut in frustration. What could he possibly want now?

Before he could get to the doors, however, he heard a groan that was decided un-Voldemort-like. He whirled around and watched along with every other occupant of the Infirmary as the smoke materialised and took shape. Ron surveyed his smoky form in wonder. He swished his hands back and forth, watching how the smoke roiled through the air before forming into his arm again.

"Wicked."

"Ron?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron's head snapped up. He grinned. "Hey Scarface! You look…" he regarded harry for a moment and huffed a laugh. "About the same as usual."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Ron shrugged. "That's kind of a long story."

"Are you Ron Weasley? From Harry's universe?" asked James. He now stood at the foot of his counterpart's bed, gaping at Ron.

And Ron gawked right back at him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking James up and down as though he were some alien creature. "It's really true. You're in another bloody universe. Blimey, Harry. We came up with some crazy theories for where you'd gotten yourself to, but, well, they were all confined to the assumption that you still occupied the same plane of existence! This is on a whole other level."

"How do you even know about this?" Harry hissed. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Voldemort would hardly want to publicise the fact that he'd lost control of his most important soldier.

"Voldemort told me," said Ron uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was going crazy without you, mate. I thought you were being tortured or killed or something. So I caused a bit of trouble. I knew Voldemort knew where you were. He had us all searching for you and then suddenly gave up for seemingly no reason. Voldemort told me all about your little summoning eventually – after a few stints in the Straps of course."

Harry's breath caught. "You – he could have killed you."

Ron shrugged. "I had to know, Harry. I was going insane! And it really didn't take that much. You know, for all that he's a sadistic mastermind, Voldemort can be a little thick-headed. He actually thought he was goading me when he told me how much fun you've been having here. I guess he thought I'd be bitterly jealous or something."

"And then, what? He decided to send you on a holiday to prove it?" Harry said incredulously, gesturing to Ron's smoky form and their surroundings.

"Well, not exactly. I was coming back from an assignment last night, and I overheard him trying to 'connect' with you or something, but apparently nothing he did worked. Have you disabled your runes or something? Anyway, eventually he gave up and started putting all sorts of curses on his fireplace in the Throne Room. Then he used it as though he were using the Floo, but I assume he came here, right? So this morning I figured I'd give it a go."

"Bloody hell, now you really will be killed," Harry muttered. "What's wrong with you?"

Ron waved him off. "No, you've had your questions. Now I have just one question for you. It's been wracking my brains ever since Voldemort explained where you are and how you're getting back. Harry, given that you are currently more firmly outside of Voldemort's grasp than any of us could've ever dreamt of being, why the bloody fuck are you trying so hard to get back onto our shitty timeline?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He noticed that the rest of the Infirmary's occupants had made a good show of going back to their own business, but he knew they were all listening.

"Figure it out, Ron."

"I really can't," said Ron, cocking his head to the side in incredulous amusement. "What's gotten into you, Harry? Standing right there is the reincarnation of James Bloody Potter and honestly want to throw that away for what we've got?"

"Who do you think he'd kill first?" Harry snapped. "When I tell Voldemort 'thanks but no thanks' and start my new life here? He'll kill you, then Dean, then Neville and Seamus and whoever else he bloody wants!"

Ron shook his head and covered his face for a moment. He went very still, the smoke floating restless about his stocky form. He drew himself up to his full height and gave Harry a solemn, almost pitying look.

"So let him."

Harry jerked and immediately opened his mouth to argue, but Ron was louder, and angrier.

He jabbed his finger at Harry. "You of all people know there's nothing to live for in our world. What kind of life is this? Voldemort doesn't need us. He never needed us. This whole thing has just been about punishing our Blood Traitor parents and making our lives miserable because he gets off on human suffering. Our lives are a joke!"

"That doesn't mean I can let you die."

Ron sighed. "Mate. We're already dead. You know that, right? What we've been doing these past five years – that's not living. We died the moment Voldemort took us from Hogwarts. And we're probably better off that way. Neville's gone off the deep end. Dean's a bloody psychopath. And Seamus would kick a puppy if it meant he got another helping of gruel."

"And what about you?" Harry prompted. "You think you're better off dead?"

Ron stared hard at him and laughed tiredly. "Yeah, well, for once I get to be the noble git, don't I? You know how selfish I can be, Harry. So you know I'm being entirely sincere when I say this. Don't come back. Our lives are meaningless, but if it means that you can stay here then maybe our deaths can be worth something. If you come back, you won't be saving anyone. Please?"

Harry had never seen Ron this committed to anything in a long time. For a moment he tried to imagine it, living here while knowing what had happened in the universe next door.

"No, Ron," Harry said quietly. "You don't get to say what I'm willing to do for you. I couldn't live with myself."

Ron scoffed. "You always have to be the bloody hero, don't you?" he growled, showing Harry on the chest. "You're not the Chosen One, dear Scarface. You're not the Boy-Who-Lived. You're not a Saviour, you're a bloody soldier. Don't you get that? You failed! Voldemort won. You can't save us – but look! You can save yourself."

"Shut up, Ron–" Harry began, but Ron shoved him harder.

"The only reason I'm here is to convince you not to come back. Now let's not kid ourselves, we both know Voldemort will find out what I'm doing right now. I'm probably going to get a week in the Straps for this. If you come back, it will be all for nothing now won't it!"

"I didn't force you to come here," Harry retorted.

Ron tried to shove him, but Harry sidestepped him. So Ron wanted to settle this in the Cage? Fine. He plunged his fist into Ron's stomach, but in a sick defiance of reality his hand plunged straight through Ron's torso. Harry stumbled from his own momentum. He righted himself and the two stared at each other, understanding dawning on both of them. Ron nudged Harry experimentally with a perfectly solid finger.

"So this only works one way. Neat."

Harry did not like Ron's encroaching grin at all.

"Now, boys, let's just take a moment to–" James began

Harry dodged Ron's punch aimed at his guts. "Ron–" he instinctively – and stupidly – attempted to deflect Ron's next punch, but Ron's fist flowed through his forearm and connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, knocking over a trolley of potions in the process.

"What's your plan here," Ron?" he growled with his hand to his throbbing jaw.

Ron squared his shoulders. "Stop you from coming back. By any means necessary."

"Ron, that's enough," said James pacifyingly. "We've all been through an ordeal these past few days–"

"You're shitting me, right? Voldemort went into plenty of detail about your little Christmas parties and Quidditch games while I was hanging there in the Straps. Quite the trials of adversity you've been enduring, eh, Harry? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry laughed sardonically. "Oh yeah, it's been great fun. A wonderful holiday locking myself up in Azkaban and being tortured by Voldemort on multiple occasions."

"Ron, please–"

Ron's fist plummeted into Harry's nose. A shock of pain rippled through his skull. His eyes immediately began watering as something wet dribbled down his face. Somehow the shock that Ron had actually broken his nose hurt more than the pain prickling through his sinuses.

"Damn it, Ron – I have a horcrux!" Harry exclaimed, holding one hand to his nose and the other out to Ron in surrender before he could lay any further into him.

Ron paused. "Where."

"No, Ron… Voldemort tore my soul in two. He made me a horcrux," he said through the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

He hated admitting this to Ron, admitting that coming back to his rightful universe was both selfless and utterly selfish. But it occurred to a tiny part of him that he had not been craving his soul nearly as much as he had when he'd first arrived in this universe. He still felt the chasm inside him, but it had somehow become easier to ignore.

"If I stay here, he'll destroy it, and there goes any chance of me ever having a happy life here regardless of whether he killed you or not."

Ron stared at him. "You're having me on."

"It's true," said James, handing Harry a handkerchief. "It's in the snake-and-lion pendant that Voldemort wears."

Ron stepped back as he processed this, staring at Harry as though he was seeing him for the first time. He turned, swore loudly and kicked the toppled potions trolly. Then he began to pace, his smoky tendrils roiling along with his frustration.

"Fucking piece of shit – bloody bastard – how the fuck–"

As he agonised, James muttered the charm to snap Harry's nose back in place with a stab of pain.

"Ron, just go," said Harry as he touched his nose gingerly. "Leave before he knows you're here and we'll pretend this never happened."

"No, wait a second," said James. "Ron, you've seen this pendant, right?"

"Of course I have. I didn't know what it was, but Voldemort's never not wearing it, sadistic prick."

"How would you feel about stealing it?"

Ron paused in his pacing to stare at James. "To do what with it exactly?"

James bit his lip. "There's virtually no way you could bring it to this universe, but suppose you could just hide it. Stow it somewhere Voldemort could never hope to find it…"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry, his voice nasally from holding the handkerchief to his nose. "Ron, he'll kill you if you try."

"We've already established that I'm fine with that," Ron snapped. "Hiding would be easy enough. It would be getting it from him that's the hard part. He's bound to have cursed it."

"I used to know an excellent Cursebreaker. I could show you a few tricks," said James thoughtfully.

"You're seriously going to let him to this? It's suicide!" said Harry.

James glanced at Ron, uncertain. "I just…"

"I don't need his permission," Ron snapped. "I'm doing this. I can try at least. I already know the perfect spot to–"

"No, I'm not letting you–"

"You don't get to decide what I'm willing to do for you," said Ron. He turned decisively away from Harry, dismissive in the knowledge that Harry had no comeback to his own words. "It's one thing to break a curse, to do so without Voldemort noticing will be another."

"You could steal it in his sleep," his counterpart spoke up.

Ron blinked. "… I'm not sure he does sleep."

"This is insane," Harry muttered, but he was effectively ignored.

"Hold on, even if you do hide it, couldn't Voldemort just Legilimense the location out of you? How well do you know Occlumency?" asked Holly.

"What's Occlumency?" Ron asked, making Holly face-palm.

"He can obliviate himself," said James. "But that brings up a bigger issue. Say Ron does manage to hide the horcrux and obliviate himself. How are we supposed to know? It's not likely Voldemort will just pop by to inform us his bargaining chip is gone. He could just fail to mention it and we'd be none the wiser."

"We need a signal," said his counterpart. "That we'll receive in this world."

"The Interconnecting Rune," said Ron. "You feel it even in this universe, right."

Harry answered by holding up his forearm with its deactivated runes for Ron to see. Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Okay… but you still feel when he's angry, right? In your scar. I'll just get him really angry."

"But how are you supposed to remember to make him angry if you've just obliviated yourself?" asked his counterpart.

Harry barked an incredulous laugh. "Enough of this. Please, Merlin this plan is so convoluted it couldn't possibly work."

"Harry, I love you, but if you're not going to contribute anything meaningful, be quiet," James said absently, brows furrowed in thought.

"James, Voldemort will find a way to punish all of us just for having this conversation."

James' fists clenched. "Voldemort is not my master!" he growled. He might as well have slapped Harry in the face. James saw Harry's expression and forced the tension out of his shoulders. "I've already lost my wife, Harry. I'm not losing my son as well."

"Your son is right over–"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," James hissed. "You are my son.

Harry clenched his jaw in frustration.

Ron glanced between then and laughed. "Merlin, this is adorable. You've got a father, Harry! Is he everything you hoped and dreamed he would be? Eleven-year-old-you must be absolutely dying."

"Shut up, Ron," said Harry. "I've had enough of this. You all have fun scheming Ron's death. I'm going to get myself some breakfast. Ron, it was nice knowing you."

He stalked off. None of them called him back. He didn't care if Ron got himself killed. He didn't care. Yet every step further away from the Infirmary he got the more he wanted to turn around and plead and beg and force Ron not to do this. He decided the best he could do was help Dumbledore with the Rune and get back into his rightful universe before Ron even had a chance to enact whatever idiotic plan they dreamed up.

Apologies for the long absence. I found a plot hole, then when I couldn't immediately fix it I got writer's block. I think I've figured it out now, thanks to a visit from our favourite redhead. Let me know what you thought!