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Chapter Sixty-One—Along the Path of Light

Remus sat staring at the letter in his hands. He'd tried putting it aside and thinking it over objectively, but it was seared on his mind too much for him to do that. If he closed his eyes, the words just danced there, and he would rather look at them and try to move his mind forwards.

Moony,

Even you can't be blind to what's happening with Albus. More and more of what he says and does doesn't makes sense. I heard that Professor McGonagall had to reverse some of his decisions about Hogwarts lately; he had wanted to abolish the Board of Governors, and actually thought he had the power to do that.

I don't know for sure what caused this. I don't know if he's ever going to come back to his senses. But we have things to do in the meantime. We can't let the world go to hell because Albus's mind has.

I'm joining the peace process. You know that You-Know-Who supports it, but so does Augusta Longbottom, and her family, and the Weasleys, and everyone else who fought with us in the Order of the Phoenix. You're conspicuous by your absence, Remus.

If you want to, you can come to our house and talk about it. But you're not going to change our minds. I just wanted to hold out my hand and say that you'd be welcome. Say it one more time.

Prongs.

Remus bowed his head. Now that he had read the letter again, something burned as strongly in his thoughts as the words of it did: the pitiless green eyes that had lingered on his face the last time he tried to explain why being a werewolf already led him closer to the Dark than he wanted.

It sounded as though James was completely on Harry's side. And so were Lily and Sirius. Remus wondered when that had happened. They had hated the thought of Harry being what he was at one point. Why change their minds now?

And to be convinced that they could somehow do this without drifting into the Dark…

Remus shook his head. There were only two things he could do, and one of them would mean losing all his friends. On the other hand, joining James and pretending that everything was fine might mean that he lost his soul.

Still only two things I can do. And his friends had always meant more to him than his soul.

He stood up and went to the corner of the dusty room where he was staying in Hogwarts to find parchment and ink.

Minerva scrubbed her face briskly with her hands. If she held them there long enough, then perhaps she would manage to forget the memory of her old friend and mentor being dragged away to St. Mungo's.

But she didn't think she would. Albus Dumbledore shrieking obscenities at the Master of Death while being restrained by two formidable matrons was the kind of thing to remain when all other memories were gone.

Minerva let her hands fall and sighed. Now she had to deal with the clutter of notes and books and letters on Albus's desk. There were letters he had ignored for months, she was afraid, while he raved at the ghosts his own mind had created.

She dealt with most of them briskly, but paused to stare with narrowed eyes at the long list of notes he had made on a scroll of parchment that looked as though the end of it had been chewed by something with sharp teeth.

One of the notes said, Jonathan Potter needs to be observed.

Minerva shook her head. Poor Albus had always been far too impressed by the kind of misty nonsense that Sybill Trelawney got up to. There had supposedly been a prophecy, and then the prophecy hadn't occurred, and still Albus had gone on watching and hoping and sure that mysteries were happening just out of view.

Well, Minerva had always said that Divination was a woolly discipline. And what had happened had only proven her right. She tore up the note and incinerated the small floating pieces before they could make it to the bin.

No, she was going to make a fresh start, and as much as she might mourn the brilliant man Albus had been, she would never give in to his obsessions.

"But I don't understand," said Thalia Greensprings, who, in Augusta's view, had never been worth the expensive robes she wore. "Why should we trust him? He was the Dark Lord! The Death Eaters did whatever he told them!"

Augusta rolled her eyes, and was surprised to see an answering gesture from Molly Weasley on the other side of the room. Well, at least she had an ally where she had expected to have a harder time dragging some people into this. The Weasleys had been so loyal to Dumbledore that she hadn't thought they would believe him mad.

But here they were, attending this meeting in the back garden of Longbottom Manor, seated at small tables with larger umbrellas over them that shielded them against the falling raindrops. There were some people here whose presence had indeed surprised Augusta. She turned back to Thalia.

"Then if the Death Eaters would do whatever he told them, they'll obey him when he tells them to make peace, won't they?"

Thalia opened her mouth, and then had to sit there for a bit, probably because the next thought hadn't arrived yet. Then she gave her head an abrupt shake and said, "But you don't know that."

Augusta sighed. And she did manage to make it a sigh instead of the major huff that she'd wanted to. "We are all taking risks. But not as much of a risk as following the madman who was proclaiming himself the Leader of the Light in the last few months."

Thalia glared at her. "I'll have you know that Albus Dumbledore has claimed the title for much longer than that."

"Then he's all the madder, given that he never underwent the necessary rites," Augusta snapped back, and turned away to speak to the others. "Are you here because you support Albus Dumbledore, or because you support the Light?"

That got her a few glares like Thalia's, but Molly said strongly, "The Light."

"What would you know about it, though?" Pandora Lovegood demanded. It was easy to remember that she had married into the family rather than been born to them, Augusta thought idly, not only because she had dark brown hair that looked nothing like the blonde hair of a typical Lovegood, but also because she had much too forceful a personality to be mistaken for one of them. "You're rabid Dumbledore supporters. All the Weasleys and Prewetts are."

"Perhaps we were," said Molly, although with a tight smile that suggested Pandora was going to regret choosing those words. "But no more. How can we look at someone who has acted as madly as the Headmaster has and support him?"

"Well, you always looked past his mad actions before."

"I agree with Molly that there is something different about Dumbledore's actions of late," Augusta interjected. Molly and Pandora got on as well as Malfoys and Weasleys. "Listen. I'm only trying to say that we have a chance to shape the future of Britain, now."

"By listening to a Dark Lord?"

"I think the future of Britain is Dark and Light acting side-by-side," Augusta said, marking the man who had spoken in her head for a later date. He was here only by courtesy, since he was the current fiancé of Eshella Hammersworth, last member of a prominent Light family. "By ourselves, we haven't done such a good job."

That made even Molly stare at her. Augusta folded her arms. "Raise your hand if you think that Albus has made strides in the past decade or so."

One hand rose, but then dropped back. Augusta didn't even bother to glance over to see who it was. She watched them, and they began to nod.

"Yes, exactly," Augusta said. "He had become obsessed with his own pet projects, and one of them was trying to make You-Know-Who mortal." She snorted when a few of them jumped in their seats, although she noticed Pandora lean forwards and listen intently. "Oh, yes. You-Know-Who has some method of immortality. But when Albus told me a way that was supposed to let us find his means of immortality and destroy it, it never worked."

"Perhaps you simply didn't do the ritual the correct way?" offered a syrup-sweet voice from deep in the crowd.

That would be Angelicus Smith, the old idiot. Augusta ignored him. Some people never got over being rejected for a marriage because they showed up and preached more about their virtues than yours. "There's that possibility, of course," she said, when enough of a pause had gone by so that she wouldn't seem like she was just responding to Angelicus's question. "But I think it's far likelier that it never worked because Albus got it wrong in the first place."

"If You-Know-Who is immortal…" someone asked timidly towards the back, "shouldn't we hunt his method down and destroy it anyway?"

"Tell me where it is and why it's imperative that we should do so when the man's offering peace, and I'll listen. Oh, and grow some magic powerful enough to protect yourself from him, Pacifica Woodsprings, since I won't be doing it."

"But, I mean…we should because no one should be immortal! It's against the natural order!"

"How old did Merlin live to be, again? And I don't hear anyone calling him unnatural."

"That's a matter of legend. We're here and now, Augusta, and you're asking us to act like we're living in a legend."

"Maybe I am." Augusta didn't blink or back down. The people who had questioned her were the ones who did that, a moment later. Augusta smiled. Her mother had always said that was a sign of those people not being firm enough in their convictions, and Augusta saw it being proven right yet again. "Because a Dark Lord and the leaders of the Light making peace is certainly something that people thought could only happen in legend."

That shut up some of the less thoughtful ones, and in fact, for a moment, silence reigned throughout the Longbottom back garden. Molly was the one who broke it. "Well, now that we're living in that time, how do we handle this becoming real?"

Augusta smiled more widely.

"The Light has given me a peace treaty."

Harry could feel the shock Voldemort had beaming through those words, like sunlight down a neck, but he just smiled without opening his eyes. He lay on his back in their clearing, with real sunlight coming down on his skin, and he felt disinclined to move. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"It's something I never expected to happen. And it would not have without—will you sit up and look at me when I am speaking to you?"

"Now you sound like Dumbledore in some of my lives," Harry complained mildly, although he did sit up and turn around to face Voldemort. "He was always acting as though no one could possibly be listening with their eyes closed."

He was in time to see Voldemort's nostrils flare. (At least he had nostrils in this world). "Do not compare me to him."

"People are going to do that, you know. You should get used to it. People aren't going to be able to believe that you just appeared from nowhere and claimed power, but they'll compare it to Dumbledore's sudden rise after he defeated Grindelwald."

"They may. You may not."

Harry held up his hands. That sounded like one of those lines Voldemort had that he honestly tried not to cross. "All right, all right. What's going on, anyway? It is just the treaty that's got you so upset, or is there something else?"

"I am not upset. I do not give in to such plebian emotions."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and only stopped raising them because he ran out of forehead. He watched Voldemort in silent, intense skepticism, and the man was aware enough of it to hunch a shoulder and glance away.

"Tell me," Harry said gently into the silence.

Probably there was no one else on earth who could have talked to Voldemort that way, or anyone in any other world, either, but then, Harry had grown used to his unique position, and even comfortable in it. He leaned back on his elbow and waited, and Voldemort gave in long before Harry's well-learned patience would have been taxed. "I am—making peace with my enemies. This is not a tactic I ever envisioned.'

"So, in other words," Harry said slowly, "you're upset because you're acting like a Light wizard."

"I am not one."

"No, but you're taking an action future generations could think of as—oh, but it's not even about that, is it? It's about your own self-perception."

Voldemort stared at him, and said nothing, but he leaned forwards as if he might start flying away as he had learned to do in some of the worlds Harry had dwelt in. Harry grinned at him and added, "You don't want to think of yourself as an intelligent negotiator, but as someone who makes the minions tremble with fear. And does the same thing to the enemy."

"Harry."

Harry knew the tone, and rolled his eyes. "All right. I don't think, in the larger scheme of things, that you have that much to be upset about, but if you want to change your own mind, then think of it this way. Being mortal and sane makes you more powerful, in some ways. You can accomplish feats now that you never could when you had Horcruxes around, can't you?"

Voldemort's hand was tight on the scroll of what Harry assumed was the peace treaty. "I cannot think of one."

"You can consider things that irritate you without flying into a rage. You can intimidate the Death Eaters without torturing them." Harry reached out and laid a hand on Voldemort's arm. "You can have a friend."

It seemed to take a long moment, at least as measured by the red lights flickering in Voldemort's eyes, but then he nodded sharply and looked away from Harry. "There are not many who will ever know about that last one."

"I consider myself privileged to be one of the few," Harry told him quietly, and took his hand gently away, when it looked as if Voldemort might be inclined to protest. "Is there anything you want help with on the treaty?"

Voldemort started to shake his head, then paused. "I want you to appear at some of the negotiations."

Harry tilted his head. "I will if you think it'll help, but I would have assumed it would have the opposite effect. You know," he added, since Voldemort was staring steadily at him without seeming to understand. "Having one of the important negotiators on the Death Eater side appear in the body of a child."

"I was thinking that you could age yourself as you have done before."

"I'll never understand your fondness for that form." Harry tipped his head into one palm. "And, well, Light wizards tend to feel uneasy about anything they think is deception. Do you believe that they'll be able to accept that kind of lie?"

"It is not a lie. You are the Master of Death. That is one of your forms. It is their problem if they are unable to accept that you can assume more than one body."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling fondly himself. "Here we have to practice another unfamiliar exercise, and think from other people's perspectives," he said soothingly. "Think about it. You would have no problem with it, maybe some of your Death Eaters would have no problem with it if you ordered them to, but to people who don't know me? Can they connect me with a child or not?"

"I wish to show them who you really are."

"But this is who I really am," Harry argued, gesturing down his body. "Now, in this world, in this time."

"One face does not embody you." Voldemort looked as intent as he had ever been when he was doing something murderous. He leaned forwards, fingers tapping on the scroll. "What I want to show them is that you can change and flow from one shape to another. Show them your power the way you showed it to me on the night that you escaped my custody."

Harry paused. "You're really bringing that up now?"

"True friends should be able to discuss anything, should they not, Harry?"

Harry chuckled aloud. He had to admit he hadn't met anyone who challenged him like this version of Voldemort did in a long, long time. "Yes, yes, I see what you're getting at. But I'm not going to terrify them with a casual demonstration of magic. That won't accomplish anything in the way of peace."

"Perhaps not. But show them enough, and they will understand that you are not simply a child about to go to Hogwarts. That is the realization I wish them to come to."

Harry frowned. "And that will be enough to—what? Make the peace negotiations go more smoothly?"

"You are a fool if you think it would not be enough."

Harry shook his head. "Fine. I'll attend the negotiations, and in the body that you find so handsome. Would that be enough?"

Voldemort felt his face sting oddly at the insinuation that he found Harry's older body handsome. It wasn't until he raised his hand to his cheek that he realized the stinging was the heat of a blush. He stared at his hand, and wished that he could stare at his cheek.

"Voldemort? Are you all right?"

Sharply, he turned to Harry. "I am perfectly fine. And I will be better if you will wear that—older body." He was incapable of making himself repeat Harry's insinuation, even if there had been a good reason to do so.

Harry's smile blazed out across his face, echoing the colors of the evening that were creeping along the west. "I should go. My parents still worry if I'm gone too long. But tell me which negotiation you want me to attend, and when."

"All of them," Voldemort said automatically, and got a long stare before Harry Apparated.

Left alone, Voldemort touched his cheek again, pleased that the heat of the flush had faded. Then he stared at the sunset himself before nodding firmly and standing.

If Harry would not attend all of the negotiations—which Voldemort truly doubted would be the case—then he would still please himself by thinking of the ones that Harry would attend, and what the Light wizards and witches would say when they saw him.

And what it would be like for Voldemort, to see Harry again in the fullness of his power.