As a ghost, there were few things Severus had difficult experiencing. Sensation of temperature was one of them. He often found himself guessing (an educated guess, nonetheless) at what the temperature was, by watching how the others reacted to the current weather. However, at the moment, almost all his companions were laying prone in the shadow of the butte he had dragged them into, away from the harsh sun overhead. It was difficult to deduce what the temperature was, but he had a fairly good idea, since heat waves rose up from the hard-packed and cracked dry ground. His companions were drenched with sweat even in the shade, but still prone from the violent trip through the Mirror of Rebounds.

He watched his companions for a moment. He supposed he could wait until they grew uncomfortable enough from the heat to come to, but he did not feel like waiting at the moment. Not with Harry missing. Severus wanted to discuss that with someone, preferably Francis. It was time for them to wake up and share his misery of existing--in the loosest sense of the word, of course.

Severus floated close to Tom Riddle and swung his foot back to kick him awake.

"Don't you dare," Riddle muttered, facedown against the ground. He stirred and looked up, dirt sticking to his damp face. There was a fine thread of silver hair through his otherwise think black hair, and it did not look good. He gave Severus a warning look as he slowly drew one arm up and then pillowed his face on it with a whispery groan.

That foiled, Severus tried his other prospect. He hovered over Harry2, who lay beyond the butte's shadows in the sunlight. A smile of pleasure twisted Harry2's features as he lay with his arms and legs spread out over the ground, as if to soak in as much sunshine as he possibly could. Severus had tried to move him into the shadows, but every time he did, Harry2 would unconsciously roll back into the sunlight. Severus figured if Harry2 died of thirst, then it certainly would not be due to his lack of concern. He supposed, on some level, this was typical of a fire demon to be more attracted to the dry heat rather than the somewhat-cooler shade.

Severus stuck his hand in the middle of Harry2's chest. Harry2's eyes popped open and he sprang into a sitting position, right into Severus' figure. With an indignant yelp, Harry2 rolled immediately to the side out of Severus. He fell on top of a scraggly bush of sagebrush, looked around, and then glared at Severus. "What's the big idea?" he demanded hotly as he untangled his shirt from the sagebrush. "You touched me!"

Severus looked down the length of his transparent body. "I've been violated!"

Draco sat upright, immediately awake. "Where?" He sounded more interested in the prospect that a violation had occurred, rather than who it had occurred to.

Riddle looked up. "You," he said pointedly, "are a ghost. How is being violated even possible for you?"

Francis stirred from where he was curled up in a tight ball. "Hmm? Whazza?" He stirred, yawned, and sucked in a mouthful of dirt. He went into a fit of coughing.

Draco brushed his sandy, sweaty hair back. "I'm hot," he said. He looked around the hilly area with a frown. "Toto, we ain't in Kansas no more."

Harry2 flopped down on his back again. "It's so warm!" he said cheerfully as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I love it!"

There was no reply as Francis finally coughed his lungs clear. He squinted at their dry surroundings, his eyes widening perceptibly as he studied the stray patches of sagebrush and few desperate-clinging grasses. He ran his hand over the dry ground and prodded a few cracks. There was a sense of helplessness about him as he slumped over and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he stirred. "We're in a desert," he said with a faint voice, as if waking from a long sleep. He reached over and poked Riddle in the ribs. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

Riddle's voice sounded casual. "If I stand up, my head might fall off." There was a long pause as Harry2 flopped onto his stomach and basked in the sunlight. "If I move, I shall expel whatever contents remain in my body. I ache everywhere, I want to go back home to Pinky and my study room, and I wish you people had never entered my life. In short, I hate the world, and when a convenient scapegoat comes along, any who stand in my way of taking my misery out on it shall join the scapegoat for company."

"It could be worse," Severus said. Riddle looked at him. His eyes glinted.

"Oh yes." He lurched unsteadily to his feet. He straightened upward with his shoulders thrown back. He took a single cautious step forward. "How did you die?" he asked softly as he took another step forward. His balance regained, a confidence exuded from his form as he stalked forward. Severus' eyes widened slightly as he leaned back from Riddle.

Riddle smiled sardonically. "Hmm?" One eyebrow arched upward in a challenge.

Severus' eyes narrowed. "A fitting fate for one such as myself," he said with a lilt in his voice, as if he was reading poetry. He pressed his hand against the base of his throat. "You cut my throat with a knife and used my blood to bring a little shard of humanity back to yourself."

"So I took your life," Riddle reached out to Severus, "to repair some of my own?" He rested his hand on Severus' shoulder, or at least where he would have rested his hand if Severus were solid. The smile he gave Severus was clear that he had found his scapegoat. "What if I give you some of my life to repair your own?"

Beside Francis, Pandora's Box rattled. Francis reacted immediately by throwing himself on top of Pandora's Box to prevent its opening.

Neon-green magic blasted into a maelstrom around Riddle and Severus, and exploded upward in a gigantic wave of power.

============================

Thrown back into the past, through different layers of realities that whipped past Harry so fast she felt light-headed and dizzy just from watching, the wave of power slammed into Harry and Cousin Quigley. It sent them reeling head over heels through the surroundings dark mists.

"Emergency landing!" Cousin Quigley cried. His grip around Harry's shoulders tightened as he yanked her to the side. They dropped on a wooden surface. Harry's breath expelled from her lungs in a hard whoof. She gasped desperately for air, hiccupped, and then stared at the dark hooves and brown legs before her face. She straightened her glasses and looked up in time for a horse to give her a curious lick.

"Blah." She pulled away from it and stumbled to her feet. She glared at the horse as it twisted its head to the side and peered at her with one large brown eye. Its back hoof kicked forward as its tail swished. "Where are we?" she demanded as she looked around. Cousin Quigley was missing. Harry put her hands on her hips and scowled. She tried to think past the thick fog that filled her mind. She found herself leaning further back, and then fell backwards on her rear. It took a moment for the world to stop swirling around before she could gather a semblance of thoughts together.

She should figure out where she was.

With that decided, Harry looked around at the dirt road that constituted as a street, laying between the two rows of uneven, rough-looking buildings with weather-worn false fronts.

"Are you all right, Missy?" someone, with an accent that Harry could only momentarily recall belonging to Texas (if all the movies were right), asked. Stringy arms hooked beneath her armpits and hauled her to her feet.

"Whazza? Lemme go!" She kicked backwards. Her foot connected with something solid. The person who grabbed her grunted, and released her. She stumbled away from the person and leaned against the horse. She fiddled with her glasses as she observed the rugged man who stood before her. His age was undeterminable--it could be anywhere between twenty and fifty. His skin was dark from too much sun and his skin dry and parched from living in such an environment. He wore dusty chaps and a sweaty checkered long-sleeved shirt under a patched leather vest. Perched on his head was a ten gallon hat. His belt crisscrossed low over his hips, and if she wasn't mistaken, it seemed like a gun was hanging in a holster through which the belt was slung.

Harry leaned forward to get a closer look at it, and nearly fell over. She flayed wildly. The man reached out and steadied her.

"Are you feeling well, Missy?" he asked. Harry winced at his thick drawl. "The sun's mighty hot today." He looked at her with a friendly concern. "Are you with anyone? 'Tis unproper for a young lady like yourself to be without," he coughed behind a large, calloused palm, "proper companionship."

Harry looked around. There was no possible way she could still be in the United Kingdoms. A hot wind blew. It threw gritty dirt into her face and a tumbleweed rolled past her. She sighed. She was stuck in a Western. Maybe it had more plot than the bad guy tying up the saloon girl to the train tracks, who is then rescued by the hero just in the nick of time. "I was supposed to be with my cousin," she said.

He nodded. "You sound like a foreigner. Do you reckon you know where your cousin might be?"

"Cousin Quigley? If he could get away with it, he'd head for the nearest pub."

The man blinked. "Pub?"

Harry sighed. "Bar?"

"Oh." He frowned. "Well, I do recall a man named Quigley Snape. He's staying over at the hotel there." He pointed somewhere off to his left. "He does like the saloon, so I reckon he's there now. He sounds like you do." He gave Harry a sympathetic look. "I'll go fetch him for you."

Harry's expression darkened. So Cousin Quigley left her for a saloon? When I get my hands on him, he's going to beg Uncle Hector to help him! "Point me the way and I'll get him myself!"

The man looked shocked at the idea. "Oh. Begging pardon, Miss, but, it's not a proper place for a lady like yourself."

Harry straightened upward to the best of her ability, since the ground was spinning beneath her feet again. "You're going to see exactly how much of a lady I am if you don't," she warned him in the best Snape-imitation she could manage. His eyes grew wide.

"Well, all right then." He offered Harry his arm, but she glared at him. He cringed and led her to the saloon. There was a pair of swinging half-doors. Over the doors was a brown sign where faded words, "The Lone Star," could still be seen. Cute, Harry thought. As she approached the entrance, she heard a soft hum of deep male voices. She stepped through the swinging doors and glared at the occupants as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the interior. It felt much darker to Harry, having been outside in the bright sunlight. Most of the people were seated at tables with glasses and mugs before them. There was a thick layer of smoke in the air. Everyone of the occupants in the saloon was male, ranging from young to fairly old. At the sight of Harry, they at once jumped to their feet and looked at her expectedly. She bravely threw her head back and ignored them as she strode into the center of the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Harry coughed and glanced around for Cousin Quigley. She stared at the corner of the long counter in the center of the room. A familiar shape was slumped over the bar. "Ah hah!" Harry marched over to the shape. She could see Cousin Quigley's face, puffy from too much alcohol, cradled on his folded arms as he lay over the smooth countertop. A half-empty bottle sat next to him and a single thimble-like glass. She prodded him in the shoulder. "You. You wake up. I'm lost and stuck here in this bloody hot place, and you're in here drinking!" Cousin Quigley stirred. One blood-shot eye opened up and peered blearily at her. "You heard the Bloody Baron! We've got heathens chasing after Francis for his hair!"

Cousin Quigley sat up on the barstool. He rubbed his eyes and peered at Harry, as if seeing her for the first time. She scowled and placed her hands on her hips as she waited for him to respond. "Do I know you?" he asked finally.

"Of course you do, you twit. You didn't drink yourself into oblivion, did you?" He winced. "I'm Harry Potter. James' so--er, daughter. Pandora's granddaughter." Harry threw her hands up in the air and tried one last time. "Your cousin?" Cousin Quigley frowned. He looked puzzled. He started to reach for the bottle, but stopped when Harry yanked it out of his reach. "Oh no, you don't. The Bloody Baron said you couldn't have any."

Cousin Quigley's splotchy face drained of all color. "The Bloody Baron?" He slipped off his bar seat and landed on the floor with a thud. He climbed to his hands and knees. "I-Is he here?" He grabbed the edge of the counter and pulled himself up just enough to peer wildly over its surface.

"Not at the moment." She squinted at him in the saloon's dim light. In most situations, darkness was friendly to people. It obscured the cruel lines that Time etched in their faces. Cousin Quigley just looked fragile and lost in the darkness, hunching down so no one noticed him. Harry reached out to touch Cousin Quigley. He flinched backwards. She dropped her hand. "Are you okay?" she asked him with concern. He gave her a wide-eyed look. She sighed. "How're you feeling?"

Cousin Quigley giggled, which turned into a sob at the very end. "I was perfectly fine in my state of intoxication when a lady with haunting green eyes shows up on the most backwater town I could find in the whole bloody state of New Mexico, dressed in a witch's robes." He reached and grabbed the bottle. He tried to pull it free from Harry's grasp. "She knows my name, speaks of people I know nothing of, and brings to mine hearing the most atrocious person I have ever known." He looked ready to cry as he wrapped both hands around the bottle and tugged incessantly.

"Now I don't understand you." She leaned forward until their noses touches. Cousin Quigley's was cold and his eyes filled with fear. "I am too with people you know. Like Dominic, who you sent away." His breath stilled and his eyes widened impossibly.

"How did . . . ?" His chin trembled as he swayed unsteadily and clung to the counter. "N-no. You just heard of something and are guessing. You're from the wizarding world, aren't you? Why are you here bothering me?"

She frowned. "Because you're supposed to be helping me!" She set the bottle down on the counter with a solid thump. She tried to think through the haze that still covered her mind. Two single words from Cousin Quigley's earlier statement made themselves understandable. "Wait a minute . . . Did you just say we were in New Mexico?"

And if you ever see me in a saloon somewhere in New Mexico, I don't know you. I really don't know you.

Harry collapsed on the barstool next to him. "You don't know me," she said finally.

Cousin Quigley rubbed his nose and shook his head. "That's what I said," he said mournfully.

Harry rubbed her temples as she tried to think. A headache was beginning to form, a deep painful throb behind one ear. She considered taking a quick swig from the bottle she still held, but discarded that idea. "I'm your cousin Harry from the future," she said finally. "I am from the nineteen-nineties. I came here with your help, but I guess the problem was made worse by the Mirror of Rebounds." Cousin Quigley blanched again and hunched over, but said nothing. "I am here along with my great-grandfather, Francis, myself from a different reality--I'm not even supposed to be a girl!--my husband whom I never married, and a good Tom Riddle, who's supposed to be the solution to a bad Tom Riddle in my reality. Because I'll die otherwise, and that's what Pandora, my great-grandmother, told me to do."

She waited for Cousin Quigley to respond. He sighed and stirred. "Do you have a scar?" He slowly reached out and brushed Harry's hair back to reveal the lightening bolt-shaped scar. He listlessly dropped his hand. "Oh dear." He stood up. "Come with me." He walked forward to the entrance. Harry followed after him. She glanced at the occupants of the saloon, who watched silently with narrowed, angry eyes. Some people muttered as she passed, and one man with a bushy mustache scrunched up his lips and spat at Cousin Quigley's feet.

"These people are unrefined," Harry muttered as they passed through the swinging half-doors.

Cousin Quigley sighed as he pulled his wand out of a pocket. "They're Muggles," he said in a sorrowful voice. "Who overheard what we were speaking of. Cover your eyes." He moved back to the entrance. Harry watched him. "Cover your eyes," he told her again. Harry pressed her hands over her eyes and turned her back to Cousin Quigley. "Obliverate!" There was a sizzle of magic that caused the hair on the back of Harry's neck rise.

Cousin Quigley sighed and grabbed her upper arm gently. "Come," he said. "You will be here for a lengthy time."

Harry stumbled after him, unsteady for a moment before she rebalanced herself. "How do you know? The Bloody Baron said the Indians were going after Francis for his hair!" Cousin Quigley rolled his eyes.

"Francis can take care of himself," he said. "Whoever this Francis is. He does sound vaguely familiar. However, there is no one else around from the future but yourself."

"How do you know?"

Cousin Quigley waved his hand vaguely. "The Mirror of Rebounds is a vessel of knowledge, but it stores it through its ability to measure and record time. I, familiar with the Mirror of Rebounds, can, ah." Harry could see him struggle with finding the right words to speak with. "There is a parting of energies though, so they will be here soon, though I do not know how soon. In the mean time, I'd rather you dress like a local, or at least like someone of this time. It will help you blend in until you rejoin your companions. Come, I want to show you something." They were silent for a moment as they marched along the side of the buildings. The ground was dry and cracked, and felt hard as cement beneath Harry's shoes. "How much do you know?" Cousin Quigley asked finally. "How much do you know of the Mirror of Rebounds, of myself?"

Harry tried to pry herself from Cousin Quigley's grasp, but his grip was strong and his fingers hurt as they dug into her arm. "I know that you're trying to save the Universe because Voldemort would destroy it otherwise. If I die, apparently everything will go."

Cousin Quigley stopped walking. Harry pried herself free. Cousin Quigley leaned against the building and looked at Harry with bloodshot eyes. "Do you know why I am here in New Mexico? Or why you would be here in New Mexico?" Harry shook her head. He sighed again. "Do you know if you were to come into the past?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, you said, some time ago, that when I met up with you in New Mexico, you wouldn't know me."

Cousin Quigley studied Harry's face. "And your name is Harry?"

"Yes."

"Ah. You looked like a little boy, whom, well, I once saw." Agony filled Cousin Quigley's eyes as he gazed for a long moment at Harry. He sighed and shook his head. "There will be no stopping what will happen," he said sadly.

Harry said nothing as she let Cousin Quigley lead her to one of the stores. Its false front was weatherworn and dowdy in the hot noon sun. Harry could feel sweat beginning to gather at her forehead and various other places on her body. There was no wording on the window at the right of the crooked door Cousin Quigley opened. The window's bottom half was covered with a dark green curtain that hung from a wooden hanger. The door's hinges squealed in protest as they entered the cramped room. Various bolts of cloth were piled on tables. There were a few busts in the corner, and another tables with various corks of thread.

Harry marveled at the simplicity of the room with its contents, and the simplicity of the contents themselves. It belonged to a quaint era of long ago. The sense of timelessness about it touched a chord of surrealism Harry could only associate with some of the wizarding world that continued to remain unchanged in its own being even after hundreds of years of advancement by the Muggle world.

She jumped when a matronly-looking woman, wearing a drab brown dress with a full skirt and a high collar of white lace, detached herself from the shadows. The woman's skirt rustled as she drew close to Cousin Quigley and addressed him with a respectful nod and a tiny smile. "May I help you, sir? Madam?" She nodded her head at Harry. Her smile disappeared as her eyebrows raised in clear surprise at Harry's robes.

Cousin Quigley was all business as he nodded his head and looked pointedly around. "Yes," he said. "I spoke with your assistant earlier, who informed me you were a remarkable seamstress." He gestured, palm wide, to Harry. "My cousin here is from the old country. She will be staying with me for an as-of-yet indeterminable time. As you can see, her," he paused, "dress is rather odd for hereabouts, and I would like her to appear more acceptable to the locals."

Harry awkwardly shuffled her feet when Cousin Quigley finished speaking. Her feeling of displacement worsened when the woman he spoke to pinched her lips together in a manner that reminded Harry of McGonagall. The woman eyed Harry's figure with no small amount of disapproval.

"How soon would you like it to be finished? I have a sewing machine--it's very new, but it will hasten the job rather quickly."

"As soon as possible if you will."

The woman nodded. "Very well. Come with me," she said to Harry as she nodded her head over to a curtain-covered doorway. "We'll take your measurements for a simple dress." Harry trailed behind her reluctantly. She looked over her shoulder at Cousin Quigley, who had turned to a table covered with various bolts of cloth and was sifting through them.

The first thing the woman had Harry do was strip behind a large screen. At the sight of Harry clad only in a pair of bra and panties picked out by Pinky, the woman squawked in surprise, and then immediately berated Harry on her immoral underwear. Harry's face burned with red as she crossed her arms before herself, but knew she would be unable to explain how a house elf had picked out the clothing.

The woman bustled about in the room and finally came up with a pair of lacy trousers and an upper lace-up tube that looked like a torture device to Harry. "I have to wear those?" she asked Cousin Quigley with a hint of panic in her voice as she pointed at them.

The woman glared at her. "These," she said in a cold voice, "are the standard wear of women everywhere." She glanced at Cousin Quigley, as if accusing him of Harry's ignorance. He shrugged in wordless apology. "These," she gestured to the loose, lacy trousers, "are pantalets. This is a corset." She held up the lace-up tube. Harry eyed it with no small amount of trepidation. She had heard of those. You had to stuff yourself into one, suck your stomach in, and breath out so it could be tightly laced. It made your waist appear small.

"That's not going to help my butt," she muttered.

The woman blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Cousin Quigley made a noise deep in his throat. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "This is not a place for a gentlemen like myself," he said as he turned his back to them. "I shall be waiting outside on the boardwalk for you to finish."

Harry eyed the lace-up tube. It was going to be another torture device, possibly invented by men again.

She was beginning to hate what she had once been.

And if it was a woman who had invented that ugly trap of fashion, then Harry was perfectly willing to hate herself for what she currently was.

========================

Three hours of measuring, lounging in her skivvies as she waited for her first dress to be finished, and finally cramming herself into the hastily-sewed outfit, Harry waddled uncomfortably out the door. Trying to walk while her stomach was pinched, she could not breathe deeply, and the lacings cut into the flesh of her back, Harry was in the mood to hurt something. The skirts themselves did not help in the matter of equating her mood. She wore three petticoats that caused her skirts to billow about her legs. She could not see where she was stepping, and the high-heeled lace-up boots were difficult to balance in.

She glared sideways at Cousin Quigley, who was seated on the boardwalk with his back pressed against the wood. He glanced nervously away. "Ahem. Well, now," he said as he struggled to his feet. "Shall we go? There are a few more questions I need to ask you." Harry said nothing as she continued to glare at him. He sighed. "Well, come along. The Mirror of Rebounds wishes to have a word with you."

Harry froze in mid-glare. "The mirror wants a word with me? It's just a mirror!"

"It's a sentient power," Cousin Quigley replied tiredly. Harry followed closely at his heel as they crossed the dirt street. They entered a building that was slightly more ornamented than the others. On the outside, its drab, weather-worn wooden exterior was identical to the others. Over the balcony that hung from the front of the building was a sign whose letters were so faded Harry could not identify what they read. They entered the building. The interior gleamed brightly from being carefully cleaned over the years. Harry followed Cousin Quigley up the creaky stairs to the first door to the left of the stairs. He paused at the door, and turned to Harry. He opened his mouth, and then stopped.

He silently opened the door and stepped to the side. Harry waited for him to move forward before she realized he was waiting for her to move first. She gathered her skirts about and, mindful of not tripping over her heels, she stepped into the room. It was sparse, with a creaky-looking spring mattress flopped over a slab of boards with a couple of pegs to lift it off the ground. There was a crooked dresser in the corner with a clay washbowl and jug next to it, and a white towel folded carefully over the chair next to it.

At the foot of the bed was a long, battered trunk. Harry felt an instant pull to it the moment her eyes lit upon it. Behind her, she heard Cousin Quigley enter the room, shut, and lock the door. He moved around Harry to the trunk. He knelt down beside it and hesitated. "Can you feel it?" he asked Harry without looking at her. "Can you feel its call?"

Harry had no idea what he was talking about, but she did feel an attraction to the trunk, and instantly knew Cousin Quigley had the Mirror of Rebounds stored in it. A cold wave swept up and down her spine. "Wait!" she cried as Cousin Quigley began to fiddle with the lock on the trunk. He stopped and looked at her.

"What is it?"

Harry pressed her hands against either side of her face. "I--I don't know. What're you trying to show me?"

Cousin Quigley sighed as he dropped his hands. He crossed his legs before himself and patted the floor beside him. "Please," he said, "do be seated." Harry, after a moment of indecision, clumsily gathered her skirts close and sat down. "I want to explain something of the Mirror of Rebounds to you. It's not a creature, but it is a sentient being. It represents the conscious aspect of the Universe. In that respect, it is stubborn, self-centered, and proud." He sighed and looked depressed. "There is little more to say of it, except no matter how much the Universe desires to live, it rarely tries to help by freely giving information, at least clearly."

"But why? If the Universe wants to live, then why doesn't it just directly give us all the information, rather than scramble what obtuse information it decides to give us? And how can the Universe be a conscience being that makes decisions?"

Cousin Quigley looked up at the plastered ceiling. "The Universe does not live, it exists." He frowned. "There have been persons who believed the Universe is the source and center of all living energy, and it's consciously aware of itself. The Universe is much more than that. I cannot fully describe it. The Universe encompasses everything, and is aware. It's not just the existence of life, but also the cycle of death, and everything that happened, and everything that happens, and the potential for everything that will or may happen. Because it encompasses everything, the Universe has a sense of understanding that far exceeds what mere mortals, such as you or I, possess. To even understand how vast the Universe's understanding is too much for our comprehension. Because of this keen sense of understanding, the Universe can read well the potential of the future, and what may cause its destruction. Now think, Harry, of how infinite is the Universe with all of space and all of time."

Harry tried to imagine. Her mind refused to wrap around the concept of how immense the word, infinite, implied the Universe to be. Her eyes grew wide behind their glasses as another thought occurred to her. "On top of all those multiple realities too!"

Cousin Quigley nodded. "And the Universe is aware of every single thing that occurs within itself. It's a terribly, utter vastness that exceeds our own ability to understand."

Harry scratched her head. "So the Universe is God?"

"I could not say."

"If the Universe is God, then God would be able to take care of Himself. He couldn't die because He's, She's, well, It's God."

"Gender is a materialistic thing, Harry, and God is beyond the materialistic."

"Well, if the Universe is God, then the Universe can bloody well save itself, can't it?"

"It already has. It saved itself by creating you. After all, 'tis Voldemort who will destroy us all, and you were meant to take him down. Now, whether you actually lived through it or not does not matter to the Universe. In the great, grand scheme of things, your only importance lies in killing Voldemort. Once he is dead, you have no more use."

Harry stared at her feet. "Then why did Pandora say we had to find a good Tom Riddle to save the Universe?" she asked finally. "Pandora said I'd die if I killed Voldemort, and you say that I can kill Voldemort." She scratched her head again. Her scalp was beginning to tingle annoyingly. "So I could kill Voldemort, except I would die, so we need a good Tom Riddle to do it for me so I won't die." Harry felt her temper flare at the injustice of it all, and she flung her hands wide, smacking Cousin Quigley in the forehead. "That hardly makes any sense!"

Cousin Quigley rubbed his sore forehead. "No."

All of this, just to save her own life, which the Universe had sacrificed for its own purpose. She had to go through multiple realities, face multiple transgressions against her person, was turned into a girl, and now forced to wear this breathing hazard called a corset. "And it isn't fair!"

Cousin Quigley agreed amiably at that. "Oh no, of course not."

Harry cradled her face in her hands. "Why do these things have to be so difficult?"

Cousin Quigley reached out and rubbed Harry's back comfortingly. "Because," he said sincerely, "we always work the hardest for that which we most desire. It gives us cause for a greater appreciation and respect for what we worked so hard. This is especially important if you actually have the choice of whether you're going to stay in one spot or actually do something."

"Humph. Well, that would explain why it's never clear when it does try to communicate. It always speaks in riddles or circles, and just seems to like making us guess."

"Perhaps that is to rouse curiosity. Tell me, Harry, if you knew half of what you were about to go through, would you do it?"

Harry looked down at her curved chest. "Not really," she conceded.

"We humans have a great weakness, and that lies in our own inherent curiosity. Once aroused, we'll do nearly anything we to make it stop--providing, of course, that we know what we are willing to go through. Essentially, the Universe set you up by tossing you a hook, and you eagerly grabbed at it only to find yourself too ensnared to release yourself."

Harry leaned back against the trunk. "You know the sheer irony of this? The irony is how we started out not to help me but to look for Pandora. Francis wanted her back, so we went looking for her or perhaps her mother to learn where she went. We never intended to find a good Tom Riddle, or to save the Universe." She studied Cousin Quigley's profile as he twisted his fingers. "It was you who told us to save the Universe." She sighed and drew her knees to her chest. She carefully arranged her skirts and wrapped one arm around her knees. "You once said to me you never had a choice. Is that why? Because the Mirror won't let you since it's a sentient being? How's that possible?

Cousin Quigley chuckled bitterly. "We don't know," he said. "All we know is Hyacinthe created the Mirror of Rebounds to store detailed records of the past. But the past is only on part of the stream of Time, and so the mirror can access the possibilities of the future. Unfortunately, he was pushed in front of galloping Roman horses and was crushed to death before he could tell anyone."

Harry frowned. "I thought he was pushed in front of a carriage."

Cousin Quigley shook his head. "They didn't have too many carriages back then," he replied.

"Someone said it was a carriage!" Harry felt affronted. "And I think it was you!"

Cousin Quigley tried to look innocent. "It couldn't have been me," he said. "I saw a blonde Malfoy push Hyacinthe in front of the horses. Well, there may have been a carriage among them, but it wasn't what killed him."

"Well, why did a Malfoy push him? And how did you see it?"

Cousin Quigley nervously pressed a finger against his lips. "Ah, well, we best leave that for another day," he said with a light blush. He turned to the trunk. "I should be able to use the mirror to learn how soon your companions shall arrive."

Harry watched as he undid the lock, opened the trunk, and withdrew the Mirror of Rebounds. "I have a question," she said. "What happens if two of these were to show up at once?"

Cousin Quigley shrugged. "Anything is possible. Perhaps nothing will happen. Perhaps reality will bend and the Universe will snap." He shrugged. "I cannot say."

Harry watched with uncertainty as Cousin Quigley stared at the flat surface of the Mirror of Rebounds. Something must have happened that only Cousin Quigley knew about, since the glass remained dark and solid. He sighed and placed the Mirror of Rebounds back into the trunk. "They'll not be here for exactly, oh," he took a brass pocket watch from his pocket and glanced at its ticking face, "eight days, four hours, and eighteen minutes."

"Oh." Harry looked at her booted feet, which peeked over her stiff skirts and petticoats. "Well, what do I do until then?"

Cousin Quigley shrugged. "At this point," he said mournfully, "a drink sounds good. However, I don't believe I want to enter a saloon whose occupants currently have difficulty remembering their own names now without the aid of alcohol."

"And what's this word that the Mirror of Rebounds wanted with me?"

Cousin Quigley blinked and stared wordlessly at Harry. He twisted around to face the trunk, then sighed and slumped over. "It refuses to say now," he said.

"Why?"

"Because it's sulking."

"It's sulking? How can it do that?"

"Hmmm? I'm not sure. I think this is the first time this has happened to me." Cousin Quigley studied Harry. "There's something about you," he said finally. "I'm not sure what it is though. Ah well." He stood up. "I've this lovely bottle of rum hiding in my carpet bag. Would you care for a nice glass?"

Harry sighed. "I could use a stuff drink at the moment," she said. Wouldn't be the first time, she thought morosely. I wonder if I'm turning into an alcoholic. She decided to blame it all on Cousin Quigley's bad influence.