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As they neared the Gryffindor Tower, they spied Francis nervously waiting for them beside one of the staircases. He smiled as they approached, and then stepped forward to gently grab Harry's upper arm. "I would like a private word with you," he said to Harry. He turned to Harry2 and Draco. "The password is snickerdoodle."
"Great," Draco mumbled as he and Harry2 left Harry and Francis. "A cookie!"
"I'm hungry," Harry2 said to no one in particular.
"I offered you lasagna, earlier," Harry mumbled. Harry2's head turned slightly, as if he heard her words as he walked away, but he gave no other indication of what she said.
Francis waited until Draco and Harry2's footsteps had faded away. He nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot until they did, and then regarded Harry with no small amount of trepidation and worry. "Harry," he began, and then stopped. He bit his lip, frowned at a spot on the floor, and tried again. "You're not alone," he said. Harry looked at him in confusion.
"What?"
"You said you had to face the dementors and Voldemort and Professor Quirrel, but you don't have to do that anymore." He looked mournfully at Harry, as if miserable that she did not believe he could help, if not protect, her. "We're together in this, and we need to support one another," he said hurriedly when Harry said nothing else.
"Francis?"
"Hmm?" He looked at her, waiting and fidgeting nervously.
Harry sighed. "I think it was the hormones speaking," she said as she rubbed her stomach.
Francis shook his head slowly. "I don't think it was the hormones' fault," he said. "I'm not sure what you mean exactly by hormones, but I think most of your frustration comes from everything that has been going on." He studied her with a contemplative expression on his face. "I gather you're used to being in control of a situation, or at least your own boss. You've been taking the sideline and when you try to become your own boss again, we won't let you."
Harry felt anger bubble in her chest and she bit her tongue before she could snap at her great-grandfather. "Telling me I can't just because I'm a girl doesn't sit too well with me," she said testily. "I haven't always been a girl, and I don't intend to be a girl any longer than possible. Not even for the rest of today. I'm used to danger, and while I should probably avoid it, I don't want to fawned over and told to sit in the corner where I'll be safe! This is as much my fight as anyone else's, perhaps even more so." Harry rubbed her eyes. "I don't want to fight," she said tiredly. "But, after all I've been through just to get to this place, here and now, I think I should see it through."
Francis smiled sympathetically, and he reached out to hug Harry. "And it's my fight as much as yours," he said as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Because I may have helped Voldemort become what he is, and my family--you! You especially, Harry!--suffered for it."
Harry squirmed uncomfortable and hoped Francis wouldn't start crying and kissing her. She had had more than enough of it from Draco. After a moment, Francis gently pushed her away from him, his hands still on her shoulders. The look of fierce protectiveness took Harry's breath away. This was . . . This was the look of a father who fiercely loved his children and would do anything to protect them. This was the look of a father who was resigned to his children fighting the fight next to him, but was so proud that words could not express the full depth and width.
And this, Harry realized, was the first time she had ever seen Francis or anyone else look at her in such a way.
Francis dropped his hands. He looked uncertain, as if he did not know how to express himself. Finally, he dropped his gaze on the floor again. "Harry." He paused, and then looked at her. "Harry, when this is all over, what say you and I go back to Dinsmore and rebuild it?" Francis tugged at one of his sleeves. "I, I can't promise much. But you're not alone. Neither of us are alone," he said with a hint of wonder, as if he had just realized that he, too, had needed someone and had not realized it just then. "We're family, and we have each other." He smiled suddenly, bright and buoyant. "Great-grandfather and great, ah," he looked at Harry, who frowned as she guessed what he was going to say, "great-grandson." Harry felt herself grinning. "But I feel more like an older brother."
"Nah." Harry waved her hand, feeling exceptionally more light-hearted than before. It was good to know someone still thought of her as male. "An older brother is like Draco: Annoying and bossy. You're more like a father." She smiled at Francis' look of surprise. "And I like being a son."
"Yes." Francis bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes. Like a son." He looked at Harry, as if assessing her in a new light. He bobbed his head again. "If that's the case--well, I don't know if I should ask you this since you're fifteen and you have your godfather--" Harry's smile disappeared. She wondered how Sirius was doing, if Marcia was taking care of him despite doing something for Cousin Quigley. She had a feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach, that the Sirius in this reality was not going to be a very happy person when he learned about the reality-jumping, his godson being turned into his goddaughter, and who they had brought back. On the other hand, she thought grimly to herself, as long as no one mentions how Sirius and Severus had that fling going on in that one reality . . . And that other reality where they had a contest of who was going to seduce Harry Potter first . . . She shuddered.
Francis sighed and fiddled with his goggles. "We better go meet up with the others," he said with a tinge of regret in his voice. Harry jerked when she realized he was walking away.
"Wait, Francis!" Harry hurried over to his side. "Before we join the others, I'd just like to say that, well, I'm going to have a hard time readjusting to the people I know here, after all that we, uh, saw in those reality jumps." Francis' face turned bright red as he recalled some particularly embarrassing scenes. "So I'd like staying with you at Dinsmore when this is all over, like a son." She hunched over without knowing why, feeling just a little embarrassed to be saying this. "As a son," she said hurriedly.
Francis cheered again. "Yes. When this is all over, we can both live again." He wrapped a comradely arm around her shoulders and they pulled each other down the hallway.
====================
Harry2 was playing with the flames in the fireplace when Francis and Harry entered the Gryffindor Common room. Draco sat on a couch behind Harry2, watching the flames bounce from Harry2's hands. The fire in the fireplace smoked, but the flames were visible only where they played along Harry2's fingers. Harry stopped and stared in amazement at Harry2. Light reflected in his glasses as he watched, mesmerized.
Draco clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I've never understood a pyromaniac's fascination with fire," he muttered to himself. "Sure, it's warm, and it's even a cool color at times, but why the fascination? Why the obsession? What makes fire so different from something like, say, lightening? I always thought lightening was more impressive."
"Could it be," Harry2's eyes flickered from the fire to Draco, "my fascination for fire comes from the fact that I'm a fire demon?" He grinned suddenly and raised his hands to shoulder level as he twisted to face Draco. "But watch!" The fire in his hands began to change different colors. It flared from red to orange to purple and blue, with green dancing in the middle. "Fire is interesting. It's not an element; fire is actually the energy given off in a thermal reaction, either as a result, a by-product, or the catalyst that started the reaction. By controlling the reactions, the amount of oxygen the fire receives, and the heat at which the fire burns, I can change the color and shape of the fire."
Draco blinked as he watched the flames. "I realize this is going to make me sound very ignorant, but . . ." He scratched his head. "What is a thermal reaction?"
The fire in Harry2's hands instantly winked out and he dropped his hands to his side. Harry2 curiously studied Draco's face for a moment before he glanced over at Harry and Francis, whose interest had perked at the mention of chemistry. "It's a chemical reaction in which one or more compounds becomes oxidized and the violence of the reaction takes place in friction and heat. What you see, then, is fire." He paused a moment as he thought over what he said. "Or something," he said. "I only got the gist of what Mom was babbling, so some of that may be a bit off."
Draco scratched his head. "Where did you learn this? And what's oxidized?"
"Mom was ranting one day on the wizarding concept of elements, and she wanted to know if anyone in the wizarding world--and even the Muggle world--was going to realize that elements were compounds and minerals. Air was merely a gaseous mixture of many different compounds, such as nitrogen and oxygen and carbon dioxide. Earth is many, many other elements and compounds. Water is oxygen and hydrogen. Fire, as I said before, is a reaction. This knowledge, for whatever reason, isn't taught to wizards. I don't know why--probably because science involves strict laws of reality, and magic has the ability to bend the concepts and laws of reality."
"They're Muggles concepts," Francis said helpfully. "Science, with all its minerals and compounds, that is." Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded his head.
"I suppose they would be. It sounds like a bit of nonsense to me," he said.
Harry2 rolled his eyes. "Did you know," he said, "that the wizarding world doesn't believe in life from other planets? At least not life that can travel through the galaxy system, much less the universe. I mean, just because they can't Apparate to the moon doesn't mean that Muggles are can't build machines to carry them to the moon." He twisted around and sat before the fire. "Personally, I've always found it interesting how the Muggles are able to do so much with their science, and the wizards just stayed behind in their little medieval mindset. It takes Muggleborns to introduce new ideas and new 'technology', or at least magic that copies some sort of technology." He hunched over and reached out for the fire. "I'm almost worried," he said to no one in particular as one of the flames wrapped freely around his hand. "According to Mom, this world isn't going to last much longer. Muggles make such advancements that they move on through the Universe, and Mom thinks that the wizarding world stayed behind. Does this mean that magic died out?"
When his voice died away, the only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the fire.
"So they just left?" Francis asked before the silence could stretch into awkwardness.
"They destroyed the world first," Harry2 replied. He poked the burning wood. "There were, well, are, all sorts of factions that warred against one another. Humans who thought animals are like brothers against humans who thought animals had more of a purpose than just looking good. Humans who want to preserve the environment against humans who want to utilize natural resources because we really can't live without them. They sabotaged and destroyed each other and the world because they couldn't get along, couldn't find any compromise. And if the wizarding world doesn't find some way to compromise with the Muggleworld, then I think it's going to destroy them."
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Severus floated in the shadows of the hall. He kept carefully away from sunlight that streamed through the holes in the walls and ceilings. It hadn't been difficult to move through the Floo systems and the underground caverns as a ghost, but to let anyone know that he was no longer "dead," so to speak, then it could mean trouble.
He blended well in the darkness and waited, listening carefully to his surrounds. Old houses tended to creak and groan, as only old houses had wont to do. The air should smell damp and musty, with a hint of mildew cloying at the edges. Mice in the walls squeaked and pawed their way through. An old house like this was an orchestra of life and sound, and even it no longer had (or was not to have) human occupation. He caught the sound of something rough sliding over the grained wood, and quickly floated to the ceiling and sat cross-legged over it. He frowned as Nagini slithered by, her tongue poking out every few moments to taste the air. She paused directly beneath Severus and twisted her head around. After a moment, she continued on her way.
Severus regarded the snake for a moment. Was this creature capable of turning into such a beast? Swiftly, he turned his thoughts elsewhere, to different sounds: The soft click of wood against wood; soft, almost discernable words of someone deep in thought. He dropped from the ceiling and floated down the length of the hallway until he reached an open room. The room was hardly impressive, being empty but for a single table with a single chair. On the table was a dusty Muggle chess set. The chubby figure that sat in the chair fumbled with the chess pieces, trying to set up a game to play. Several pawns dropped from his fingers--flesh and silver, the silver hand far more coordinated and graceful than the hand of actual human flesh--and rolled to the edge of the board.
"Odd," Severus said softly. The figure stiffened. "I had never thought you to be the intellectual one, Peter. Of course, I had never really thought that of any Gryffindor." Francis aside, he thought, although Francis was more of the feather-brained intellect than the sharp wit attested to most Ravenclaws.
Peter Pettygrew stubbornly pursed his lips together and finished placing the pawns in their places. Under Severus' dark gaze, Peter's trembling slowly ceased and his movement became more sure and steady. "Life is all one large chess game," he said firmly without looking at Severus. He glared at the chess pieces. "Unless you either play or fetch the Master so he can play, leave off."
Severus floated over to the table, being sure to avoid the thin rays of sunlight that drifted through the small holes in the roof. He seated himself in the air and folded his hands before himself, regarding Peter and ignoring the chess set. "In this great chess game of life, what piece do you suppose you are?" Severus asked. Peter made the first move, shuffling a pawn two spaces ahead and avoiding Snape's gaze.
"Aren't we all different pieces?" Peter asked. He pointed at the King. "But not every player represents a person. The Kings can't very well take care of themselves, being able to move one block at a single time. These are ideals that must be protected. It doesn't matter if the ideals are good or bad, merely that they rule our lives and dictate our behavior." Snape moved his knight, and Peter responded by moving another pawn.
"With that attitude, everyone are merely pawns of varying levels to the King," Snape muttered.
Peter looked up from the game. His eyes were flat and hard. "And that is why we are who we are," he said darkly.
The room exploded. Severus caught a single look of mingled surprise and resignation on Pettygrew's face as he felt his essence thrown backwards, and then firmly yanked through something solid, into something that existed on more than three dimensions.
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Voldemort looked up from where he was tangling strings of light together in a magical cat's cradle. He tilted his head to the side and smiled listlessly. "Pawns, again?" he asked himself. "How I dislike pseudointellectuals." He spread his hands wide, and the cat's cradle unraveled itself and faded away. He stood up and folded his hands behind his back. "Which does remind me of something I should be doing." He stood up and dusted the back of his robes off in the same manner of someone self-conscious of their appearance. After a moment of thought, he smoothed the front of his robes as well, then turned his back to the smoking rubble that had once been his, well, home could hardly be considered the proper word.
There was something final about blowing up one's greatest servants and headquarters, but Voldemort had a very definite feeling that he had no more need for those who had dwelt within it. He was no longer going to depend upon those silly humans. He was so close to the power he needed, and with it he could create his own world out of this god-forsaken earth. He would destroy it first, purify it of those unworthy, and then create an Empire. He did not need traitors.
"You shouldn't have let the boy go, Peter," Voldemort muttered softly, trying to justify what he had done. Truthfully, he did not know why he had destroyed it. It just felt as if it should be done, and while Voldemort was not the sort of man to do whatever he felt should be done, certainly he had no need for the mansion or the servants once he realized his full potential. He gazed across the distance, unaware of how hungry and wanton his expression was, as he felt the power that stood out as a beacon.
It fluctuated wildly, flaring like a blast and then settling into a crackle, but he could feel it pulsating alive, beyond that barrier. It was him, and yet not him, and Voldemort felt a sense of urgency to face this thing, to merge with and become one, because it was it was power, untainted and immensely powerful, but it was not the boy's. This was something foreign, yet wholly familiar.
He reached out to it hesitatingly. It responded eagerly to his presence though, to his essence, and somehow, that was not surprising. It was him, alive, a beacon of the purest light, the foundation of power steady, untainted, and wholly beautiful beyond anything he had ever seen. It was the purest form of chance. But not merely chance-no, this was that chance everyone could control.
It was the sheer, unadulterated potential that had been violently stripped from him so long ago. It was what destroyed him when he cursed that little brat. This was what he could have been, so long ago, until she sold her own power to tear his own from him.
And, oh, how very eager it responded to his malevolent touch, so easily changed, so vulnerable, so naïve, so very much like him, those fourteen years ago.
Marcia popped through the end of the tunnel and looked around the bright sunny beach that Harry had Wandered to not very long ago. "Ooh! Prime real estate!" Unlike Harry, however, Marcia wasn't too interested in the bright sunny beach, the forest, the ocean, or the neon-bright flowers (at least, not after she got a rash from trying to pick the first bright-orange blossom she saw). She whipped around and scrambled up and down the beach, and then through the surrounding forest, listening to the sounds of what seemed like crickets, and the many bright-colored birds that flew overheard. "Yooohooooo! Anyone here?" When no one answered, Marcia scrambled monkey-like up the tallest tree she could find, not heeding its emerald green foliage. The bark was firm beneath her fingers, and she quickly glanced over it because she had this odd habit of being utterly fascinated with bugs. She scanned her surroundings and noted some people splashing in the ocean at a far distance from her, and maybe what seemed to be footsteps in the sand (probably just her own though; they looked like size three sneakers with a funny star and swirl tread).
Maybe she should swim out to those people and ask them some questions. Except she could only doggy paddle at best, and she needed sunblock, her bathing suit, and various float devices to stay above the water. What if there were strong undercurrents? She would be dragged out to sea and--
"Yoohoo to yourself," someone called from the bottom of the tree. Marcia looked down, but all she saw were leaves. She eagerly bounced down the branches to the ground and stood before a tall man (most people were tall, considering how Marcia was, uh, vertically challenged, but this man was taller than most people). "How may I help you?" he asked her dryly, scrutinizing her little figure and measuring her with eyes that reminded her all too much of the Lord of Chaos. He had a hooked nose and curiously black, curly hair, and wore wizarding robes. His spoken, "It's not very often when we get a traveler of your caliber to visit Avalon," that made her squirm self-consciously.
All too aware of a reputation that was probably well-deserving, Marcia schooled her face into a mild, innocent curiosity. "Neh. Mister. This was the end of the tunnel, so can I assume I'm to find Pandora here?"
The man smiled suddenly, a smile that was more cynical than it was cheerful. "How fitting they would send a creature who doesn't exist in Time to the part of the Universe that doesn't exist in Time."
Marcia wasn't sure if that was a snub against her, or even how she was to riffle through that twisted logic, so she let it slide without comment. After all, he didn't look particularly weak . . . Or mortal. In fact, if she sort of squinted just so--well, double time. This man was not chance. He was realized potential from birth, a master of his own destiny who could exert that same mastery over the destiny of many whom he came into contact. Well, it was a good thing she was immune to influence. Most of the time. At least, to what one may consider good influence, and that counted as half the influence she would ever come across, yes? "Heeey! You're a druid!"
The man gave her another cynical smile as he swept into a low bow. "I am Merlin," he said with a hint of pride in his voice.
Marcia blinked for a moment as she thought of where she heard the name before.
And thought. And thought.
And, for good measure, thought some more. "Who?" she asked in a tiny voice. Her reply was a flashed look of annoyance. Well, he wasn't going to kill her, so that meant she had more important matters to attend. She tentatively yanked at his robe and pointed in a random direction. "Can I find Pandora?"
"Yes. She sits on a rock on the beach edge." He pointed west. "Follow the beach in that direction and you shall find her."
"Thanks, Mister Druid!"
The man bowed his head in farewell as Marcia scampered off through the thick underbrush. "They sent a non-wizard," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "Pity. I would have cared to speak with one of my own kind." As much his own kind as he was going to get; Marcia was a headache to be around, being only time and chance herself, but mostly time. She possessed no power and no strength. It was not so much as a non-wizard had been sent, but that she had been sent. All the trouble he had chaining the Wild Hunt to the Underworld . . . And this wretch had to release it! Sigh and alas. One of these days, he was going to make the trip to her reality and give her a long speech on why it is a bad thing to release myths of olden days.
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Francis, Harry, Harry2, and Draco all sat together around the fireplace. Francis and Harry2 avidly spoke of various chemical compounds and machines and wires. Harry had enough science in her background to be aware that whatever they spoke of was far too advanced for her to make heads or tails of, and Draco looked bored as he sat, mesmerized with the fire for no other reason than it was being more interesting than the current conversation. Because of his distraction and because of Harry2 and Francis' interest in their subject, Harry was the only one who noticed the Fat Lady's portrait swinging open. She lifted her head from where it rested on folded arms, and saw a swirl of neon-green power flood the room instantly before blazing-hot agony shot through her scar and she doubled over in pain.
The neon-green power rose up and slammed into Harry like a tidal wave and threw her across the room, hitting the wall with an uncomfortable crunch. Pain shot through the areas in her body that made impact against the wall, and her vision swam with scarlet splashes, as if someone had taken a bucket of red paint and thrown it everywhere. Scar burned, on fire, stop! She felt the pain coursing through her, the power following closely behind and soothing as easily as it, too, burned, a strange meld of torture and comfort. Her skin was melting, pulling, stretching, muscles and sinew contorting, mutating--
She stared at the green power and the source of it at the other end of the room, a tint of color around her vision. Riddle stood in the portrait's opening, one hand raised, with the most twisted, ugliest expression she had ever seen on anyone's face. It chilled Harry, even despite the brunt force of his power pinning her against the wall and the fire, burning . . . Draco, just outside the stream, lunged after Riddle, only to be grabbed and held back by Harry2. Despite Harry2's demon strength, Draco still dragged forward, one foot ahead of the other. Francis whipped around Harry2 and steadily pointed his wand at Riddle.
"What are you doing?" Francis' voice was firm, his face set seriously, and the wand unwaveringly steady.
Riddle turned his eyes from Harry to Francis, but they weren't really eyes. Just two spots of green that glowed eerily and seemed to pulse in time with the power that held Harry. With a toss of his silver hair, Riddle turned his gaze to Harry. "I'm finishing what I started," he said. "It was what you wanted." His rich voice drew across the power and seemed to tug at Harry's pain, pulling and soothing it, like a cooling slave gently spread over a severe burn. "Unfortunately, there seems to be something rather odd going on with . . ." He didn't finish. Draco threw his weight and strength forward and managed to uproot Harry2 for a stride.
"-tainted! Son of a bitch!" Draco dragged forward another step as his sword appeared in his hand and he chopped the air with it, as if he could slice Riddle through sheer determination, despite standing more than ten paces away.
Harry tried to move against the power, but it still pinned her. Pain flared, and she felt a single presence manifest itself, much like a worm that pops out of an apple and chews another hole through a different area. She could feel it burrow through her mind, working from the back to the forefront. A convulsion shook her, and she tasted blood in her mouth and she tried to force the invasion away. "Sssss." Stop! No! Concentrate! Keep the presence away. Yes. Look at Riddle. Don't let anything interfere with him. Him. Why? The presence in her mind seemed to hesitate under Riddle's piercing gaze. But she was melting; her skin was melting. She could feel her chest and abdomen on fire. Why? It was beyond the first time her body changed. It was . . . It was . . .
Baby blue seeped through the stone beneath her, leaked from a source that had been left to remain in the hospital wing. The baby blue washed over Harry, a balm against the pain. It wiggled under the neon green power and folded itself over Harry like a protective blanket. She felt her hand move, and Harry lifted her head to look fully at Riddle. A sense of calm descended upon her, and she floated in it. The manifestation in her mind writhed under the baby blue power with a shriek of pain before it dissolved away. There was a hole in Harry's mind, but the baby blue filled it like a cup, soothing, soft, gentle, and nurturing.
Riddle's hand extended and she could see the broad surface of his palm, fingers flared wide. She had seen that hand before, and she had been floating then, too, as she was now. She was detached. But had she been floating? She could remember there being pain then too. Pain, and a cold, hard surface surrounded by burning candles.
Harry's scar prickled as she felt her body begin to fade.
"Close proximity," Riddle said, soft enough for Harry2 or Francis or Draco to not hear, but Harry understood him. For whatever reason, she heard his voice echo in her mind and knew what words were formed by his lips. "Has an affect. Apparently, I'm not the only one who finds it unpleasant. At least someone watches out for you." A look of puzzlement crossed his face. "Is this how you survived, boy?" Riddle asked.
Then he was gone, and all Harry could think of were ribbons.
====================
Harry, in a distinctly male body, stood on a familiar sandy beach, the colors of his surroundings jewel bright. His shoulders and waist felt light and free, to no longer have one's shoulders dragged down by gravity and a quantity of weight. With a wiggle of his toes and a flap of his arms, Harry jumped up and down on the sand.
And then fell over.
"Blast it!" Harry stood up and nearly lost his balance again by overcompensating for the now-missing weight on his chest. It took him a few steps on the sand to get the feel of shifting his center of balance before he could address the situation of having a hoop hung from his shoulders. And improper-fitting underwear that rode up uncomfortably.
With a quick glance around his surroundings, Harry dodged behind a plant with thick foliage that, hopefully, was not poisonous, and rendered himself free of the horrible torture device created by men--er, wait. Well, it had its uses, like keeping uncomfortable bouncing down to a minimum. And it kept him from hyperventilating (or breathing easily, but the point still stood). He looked around for a hole to stuff the underwear, and then decided it was not worth his time. This was Pandora's reality, and he may as well look for her for some time before he stopped Wandering. Maybe she knew what was wrong with Riddle. To be attacked out of nowhere like that--except, except maybe Riddle was actually Voldemort in disguise. But how would Voldemort be able to find them so fast, and why not kill Harry with the Killing Curse instead of doing whatever he was doing? Or maybe the Killing Curse wasn't a good idea because it was what caused this mess from the very beginning. And where had the baby blue power come from? The only place Harry could think it came from was Pandora's Box, except there was always that dark green power to contend with. Had the dark green power merged with Riddle, and that was causing the odd behavior?
Harry tucked the underwear into a robes pocket and paused a moment to relish being male once more. No more cramps! No more sexist remarks! He would never again have to worry about periods or cramps or breasts that bruised easily. Ha! He was free! And if he got back and his body was still male, then Harry swore to treat women with more respect and never, ever, say, "You can't because you're a woman."
Marcia crashed into Harry and sent the two of them sprawling head over heels over the sand. Harry sat upright, blinking in confusion and straightening his glasses. Grains of sand stuck to his skin and robes, but he absently brushed them off. Marcia, her own glasses askew on her face, looked at Harry in amazement. "How did you get here?" she asked him in a voice that accused him of pulling an unwelcome prank.
"I Wandered." Harry shrugged. "It's the same way I got into Harry2's head."
Marcia blinked in confusion. "Who's this here Harritue?"
"He's your son."
Marcia straightened her glasses. "He's Harry?"
"Yes. He's Harry, too. Just like me," Harry added helpfully when Marcia's expression was still one of puzzlement.
"Umm." Marcia shook her head, and then0 her lower lip trembled as if she was on the verge of tears. "Can we forget we even had this part of the conversation? Just became very confused."
"Suits me." Marcia jumped to her feet and then held her hand out to help Harry. Grateful to hold on to something and keep his balance, Harry accepted the hand. Marcia pulled him to his feet, and then hurriedly grabbed his waist as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
"Gotta get my balance under control," Harry said as he grabbed Marcia's shoulders.
Marcia looked at him with a puzzled expression. "So," she began, "do you automatically become a boy when you Wander, or were you changed yet?"
"I'm--" Harry paused a moment. "I'm not really sure," he said finally. "Maybe I'm just me when I Wander, except I hadn't done it before when I was a girl. Or maybe Riddle was changing me back when I Wandered. I, I don't really know."
"Oh." Marcia looked uncomfortable for a moment, before she awkwardly patted Harry's elbow. "Well, you can help me find Pandora. Don't know what she looks like, but you do!"
"Why are you looking for Pandora?"
"Hmmm?" Marcia stopped looking around and focused on Harry. "Quigley sent me," she replied. "Said I had to get Pandora, and then Merlin said she was around here somewhere."
Harry looked at Marcia in surprise. "Wait--Merlin?"
"Oh? Do you know him?" Marcia asked innocently. "The name sounded familiar."
"He's only the greatest wizard we ever had!"
"Wizard? And here I thought he was a druid."
Harry opened his mouth to reply to that, and then recalled how Pandora had said Merlin qualified as a druid because he had two times. He regarded Marcia, whose face was set in expectation of an argument. "No, you're right," Harry said. "Merlin was twice time."
Marcia smiled, smugly. "S'what I noticed, too." An odd look crossed her face. "How did you know he was twice time?"
"Pandora told me."
"That's right! And you said you were going to help me look for her."
Actually, Harry hadn't said anything about that, but Marcia sprinted down the sand before he could say anything, and it wasn't as if he could have said, "No, I'm not going to help you find my own grandmother." But was it safe to assume that Pandora was near? Harry felt his heart quicken as he hurried after Marcia. Grandmother. It felt good to think that. If Marcia was here for Pandora, that meant Pandora was going to be able to come back to Francis, and then they would be together and Harry would have a family. A family, with a father-figure and a mother-figure! They wouldn't be quite like James or Lily, but they would be there.
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It was a gigantic tapestry, but in reality (which, at this point and time, was questionable at best), it felt so much more. It was suspended in what could be air, and its surroundings were like a distant velvet sky of almost-black purple, with pinpricks of light for every magnificent star whose light had traveled far and long enough to be seen. A distant shooting star arched across the sky, and then faded away. It was such a fragile sight that spoke of how fleeting a single moment could be, how singularly insignificant each life is, but how every one is apart of the sum of a whole.
And the tapestry hung silently, its ends unraveling because the delicate balance of chance, time, power, and strength could not be held. But the numerous threads that entwined together to make up the tapestry were not truly just strands. Each every one of the strands was a reality manifested. Each single strand, representing reality, was the Universe. It was the fabric of lives, of time, of substance, and the strands were numerous, infinite in their number, and a new strand formed at every moment as the tapestry continued to unravel and fray.
Severus D. Snape knew this from the first moment he had entered this corner of the Universe, blasted from a room where he was going to play chess.
"Ah! Excellent!" James Potter scrambled from one end of the tapestry to the other, grabbing handful after handful of the strands of reality and hurriedly tying them together. His efforts to keep the tapestry for unraveling was a losing battle against an upset balance that Severus could not name. "I could use an extra set of hands" Exuberant, James waved his hands at the tapestry, and then nearly tripped over his feet to grab one section that was unraveling more quickly than the others. He tied it with a square knot and hurried down the length. "Come! All you have to do is keep tying the end! We must slow the progress of the Universe's death."
Severus stared a moment, rubbed his eyes, and then stared some more. "This is the Universe?"
James did not look up from where he was quickly braiding a rather large handful. "It's the shape of the Universe in a manner that mortals, such as ourselves, can perceive."
Severus approached the tapestry with a sense of reverence and abounding awe at the immensity of the thing. His eye perceived it to be only so wide and the length of it disappeared into the night sky above, but as he reached a single hand out to it, he suddenly felt immensely little and insignificant. His perception of the tapestry was limited, as if space bent and reoriented itself to compress the infinity of the tapestry into what he could see. He touched a strand, and the jolt of it felt like a bolt of lightening hitting a corporeal living body. Thousands-no, trillions upon trillions upon trillions of lives, of beings, of existence flooded his senses, an overwhelming array of materials and spirits and energy, all bundled up in this single reality. Matter, both organic and inorganic, had a significance all of its own separate self. Every single atom meant something, and infinity existed within a single reality.
A hand captured his wrist. Draw back! Draw back!
The voice . . . ! It meant something. It stirred single atoms and transformed and touched and changed. Electricity, so special, so beautiful, traveled along nerve tracks to translate the shifts and transformations of the atoms into a message his brain, these various little cells, could understand. Why had he never before noticed how one is only the sum of the whole, how every little thing was important in the greater part of being? But so much so, did everything mean, wrapped together. Countless, infinite, it was apart of this being, this Universe that encompassed all. The Universe was everything that was, and everything that is, and everything that will be, chance and time and strength and power. It was raw, and yet refined.
The Universe was a living being, utterly aware of itself; it was aware and felt everything that lived and everything that died and everything that could have been, and Severus was drowning in all of it. The Universe was too big for a single mind to perceive; it was too big for an infinite number of minds to perceive. Had Severus been alive, he would have died from the flooding of some much, simply for touching a single reality. But he was dead, and so he continued to die from so much. This was the true meaning of power. This was what it meant to be a god, to know everything--everything!--and being aware of every single little atom that made up infinity.
It was not the hand that snagged his wrist that drew him from the center of all. It was not the voice that begged him away from infinity. Severus could have lost himself in the awareness and the meaning, because, oh, the love! The Universe loved everything within itself, every infinitesimal thing that ever would, ever did, ever could and never did exist. There was no rhyme or human reason to any of it, but the love was there, and it was an emotion that gave meaning to every being and every action.
It was the single drop of water that trailed down a transparent cheek. A single tear, so insignificant, so little, so unimportant, and yet it mattered as much as anything else did. The Universe loved that tear, a single thing in all of infinity within infinity, because it meant something.
Severus Snape, a little gutter rat who once amounted nothing, who could never leave the slums, wept.
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author's notes: Well, here it is at last, chapter 28 in all its whole. I admit that it has been a while since the last time I posted, but there
has been an important reason for my absence. As some may know, I am now a full-time nursing student, and as finals drew closer, I had to spend more time studying.
There is the time constraint. However, I do admit I did have some time, and I admit I spent this time concentrating on my new obsession--Naruto. ^^;; Fanfiction is dear
to me, in some ways (most of which are too complex to explain), so I spent some time in the Naruto fanfiction area of ff.net, much to the indignant chagrin of at least
one author who received the brunt of my unhappiness concerning their poor writing. (That was a doozy. See in my profile and livejournal link from there to see what
degenerated into a grand source of amusement for me. ^_^) Finally, real life beyond my Naruto obsession and nursing classes, which amounts to what witnesses claim
to be the most spectacular ski crash they had ever seen (my second run down, too, ;_; on the Saturday just after Thanksgiving). I popped my jaw out of joint (and I still
have problems with it now) and tore my ACL--a ligament in my knee that is responsible for proper alignment of the bones and limiting sideways movement of the knee.
This will require surgery. This has been my one adventure for the past three months. Well, except for that tangle with the United States Secret Service, but they don't
count because it was due to my being on crutches that caused that particular incident.
Anyway, that was for those who were interested in the delay in chapters that concerned my real life. The true delay in the chapters lie, unfortunately, in this troublesome
little thing called a writer's block. I was stuck with how on earth I was going to get Peter and then drag him back to Riddle, Francis, and Dumbledore. I could see
Peter being questioned and information being gleaned, but beyond that, I was stumped. So, I fell upon an age-old trick of mine. That is to say, I blew up the character
who was giving me problems. Needless to say, Peter is dead. This is a shame, because I really wanted to write a chess game between Snape and Pettygrew that would
give insight to their philosophies and the individual motivation each had when they joined Voldemort. Peter is one of, if not the most, neglected and abused character in
Harry Potter, and I wanted to explore his character through this chess game. Alas, t'was not to be! I do plan, one day, to recycle this scene into a short story.
I will also admit that I feel a little self-conscious of the last scenario in this chapter; the whole spiel on the tapestry, the Universe, and how it felt to be tangled into reality.
I feel this is a very powerful scene, but I did not write the justice this scene was due. My sister called it deep, I was also trying to make it beautiful. I don't know if I
succeeded, which is why I really want feedback on this chapter. If all you have to say is, "Wow. Just, wow. Dude that was deep," then please do so. If you
thought, "Ugh. My head hurts. I think it was too confusing and you need to break some of the detailing down and explain a bit more," please oh please do
so.
I suspect the end of the story will not be long in coming. I only have two more chapters to post and the story is done. I mean that. I know I have estimated the story
to be within two or three or five chapters before, but this time, I really do mean it. All I have to write about is the destruction of Voldemort and the redemption of
the Universe (the first chapter), and the epilogue, which will clear up any remaining questions and put the characters back into their places. You people have been
brushing up on X-men, right? All you have to do is see the movie; otherwise, the significance of the end isn't going to be as strong as I would like it.