Disclaimer: See Chapter I, but to reiterate, I'm not getting a penny out of this, just an intellectual exercise in what could have been.

I know it's been a while since my last update, but after putting off summer training until next year as well as better turnout grade wise, I can finally finish this rather epic tome and get to work on the sequel. Yes, there will be a sequel as I've thought this thing out for a long, and there is still so much to write. Nonetheless, my principles of quality, no matter the time needed to produce it, won't be compromised. There may be delays, hell, there probably will be long delays considering what I'm doing in college, and what I want to do afterwards, but excluding death I will always be able to update in some shape or form.

To answer one reviewer's question (that this lazy bitch hurry up and update, with the only acceptable being war) well, I haven't gone to war…yet. If you want to know what I've been doing, let me just say that I'm pretty committed to that after college, and you had better get used to these delays. Uncle Sam, even at my stage of the game, is a pretty demanding boss.

However, it can tie into fan-fic, believe it or not. While I will be keeping my politics out of my work, there is one trend amongst H/G fics that must be refuted, as while the image of a simpering, dutiful Ginny is laughable, the idea of her shaking Harry out of his assorted 'mental baggage', and especially slapping Harry, pretty much any tough love…Well, let's just say there is a reason why the US Army's divorce rate is rising quick, and why any Army wife will tell you the real test of a marriage is not him going to war, it's him coming back. Regardless, that's for the next work.

Thanks to all who've read, as when I started out I wondered just how I could botch something up. Regardless, here is the last two chapters, and a preview.

Chapter XXXXI: Final Requests

Harry poured the bourbon in the tumbler slowly. Johnny Cash was singing Walk the Line in the background from Doc's CD player. A heavy downpour was happening outside, not much in the way of thunder, but the noise still reached through the walls. Like the day he ridden the train for his fifth year. It was the night before the long train ride for the summer. Almost two weeks had passed since…

Picking up the tumbler, he slugged the inch of the whiskey back and poured himself another. For someone of his age, height and weight, Harry had discovered, to his amusement, he could drink…A lot. Pulling out a Winston from a pack of cigarettes he had found cached with Doc's kit, Harry flipped open his Zippo, and lit it. Breathing in the nicotine, Harry tried to organize his thoughts.

Sitting at a table in the Gryffindor Common room, his tied loosened and wizard cap beside him, Harry had Doc's footlocker open on the ground next to him. In front of him were some of Doc's more questionable kit, and a piece of parchment on which Harry was trying to write a letter to Doc's parents. For the past hour, he had been racking his brains, trying to figure out how he was going to tell the parents of one his best friends that their son was being returned to them in a metal box. The two had made a promise during a field exercise that if the one of them ever got killed, then the other would pack the other's kit for him, write a letter to the parents…

The kit included a pile of dirty magazines (Hustlers and the like), a pack of Trojan condoms, the quart bottle of Jack Daniels, three packs of Winston cigarettes, two cans of Copenhagen Long Cut, and a small book of photographs. Amongst the photographs had been one taken from a Korean red-light district with a bunch of women smiling and waving from behind the plate glass windows of a brothel, also known as a turkey farm or glass-house in Doc's words. Next to it had been one taken on a Friday night, Doc in US Army physical training uniform (grey t-shirt with ARMY emblazoned in black bloc letters with gray shorts) with Doc and Nev and Ron likewise casually attired drinking beer. Harry remembered that Doc had stood up, beer in hand, showed them picture of the women and declared, "I'm a soldier's brat, so when I go home I'll change my luck with women the way it's been done since the beginning of time…Or at least of hookers and soldiers." They had all laughed, Doc more so as Harry casually remarked he might find it a good idea to invest in tetracycline.

Doc wasn't dead, but the surgery he was going through was high-risk. This time the odds were really stacked against him on this one...

Harry knew from playing poker with the man that Doc, in Doc's own words, "Dug the long odds." Nor could he blame him, for while the best efforts of Madam Pomfrey had been enough to stabilize him, fix him up to the point he could talk and eat liquids, there had been damage to him that was almost irreparable. A sliver of stone from the Ministry's floor had sliced through his prostate like a hot knife through butter, while another had caused enough damage to his innards that he wouldn't be able to drink, nor smoke, or eat solids for the rest of his life. Worse, there had been damage caused by the spell's magical energy, so that much of the injuries had fucked up Doc couldn't really be cured. Much in the same way Moody was minus an eye, leg, and nose.

Doc had been told that he would be spending the rest of his life eating liquids, in a wheelchair, and unable to get an erection. He had looked the Healer from St. Mungo's, who had been helping Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary deal with the casualties from the Ministry, right in the eye and asked if there were any procedures, experimental or high-risk or whatever that would either kill him or give him his life back. The Healer had looked him right in the eye, told him that there was a procedure they could use drawing upon his magical energy, one that would be guaranteed to take away at least ten years from his life. Indeed, the procedure was so high-risk that the odds were stacked against him coming out of it alive. Doc hadn't even blinked, demanding that they start the procedure then and there. Since Doc had had a series of papers drawn up before he had gone to England about who would be in charge of medical decisions (in his case, it would be in the hands of the Headmaster), they had been able to get a stretcher and get him on the floo to St.Mungo's. Doc had yelled to Harry to remember his promise, and that he would see them on the train ride to London. That had been early that morning, after they had placed quite a few cheering and pain-killing charms on him as they prepared to move him…Though it hadn't been enough for Doc had also asked that Harry toss him a couple of knuts.

It was a Cajun custom for the dead to have a coin over each eye, so that boatman of the River Styx would ferry him to the other side…

Harry flicked the ash from his cigarette into a nearby inkwell, watching the gray mix in with the black. The smoke swirled in front of him, and Harry knew that if someone saw him, they would think he was deep in thought, totally concentrated on the subject at hand. It was only partially true, as while he was deep in thought, it had nothing to do with the topic of writing to Doc's parents. Harry didn't think that anything he would say could mean anything to a family that had lost, about to lose, whatever, their son, a good man who hadn't deserved to get his innards twisted inside out and splattered across a cold stone floor…

Instead his thoughts went to the days before. Igachev, McNair, Rodolphus and RabastanLestrange, and Mulciber were dead. With the exception of Wormtail, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Voldemort himself, the entire upper level chain of command within the Death Eaters was either killed or captured. The price for Harry and the Order had been around a dozen wounded, with Doc the worst hit….The two dead weren't officially acknowledged, as Alex and Black were 'under investigation'. Fudge's people had immediately bagged Alex's body, and from what Moody had told him, it was in a deep freeze within a vault of secret material in the Ministry.

Harry sipped his liquor, and drew a breath on his cigarette. Exhaling, his thoughts went from the Ministry to the debriefing, if you could call it that, in Dumbledore's office. He had arrived ahead of the Headmaster, and everything had hit him then and there. Images of Sirius and Alex, one falling through the veil, the other with his one good eye, bloodshot and staring back at him. Dumbledore had arrived, and things had seemed all right, telling him that they had found Doc, and everyone was being cared for. Then said he wanted to talk about how Harry felt, that he understood, and everything went downhill. Dumbledore ignored Harry's protests, either not noticing or not caring how tenuous Harry's hold on his temper was. Finally he had snapped. Harry had yelled, cursed and sworn, called Dumbledore a son-of-a bitch motherfucker who didn't have the slightest fucking idea how he felt. The rage he had thrown, throwing anything he could get his hands and yelling and cursing, had lasted until he had punched in…something.

Whatever it was had been made of glass, and the noise of it shattering, more so then the slivers of glass knifing the flesh of his knuckles had calmed him down. Dumbledore had wanted to talk about Harry's feelings, but Harry didn't want any of it. He had tried to storm off, but ultimately wound up having to sit down, to listen since the Headmaster wouldn't let him leave without telling him of things he should know of. Dumbledore told him that Kreacher had been a security risk, one despite Kreacher's house-elf oath to keep the secrets of his master. While he had kept secret the business of the Order, he had turned over intelligence about Sirius the man, specifically who cared for, was close to. Kreacher had told this to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, and from there it had been used against the Order and against Harry.

There was only one man responsible for the deaths of Alex and that had been himself, Dumbledore admitted, though he had remarked Sirius hadn't helped matters by treating Kreacher the way he had. Harry had taken this by screaming at the Headmaster, and flinging a small table into a wall, turning it into kindling. Dumbledore hadn't even blinked, waited for Harry to breathe, and started to explain.

Over the year, ever since the Tri-wizard tournament, everything that had happened occurred as part of a plan that Dumbledore had hatched; one that one that had its causes all the way to the first war with Voldemort. Harry's scar, as it had been deduced from the events of his fourth year and from the incidents in his first year, showed that Harry had some sort of mental connection between himself and Voldemort. The Headmaster had embarked on a two-part plan: first, bring Alex out of self-imposed exile in Belize to train Harry in the skills to protect himself, and to use Harry as a conduit of disinformation back to Voldemort if his fears were true.

Angrily, Harry had asked how much had been a lie and the Headmaster had been silent before continuing. Dumbledore had avoided telling lies, keeping instead much information away from Harry and even his uncle that he shouldn't have or giving bits and pieces when the information in its entirety was called for. Information such as the fact that the vampire attacks had been probes, raids designed to test the security of Hogwarts, as well just how much information they were receiving from the other side. Harry guessed that while the briefings he had been part of had been a deception, they really had sources within the ranks of the Death Eaters and their allies. Perhaps it was Snape, perhaps it wasn't, and all that mattered was that he didn't know.

The first probe, it was explained by Dumbledore, had been one such attempt. Between it and the second attack had been the whole Christmas fiasco. That had been a very close call for the Order, as Dumbledore had seen how pervasive Voldemort's activity in Harry's mind had been, and how much of a security risk Harry posed without realizing it. On a totally separate issue, Harry's trial the previous December had led to the loss of a source that had been strategically placed, one close to Malfoy for, as the Headmaster explained, he was a man who tended to be a braggart. Adding fuel to a very hot fire had been the intimacy between Harry and Alice, for it had led to Malfoy using her torture and death in an attempt to either get Harry thrown out of the school, or out of his position, for Dumbledore had had rumors and misinformation spread through potentially compromised channels that overestimated Harry's place in the scheme of things.

Then there had been the second attack, the one in which Harry had been captured. It had been conducted as a raid to probe the school's defenses as well as generally discredit the Headmaster. The fact Harry had been captured had been unexpected, and intelligence had shown that Voldemort had only learned of his capture just as he was escaping, and then through Lucius Malfoy. Apparently, in that incident Harry had been in the middle of an antagonism going back to the first war between Alex and Mueller. Mueller apparently thought he could play both sides against the middle and come out on top. What he hadn't taken into effect was that Alex would harness the resources of the Death Eaters by kidnapping Malfoy's son Draco and using him to get Malfoy the elder to lead him to Harry.

This had surprised Harry, as Alex had always appeared to him to be ready and willing to use any method, regardless of the nature, to accomplish the mission. Surely Mueller must have realized this as well? Dumbledore had only shaken his head, as the Alex from the first war, the one that had matched wits with Mueller, was a different man then who had sacrificed himself at the Ministry. That had come about during the Tribunals immediately following the war, when Alex had been ridiculed for the idea of a Fifth Man within the Ministry, of his accusing Cornelius Fudge, the hero of the hour…and how evidence from overseas showed that Mueller had turned the woman he loved into a traitor. Dumbledore told the story through his Pensieve, and Harry could still see a young Alex, his knuckles white as they gripped the desk in front of the tribunal. Crouch and Fudge showing him testimony from captured vampires, statements of Sirius Black's mayhem in London. The final scene had been the worst: Alex standing up, calm and collected as he threw his Auror's badge at the elder Crouch, telling them that their arrogance was going to one day come back to haunt them.

Dumbledore continued, explaining that Voldemort's real objective, evidenced from his pet snake's attack on Sturgis, of an earlier case where a man named Boderick Bode had been under the Imperius curse in the Department of Mysteries. Harry interrupted, telling him he hadn't heard of it, and Dumbledore told him it had been hushed up by the Ministry, and kept quiet of within the Order. Voldemort's real plans had been cautious, careful; his use of the vampires was a mere ruse to get the Ministry and Order to look away from the real target. That target had been the room in which Harry had been led to for there was a prophecy there concerning Voldemort going back to the time Harry was born. Mueller had been recruited sometime after the Triwizard Tournament to assist in the ventures. The blood feud between him and Alex had been merely fuel to the whole fire.

Harry had listened as Dumbledore told how in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, even at that early of a date he had known that Voldemort could return, and that Voldemort at his full power would be greater then anything he could muster. So Dumbledore had wrapped him in old magic based on the blood of his mother, and the magic that came from her love and the sacrifice she had made that kept him safe. Harry hadn't known that in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat Dumbledore had been concerned about Harry's safety, as while Voldemort may have been defeated his followers hadn't, going underground or striking out in the chaos after it. With Alex as much of a target as Harry himself, he had had no choice but to send Harry to live with the relatives he could only hope would love him, as their blood was the only real protection they could offer. Harry snorted at that, but let the Headmaster explain that the magic of his aunt's blood provided him the protection that may kept him alive for the past fifteen years.

This was crucial, for it evolved around the prophecy in the Ministry, a prophecy Dumbledore had been told in the Hog's Head in 1979 by Sybill Trewlaney. It stated that the Dark Lord was going to be defeated by an opponent born on July 31st, to parents who had thrice defied him, that the Dark Lord would mark him as his equal, and that in order for the other to live the other must die.

Harry had felt as though he had socked in the stomach when he heard that, and even more so when the Headmaster told him that it could have been another: Nev. The change had occurred after the defeat, when there had been no question whatsoever of whom the person in question had been. Harry had weakly tried to point out that maybe the prophecy wasn't of him, but Dumbledore told him that there was no question of he being the one, as Voldemort had marked him as his equal. It wasn't the pureblood, but the half-blood like Voldemort himself. When Harry pointed out that he should have waited until either was older before doing that, the Headmaster concurred, but noted that Voldemort had found out only the first part of it through an informant. From there he had discovered of his parents going into hiding, and had initiated the events that had lead to his first defeat.

The Headmaster continued, telling him that Voldemort had miscalculated, that he didn't know of the power Harry had within. Harry, the images of his uncle and godfather dying flashing before his eyes, answered that he was nothing, as what he knew he could was nothing compared to the power that had been demonstrated before him. Dumbledore had only shaken his head, said that within a room of the Ministry there was a power that was greater then anything, a power that took Harry to go and try to save Sirius. That power, a power that resided in his heart, had been what saved him even though his mind was open for Voldemort, a power that had been given to him through the sacrifice his mother had made.

Dumbledore told of how he had, after the Triwizard Tournament, seen the evidence before him, and understood he would have to take certain measures. Bringing his uncle out of the self-imposed exile had been to try and assuage the guilt he felt for putting Harry in the care of the Dursleys over the years. The Headmaster had felt a trained, albeit retired Auror coupled with the protection offered by his aunt's blood would be enough protection for the summer. While he hadn't been happy over the events that had occurred in Wales, he was nonetheless gladdened to see that Harry had been happier, more happier at school too then he thought despite not playing Quidditch or having the responsibility of being a Prefect, an honor he felt Harry had deserved but was sorry to have denied it to him…

Harry breathed in the fumes, his mind back to the present. It didn't bother him that he would have to kill Voldemort, as secretly, in that little box every human has in the back of their mind where they hide their deepest and darkest secrets, he had felt that that was going to be the case. Before he used to think it was merely personal, now though…

Slugging back the bourbon, Harry poured himself another and mashed out his cigarette on the much-abused table. Lighting another, he thought about how he had walked out of the office, gone straight to his room where he stripped off his school uniform. Leaving his kit laying in front of his bed, he had gone straight to the shower, following which he had thrown on a pair of shorts and slept…At least he tried to, for as soon as he shut his eyes the dreams, the dreams which had stopped over the summer had started anew. This time they were worse, as Harry had seen his uncle and his godfather die before him, and of what was left of Doc. Images of Ron, Neville, and others dieing deaths bloody and screaming….Harry would find himself waking up alone in the dorm, drenched with sweat and his hands bunched up fists of sheets…

The couple weeks after the incident in the Ministry passed in a blur. Harry remembered visiting the infirmirary, his friends taking up the beds within. Another memory swam into focus, of visiting Linda at her home with Alastor Moody giving her the news that Alex wouldn't be coming back. Harry recalled that she didn't scream or faint, but that she stood there, swollen belly with tears streaming from her eyes, bravely trying to take things as they came stoically. From the summer, he remembered that she had lost her mother, father, and a brother in the first war. Now she lost a lover and the father of the child, their child. And all Harry could do was stand, his mind still in shock of what happened as Moody tried to comfort Linda, telling her that Alex had gone quick and they would get the body back as soon as they could….

Cash segued into The End by The Doors, and Harry still remembered. He remembered three days after the Ministry, the day after visiting Linda, of sitting with his friends in the infirmirary. Doc was still out of it, as Madam Pomfrey had called in help from St.Mungo's to help care for him as she was having to cast constant charm upon charm to keep him alive. Harry remembered reading of the first news release, of how his friends had gone silent when Hermione mentioned Sirius and Alex. Another memory was of speaking with Hagrid, the giant, a good friend, the man who had brought him back to the wizard world years before, telling him that his uncle and godfather went out the way they would have wanted. Then him trying to talk to Sir Nick, hoping to maybe talk to his family were they ghosts, then having that hope dash. Another memory, of Ginny cornering him about four days ago in the Astronomy Tower, where he had gone for a quiet moment and then...

Now that caused Harry to gulp down the remaining bourbon, and gulp down another before found himself staring into the bottom of his tumbler. A vague part of him realized that he had just consumed about half a quart of Jack Daniel's, and that maybe he should stop. The rest of him stopped as he remembered the row he had had with Ginny. What made it bad was that he hadn't said anything that time, only moved away from her…

She had come looking for him, thinking that he had been avoiding her (which he had). Harry knew that she knew that he was having the nightmares again, that he was in pain, but instead of listening, to talking, to burying his face in her hair and letting his emotions go through, he hadn't said a word to her. She had grabbed him, ranted and raved and called him an idiot that forgot that she had been there too, that she had been through just as much as he was. Harry had shook loose, and left her fuming, speechless, and glaring daggers at him. From then he had thrown himself into avoiding her, and anybody else. The time he used to find some dark corner of the castle, his father's invisibility cloak draped over him, and lost himself in the memories, and what he was going to have to do…

Harry swirled the drops of alcohol in the bottom of his tumbler. No, it wasn't the prospect of killing someone that bothered him, as he had done it since he was eleven. The lies, half-truths, and not having been told that he was the weapon in a war that had only been curtailed back when he was a toddler angered and left him feeling betrayed, but he supposed he could understand it and live with it. What bothered him, what worried him, was that he was in love, he loved Ginny more then any words he could use to describe it. Under normal circumstances it may have been, would have been, the happiest the thing in the world for him. Before, when he supposed it was just a personal grudge between him and Voldemort he had been worried, but felt that with precautions and the work he was doing the bastard could be held at bay. Now, it was set in stone that the war was going to come down to him in one corner and Voldemort in the other. The problem with that analogy was that a lot of what he cared for, and in Ginny's case, loved more then his own life, was between them. And Voldemort would be more then willing to destroy it all just to get at him.

During his captivity he had been beaten, burned, electrocuted, cursed with the Cruciatus, sliced and diced and scratched and screamed till he had no voice left. Yet, in his guts he had known that the pain he had suffered would be nothing compared to the pain of losing someone like Ginny. Or, even worse, the pain caused to them if, rather when he got killed. For all he knew, his and Voldemort's destruction could be one and the same. Even worse, say he did kill Voldemort? That still left who knew how many others of his ilk hiding in the shadows. Harry knew that men like Malfoy's father had friends, others that would go to any length to bring retribution to him. Ginny may have been a target before, a target when the war was in the shadows, but now…The only reason Voldemort hadn't used the knowledge about the relationship before had been because he was focused on the prophecy, and without showing his malevolent hand so soon.

Harry remembered all too well the expression on the face of Linda. No, what scared and shook him to his very core wasn't his own mortality, or what could happen to the wizard world of England should he die for he had no doubt that even if he died, there were others like him, better then him he thought, to keep up the fire. What scared, shook him to his very core was the prospect of hurting Ginny like that…

Any further thoughts on that particular train momentarily as the fireplace flared, and a goblin wearing the blue messenger uniform of Gringotts stepped forward. In his hands was a small wooden parcel, and holding it before him he approached Harry. "Mister Harry Potter?" The goblin asked. Harry dropped his cigarette in the inkwell and nodded. The goblin set the package on a table and pulled a receipt from within his coat. Harry stared at it for a moment before he took his quill, dipped it into the greasy black ink, and scrawled something (it may have been his signature, but considering how loaded he was there was no telling) on it. The goblin bowed, and threw some Floo power in the fireplace from his pocket.

Harry turned his attention to the parcel, not paying attention as the goblin left. Squinting, Harry saw that it wasn't wood, but cardboard, tied with string. Someone had scrawled his name with black ink on the side of it. Intrigued, Harry ripped open the package and looked in. Inside appeared to be a scroll of parchment, sealed with wax, and a smaller box made of black, varnished wood. Harry picked both up and set them on the table. Part of his mind told him not to touch them, as they could be portkeys, but then he remembered from one of the books that he had read that after the first war Gringotts had put in place measures to prevent things like that from happening.

Now the choice boiled down to which one. Looking at the box and the scroll, Harry decided to go for the box. Prying it open revealed a small mirror. Harry pulled it out, examined it. Nothing but a cheap piece of shiny plastic one found in cammy kits as mirrors. Harry set it down on the table as he cracked open the scroll and looked. The only writing was a small drawing of a square; nothing else.

Despite the darkening alcoholic haze clouding his mind, Harry noted that the square and the small mirror were congruent. Laying the scroll out on the table, Harry picked up the mirror and set it within the square. Harry then leaped back as a beam of light shot out from. Knocking over his chair, Harry looked up and saw a ghost.

Alex.

Harry's uncle was dressed in his professor's uniform, tie on, magical eye in place. The image was grey, like a ghost, but any thoughts on the subject were quickly smashed as Alex spoke.

"I'm not a ghost, Harry, merely a charm designed to record an image from a mirror. Handy when one wants to record a final word. So keeping to tradition…" The image paused, and then continued.

"If you are watching this, Harry, then both myself and Sirius Black are dead. Should that be the case, then more then likely it has been before either of us has had the chance to tell you of certain…observations over the years. Since you've known Sirius slightly better then I, we, felt it best to explain things that you probably don't know, to fill in some pieces of the puzzle that, if it hasn't already been exposed to you, will occur in due course with the way the war has been proceeding."

The image began pacing slightly as it spoke.

"That first time I got on the train to Hogwarts, I made two friends who became close to me, much in the way Hermione and Ron are to you. They were Liz, and Linda. Liz and I went to Gryffindor, while Linda went to Hufflepuff. Regardless, we became close friends throughout our time at the school. I told you once that I loved Liz, but the truth of the matter was that I loved both of them dearly. I truly loved both of these women, yet I couldn't do anything about it. Were it not for the war, then that probably would have remained the same, however, fate intervened when the Ministry badly needed Aurors and Healers. So Liz and I went on a path to be Aurors, and Linda to the Healers. You must realize that at that time things were bad…As bad as they had been perhaps when my own parents were my age."

Alex stopped, and looked away for moment, breathed and looked at him. Harry could see that he was tired, the thousand-yard stare that he had read about present. "Every day, there was an incident, every day another casualty. You probably don't know, but Ginny had two uncles, twins Gideon and Fabian. My first assignment, young and brash and full of piss, was to go collect their bodies. I had met them, and they had trained me at Hogwarts, and…I already told you once of collecting Nicky and my mates in a rubber bag several years later. Same thing, same thing…" His voice dropped as he spoke, so that he drifted off into a whisper. A moment of silence, and then he continued. "We knew that there was a leak, that there were people under the Imperius in the Ministry. Even more insidious then those were the genuine traitors, the zealots who believed in the sanctity of wizard blood. Despite the best efforts of the Auror's Divisions, the Ministry was so riddled with leaks that many allied nations wouldn't have anything to do with us. That was why the Order was formed, as a cell of people both inside and outside of the Ministry who we knew weren't turned. Working hand-in glove with those elements of the Ministry that were considered reliable, we were hitting the dark bastard's power base, killing them as they killed us."

"I was a lot like you then Harry. Torture, deception, lying, cheating, extorting, the whole bag of tricks that I showed you disgusted me. That time Moody told you about Pines, a man whom I used the Cruciatus on, that was an exception, the point I guess where I started to become what I became when I found out an orphanage of squibs was going to be torched by the Lestranges. Only their disgusting minion Edmund Pines knew, and time was short." The apparition shrugged, "It took me a few tries, but he talked, and from then on I did anything and everything, more so as Liz's family was killed, and then you and Lilly and James went into hiding. At that stage of the game all I had left in terms of real family was Lilly, James, Liz and Linda, and you. I fought harder, got harder much the same way Moody was like. That any and all means were a necessary evil, for the ones we fought were human in name only. Then came Halloween, and everything changed..."

The ghostly image of Harry's uncle closed his eyes for a moment, sighed, "Everyone believed it was a victory, the light at the end of a decade of darkness. At least that was what most believed. For those in the Order, those who had been on the front lines, we knew better. Most of us knew that even with the war over there was still sizeable fifth column elements within the Ministry that ensured that some other power-hungry bastard would start the whole drama all over again. It was because of them that the Headmaster sent you to that purgatory in Sussex. Me and Liz, we thought there was more to it then fifth columnists, that there were greater machinations behind the scenes, and so we stayed on the hunt. Liz felt there were too many inconsistencies, that Sirius would never betray Lilly and James. Me, I didn't really know what to believe, and to be totally truthful all I wanted to do was break a case so that it would be possible for me to perhaps take custody of you, and maybe give you a better home with Liz then you were going to have with my sister." Alex made 'sister' sound like an insult.

"From what we pieced together, one of the Dark Lord's sympathizers had overheard part of a prophecy that somehow related to you in the Hog's Head Inn. Liz and I never learned what it was over particularly, but the Headmaster told us of it being overheard, and being of importance to the whole cause. Regardless, the bastard reported what he had heard to his master, who in turn sent Mueller to go forth and investigate while he continued to undermine the Ministry and the stability of the wizard world within Britain. Mueller soon learned of you, and how shortly after the prophecy you had been born. He doubtless also would have learned how you and your family were constantly on the move, to ensure your security. Mueller had then gone ahead and recruited his source within the Order. This we knew because in the months prior to your mother and father going into hiding there had been several attacks and ambushes, close calls that would only have been possible if they had had someone on the inside. My hunch had been that it was the Fifth Man, or someone close to him as other Ministry operations fell through the cracks as well during the same time."

"Nonetheless, Liz and I focused on that as from there Mueller had led the Dark Lord to your parents, and to your parents to his, at the time believed, destruction. We didn't even know about Mueller until one of the lower-level suspects under interrogation mentioned his name, and Liz was able to track him through several contacts Fletcher had in the underworld. She then took off for an initial meet while I continued with interrogating the assorted low and mid grade scum that was coming out of their holes. What happened after I already told you before: we thought Mueller was going to defect, only he didn't, arranging instead for those scum to torture and kill Liz and the Longbottoms. What I didn't tell you was that afterwards, during the autopsy, I discovered the body on the slab had been unknown woman who had been made to look like Liz, and that Liz had been plotting things out from the beginning."

Alex's eyes were sad now, "She hated the Dark Lord's followers for what they had done to her family, and she hated our side for doing nothing about it. Me? I don't know then, or now, what she thought of me. I thought at one time she loved me as much as I did her…Now?" The image shrugged before continuing, " All I suppose I can say is that Liz had been drawn to the prospect of continuing this life, as nearly all she had once held dear had been lost or changed. Regardless, the only defection to take place had been hers, with what happened to the Longbottoms merely the kind of smoke-screen to take people's attention away from her. The two of them had guessed that the witch hunts then going on would be thrown into all sorts of chaos once it came to light Crouch's little boy was involved. All I can say is they were right as when I presented the information I had collected about the whole sordid mess, they presented a report Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt had prepared. Apparently, keeping me in the dark, they had, under orders from Dumbledore, kept a close watch on Liz after the death of her parents, and the inaction on our part. Liz had been investigated the whole time, and her death faked while the Death Eater remnants attacked poor Frank and his wife."

Alex's eyes were weary now, "The whole business disgusted me. Your parents were dead and you sent to those bastards of your aunt and her husband, the possibility of one of my best friends being held illegally in Azkabahn, everything that I had fought for was gone or scarred. I didn't think the good guys were white knights with shiny horses on white horses, but one slowly becomes disgusted and disillusioned with the whole world after beating and torturing a man till he screamed and screamed without a voice, then threatened to kill his family. Of having to threaten a man's family in order to get him to talk because that man had the knowledge of an attack that would kill ten or twenty or a hundred others; then there was Fudge and Crouch getting ready to throw me out on my ass, much the same way they did to Alistair and many other good men and women. Me? I saw what they were going to do, and resigned to deny them that little pleasure."

"The rest of my story you know until I got out of the Army. I had gone to Belize, working for Struan's Tobacco on a character reference I had from a duty station in Hong Kong. There I worked smuggling cigars when two things happened. First, I ran into Liz when I returned to England when the MOD wanted to make sure I got a prosthetic eye as part of my pension. We hadn't seen each other since before Lilly and James got killed, and then one day in '93 I took a walk near the Leaky Cauldron on a hunch and well…." His image shrugged before continuing, "She'd worked for several years as a low-level healer in St. Mungo's before the Ministry culled her in a cost-cutting measure, and then had worked a series of odd-jobs as a sales clerk in various apothecaries and muggle pharmacies in London. We talked, and when I found out how she was doing I asked if she wanted to join me as my housekeeper in Belize. I told her of what happened, and it was the fact that I suppose she saw how low I had sunk in the years since we had last seen each other. My lover dead, most of my family dead, everything that I had fought and bled and did such things that I had done worth not a damn…I suppose she pitied me, but she wasn't doing much in England, and so she came with me. Our friendship followed again, and then…" The image shrugged, "One thing led to another, that another following right after we went back to England after Sirius was recalled, followed by ourselves shortly thereafter. Went back, and while you were enjoying yourself at Meg's…" Another shrug, and the image grinned, "You've enjoyed the warmth and love of your own woman, Harry. You know how it feels. What you don't know, what I hope you never will know, is what it is to have it taken away from you, and then one day discovering it anew… Discovering one cold December day that you don't have to be so cold and alone anymore, returning home to find your wife pregnant with your son…" Alex trailed off, and then his voice spoke again.

"Harry, I'm recording all of this as I set off to bring you back to your special someone, someone who reminds me so much of the past. I know the mathematics, that this is the kind of operation which few if any return back from. I know what I have before me, but I also know that you haven't had any of that for as long as I have. A life for a life, Harry, no regrets from me; so when you watch this Harry, as I've no doubt you will be, I want you to make a promise, to me, your mother, your father and Godfather, to all of us that have brought you to this point, that you won't squander the gift of life you have before you."

"Live, Harry, live. Fight not for the dead. Fight for those who still live, for those who are besides you now, so that you can carve yourself a bit of happiness out of this sordid mess. I had the same opportunity once, and squandered it. It was only through sheer luck that I got the chance to get it back. Now, I'm willing to trade it again, this time so that you can get the same chance as I had once. So live, Harry, you and the woman you love. And…" Alex paused, and Harry could see his glitter with what had to be tears.

"When Linda and I, our, son is born, hold him in your arms, and raise him high. I ask a last request of you to tell him…tell him about me the way I told you about your father, Harry."

Alex's face, tears sliding down his face, grinned suddenly. Harry knew the grin anywhere, as it was the same one he had seen so many times before. "I'll see you when your time comes, and tell your parents that they created a right proper killer, and one hell of a man."

Harry blinked, and blinked again. The image of his uncle faded, the only sound in the common room the sound of the rain hitting the stones of the castle, and the occasional crackle from the fireplace.

It wasn't until Harry felt the heat from his cigarette start to warm his fingers did he move, quickly mashing out the burning into the horrendously scarred tabletop. Everything seemed to be muscle working from then on. Harry could no longer feel, the only sound in his head the voice of his uncle telling him of how it had come down between Harry, and Alex risking a suicide mission, of his uncle gambling with his life when he had a woman to marry, and a child on the way.

To say that it shook Harry to the core would be an understatement. Harry's mind was almost a blank slate, as while it could see and feel and taste, nothing mattered. A hand, Harry wasn't sure if it was his own, took the parchment and glass and set it aside as the other picked up a long, tan envelope. It was in there Harry pushed the photos, the tobacco and alcohol he left on the table. Setting down the envelope back on the table, Harry watched his hands move to the stationary upon which he had been trying to write a letter to Doc's folks, and set it on top of the envelope.

He couldn't take it anymore, the inside of the castle stifled him like a straight-jacket, the air dusty, and everywhere a memory of friends both living and dead. Across from him would have been Ron and Hermione during any one of their countless study sessions, the sofa nearest the fireplace was where Doc and Alex had sat as they relaxed after a particularly hard weekend in the field with a case of Butterbeers.

Getting up, Harry felt his body move towards the door. Despite four drinks, Harry was only feeling slightly sluggish (not bad for someone who was only 66 inches tall and weighed a hundred forty pounds on a good day) as he moved everything aside and stood. Walking over to the door, Harry felt things were as though he were in a dream, a surreal quality to everything. Opening it, he walked out, going through the deserted hallways. The feast must have been still going on, as he ran into no one as Harry plodded through the school, coming out of the school into the pouring rain.

Harry could feel rivers of water down his back, rain soaking into his school robes. Despite the summer, it was still cold, but instead of shivering Harry welcomed it. Walking down the steps, Harry thought he heard someone calling for him but he still continued. Now it was memory as he made his way down the lake, and into the cold water. There were no waves despite the rain, as there wasn't a wind. Harry could feel the cold water soak through his shoes, then his trousers. Soon it was at his up to his knees before he stopped and dropped to his knees. Vaguely he felt water splash on his face. In his mind eye everything that had happened hit him.

The race to the Ministry, the fight in the Forbidden Forest, the running gun battle through the halls of the Ministry, watching Sirius fall through the archway, chasing after Bellatrix, Alex getting killed, learning that he hadn't been told that he had a purpose in life he had only thought of as a fantasy to be kept in the back of his mind. Images went through his mind, images like watching Linda face had a river of tears as she learned that Alex wasn't coming back, Ginny scowling, and yelling, only he couldn't hear the words…

"Harry…" Hearing his name called, Harry slowly turned his head and looked up. It was Ginny, her face no longer angry, instead full of concern and love. She moved next to him, said something, only Harry didn't hear it. He reached out, brought her close to him, and wept, sobbing uncontrollably.

Ginny held him, the rain falling on and around them as though the heavens themselves wept.