BIG CONGRATS to Mashkai30 for being my 100th reviewer! Thanks so much :D

In JK Rowling's canon world, The Study of Ancient Runes was an elective at Hogwarts that was more or less the same as a muggle language course. They wrote and translated runes into English.

I found that to be enormously boring and unimaginative.

Here, I've made Runes almost like a history course, where wizards and witches learned those ancient symbols so they may practice an ancient form of magic that their ancestors did. In my version, each rune has several meanings (like Elder Futhark runes do) and they learned how to put those runes together in a way that could create/destroy powerful pieces of magic.

* I've also changed the 'Sacred 28' to the 'Sacred Families' as that was a title listed for those families in the 1930's. Society has evolved just a little past that at this point. Sort of.

OoOoO Chapter 5 - Ex-Curse Breaker OoOoO

The fireplace at the far side of the dining room roared to life and out of the green flames, Remus and Sirius stood together with a stone basin between them. A pensive. "How long?" Sirius asked, walking in step with Remus out of the fireplace and towards Dumbledore.

"Fifty four seconds," Jonathan said with a growing smile. "Six more seconds and you would have owned me a new broomstick."

"I don't remember that being a part of the deal actually," Sirius grunted as he carefully placed the pensive down. He looked back at Jonathan. "I do remember you saying you'd clean the library if you lost though. That memory's pretty clear."

"No idea what you're talking about. Do you Harry?"

Harry remained silent. He didn't know exactly how to maneuver through a conversation like this. It was like trying to remain unpranked in front of joke shop with Fred and George just looking for a victim.

"Oh, don't remember do you? Wanna take a look then?" Sirius said nodding sideways at the pensive. "To jog your memory?"

"Sirius," James said exasperated.

"Enough!" Moody slammed his staff down on the ground, sparking magical flares into the air. "We've got the pensive, let's start what we came here to do!"

Dumbledore glanced airily at Mad-Eye before turning to Harry and gesturing him forwards. "If you would be so kind Harry."

Harry stepped forwards. At the edge of the stone pensive, memories he'd thought best not to look back on rose in front of his eyes. His vision seemed to glaze over, and he could practically see the ghost shaped movements of a video playing through the bad parts of his life. So much death…

"Harry?" Dumbledore voice asked.

Harry shook himself. "Sorry, what?"

Albus studied him over the tops of his glasses closely and a chill crossed behind Harry's back. He made sure his shields were up. "Would start with when you got your letter? It would seem best to start from the very beginning."

The letter. His first Hogwarts letter. At the Dursleys. "I… I don't know how to start it, or how to get the memories. I've seen others do it, but I've never myself."

"Ah," Dumbledore said raising his hands and pushing back his sleeves. "Simply, think of what you want to show, and let your wand grasp the edges of your mind."

"It's a year's worth of memories Sir; I don't think you'd want to look at all of it."

"Focus on what you think is most important. I dare say that it will be something you'll have to get used to if you wish to show us all of your years at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded halfheartedly. "Right."

"Do try Mr. Potter, no one will fault you if it takes more time than it usually would to look through a year of memories. We will all keep in mind that this is your first time dealing with a pensive and its magic."

Harry nodded again and reached into the back of his robes for his wand. He came to an empty pocket and frowning, looked to his other pocket. Gone too. Remembering his fall before he'd been picked up, Harry grimaced. "I don't have my wand with me."

Dumbledore smiled and reached into his own robes. "No matter Mr. Potter, I do believe you can use mine." Coming back out, Dumbledore pulled out a wand Harry recognized immediately. The Elder Wand.

The wizards and witches around the room gasped and were suddenly speaking up in protest, but Dumbledore paid them no mind. He watched Harry pull the wand from his fingertips carefully and grasp the worn wood with trepidation. There were no sparks like there had been last time he'd held the Death Stick, but it warmed in his hands none the same, like it was welcoming an old friend. "You know of this wand?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes swift and piercing.

Harry didn't look away from him. "And it's history."

Albus looked away. "Yes, such a bloody one for such a small thing."

"Not so small when you're the most powerful wizard in the world."

Albus looked back and pulled a small smile. "The nature of one's power decides entirely on the opinion of the users around him I'm afraid."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Harry looked down at the wand silently and then rose the tip of it to the side of his head. First year… Images danced in front of Harry's eyes. Hagrid's massive frame in the doorway of the shack before Hogwarts, meeting his first friend on the train, the sorting into Gryffindor, the Halloween Troll, his hands stretching for a snitch during a quidditch game, Fluffy the three headed dog ... the moments came faster and faster to Harry, the longer he thought of his first year, and when he managed to pull himself away, he breathed a great sigh as the last ending images of getting in the Dursleys car passed through him. Harry pulled the wand back from his head and a long, thin stream of bright blue string floated behind it.

"Now place it directly into the pensive," Dumbledore said.

Harry followed his instructions and lowered the tip of the wand into bottom of the liquid filled basin. He passed back Dumbledore's wand and stepped away. Harry felt as if the memories he'd given were farther away in his own head. Like they were there somewhere, but under a thick sheen of mist that made them feel old, like decades had past instead of only a couple of years. An imprint of what was once vibrant in his mind.

Dumbledore lifted his wand in the air high over his head and brought it down swiftly like he was using a whip instead of a wand. His mouth did not open, but the stone basin glowed blue at the touch of his wand, and like a piece of gum stretched out, the basin began to grow sideways too. It kept growing, until Harry was sure the basin would just break in half, and then, suddenly, it came to a stop. Dumbledore flicked the elder wand sideways. "Confringes!" he said loudly, and the basin broke into pieces.

Harry stepped back in surprise, but watched wide eyed as Dumbledore brought the broken pieces of the basin above his head. Squinting, Harry saw them grow into individual rounded edges, like cups. Dumbledore's wand flicked again, and the cup shaped fragments moved around the room, landing in front of every order member.

"Now," Dumbledore said, leaning over his own cup sized portion, and motioning to Harry. "If you would be so kind as to go first."

"Professor," Harry backed away and left his cup untouched. "I've already been through these. I don't think that going though it again will be especially beneficial to you."

"I disagree, we will need you to explain the predicaments that cross over. Much is changed between our worlds," the headmaster argued.

Frankly, Harry didn't want to have to live through his own memories. They had been exhausting the first time around. "I can answer questions when you come out," he thought quickly. "but I don't need to be there for all of it again."

"That bad huh?" Jonathan asked, holding his own cup cautiously like it would come out and bite him.

James put an arm over his son, and Lily frowned at her own cup.

"No- not entirely," Harry answered, wondering just what he'd attached to his quick assemblage of memories. "But I'd rather keep this part of my past where it belongs," he shrugged.

"You'll just stare at our backs while all of our minds go somewhere else?" Moody asked, his one good eye narrowing in suspicion and distrust.

"Mad-Eye -" James started.

"Someone could just stay behind," Remus suggested.

"Are you offering yourself, Lupin?"

"I will," Bill Weasley said speaking up from beside Fleur and coming to his feet. "I can watch the memories later on, or we could take turns I guess, but for this time, I'll stay with Harry. If he doesn't want to rewatch his old life, he shouldn't have too."

Mad-Eye looked Bill up and down. "Someone will trade after this," he said gruffly. They was in agreement then.

"Of course," Bill agreed easily.

Mad-Eye humphed and looked down at the small cup in his hands.

Jonathan nudged Harry. "See you in a bit." The younger wizard grinned, and he and his parents faces fell forwards towards their cups. One by one, other Order members followed after, until all of the room was silent and unmoving.

"So," Bill Weasley said, cutting through the quiet and coming to sit down next to Harry, "Just you and me then huh?"

"Looks like it," Harry nodded, looking at the oldest Weasley cautiously.

Bill grinned. "Brilliant."

"So," Bill started with a grin. "A scar, a Dark Lord, and my dead brother's supposed best friend from another world." Bill shook his head and intertwined his fingers over his knees. "All in one day. Got to say, today's been more interesting than my last few."

This world's Bill, and the one from Harry's own were eerily similar. They both had the same rake of a werewolf claw down the side of their face, their hair length and style reflected the other, and their intense gaze remained the same as well. It was if they truly were the same wizard.

Harry could recognize an olive branch when he saw one. "Didn't know being a curse breaker was dull work."

Surprise lifted the eldest Weasley's eyebrows for a moment before a sour expression passed over his face. "It is when you're not a curse breaker anymore. Only the Goblins can practice that kind of magic in public now, and then only for Gringotts business."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, you're not anymore? What do you do then? Why only the Goblins?"

"The Dark Lord," Bill sighed. "Our esteemed Emperor had curse breakers banned from magic studies or contracts a couple years ago."

"What?" Harry was confused. What was the purpose of blocking off an entire branch of magic? "Why?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. Didn't have time to ask. All found to be practicing were thrown into Azkaban or kissed publicly. I'd barely finished my mastery in Sweden by the time they'd starting really hunting curse breakers down."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Kissed? They give Dementor's kisses out publicly here?" he echoed. "What, while everyone watches?"

Bill nodded. "Still do. In the execution center like anyone else who goes against him."

Harry was sure his mouth must have been hanging wide open, but he couldn't find it in himself to reset his jaw. He was too horrified. A public execution? In the Wizarding community? What in the name of Merlin had this world come to? How had Dumbledore let them fall this far? Why hadn't the Order stopped this? Why hadn't anyone done anything about it? Harry shook his head. "Where is this … execution center?"

Bill stood up, and dusted off his robes. "Come on. I want a cuppa tea. Moody would have my hide if I left you alone here."

Harry followed him. "Merlin forbid," he deadpanned.

Bill grinned. "Don't be too hard on Moody. A Death Eater killed his cat three months ago. He's still getting over it."

Harry nearly tripped. "A cat?" he blurted.

The older wizard grinned wider. "Sugar in yours?"

Harry looked around and realized he had put the kettle on over a very muggle looking stove in the middle of the kitchen. "Uh, no thanks… is that a—"

"Muggle machine? Yea, Dad convinced Sirius to let him install it about six years back. It's called a strov? A … Storn?"

"Stove," Harry answered.

Bill looked back at the kettle heating over the stove and nodded. "Yea, that. We all call it the muggle heater here, other than Dad, but well… I'm sure you know how he is about muggle items if you're close to our family in your world."

"Yea," Harry answered. "No, I get it. How's it work if there's no electricity?"

Bill winked at him cheerily. "Runes can do more than just protect treasure in old tombs you know."

The ex-curse breaker sat at the wide wooden table next to the stove, wood groaning, and Harry followed across from him. He slipped Harry's cup of tea over and took a careful sip of his own. Weak light filtered in from the discolored windows behind Bill, "So," he began again, "where was I?"

"The place they execute people," Harry answered, leaving his steaming drink untouched. "Where is it at?"

"Diagon Alley," Bill said. "Right where Flourish and Blotts used to be."

Harry let that sink in. Right at the heart of the wizarding community. A great place to strike fear into its people. "But where'd Flourish and Blotts go then?"

Bill leaned back in his chair. "Torn down. Been gone ages. Nearly eight years actually."

"They took down Flourish and Blotts and put an execution center there?" Harry asked, aghast. "Where do Hogwarts students get their books?"

"They don't." Bill stared silently at Harry for a moment before setting his cup down on the table. Harry crossed his arms on the table confused. "Hogwarts is… well, it's not what it used to be. Probably not the same from your world at least."

Hogwarts was Hogwarts. It was home. Bill made no sense. "Well what is it then?"

Bill blinked. "It's a Rebellion School, and a safe house for Order members and families. Officially, our Emperor ordered for the school to be closed and have its teachers killed after his rise to complete power. I was still pretty young back then; the middle of my first year when everything came crashing down."

"Teachers killed? But Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall … Hogwarts is gone here?" Harry asked, astonished. No, that couldn't be right. Not Hogwarts. Not his home.

"No, no Hogwarts still stands, and the majority of the teachers are fine, but it's no longer just the Wizarding school it used to be," Bill explained. "Nearly unbreakable wards surround every side, courtesy of yours truly -." He motioned to himself. "-and a couple other wizards and witches. But it includes most of the forbidden forest and some of the land around it for housing and crops and such. It's almost like it's own town by now. We've been letting in students from all over the world too, instead of just Britain. Wizarding and muggle born alike - if we can find them in time."

Harry listened closely to this world's reality and fingered the handle of his teacup.

Bill picked up his cup again and took a small sip. "I made the mistake last year of helping someone not of the Order, and Greyback was sent after me. Course, the whole family had already been banished at that point as were 'Blood Traitors' and such, but they needed to make an example out of someone. Since then, I ended up with this," he motioned to the scars across his face, "and then was issued a public death order on my head. It made me a bit boring as a curse breaker outside of Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't believe some of the similarities that just managed to fall into place like it did in his world with all of the differences that were stacking up. Bill had still been attacked by Greyback. Still had received the exact same scars.

"Hang on," Harry said leaning forwards, "The Weasley's were 'banished'?" He shook his head. "What does that mean?"

Bill took another drink from his cup. "You-know-who made a new society out of the ashes of our failed ministry. Think of it as a caste system, right?" he started. "Pure Bloods, or those of the 'Sacred Families' have proven themselves to have no muggle ancestry and take up the top of the caste. Purely magical and all that," Bill snorted. "Below them are half-bloods. Those who have had muggle or muggle-borns sometime in their family history. Per the law, only half-bloods who can prove that their ancestry has been pure for seven generations can claim pure blood within themselves. So they take up the middle caste. Non-humans like werewolves, Veelas, centaurs, half-breeds, and such take up the third. Those who are magical by birth and are labeled as a 'creature'. At the very bottom of the caste, there's the muggle-borns and the blood traitors. Those infected with muggle thoughts or blood."

"But aren't blood traitors the same thing as a pureblood, but I don't know, with morals?"

Bill grinned. "Yes, and no. It's just a system see. For most, how you were born is where you'll stay for the rest of your life. If you were born a muggle-born, you will always be that way. If you were born a blood traitor or a half-blood, you could possibly rise in the system depending on family actions." He shrugged. "Or you could fall from the caste by doing the unthinkable, associating with muggles or muggle beliefs."

Harry thought back to the Weasley's 'banishment'. "So the bottom level is the worst, and if a pure blood or a half-blood mingles with a muggle or a muggle-born here, they become blood traitors-"

"And are banished from the caste," Bill finished. "Exactly. So they're treated worse than even those they despise - nonhumans, as we've all 'turned savage, and disgraced the name of Wizards'."

Harry's eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. "But if muggle-borns and blood traitors are on that same level, are they both hunted like muggle-borns are? Is the whole Weasley family hunted by you-know-who's society?"

The elder wizard got up to make more tea. "No," he said. "We're not chased down and killed like muggle-borns, but definitely treated worse than swamp fungus. We can't eat or shop at certain places at certain times, or stand next to certain people, or even in the same room. There are no jobs for blood traitors, and no help. You see, we've still got all that 'magical blood' in us. Makes us some sort of valuable above muggles though."

"How does someone come back from being a 'blood traitor' then?" Harry asked, confused.

"Recently?" Bill answered, sitting back down with his tea. "You capture, and bring in muggle-borns from the outside, or witch hunters. Like gifts, to you-know-who. Possibly pay a fine. Maybe family servitude for a decade or so. The oath of their firstborns - it could be anything, it depends on the severity of the length of fall from the caste."

Harry's head was spinning. "And the Weasley's?"

"Well we've been openly rejecting the doctrine of blood purity for several generations. Started with Grandfather Septimus, so, we'd have to do a lot to get back in with the likes of them." Bill struggled not to roll his eyes. "Not that we'd want to anyways. Bunch of elitist pigs."

Harry nodded in understanding. His fingers edged the rim of his cup, and his stomach flipped over at the information circulating through his mind. His tea was long since cold, but he tapped the side of his cup once, and steam escaped his reheated liquid. Bill saw the small act of wandless magic, but made no comment.

Harry had more questions the longer he sat, and they started with the woman here who reflected his mother.

"What about the Potters here?" he asked quietly.

Bill scratched at his scars and raised his brows once. "Well, they go against the normal, that's for sure."

"How so?"

"Merlin, I need something stronger than tea," Bill decided, standing up. He went to the cabinets and pulled down a large dark bottle. He poured himself a glass as he continued on. "The Heir of Potter, one of the Sacred Families, married a muggle-born and had children," Bill answered. "Now one of those children died for 'the good of Wizarding Society', as the papers say, and then another was born less than a year later as you-know-who officially rose to power."

"Harry and Jonathan Potter," Harry nodded, understanding.

"Exactly," Bill agreed, turning around with the drink in hand. "During that time, you-know-who started the caste, his society, for who fit where and how. In some twisted form of mercy, though most suspect that it was because Jonathan was born a boy and showed magical talent at a very young age, our esteemed Emperor did not pass banishment on all the Potters. Instead, he denied them their ancestral Wizgamont seat and kept them as a half-blood family, given that Lily Potter was never allowed to leave their homes or show her face to society." Bill shook his head in remembrance. "It was all over the papers for weeks."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "They're allowed to live in Volde- you-know-who's world?"

Bill shrugged. "Remember, he had just extinguished nearly a generation of magical children for his own greed. He still needed his new country to grow. Somethings were overlooked, including who continued to birth his future population."

Harry was quiet for some time. "That's fucking sick."

Bill raised his glass with a twisted smile, ice blue eyes shining behind his fringe of red hair. "Welcome to our World Mr. Potter," he said, and knocked back the rest of his drink.

Silence grew between both the young wizards once more.

Bill placed the empty glass down on the counter behind him and tipped his head back. He sighed deeply into the chilled air, and Harry could see the claw marks that disfigured his throat. The ex-curse breaker brought his head back down, and the shadow of a passing cloud outside shrouded the already weak sunlight. Shadows lingering in the kitchen darkened, and the eerie silence of the room beyond echoed throughout theirs.

Bill lifted his empty glass. "You want one?" he offered quietly.

The day fell heavy over Harry's shoulders; every new face he'd seen, every dredged up memory, every awful new piece of the puzzle that was presented to him. "Hell yes," Harry snorted, and got up from the table.

Bill fetched him a glass and then poured them both two fingers of the whisky. Harry accepted his portion, and Bill held his cup out. "To killing those who'd kill us first."

Harry raised his glass, but didn't have anything to say to a sentence so filled with pain. "Cheers," he said instead.

They both sipped at their drink, and Harry relished the burning sensation that passed over his tongue and filled his stomach. He sniffed at the fire at the back of his throat. "And all of this," Harry gestured to the kitchen, the house they were in. "People do ordinary jobs, have an ordinary life with you-know-who going on?"

Bill looked to the floor. "Is that or die right?" Bill took another sip. "He already overtook the UK, Norway, Sweden, France, Germany ... it's been a long, long battle, and people keep dying. Family members, friends, neighbors. They're tired. Everyone is tired. Both sides have lost so much." The older wizard shook his head. "Most just want it to end now, one way or another."

Harry nodded. He'd been back and forth with Voldemort's followers for a majority of his life. He couldn't imagine fighting in a war that was over twenty years old. He took another long swallow, and the fire whisky filled his limbs with heat.

"And Dumbledore," Harry said, "he's just let -"

"He's public enemy number one. Has been for some time."

"People honestly believe that, after Grindelwald?"

"They don't really get much of a choice. It's either accept or fight, and be prepared for their family to die with them."

Harry nodded again. He finished his drink, and put the cup down.

Bill filled it right back up, and added a splash more to his own.

He could feel the affects of the alcohol on his empty stomach as the cold retreated from his limbs, his heart, his feelings. It burned through him, and spun his mind. The edges of the corners in the kitchen were fuzzy, and Bill's hands on his own glass seemed far away. Harry took another drink.

It was unreal, this world. This insane, crazy world.

So much more death and destruction. Problems Harry had never faced before, had never been asked to throw himself at. This was more than finding lost objects, or defending his friends. This was a world war. This was a problem meant for Adults. People who'd already fucking graduated Hogwarts. Minister of Magic sized fucking problems. Enormous, dragon-shit-high problems that were stacking higher and higher with every passing minute.

He forgot how much he had drank now, but Bill filled another another cup, more than last time, and Harry took a clumsy sip.

And they wanted him to fix this? Harry? Who had led more people to their deaths than anyone he'd ever met bar an insane dark wizard who had cut his own soul into fucking horcruxes? Him! He couldn't fix this - this mess. This topsy turny world that made absolutely no sense at all. He wasn't ready for this! Merlin, he didn't want to do this all again. He'd only just finished the first time around a couple months ago! Friends and families had died for that freedom. He had seen their bodies, and his nightmares still screamed for justice every night as he lived on.

He couldn't -

"No."

"Harry?" Bill frowned, his face more red than his hair.

"No," Harry repeated, shaking his head. His glass slipped from his fingers, and then shattered across the floor.

The tpssss of the Fire Whisky on the stones beneath his feet rose like steam. Harry watched it fizzle once, then lie still on the ground, the magic gone and lying dead. Like he would be.

"I can't do this." He swallowed hard. The pleasant warmth that the whisky had afforded him sat heavy in his stomach and weighed down his limbs. His panic rose, but his body was failing him, and his mind raced - comparing the horrible differences of both worlds, the faces that now lingered in a waking nightmare, and the impossible objective ahead. "You don't understand," Harry croaked, his stomach flipping, and heaving. "I can't do this."

"Harry." Bill flicked his wand, and the cup reformed from the ground and returned to his hand. He placed it on the counter, and frowned. "I don't -."

Harry took a step back and hit the counter of the kitchen. "I barely made it out the first time," he admitted lowly. The Forbidden Forest, and the image of his ghostly parents appeared before his eyes. His death, and the train station. The choice to stay. Harry shook his head fiercely, and from the back of his mind, he found a small part of himself wondering if he was having a panic attack. Did panic attacks feel like this? This surge of anxiety? Fear? The pressure in his chest?

"So many died," Harry whispered. "So many friends. Cedric. Tonks. Lavender. Colin. Fred. All of them, gone forever." No matter what this dimension shows me. "And even with so much help, so many died for me. I… I can't do this again. Not like this."

"Harry," Bill said quietly, softly. He stepped forwards.

The fuse to Harry's anger ignited under Bill's compassion.

This was his fault, Harry found himself thinking. His and all of the Order members here. All of them. Wanting him to fight in a war against a man he hated more than anything. Against the copy of that man. Pulling him away from his hard won safety.

His family. The family that he'd built with his own hands, and paid for with death and loss. The one thing he had so desperately longed for his entire life.

Their fault.

He hadn't made the choice to come here. He hadn't done something stupid and accidently ended up alone. He'd been called here. He'd been taken. Kidnapped.

Their fault.

Not Harry's. No, Harry hadn't done anything wrong this time. He'd won the right to live in peace. He'd won it. He'd done everything he was ever asked to do.

No, this time someone else had made the call and had twisted his destiny to fit their schedule. The Order. Bill. Dumbledore. Moody. … James. Lily. … Jonathan. Bill. They'd all done it.

"You," Harry said, his voice a whisper in the quiet room. It cut like a razor to soft skin, and Bill flinched. "You all, asking me to come here and fix your bloody problems."

Bill put his glass down on the counter. "What?"

"Just picking me up. Taking me like you could buy me from a shop. 'DARK LORD DEFEATER: only five drops of blood!' Is that how you all did it?" Harry seethed. "Picking out the one you liked best, just throwing magic around and taking people from their homes? Did you think that would actually be the best thing to do?"

"We —"

"That anyone would be okay with that? Because even if it hadn't been me that defeated Voldemort—" Bill flinched at his name. "—I can guaranty you that anyone who has lived through it all, would never want to go back and do it again. They would never volunteer, or ask to be put in the same situation they had barely escaped through the first time. After their friends, and teachers, and peers, and family died. They would hate you. Hate you for asking them to do something that terrible again."

Harry's anger roared higher still. "And you didn't even give me a choice. You all enslaved me to murder someone and forced me to be a soldier in your earth's battle. You kidnapped me from my home so that I could become a pawn in a prophecy you all hope will be a destiny strong enough to save you."

Bill's shoulders limped downwards. "I know. I told them- I'm sorry I-"

"Oh fuck off." Harry felt the anger drain away, and a sickening hollow pit engulf his lungs. The alcohol burned on his lips, but it's haze of righteous anger slowly faded from his limbs and tongue. "You're not real to me, do you understand? None of this is. It's all a mirror, and this is your end of it. That includes this - this damn war."

"You can't go home until you-know—"

"I know what Lily said. I was in the same room."

Bill started to look frustrated too. "So—"

"So," Harry sighed deeply, his freedom slipping away with his breath, "I'll do whatever I have to, to go home." He grimaced. "No matter what. But make no mistake," he glared at the older wizard, "when I do, I will burn the bridge between our worlds and any other worlds I ever come across so that people like you and the Order never do something like this again." Harry stood up from the table. "You wanted a savior for your world, and I am a slave to that idea until I fulfill what you've all done. And I will hate you for that, because if I die here, I will never see my family again."

Bill stared back at Harry solemnly and nodded. "I know. I'm s—"

"No you're not." Harry stood up and walked out the kitchen. He didn't know if letting out his anger at one of the eldest Weasley's was the right thing to do, but he couldn't just say nothing to anyone. He walked back into the room full of witches and wizards who's faces were illuminated in cups filled with his memories. It was a bizarre sight.

Bill walked into the room behind Harry and made himself comfortable in an open chair next to his wife. He glanced at Harry but didn't initiate anything further, or comment about their conversation in the kitchen.

Harry appreciated that. He just had to sit down and think. He could feel sobriety anchoring his thoughts, and the haze of his anger fading with this breaths. He couldn't believe this was his life.

Also, thanks so much for the positive feedback :DD

UP NEXT: Order members have questions.

~Missmusicluver