Harry and Bellatrix crashed back into the future, leaving Sirius many years behind. Bellatrix remained stunned and unthreatening, but with a groan Harry levered himself to his feet, and wand in hand, went to investigate the other dazed death eaters he had left in his wake minutes or hours or years earlier. Almost no time had passed for them; they still lay perfectly limp as he secured them all in mercilessly tight bonds.

Harry paced quickly towards the door, intending to inform his colleagues that the danger had passed and the perpetrators were captured, but something slowed his legs, and half unwilling he turned back. There had been a book.

On a delicate silver stand a thin book rested, curling brown leather and stained yellowing parchment looked unimpressive, but the faded image of an hourglass embossed on the top of one page made Harry sure that this was the book that contained the spell Bellatrix had used.

Almost without knowing he did it, he reached for the book, a jolt of power making his fingertips tingle as he cradled the ancient book in trembling hands. For a brief moment he let seductive images race through his mind, images of how he could make the world better, a world in which his parents and Sirius would be alive and breathing.

He resolutely slammed the book back onto its stand and let out a shuddering breath. Such power was dangerous, and he had always secretly sworn he wouldn't let himself become a man like Tom. He would not succumb to his worst fear. He was stronger than that.

xxx

Harry was brooding in his office when Ron found him, "Nice work mate!" he bellowed enthusiastically as he barreled though the door. "It's about time that little ferret got his."

"Huh?"

"Malfoy you dopey sod! You caught him and it's off to Azkaban for him." Ron threw himself into a chair with a pleased chuckle before finally registering Harry's marked lack of enthusiasm for something that was a very big deal to Ron.

"Well Done Harry!" Hermione added as she bustled into the office too and took the seat beside Ron. "Malfoy is finally where he belongs."

"You know mate," Ron said irritably, "if I was you, I'd be feeling pretty bloody smug right now, but you're just sitting here like a flipping flobberworm!"

"Language Ron." Hermione rebuked automatically, before looking more closely at Harry, "He is right though Harry, you don't seem as happy as we might expect, is something wrong?"

"I am perfectly happy thank you very much." Harry retorted aggressively, "I am very happy that Malfoy has finally got himself into trouble that he can't talk or buy himself out of. What! Just because I'm not turning somersaults and waving a little flag does it mean I'm not happy?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks and both sat up attentively.

"Okay mate, out with it."

"Yes, whatever happened?"

Harry opened his mouth to issue a vehement denial of there being anything to say to either of them, but to his horror only a slightly strangled squeak came out, and he found himself struggling to contain a rasping sob that tried to tear from his throat.

Ron simply sat looking startled, but Hermione was on her feet and wrapping her arms around Harry as he struggled for composure.

How had he ever thought that one night would be enough?

"Oh Merlin I'm so stupid." He managed to groan as his eyes watered and his chest heaved. Hermione rubbed his shoulders soothingly and he firmly swallowed down on the sobs that still tried to come.

"Oh Harry, whatever happened?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"I did something really stupid. Again." Harry said dully as he sternly got himself under control.

"Mate, that covers a lot of ground with you," Ron declared mock cheerfully. "Work or personal? Problems with Snapie again?"

"Ron! Don't be so irreverent!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh Shit Sev!"

"Personal." Ron deduced gleefully. "Ooh what happened? No wait! Do I want to know this?"

"Ron! You need to get used to Harry and Severus being together. They are a couple now and that is that." Hermione said firmly.

"I am used to it." Ron griped disgustedly. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Oh honestly!"

Harry could sense another familiar spat brewing between his two best friends and just let his head bang down onto his desk. "Actually," he mumbled, "I may have buggered things up with Sev. Oh hell, I need to really split up with him for the absolute last time don't I? I just bloody cheated on him with someone he hated!"

Silence fell abruptly and Harry could almost feel his friends staring at him.

"How did you manage that when you were busy capturing Malfoy and his cronies?" Ron asked eventually. "Wasn't the Ferret was it?" He asked sickly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and smartly smacked Ron on the head for the mere stupidity of the suggestion. Then eyed Harry thoughtfully when he didn't explode in response to the crassness of Ron's remark.

Harry felt his eyes wander involuntarily to his desk drawer where he had felt compelled to stash the book and managed a casual shrug. "No Ron, not Malfoy. It was just, oh you know, Malfoy didn't exactly put up much of a fight; it took me all of about a minute to capture the lot of them, and then..." He trailed off, unsure what more he could say.

Neither Ron nor Hermione looked remotely convinced by his suddenly laid-back attitude or somewhat lackluster explanation. They both knew him far too well to be fooled.

Harry was well aware of this and huffed out a great sigh of frustration before opting for honesty. "Okay, but can I explain later? I really need to sort my own head out before I discuss this, and Severus might prefer to talk to me first before I explain things to anyone else. He deserves that much."

"Fair enough mate." Ron said getting to his feet still rubbing his now bruised head, "We'll behere when you want to bend our ears."

Hermione looked as if she wanted to linger, but Ron forcibly propelled her from the room, leaving Harry alone to brood again.

xxx

Harry clattered bowls and thumped ingredients down on his kitchen worktop, he had gone home ostensibly for some peace to write his report on the capture of some notorious Death Eaters, but he was distracted and unable to think of how to word the impossible report he would eventually have to make. He was trying to take his mind off his problems by concentrating on boring, mundane muggle cookery, but he was only succeeding in making a bloody awful mess.

Had it really been just four days since he had cooked a civilized dinner for himself and Severus in this very kitchen? Only now he had changed everything and done the impossible and cheated on his long-time on-off lover with a man who had been dead for many years. A man he had always loved and always thought completely beyond his reach.

He tried concentrating on weighing out exactly the right amount of butter, but his mind returned to the unexpected disaster he had created in his life.

He'd let himself get too caught up in the moment, and had reveled in the fact that Sirius really had liked him for himself, that it wasn't simply because he was James's son. He had so obviously been attracted to Harry himself in the past when he had no idea who he was. Even leaving aside the admittedly incredible sex, the way they had almost immediately been at ease with each other, laughing and teasing in the bar, it had given Harry a gift he hadn't known he had needed.

But it wasn't enough.

It couldn't ever be enough.

He'd somehow started something, something that was bigger than him. Something that was impossible to continue: A love affair across the ages. Because it could so easily have been love, he was sure of it.

He'd give almost anything to have a chance at that love, but he reminded himself again that it was an impossible dream.

But not really impossible, suggested a devious little voice in a dark corner of his mind.

Harry crashed the bowl down on the counter too hard and barely noticed it shatter. He crunched his way over the thick shards of glass and headed mindlessly for his study where he had hidden the book.

He sat and stared at it, rubbing the soft old leather with curious fingers, turning it over and over in his hands. It was such an innocuous little thing. Yet, it could do so much, change so much. He hungered for the changes it could bring.

Harry slumped back in his chair, exhaustion sweeping over him as he smoothed the worn leather between his fingers. "I won't." He said aloud. "I won't do this." He forced his mind to another dangerous book. A book he had destroyed more than a decade ago. "Maybe I should plunge something sharp and poisonous into you too?" he mused. "At least then you won't be able to do any harm to anyone."

He slowly leaned forwards and selected a thin knife from the clutter on his desk. He could shred and stab until the book was gone and he couldn't be tempted again. He let the blade hover over the book for a moment before lowering it back. He just couldn't just let go of his last chance to see Sirius again. It was so wrong, but maybe, just maybe, he could get away with it. He could plan it properly, and go back just for one last time, and knowing that it was going to happen he'd have better control of things, and then surely it wouldn't hurt so much...

With a violent flick of his wrist he let the book spiral out of his hands and come to rest with its fragile pages squashed against the floor, its cracking spine humped upwards.

Harry sat back and plunged the room into darkness with a quick murmur of, "nox." He didn't want to look at the book. It was making him want impossible things. Before he would know where he was he'd be making dangerous choices and becoming the next Voldemort.

Hadn't Dumbledore always said it was about choices?

He needed to make the right ones; he'd always secretly been scared he'd be like Tom one day. Now he was tilting on the brink, preparing to meddle with things that should never be touched.

No, he'd have to be satisfied with what little he had already stolen.

Harry sat back again and breathed deeply, letting the exhaustion overtake him and those all too brief and bittersweet memories of loving Sirius emerge from the night around him.

xxx

Harry gasped and suddenly jerked upright in his chair.

He heard his own heartbeat thundering like the hooves of thestrals, and the faint echo of his own screams.

The dreams had returned.

When Sirius had died, for months he had dreamed of him.

Every night he had seen the grasping flutter of a tattered veil, and then Sirius falling through that ancient doorway.

Falling forever, again and again in his mind.

The scene was permanently etched on his memory.

It had been his fault.

That had been proven to him when everyone had rushed to reassure him that it hadn't been his fault. If they didn't secretly blame him surely they wouldn't have to hurry to assure him that they did not really hold him responsible?

It had taken a long time to accept what he had done, a long time for the dreams to taper off and become more infrequent miseries, but years on - here he was still dreaming of Sirius's last moments. Only now when he dreamed, he ached for a lost lover as well as a beloved friend.

His eyes unwillingly found themselves resting on the book again.

"Destroy it or use it?" he mused aloud as he got to his feet.

"It isn't like I'd do anything bad with it." He justified to himself as he brushed shaking fingers over the soft leather cover before gently retrieving the book. "I just want one last experience of something I might have had anyway, if death eaters hadn't taken it all from me."

Harry leafed through the book until he found the page emblazoned with the hourglass, "This isn't wrong." He said aloud, as if that would make his actions somehow more acceptable.

Then he began to read.