Chapter 66

Harry exhaled and pushed himself back onto the sofa in his study. The pensieve's surface was slightly disturbed from his recent venturing into its depths.

Much like he was.

Disturbed.

Reaching around to the shelf behind him he grabbed a random book on occlumency and the ordering of one's thoughts. He winced as he picked up the not very heavy book and tried not to drop it onto his chest.

Again.

He didn't think he'd need to 'hit the books' this hard again.

He certainly didn't think he'd be in this much pain whilst doing so.

There were other things he could be doing, other things he could be studying.

He had a Dalek data core that he'd barely begun to explore, that had been very fascinating and a damn sight less disturbing than what lay within the pensieve. Which probably said something of the directions his life had taken at the moment.

Then there was his, or rather LPI's interesting case of Mr Andrew Fuller.

The former was on the back burner, for when he could relax and not have the nightmares disturbing his every other thought. The latter he had left in with Ioan and Judith to sort through everything they had recovered.

Sorting and working out what needed further testing would take some time, as would making sure none of it posed a threat.

Chasing up the body of Fuller was something he wanted to do, needed to do as Ioan didn't wish to go into the Ministry unless there was a really, really good reason. Fuller's body would stay dead and probably under the watchful gaze of the Department of Ministry Investigations. Probably.

It would mean that Harry would need to get back to the Ministry.

Which would mean leaving the house.

Which would mean understanding what he had within the pensieve and managing what he had in his mind.

He'd spent just a few days trapped inside his house, he hadn't counted the time he'd spent unconscious or blacked out. He'd not spent consecutive days unconscious, but there had been some blackouts early on, as his body and mind healed and were pushed too far in the healing.

It was the conscious time spent awake not being able to do things that had begun to drive him mad.

So to stave off that fate he had decided to venture into the pensieve, to begin to discover what he had discovered.

That decision possibly just hastened the madness he mused.

He had reconstructed what had happened between when he'd touched the Veil and the subsequent vomiting of the memories into the pensieve Draco had so generously provided.

According to Ioan it was a good one, and fortunately for him a big one. Ioan knew a thing or two about them from his friends in the various Quidditch leagues who supposedly used them to review matches. There was only so much omioculars could store and no one had thus far created a projector for omnioculars.

Were he the entrepreneur type he might have a go at creating such a thing, but it would inevitably end up needing to marry wizarding devices to regular technology. Something that would just bring more complications. He'd mentioned the idea to Ioan, which had interested him. Harry'd said he had the use of everything in LPI to create it. Maybe they could release it and show that LPI wasn't just about 'deviatory behaviour'.

Harry had discovered that very little time had passed in 'real time' or 'real space' or whatever between him touching the Veil and Draco and Ioan coming to his rescue.

The time spent with Other-Harry seemed to go on longer. There were still fuzzy elements of that. But he remembered distinct things. Like the scary woman in the shadows, that woman who wasn't a woman, Harry knew in his heart and senses she was something other. Other-Harry was something else.

Another him, another him who'd he'd met. Who existed in another universe.

Delving within the pensieve opened his mind up, made him aware, to think on that Other-Him and the alternate him. The meeting, the experiences, everything, it had a tangible realness to it.

But it was more than that. Other-Harry had implied it, it was why these memories had come through the vortex, come through the Veil, touched upon him. Connected.

Biodata, it, the memories, they were carried on it, or they zeroed in on him with it. Or something.

It did make him wonder if something had been changed in him.

He survived contact with the Veil, with the essence of an alternate timeline because of his biodata connection, but he also knew that it had the ability to change. Not a person, not in any way major or noticeable.

To have survived the connection he needed to have been time active.

Harry exhaled.

He'd pieced all this together from a lot of sources, many of them illicitly obtained during his wanderings in the Doctor's TARDIS as the Doctor tried to get him and Draco home.

He knew enough of Faction Paradox and their fanciful relationship with paradoxes and biodata and everything in between, enough to be very wary and cautious. Asking them for any sort of help came with a cost, one you had to be really sure about when you were paying. They revelled in a paradox. He didn't know what they'd do upon seeing this mess. Probably applaud.

They, the Earth had managed to dodge a bullet.

Harry didn't have a full idea of what exactly they'd dodged, something nightmarish, something that was lurking within the memories, be it those within the pensieve at the moment or the broad brush strokes that were now within his mind, locked away in that special space that Other-Harry had prepared for him.

Flipping through the book he'd been holding while he'd long been in thought he didn't read any of it as he was flipping. He'd been through it all before. It was the act of moving the pages and looking at the one out of 20 that helped him remember. Or maybe it was just the smell of these old books helped him filter through the knowledge of them along with the experiences he'd just seen into his own memory.

"Memories, of memories, of memories," he said to himself, paraphrasing one of the books. Each generation of experience, lost definition. Like photocopying something over and over again.

These were his alternate self's memories, passed through the vortex, now they were in his mind. The broad brushstrokes of the memory in his mind. Passed through the intangible temporal medium, a copy of a copy.

Other-Harry, Harry knew now had helped him, prepared him to be able to filter through the memories, only keep the broadest of the brushstrokes, the things that he might need, experiencing the memory and keeping the salient points rather than everything. Though he also knew he couldn't extract all of the not-everything from his mind also. Memories, experiences, they weren't like that.

Harry knew, though couldn't point to where or how that his mind was more...not so ordered, but he felt his mind had gone from a messy study with books and notes piled everywhere to a library. Now with more mess and a few more books everywhere, and then at the back of the room, hidden behind a secret bookshelf was a safe where he could put all the nasty things, all the things he didn't need to consider, but still occasionally might need. All those things would go in there. The broad brushstrokes that he did not wish to think or muse on.

He had considered not doing this, that perhaps it would be better not to have any of this nightmarish alternate future within his mind at all, to leave it all within the pensieve.

But he knew that wasn't possible.

He couldn't leave it all in the pensieve because it was impossible to rid his mind, his memories of it all.

Some of it remained, some of it was probably in his biodata, some of it couldn't be extracted, he was relatively sure he hadn't even touched upon some of it yet. He'd not put it into the right context.

His dreams, his nightmares, that's when it came out, freed from consciousness' dampening affects it wrought havoc on him in his sleeping state.

Context was what he wanted, what he needed. The broad brushstrokes would be what would remain, what he would have remain in his mind, locked away so that he couldn't accidentally stumble upon them when he was trying to think of a recipe for waffles.

For this he needed to experience things through the pensieve, making them a memory of a memory. That was less intense, something that he could hold within his own memories.

Harry wrinkled his nose and then swore as he dropped the book onto his chest forgetting again about his damaged ribs and bruised chest.

That was what the book, not this book, another one had said about memories in pensieves. Reviewing one or another's memories meant you experienced them, remembered them, but they were copies in your memory, if you extracted them they became further diluted.

Harry wondered what a memory diluted through several people would look like.

Probably like one of those dodgy VHS tapes that Piers Polkiss used to knock out using Dudley's VHS recorders. They used to sell them to the kids they didn't beat up, copied from the video shop. Harry vaguely remembered his uncle watching one and it just being haze where picture and sound occasionally came through.

"Which is odd," Harry said aloud to himself. He'd not thought of those people in a long time. Not since the end of the war, his aunt and uncle had been resettled away from...everything and Dudley too.

That was another thing that the books warned of, messing around in your memories could kick up 'dust from flying Thestrals' hooves' as one book rather poetically put it.

He'd given up feeling odd about talking to himself, this process was already internalising a lot. Something had to give.

Pulling himself up, gritting his teeth as he did so from a slouch to a sitting up right position he fought the urge to grunt or cry out.

"Very stupid Harry. Very stupid," he chastised himself as he forced himself to stand up and return to the kitchen to make another awful brew of awfulness.

-/

Awfulness that worked, Harry thought a few minutes later as he sipped the infusion of whatever it was from wherever that Owen Cauldwell had given him.

He fancied, if he could be bothered to, he could work out exactly what he was drinking. Though at the moment the barn he'd converted a while ago which held the potion and other chemical testing equipment was currently in use, so he couldn't satisfy his curiosity even if he so desired.

Draining the cup, downing the last of his woodland brew, it was time to return to his study. To the thing that held answers, nightmares, questions, and all things in between that were neither answers or nightmares.

"You know, you could take one of us into your puddle of excitement," Judith commented as he turned his back for a moment to rinse out the cup.

He was a little surprised, even though he knew she was working here. Ioan and Judith had the run of his house while they were working out in the barns, although there was a kitchenette in there. He felt awful and guilty not working on their case, and stupid for what he'd done.

But the enlightenment he sought out each time he dived into the pensieve he felt was helpful also. It was not as if he was capable of anything else at the moment.

Harry turned around and looked at Judith and fixed her with a look and a raised eyebrow.

Judith exhaled slightly. "Very well. Ioan does not want to know."

"He said the look on my face is enough not to want to experience that. Memories or not," Harry paused on the way to his study stretching his back.

"Are you alright Harry?" Judith asked, concern present in her voice.

Harry lightly snorted. "Just stretching, testing where my limits are as the medication does its stuff, cheating and all that."

"What we do best," she paused. "We're still sorting everything out. Want to make sure nothing's dangerous now that it's out of the Ministry."

Harry nodded.

Ioan had mentioned it as a possibility. That things in the Ministry sometimes spontaneously combusted when taken out of their 'natural home'. The perfect way to keep things secure. But almost no one did that because most wizards and witches wanted to take things home, whether for convenience or future blackmail and power trips.

"And I'm not sure if you want to get into the memories of an alternate me," Harry continued picking up her earlier inquiry. "I don't know if I want to, but I'm prepared for it. I stuck my hand into the sticky gooey mass."

"And you have to be prepared for it when the cow kicks you for doing so," Judith continued with a smirk.

"Did we just cross metaphors?" Harry wondered.

"Don't cross the streams Harry. You should never cross the streams," Judith said enigmatically and walked off.

Harry looked over at the door that she was already out of. They, LPI had never had a movie night.

"Now is not the time to start," Harry mused as he continued his way back to his study. Aside from those Easter Eggs that he'd watched with Ioan and Judith, and those didn't really count.

Maybe Draco was right, he needed to socialise more, not just with security services people discussing deaths of people and breaking into to top security classified storage structures.

Harry frowned, as he realised that he'd been standing in the door frame to his study, just thinking to himself for a while.

Today, now that he was filled with an infusion that was genuinely helping and not just tasting awful he was ready to begin anew.

Ready to discover just what was lurking creating a lot of dread that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

-/

Harry closed his eyes, exhaling and calming his breathing, trying not to focus on the lingering pain, the pain that in general had lingered since his misjudgement even when he drank his 'essence of woodland'. Opening his eyes he repeated his breathing; calming his body and his mind for the onslaught. "Once more into the whatever," Harry confirmed to himself aloud as he stepped forward to enter the pensieve, steeling himself for the in-rush that felt like he was drowning in darkness and nightmares. The almost overwhelming rush of memories and experiences, if it were anyone else's Harry was unsure if he would be able to cope. Unsure if he could deal with the torrent of memories. Some of the books suggested that would in fact lead to 'an incalculable madness'. Suggesting that, at least in the author's opinion madness had a cure, albeit one at a high cost.

No one evidently told Voldemort that nugget of information.

It did also make him wonder on another man, not Voldemort, that was dust on a Thestral's hooves. But rather, the other man, if he existed and wasn't a contrivance by Penis Hooded Unspeakable Man to get him in front of the Veil.

Had he been as affected by this onslaught of memories? Was he going through the memories he captured as Harry was?

Or was he dead, from the onslaught of memories somewhere in the Ministry, or were the Unspeakables going through a pensieve or something else?

Judith hadn't managed to extract much out of the Unspeakable in the hood, she was only into the preliminary questions when Draco had arrived. Unspeakable hooded penis man had been 'prepped' and she would have moved onto more in depth questions. Had he not escaped.

Judith was adamant that with the 'results' from her preparations he shouldn't have been able to escape. She'd checked doubly sure for a wand.

Yet, he had escaped.

Entering the pensieve and the world within was an imperfect experience. Back, way back at Hogwarts in the pensieves there he hadn't really known what to expect and now, having been within this pensieve he still didn't know what to expect.

He did know that it was imperfect. These memories, these experiences had passed through the vortex to get to him, they'd been distorted by time and they'd latched onto him. They'd warped and changed as they'd exited the vortex. His biodata buffeted, absorbing some of the maelstrom of this whirling vortex of memories and experience.

Energy. Something had flung him with extreme force against the wall, away from the Veil, which was decent of it. Whatever it was.

Imperfect as it was it still felt bloody real, the horrors, nightmares and the other things he had seen, felt, experienced within this world of the pensieve. It might not seem real on first glance but it felt real. He knew it to be real, to be someone else's experiences.

Some things were missing, some things were foggy, some things, Harry didn't know.

Imperfect.

That was the word he kept coming back to, everything needed context, it was how you understood things. He was experiencing these memories and they brought with them their own context. Himself, he gave context, yet there were things missing.

Memories of memories of memories. Copies of copies of copies.

Some things would get lost.

Other things perhaps warped by contact with the vortex, maybe it was the fact it had taken place in a paradox, one that was maybe wound back, yet he had knowledge, his knowledge of these things.

Harry shook his head, concentrate. He thought to himself as he moved through the memories in the pensieve.

They did have a continuity, a timeline to themselves, a start and an end. Something to work through, something to understand through. He needed to find his spot.

The spot he mentally remembered from when he was previously here, his 'chapter marker', where he could move on from. The point where he'd ordered the most difficult, to rid his memories in his mind to against those within the pensieve.

Each time, finding his 'spot' was achieved faster, but it was still something of a manoeuvre to do so.

Now he was ready to begin things anew.

Ready to understand his alternate self's big plan and what he had been doing to prepare for things.

-/

Harry violently extracted himself from the pensieve, reeling and retching. He was shaking and gulping for air as he stumbled backwards. Unsure if he wanted to empty his stomach or find a bottle of some sort of drink to dampen the experiences that he'd just witnessed.

Even in the state they were in.

A memory of a memory of a memory, some things were lost.

But not the important parts, the essence of the message, the memory, the...

Curiosity.

This is where it got you.

Harry drew in another breath trying to stop the pain and the shaking, the intensity of seeing that.

Seeing...

"An alternate universe," he found himself saying out loud between the gulps of air that he was forcing into his damaged body.

Forgetting for the moment his still very damaged ribs and bruised chest.

He struggled not to cry out in pain, physical and emotional.

"Harry?" Called a voice, one that he had just heard, seen, saw, watched, ended. At the hands of...

The woman whose voice it was he'd heard, the woman he loved came into the room and wrapped him in his arms embracing him as he broke down, sagging into her hold. Holding her tight as much as his damaged body would allow.

-/

Daphne Greengrass had not often seen Harry Potter cry, breakdown in such a way as she had now.

Draco had contacted her, making her aware of something of what had happened to Harry. The experience had left him obviously hurt and moved. She had left Serik in charge and taken an emergency portkey back to England.

Later, after Harry had composed himself enough to see off his concerned associates he explained what had caused him to breakdown, and the joy that saw him embrace her. She wondered how he had managed to hold her so tight, given the injuries he sustained. The injuries that were visibly up to his neck, face and hands. Below his clothes she suspected much worse.

As Harry explained she knew that that particular pensieve and the memories it contained was something she could never enter.

Something that she was concerned that Harry had entered, wanting to, discover the mysteries of a lost time, almost another world.

It was a thing that should be impossible, but, in knowing Harry and his world she knew many things that she had thought impossible be real. And it had enhanced her life, made richer by those experiences and knowledge. She would never have been to the 1970s were it not for Harry. Would not have forged an association with Draco Malfoy, as he had. Something Harry seemed still surprised by.

But now, his oldest friendship, the individual who literally walked him into Platform 9 3/4 the entrance to Hogwarts, what Harry had seen or rather experienced and was in no doubt of.

Ronald Wealsey.

Harry was, now that he had calmed himself, and had a glass of good brandy in his hand, Daphne could attest it was indeed very good brandy, Harry had become somewhat circumspect about his experiences.

As one could do, a wizard must take stock, reflect on situations such as these.

Calmed after the shock of the experience, the raw power that memories had on those unprepared. But Harry had been, much more so than others with the mental art and experiences of memories and mental distress and control.

Harry had admitted he had been careless and far too curious.

Trusting an Unspeakable in their word.

He had indicated that Judith had questioned the one who had led them into the Department of Mysterious 'with some force'. She knew without asking what that meant. Judith was, Daphne knew a force to be reckoned with.

Harry was also determined, despite the physical and mental distress that he was suffering to continue his voyage into these memories, he wished to complete his experiences, the memories. 'Broad brushstrokes' in his mind, because nothing like this could be entirely extracted. Only managed, locked away and if he did not discover what, how these memories lined up together he would be always ever more curious. Like chapters in a book, he wished to explore each chapter, even if it was as damaging as he had just experienced.

Harry suddenly refocused, seemingly realising, fully that she was present in the room with him. "Daphne, I'm sorry, I didn't realise, how did you get here?"

"Draco contacted me, a message when we were in port," she explained.

Harry nodded, his face now full of worry. "I didn't drag you away from..."

She pulled him into a hug. "You silly man," she said softly.

"Very stupid too., he admitted.

"Rash decisions perhaps," she countered.

Harry didn't say anything to counter that as he relaxed into Daphne's embrace.

-/ - \\-

Harry leaned on the cane that Judith had given him. He had not entirely finished going through the memories in the pensieve, but he had thus far not seen anything that so disturbed him as seeing Daphne killed before his eyes. That image, that memory he had tried not to think about too much, he had locked it away along with the many other disturbing things.

But it was not just that, there were other things not just disturbing things, things that saddened him, things that made him dismay, despair and confident in the choices of his alternate self.

Yet, even with this, the nightmares continued, the leakage form what he couldn't control, couldn't completely lock away, the things that sneaked into his subconscious when he wasn't thinking about them and that broke free when he slept.

He hoped, and all the texts he'd read suggested that once he was done with this, once he had some closure on this time, these times, these memories. Then he could rest and focus on locking everything down and away and it would give his mind a chance to settle.

Some other things he wasn't sure if he wanted to entirely lock away, and these were the more troubling. Not the things that induced the nightmares but the things that changed his perceptions of a person he trusted.

The Doctor.

The choice that Martha Jones and the Doctor had made. The gamble they had made with the human race. The choice the Doctor had made to gamble with humanity.

He knew that the Doctor's gamble paid off. That Harry, that the whole world was here and now, was proof that the Doctor's gamble had worked, he had averted the paradox, wound it back. That was why they were missing that sliced away piece of film. The jump cut in the footage.

The Doctor took it away.

But that didn't mean it didn't happen, maybe it still was happening, some alternate universe somewhere.

The memories existed, that alternate Harry, the things he witnessed, those experiences happened.

The suffering, the death, the destruction to Earth, that happened, somewhere, sometime. He knew it had happened, he'd seen it – felt it.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do with that knowledge, he didn't know how, perhaps, he thought, once he'd got through it all, rounded it off, seen everything up until the paradox was averted, then maybe he could reason what to do.

After seeing what happened, what had happened to Daphne, what had happened in that alternate world he'd just wanted out of the house for a while. To concentrate on doing something else. There was after all a body he needed to locate.

He didn't theoretically need the cane. Although it was nice to have at the moment. He'd not injured his legs too badly, not so badly that he couldn't walk. But it was nice to pause, to stop occasionally with it.

Now walking into the Ministry he wondered whether he should have come at all. He probably shouldn't have driven in, but it was nice to get out of the house, to drive, and the E-Type wasn't that much of a difficult car to drive. His injuries didn't prevent him from apparating, which was surprising. He'd attempted to apparate, just in case, just in case he had to make a quick exit.

Although that was one thing he had decided he was going to look into, having been through the pensieve memories, the alternate him seemed to make good and tactical use of portkeys. It was something he intended to look into further as it hadn't been something he'd been hugely interested in thus far.

Daphne seemed to imply that official ones, like the one her sister used to get from the USA to the UK were officious problematic things to obtain. Just like flying internationally with a carrier.

Seeing Daphne had raised his spirits immensely especially after seeing what...seeing that happen.

She had asked, rightly, what he would do. Knowing where he was going today, what he could potentially do.

He'd told her everything, what he'd seen, witnessed, within the pensieve, a memory of alternate Harry's passed through the vortex and that was a memory in which he witnessed it.

Genuinely he didn't know what he would do.

His job. LPI's job firstly.

Then...well...Ron would be working today and would very likely be in his office if there wasn't any emergency on.

He'd sent a letter to Susan informing her he'd be here and that he wanted the body. Andrew Fuller's body to be specific, he didn't just want to end up with some random body that the Ministry had within...wherever it was they kept their bodies.

He walked with some purpose towards the proper entrance to the Ministry, the cane tapping on the floor. It wasn't just a cane, Judith had shown him it also contained hidden within it a wickedly sharp rapier. Harry didn't know where she'd got it from, but it was nice to have it there, like the cane itself. Like the wand and the gun that he had secreted inside his jacket, the encounter with the Unspeakable, with his own curiosity and with the nightmares, the scares, the visions within the pensieve had made him a little (more) paranoid.

-/

"Mr Potter," Susan Bones greeted as she came striding out into the atrium intercepting as he was walking along trying not to be belayed by distracting thoughts and concerns of paranoia. He noted that she took in that he was leaning playfully on the cane.

He raised an eyebrow at her noticing of it. "It's not permanent."

"The cane or your injuries Mr Potter?" She asked in an amused tone.

"Both. Though I do rather like the cane. Gives me something to beat people with to get them out of my way," Harry commented casually. "But I have no desire to be a Greg House to anyone."

"House?" She asked puzzled and frowning as if trying to recall a name of someone.

"TV show," Harry supplied from Susan's query. "Spending my time recovering. It can't all be Pride & Prejudice and Zombies," he said of the book that Judith had provided him to 'entertain you', it was a preview copy with a flimsy cover.

"I'm sorry?" Susan seemed confused.

"It doesn't matter. So do you have a body for me?" He asked once they were alone in the relative quiet and secluded confines of the lift.

Susan exhaled, Harry worried this was the exhalation of defeat and frustration. "It has been difficult, it seems the body was removed by an as yet unknown party or department."

"But not an individual?" Harry asked as the lift came to a shuddering halt making him wince at the sudden shift in forces.

Susan shook her head as the doors opened onto a floor that Harry didn't recognise immediately. "His body when I finally located it had certain charms on it that prevents certain spells affecting it. It would have been difficult to move the body as an individual."

"And these weren't added later?" He asked as he tapped his cane against the tiled floor that they were walking along.

"It's curious, I am sure they have been..." she trailed off searching for the correct word. "Implanted within his body."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Harry mused, mostly to himself and wondered if he should have brought some of his infusion with him. He'd brought a thermos with him, but left it in the Jag.

No, he decided that having a little thermos with him, even though it would be within his bag would be a sign of weakness. The cane was more a sign of distinction...according to Judith who'd given it to him.

That it contained an incredibly sharp weapon was also of reassurance to him.

"Are you alright Harry?" Susan turned around having realised that he'd stopped walking with her.

"Sorry. Susan," Harry said in jolts realising he'd been caught in thought. Driving down he'd been fine, driving in London also fine. But within the walls, these Ministerial walls he was letting his thoughts ramble. He still had several more things requiring considered thought to continue with today. He needed to remain focused.

Just in case.

"Mind wanders, nothing to worry about," he tried to sound carefree and failed miserably.

"There are plenty of things to worry about Harry," she paused an opened a door to an unassuming narrow room which was freezing. "It is merely a case of priorities. This is yours, now," she said indicating the single slab in the room.

"Andrew Fuller," Harry frowned was he walked over to one end of the slab to look at what was left of the man's skull. "Not a lot of brain left." He said to himself. "Whoever killed him was quite thorough," he mused as he pulled his bag around off his back and rummaged around inside for the special expanding body bag that he and Ioan had created.

"Should I enquire as to why it is notable that there is not much brain left?" Susan asked curiously as he unfolded his body bag.

Harry pulled a face of rumination. "That depends whether you want an honest answer or a regular answer." Harry watched her. "Or would you prefer LPI investigate, tell you what happened but not the particulars of how we do what we do?"

"The latter is the preferable option isn't it?" She asked.

Harry shrugged as he opened the body bag over the body so it enveloped the whole of Fuller's body and then made a motion with his wand. Ioan had added that into the seam of the bag so he wouldn't need to struggle to get the body sealed into the bag. The bag did the heavy shoving of a body, rather than him.

Manoeuvring a dead body was always tricky, not just when one had taken to having a disagreement with a wall and an alternate timeline. Although the latter most of all made things more problematic than the former. He'd had several disagreements with walls and none had left him this injured.

"You're just going to fold it up?" Susan sounded worried as Harry walked and grabbed one end of the bag and started rolling it up.

"It's got air supports and dry ice in it. It'll keep it protected and fresh for plenty long enough," Harry said. "And evidently no one thought someone would do this to transport his body." Harry observed, noting Susan's earlier observation.

"Dry ice?" Susan asked puzzled.

Harry decided not to explain, just asked if she'd lead him to the Auror offices were.

He had a friend he wanted to talk to.

And not kill.

He'd said that much to Daphne when he'd mentioned he had decided to go and see Ron, while he was still injured, while things were still fresh in his mind.

Although he didn't think things would stop being fresh in his mind for some time.

But he wanted to go and see Ron now before things brewed, stagnated within himself for too long.

Despite it being a second hand memory, his alternate self having experienced it via a pensieve the extreme points were present. There was much...he wasn't sure how to describe it, muffling around the edges of the memory, like a recording that had been copied multiple times it had started to lose definition. The memory equivalent of tape hiss. But what mattered was still there.

Seeing him kill Daphne.

But despite this, despite seeing him, an alternate him do what he did, Harry did not feel the need to kill Ronald Bilius Weasley.

This was not that universe, that alternate universe held within a paradox. It was not that world of that alternate Harry.

The large brushstrokes were what he was going to hold on to, within, locked that is within his mind and this was one thing that would stick with him, but he would not be governed by those brushstrokes.

However, even given that he wasn't sure what he was going to say or do...or what when he saw Ron.

He'd not seen him in a while. Ever since Hermione and Ron had broken up it had felt somewhat weird to send him a letter. He'd send Hermione a letter, writing to her seemed more natural, just like writing to Draco, it seemed normal. But Ron wasn't really much of a letter writer, when he had sent letters it had felt like he might as well be sending an SMS given the amount they talked about in their letters.

Finding a fire to floo him on was just...well it had if Harry was honest with himself it had been too much effort just for an awkward conversation.

He wished there was some sort of hands free floo, so he could do it while doing something else, like driving. If such a thing existed it was probably a massive fire risk.

Then without thinking about it he was stood knocking at a door, with Susan having abandoned him.

"Come in," shouted a voice that sounded very much like the man who killed a Daphne Greengrass in an alternate timeline.

The memories were real. They came from a real place, a real time. Somewhere, that world, that Year That Never Was, that year that had been rolled back, that paradox.

It was real.

It had been real.

He could do it.

He'd even brought a second body bag.

Just. In. Case.

Just in case he needed another for Andrew Fuller, for whatever reason...

That's what he'd told Ioan, not the truth, but an acceptable lie. One that Judith had seen through but respectfully not asked about.

Pushing open the door he had only a few seconds to decide. He felt slightly bad for a range of people from different times and places at his thought processes as he walked into the offices that Ronald Weasley inhabited and the outcome, as he stepped in he still wasn't sure if it was the right one.

Allowing the door to close Harry took in the disarray and wondered if he would be leaving the room in an even greater state than when he arrived.

As Harry opened his mouth he had decided on the words that would form, the things he would speak.

The Doctor had visited him many times throughout his life and throughout his lives. Only occasionally did the Doctor talk in any seriousness about his other selves.

On one occasion he said 'Harry, my other selves are their own person, a man, a Time Lord is the sum of his memories. But one should not only be defined by his memories.'. So, that alternate Harry, the one in that wound back year, that year that so disturbed his dreams. The one that Other-Harry had prepared his mind for. That was, like the Doctor said another one of his 'selves'. But he was his own person.

Harry had mused that maybe that alternate Harry went on to prosper, to strike back, maybe even get past everything. Maybe that alternate Harry wasn't just a wound back paradox?

Ultimately he was his own man, his own self, it was his memories, his experiences that shaped who he was. Not some alternate version of himself, who'd lived through the horrors of occupation by the Master and the gambling of the Doctor.

So he didn't kill the man before him.

Though he didn't let him hug him either. Though that was mostly down to his injuries.

"Harry?" Ron rose from his chair looking at him quizzically taking in the cane that Harry had used to stop him approaching.

"Line of duty stuff. I'm recovering. Still a bit tender," he explained as casually as he could.

"Course. We've got a good healer at St Mungo's I can get her to have a look mate if you want?" Ron asked brightly.

Harry shook his head. "I have had professional care."

"A muggle healer then Harry," Ron said, not exactly dismissively, but it seemed like he was... Harry couldn't quite place it.

"No. A wizard specialist." Exactly what Owen Cauldwell was a specialist in was something that eluded him. But Draco trusted him, so Harry did.

Although Harry thought he probably shouldn't tell Ron that he put his trust in Draco Malfoy, more than some healer that Ron suggested.

The thought did bring a slight smile to the corners of his lips. That was something that Ron noticed. "Something funny Harry mate?" He asked falling back down into his chair.

"Just the way life turns out sometimes. It amuses me," Harry said vaguely.

"So." Ron started leaving the word hanging in the air for a second too long. "Would you like a cup of tea? I can get some sent up." He motioned towards the quite large fireplace.

Harry shook his head. "I was just in the Ministry dealing with some things."

"Relating to your organisation Harry?" Ron asked, again a curiously...curiously critical tone to his voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The League of Paranormal Investigations has plenty to do. We work with the security services, the military forces and the wizarding government to ensure we're safe."

"From aliens," Ron pondered almost critically.

"And make wizards safe from the meddling they do with aliens and all the stuff in between," Harry countered, then asked brightly. "Is this part of your new job, worrying about the secure intelligence of the wizarding world?"

Ron smiled briefly. "Yeah, something like that Harry. It's all so much work. I sometimes wish you'd come with me from Hogwarts. So we'd both be in the Aurors. Like we talked about back..." he trailed off.

Harry nodded. "Once yes. But I wouldn't take any of it back Ron. I think I would have killed someone if I'd needed to work in the Ministry."

"Don't you? Doesn't the League have money from the Ministry?" He asked again with a curious wondering tone in his voice. It didn't suit him.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but the funding arrangement was made the Minister, and would continue to be at that level. Not to be discussed an Auror or its department. "That's not something you should concern yourself with, or be asking," he said neutrally.

Ron gave him a careful look then smiled, almost grinned. "Course, was just curious. Susan Bones had been asking questions like that all around the Ministry, her and her new department," he wrinkled his nose. "The Ministry's fine, we don't need any new department sticking their nose into everything that's going on here."

Harry smirked, he'd wondered where all these odd questions had come from.

"Do you know anything about this Department of Ministry Investigations Harry?" Ron suddenly asked.

Harry was going to lie, but was saved from it when some letters entered the office and all hovered flapping impatiently in front of Ron's desk. "I think that's my cue to leave," Harry stood wincing slightly. "We should catch up Ron, go for a drink or see a local Quiddtich match or something."

"Sure Harry," he smiled brightly. "When you're better." He nodded to the cane.

"Indeed," Harry said as he slipped out of the room, leaving Ron to his paper work and whatever else.

-/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/

Draco Malfoy looked up from his breakfast as the morning's post was delivered by one of his house elves. Unless it was urgent he did not need owls flying into his breakfasting table. They could be brought on the postal tray by the house elves rather than having an owl disturb him when he was enjoying the morning's meal.

One of the letters bore the unmistakable (to those who knew) marks of the mail forwarding company that Harry used.

Said company was one such business he had been looking into purchasing a small share in. Harry Potter's interests were wide and sometimes he thought outside the realms of regular wizards. That a company existed to fulfil esoteric needs like this had been intriguing and not something he had ever considered.

He knew of a few small private businesses that provided a secondary service to the Owl Post offices. But this business that Potter had found which suited his needs was unique and according to Harry also charged for their service. Not outlandishly, but he did offer to give him a copy of the price list of services they offered, it was evident that it was a service beyond poor families who could not afford an owl. Instead they seemed to focus on the esoteric and eccentric witches and wizards for their services, those wizards could pay for such a service.

Hello Draco,

I'm recovering well, if you're curious. I didn't thank you adequately and would prefer to do so in person.

And not just because I don't want my heartfelt thanks on paper.

Draco chuckled softly to himself as he poured another cup of tea, summoning his house elf for a fresh pot of tea in the process.

I also know you don't wish me to call you up. That's for emergencies after all.

Draco paused to take a sip of his tea. Potter's communication device, it was a new design on the first he had given him, delivered to him after their first journey into the past. Just in case. Harry had said of the smaller telephone.

I have a job and a body for Owen Cauldwell if he is interested. It is currently at my house. LPI offers a good price for his expertise. He is very capable, my injuries are a testament to his knowledge and abilities Draco.

The body is currently in cold storage as it was when I.

Draco looked at the letter it seemed Harry had paused with his quill there, leaving a small splotch of ink.

Picked it up from the Ministry.

I also have some things to tell you about what I have uncovered about the memories. No doubt you will find it amusing, if disturbing.

If you wish, just bring Owen along any day this week, I will be home. Send a letter if you and he cannot attend any time this week. Or come one day and arrange another for Owen.

Your friend,

Harry Potter.

-/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/

Harry looked up as the doorbell rang and pushed himself out of his chair. He had been resting this past hour after taking another dive into the pensieve.

Exploring his other self's memories was like slowly turning down the saturation on an image. Each day, each memory the colour in that world seemed to seep away to become ever more paler.

He'd not come across anything quite as disturbing as seeing Daphne killed, and yet...there was far more disturbing things.

He also still felt there were things alluding him though, perhaps something related to biodata or perhaps to time. He wasn't entirely sure, it felt as though there were some things missing. He wasn't sure there was anyone to ask, anyone who had time travelled extensively and then ventured through deep memories in a pensieve.

It was like, maybe they were part of the alternate Harry's memories, experience, biodata whatever, but perhaps hadn't made it through the Veil, the vortex, the passage to be here, in his mind and pensieve.

He'd not encountered this feeling, this sensation too many times, yet it was notable what he did, and he couldn't shake the feelings that it brought. But he couldn't define them either.

It made it feel like he was missing out on something, but he couldn't pin point what that something was.

-/

Standing at the front door was Draco Malfoy.

"You look better Potter. Still awful though," he said as Harry opened the door for him.

"No Owen?" Harry asked as he closed the door and let Draco walk in and followed him through to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Please," Draco said as Harry switched the kettle on. "How are you?" He asked more genuinely.

"Healing slowly. The Unspeakable must have known I would be too curious not to do it. But I don't think he expected the reaction," Harry explained.

"You think whoever the other person who touched the Veil had a less severe reaction than you?" Draco mused looking out the kitchen window out to the paddocks that hid Harry's satellite dishes and radio monitoring equipment.

Harry nodded. "It is something of a concern," then he added. "If he existed."

"You suspect he was a fabrication to persuade you do touch it?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "I have contacted Cauldwell. He will attend to this work you require." Draco continued.

"Good. You didn't bring him with you...?" Harry trailed off.

"Because Potter, wizards do not just drop in unannounced, especially for professional duties," Draco explained in a slightly patronising amused educating tone that only Draco Malfoy could manage with such aplomb.

Pulling out his china cups Harry prepared a tray so they could sit in the more comfy chairs away from the kitchen.

"Of course. I'm not your ordinary wizard Draco," Harry said as he carried the tray away from the kitchen, he was quietly pleased that doing so did not hurt, something which only a couple of days ago did cause him some pain.

"So, now that we are seated, what is this amusing information that you wanted to share with me?" Draco enquired.

"And disturbing," Harry said, looking at him with a haunted expression.

-/

Draco leaned back and watched Harry Potter.

"Did you consider killing him?" He asked Potter.

Potter chuckled. "I like that you can ask me that so casually Draco."

Draco didn't say anything, just waiting for Harry to speak. "I did take a second body bag with me, just in case," he commented casually.

"Interesting," Draco said sipping his tea. "But you did not need it."

Harry shook his head. "No Draco, I didn't need to use it."

"I see," Draco commented.

"I think, I am sure that were the roles reversed I would likely be dead," Harry mused.

Draco snorted. "Weasley is many things, capable of killing you Harry is not one of them. Even if he were in a fit of rage. You would be much more capable. Than he."

Harry looked at him. "That is an odd compliment."

"You're an intelligent person. A far more capable wizard than him," Draco smirked. "The brother of the Mad Cow."

Harry shook his head. "That still amuses you Draco."

"Of course Harry," he paused. "And you were right, it does amuse me that you stood outside an Auror's office and contemplated killing him."

Harry held up a finger. "And I went with my better nature and judgement. He hasn't done anything that bad."

Draco smiled at him. "Of course Harry, of course."

-/

Harry chuckled at Draco's dismissing of his explanation. Talking this over honestly with Draco was liberating. He wasn't sure of anyone else he could have an open conversation like this about.

"Instead I suggested we go and see a Quidditch game together." Draco wrinkled his nose. "You used to be such a fan," Harry asked of Draco's expression.

"Bad memories and associations with the private box Harry," Draco said in a short sentence.

"And of course you wouldn't sit with the riff raff in the general seating would you?" Harry asked slightly mocking him.

"Of course not Harry. I have standards to keep up," Draco sniffed.

Harry broke into a laugh and winced as he did so, pausing and beaming at Draco. "I know Draco!" He started brightly. "You can come with me when I go with Ron it can be a grand day out for us!"

Draco gave him a deathly stare. "I can think of few things worse than that Harry. I would likely need to use a body bag at the end of it."

Harry laughed again, glad of the amusement and humour after his visions within the pensieve.

-/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/

A/N:

No. Harry won't be killing Ron Weasley.

Not for what an alternate version of Ron did in an alternate universe to an alternate Harry.

For some of the things in this chapter I'd like to thank reviewers of previous chapters and reviewers I've conversed with. The conversations have made me think and rewrite bits of this chapter – to make them better.

It made me write slightly different spins on the 'fallout from the memories' as I had originally. Although this chapter was written when I posted the last, it was still in need of editing, and during the editing I made over 2000 words' worth of changes / edits to this chapter.

I can't point to one particular review, it's mostly just the reviews, replying, conversing, making me think differently about some things.

Thanks for reading.