Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon.


"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

"blah" : Parseltongue

"blah": Legilimency/Telepathy

Italics: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

Bold: a word or phrase that is emphasized

Italics, Underlined, and Bold: location/date of a scene in the story


Chapter Fourteen: Confessions of a Different Sort

Unknown: August 3rd, 1996 (Late Night)

She sat at a desk with her head in her hands and a book lying open in front of her. Her heavy-lidded eyes were wet with moisture, and her midnight-black hair shook about her shoulders as she sobbed.

'I can't believe that this is happening,' she hysterically thought to herself. 'What am I going to do?'

More tears welled in her eyes. She ran a hand over her belly, and for one moment, she felt a wave of contentment. However, the feeling soon disappeared as the reality of her situation sunk in once more.

She was having a baby. And her husband wasn't the father.

The thought only caused her to cry harder. She shoved the book off of her desk, ignoring the open passage detailing a rare magical artifact, and laid her head on the cool wooden surface.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered out loud. "What can I do?"

Thoughts drifted through her mind.

'Who can I turn to? I can't stay here. I won't have my child grow up here. With of all this.' She exhaled and fought another wave of tears. 'But who can I go to? Narcissa? No, she is entrenched too deeply. Going to her would only mean death for both of us. Andy? Maybe, but we didn't part on the best of terms. I'm not sure if she would help.' She breathed in slowly and sank down into her chair, her head still on the desk.

'The Ministry… Hardly. I could never go to them; I'm an escaped convict. They'd throw me back in Azkaban so fast that my head would spin. But not before they terminated my pregnancy. It wouldn't do to have another future Death Eater, after all,' she thought bitterly, imaging that horrifying future for her child. The bitter reflection crashed about her mind for several minutes, further cementing her resolve not to turn to the government.

'But who does that leave?' she reflected. 'Dumbledore? Could I really turn to him? I know that he would protect my child, but I would probably never see him or her again. Dumbledore would give me a second chance, but he wouldn't trust me with a child. Not after the Long--' She forcefully shook her head to dispel the thought, not wanting to go down that well beaten path of guilt and damnation. 'And he definitely wouldn't let me keep the child of…' Her breath hitched. She ran a hand over her belly once more.

'I wish Sirius was alive,' she decided suddenly. 'I could have gone to him. He might have hated me, but he would have given me a chance at least. He might have distrusted me and watched me every waking moment, but I would have had a chance. He would have done it just so another member of his family could be redeemed, even if it was the baby and not me.' Another wave of sadness passed over her. 'But I can't go to Sirius, can I?' she questioned bitterly. 'No, I can't… because he's dead… and I killed him… but I didn't mean to. He was only supposed to be stunned. He wasn't supposed to fall through the bloody Veil.' She sobbed again after the last thought.

'So that's it. There's no one to help me because Sirius is dead. There's no one but Dumbledore and--' Her heavy-lidded eyes widened suddenly.

"That's it," she whispered to herself with unexpected hope.

'That's it,' she reverently added, forcing herself to stay quiet, lest the Listening charms in her room detect something more. 'I can turn to him. That's it! He'll hate me and try to curse me. But he might listen, and he'll help because it's the right thing to do. He'll help because he loved Sirius. Even if at the same time, he'll blame me for his death, but he'll still help.'

Her crying continued. Only this time, it was with tears of joy, not sorrow. There was suddenly hope in her life, hope for her child and for herself. Perhaps forgiveness and redemption weren't that far away either.


Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, The Kitchen: August 4th, 1996

"Mum?" A red head poked through the partially open door. "Mum, are you in here?" Ron looked around, searching for his mother.

Another person appeared from the other side of the room. "Yes, dear. Is there something I can do for you?" Molly Weasley gazed at her son as she wiped her hands on a towel.

Ron shrugged and looked at the ground. "No, I just wondered where you were." He began to toe his foot onto the kitchen floor.

Molly glanced at him, clearly not believing him for a minute. Regardless, she chose to remain silent.

'It's always better to let them tell me in their own time,' she decided, turning back to her cooking. She quietly directed her wand to start peeling potatoes. Occasionally, she would discreetly peek at her youngest son, who was now sitting at the table, staring at the designs in the wood.

'Ron has been acting rather odd lately,' Molly reflected, now preparing the stew. 'I've worried about him, but I just don't know what's wrong. He's been quiet, far too quiet. Normally, it is Ginny or Percy…' Her mind hesitated over the mention of her estranged son, but she quickly moved on. 'Normally, it's them who are quiet. Not Ron, never Ronnie. It's almost like he is depressed.'

Molly stirred the stew a few times, and her mind drifted. 'There have been other things as well. He's been a bit unsocial, too, and that's not normally like him. He always spends time with Ginny during the summer, but lately, he has been shutting himself in his room. And he has only written Harry one time, just the once. Usually, by this time, he has all but begged Harry to come for a visit… and he hasn't this year.' She turned to dice some carrots, a suspicion deep in her heart.

'Perhaps it is the shock from the Department of Mysteries… from losing Sirius.' She sighed then, reflecting on the lost Order member. 'Ron was close to him, not as close as Harry. But close still. He was so involved in Sirius' rescue that it isn't much of a stretch for Ron to have a connection with him.'

Molly sighed again and surreptitiously glanced at her son, who was watching her actions with interest. She shook her head weakly, returning to her cooking and her thoughts.

'But I don't think that this has anything to do with Sirius. It's something else, something different. When Ron is upset he tends to become angry, not depressed. But what else could it be?' Molly contemplated for a moment, adding meat to her stew. 'Could it be something else from the Department of Mysteries? Did something else happen that I'm not aware of? Did one of the Death Eaters do something to him?'

The redhead considered this for a few minutes, continuing with her cooking. She stirred it fiercely, adding ingredients every few seconds. She occasionally snuck more glances at Ron. And finally, the Weasley matriarch gazed at her son for more than a second, squaring her resolve. She flicked her wand at her stew and set it on a slow simmer. She turned and walked to the kitchen table, sitting down across from him. Ron didn't even glance up, giving no indication that he had noticed her movement.

"Ron," Molly said and receiving no response she spoke louder. "Dear… Ron, please look at me." She moved her hand and touched her son gently.

He jerked back as though he had been burned, but he did finally look at her.

"Ron." She tried again. "Love, I know that you aren't here to simply watch me cook. Even when you claim to be starving, you don't do that." She tried to smile but couldn't manage it. "What is wrong, my son?" Molly whispered, looking intently at him. Again, she tried to take his hand, but he jerked away.

"Nothing," he all but shouted defensively. The boy glared at her darkly.

She sat stoically, not letting her face show anything. She would let him come in his own time.

Ron continued to glare at her for a moment, but his gradually expression softened. "Nothing… maybe… something." He paused and cringed, staring at the tabletop. "Something is wrong, but I don't know… I can't tell what. Just something."

His mother continued her silence, giving him a chance to answer. But after he was quiet for a time, she spoke up.

"Could you explain that?" she questioned softly, trying not to startle him.

The teenager grimaced. "I don't know. I just feel… wrong, like something is bad inside… wrong… broken." He sighed and shook his head, still gazing at the tabletop. He began to tremble. "I just don't know, but it wasn't always like this. It didn't start until after June… after the Department of Mysteries." He exhaled the breath he had been holding.

"Was it because of Sirius?" Molly asked gently, but Ron shook his head in a firm negative. "Was it the Death Eaters?"

Again, the answer was no.

"Do you know or think you know the cause?"

An affirmative nod this time.

"Well?" she prompted.

"It wasn't because of Sirius," Ron fumbled over the name but continued, "or the Death Eaters. It was something in the Department. It was…" He hesitated. "Do you remember the brains that attacked me?" He finally looked up again.

"Yes."

"It's… I think that it's them," he said quietly, his trembles growing violent. "I think that the brains did something to me."


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dom's Rooms: The Same Day (Late Night)

Dominic stared at the letter in his hands, reading over it from a third time.

Dear Salazar,

Forgive me.

Please, I beg you… forgive me. I made a mistake, a horrible life-shattering mistake. I trusted Gryffindor. I trusted him because, by all outward appearances, he seemed sincere. I did not even bother to look below the surface. My instincts were screaming at me to look harder, to search deeper. But I did not. Yet, I cannot really think of why. All I could think of were the attacks on Muggles, of how he said that it was you. He even had evidence that it was you. And, looking back, it was undoubtedly fabricated. Still, I believed him. I cannot even blame youth for my naïveté, for I was over five hundred at the time, hardly naïve due to lack of experience. All I can say is that I was tricked. All I can say is that I was a fool. And for that, I will forever be sorry.

I made a mistake, and for the longest time, I did not even realize it. For almost a thousand years, I thought that I had done the right thing. I thought that I had done a good thing. However, I obviously had not. Even then, when I carved the runes on the athame, I felt that I should not be doing this. I felt as though it was wrong. Even when I thought you a murderer, I still believed it wrong to punish you in such a way. No one, no matter the crime, deserved that… to be sent into limbo for eternity. No one deserves it. And yet, I still did it to you. In many ways, I think that makes me even worse than Godric. I was willing to do the unspeakable. All in the name of justice.

After reading your letter, I have come to the realization that you are not angry at me. In fact, you are thankful… thankful that I freed you. That I realized my error and corrected it. Part of me wishes that you would just hate me for it all, that you would hate me as much as I currently hate myself. It would be far easier that way. It would be easier to deal with righteous anger than it is to live with gratitude. I feel as though I owe you so much, like I owe you life with your wife and son. A life I denied you. I owe you so much, and when I try to repay even a little of the debt, you thank me.

It is a very humbling experience, and perhaps it is an experience long over due. For people such as myself, who have lived so long… well, we sometimes become caught up in our own pride. In our own experience. I have seen so much. I have done so much that sometimes I feel as though I possess the wisdom of the world. Sometimes, I believe myself above and beyond making mistakes or needing assistance. Perhaps I lied earlier when I wrote that I did not know why I believed Godric. In all honesty, I do know. At the time, I thought that I was too wise, too experienced to be tricked by someone as young as Gryffindor. I thought that someone so young could never deceive me.

More the fool I am because ultimately he used my own nature against me. He used my long life as a shield for his deception. He knew that I was arrogant, too arrogant to think him an equal in terms of intelligence.

But alas, this is all the past now. It is unchangeable… unless we were to use the Gate, but even that option is not truly available to us. It would undoubtedly destroy the timeline, and for all we know, it would make the present even worse.

However, this has brought me to my next topic: the Gate itself. It was the Gate that showed me the truth. It was the Gate that guided me to bring you back. It was the Gate that helped me find a blood relative to release you. It was the Gate that made all of this possible, and it is the Gate that will help us make everything right.

We have so much to do, so very much. And we do not have enough support to do it. Even with the three of us: Siobhan, you, and me – plus Fawkes, Hogwarts, and the Sorting Hat of course – and even if we were to use the Gate to travel through time and repeat days, we simply cannot do this alone. We need allies; we need help. And you know who I mean. We need them, and they will help us. They just do not realize it yet. But soon, they will. Very soon.

We need to plan.

I implore you to write back. There is much to do, and we must make the time to do it.

Sincerely,
Dominic de Dorée
Defense Professor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The vampire looked up from reading his letter and turned to the brilliant red-gold bird perched on the edge of his desk. "It is finished, Fawkes," he stated evenly, glancing at the letter one last time. Impulsively, he penned a final line.

"And is it secure?" the phoenix asked.

"Yes," Dom replied steadily enough, placing the letter into an envelope and sealing it. "It is spelled so that only those who are actively connected to the Phoenix Gate can see it, much less read it. Anyone else will not see anything at all. It will not be a blank piece of parchment or look like another type of letter; it simply will not be there." He inhaled slowly, handing the letter to the bird.

"Good. This way not even Albus can read it." The phoenix hesitated for a moment. "It is not yet time to tell him that Harry is Salazar. He… Albus just isn't ready yet," Fawkes finished with a whisper.

The vampire nodded. "I understand."

Fawkes ruffled his feathers and gave a tweet. "I will deliver it to Harry now instead of in the morning. I have no doubt that he is still awake; he is a bit of an insomniac."

Dom smiled at the bird. "Thank you again, my friend."

The phoenix chirped. "Any time. I love having an excuse to go visit," he responded as he took to the air. The bird chirped once more and disappeared in a burst of flame.

Dom sat in his seat several moments after Fawkes' departure, lost in thought. After a time, he rose and moved off to his bedroom, praying the entire time that Harry would forgive him. Just as he turned off his light and climbed into bed a single sentence of his letter replayed in his head, the last one he had written.

I can only pray that one day, after your forgiveness has been earned, that you would give me the honor of calling you a friend.


Grimmauld Place, Third Floor Study: August 5th, 1996

"Do you really believe that Draco Malfoy will help us?" Bill asked suddenly, causing Hermione to look up from her book: Celts: Magic and Muggle.

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I do. There's something about him, something so very… familiar." She shook her head and glanced at the redhead, who was sitting in the chair next to her. "I just can't explain it." She hesitated for a heartbeat, considering.

"Explain what?" Bill questioned softly. He reached over and gently took her hand in his.

"It's… I don't know," Hermione said, flushing lightly before gazing off into space. "It's just that I know that he doesn't really believe most of what he says, like about Muggleborns. He just has this look in his eyes when he says things like that. It's almost like he is disgusted with himself for even saying it."

The man stared at her for a moment, thumb rubbing circles on her hand. "But how can you tell?"

Her eyes finally met his, but she quickly looked away. "It's like we have a connection."

"What kind of connection?" he asked with sudden heat.

Hermione flushed hotly. "Not the same kind I have with you," she answered honestly, lips twitching. "It's just a connection… a pull. Like we are very important to one another. Or maybe that we should be."

Bill relaxed and squeezed her hand.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. "I just think that we should give him a chance. I think that, deep down, he is good and would be a great help to us." The young woman implored softly, "Please believe me."

Bill studied her. "I believe you," he replied, meaning every word. "If you say it's true, then it is."

The teenager flushed once more, moved by the fact that he trusted her so much. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bill beat her to it.

"I trust you, Hermione. I trust your judgment. You are rather good at reading between the lines." His thumb rapidly ran over her fingers once more. "You can see the subtext, see the things people really mean, even when they do or say something to the contrary. You put all the pieces together so easily."

The brunette shifted with embarrassment. "That's more Harry than me. He sees the big picture. He was the one who realized that Quirrell was going to go after the Philosopher's Stone on the day that Dumbledore was gone. Even if we originally thought it was Snape who was the culprit. And he was the one who located the Chamber of Secrets. I could go on," she added, turning away. "I'm just good at finding all the pieces, not necessarily getting the puzzle together," Hermione finished with a self-depreciating tone.

The redhead conceded, "Perhaps."

He squeezed her hand again and took a deep breath. He shifted nervously in his seat, looking as though he was getting ready to say something really important. The man squared his shoulders and deepened his resolve.

"Hermione, I have something to tell you," he put in after a moment.

She looked at him expectantly.

"I…" He hesitated, then started again. "Well, I am just going to come out and say it," the older man said with growing emotion. He looked straight in her eyes. "I fancy you."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. "Bill, I… This is very unexpected," she said in a stunned voice.

"Really?" he asked, looking somewhat saddened by her reaction. "Was I not as obvious to you as I was to everyone else?"

"Well, not unexpected per se," she corrected quickly. "It's just that I never thought you'd like me." At Bill's inquiring look, she went on, "Well… you're cool, and I'm not." She stared at him fiercely. "I'm a bookworm, a know-it-all.

Bill actually started to laugh. "Hermione," he chastised, moving from his seat to kneel in front of her. "Hermione," he continued, "I'm those things as well. If I had a Knut for every time someone called me those very same names at Hogwarts… well, I'd be as rich as Lucius Malfoy." He smiled at her somewhat confused expression. "I was Head Boy, after all, and I didn't get that because of my supposed coolness." The curse-breaker smirked at her and cocked his head to the side. "Which, I might add, is a relatively recent development."

The brunette actually looked shocked by his statement. "That's right," she whispered. "With all that's been going on lately, I didn't think about that. I had actually forgotten all about it," she added to herself, looking quite peeved that she had not remembered that the redhead had once been Head Boy.

Bill's smirk widened.

In turn, Hermione's eyes narrowed. She looked at him critically.

"Oh, what are you smiling about?" she asked sternly.

The curse-breaker laughed. "You didn't say that you didn't fancy me back. You just said that you never thought that I would like you."

Hermione had an odd expression on her face; it was a cross between a blush, a glare, and a smile. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could form the words Bill leaned over and kissed her.


Number Four, Privet Drive: August 6th, 1996

Harry sighed and set down his letter from Luna on his desk. He couldn't help but smile. The letter was awkward, very much so. But it was also oddly fulfilling. The part of him that was Salazar, which basically all of him, wanted to jump up and down with joy. Luna had written him back, and she hadn't dismissed him out of hand. Sure, she knew the truth about the past, but deep down, he still feared that she would be angry at him for dying… for leaving her to raise Tristan alone. Yet, she wasn't angry. She was happy. Happy to know the truth, happy to have a chance to at least talk with him, to be friends again. If nothing more.

And for that, he would be eternally grateful. Humans were such odd beings. They could be angry at others over the silliest things, even if it wasn't their fault in the first place. Luna would be well within her rights to hate Harry forever because of his previous life and death. But she didn't. She was far to kind to hate anyone at all, least of all him.

'She is just like Siobhan in that regard,' the reborn Salazar thought wistfully. 'But then, she is Siobhan,' he added. His smile widened. 'Luna is Siobhan; Siobhan is alive,' the phrase echoed in his mind.

Harry was ecstatic that his wife was once more alive, but that fact caused quite a conundrum. Was she still technically his wife? Did she even want to be? Even more, did he want to be married to her? Did he even still love her?

The teenager didn't know the answer to any of those questions. And it made his head spin even thinking about it.

'Many would say that I'm too young to be married,' Harry thought with a sigh. 'By Circe, many think that someone my age is too young to even be truly in love. But what is my age? Physically, I'm sixteen. But mentally… I just don't know. I have all the memories of my last lifetime plus all those of my current one. How old would that make me?' he contemplated for a moment.

'And what about Luna? She is fifteen years old, but she has all the memories of Siobhan Slytherin, who lived to be over a hundred.' He reflected with a slight frown, 'I am Salazar, and she is Siobhan. Nevertheless, we're still Harry and Luna also.' He sighed and began to rub his temples. He just knew that a headache was shortly coming his way.

'And what's more, we were friends and lovers then. We knew each other better than we knew ourselves. But now… we're friends but not very close.' Harry could already feel the beginning of a jab behind his eyes. 'So much has happened; I missed so much of her life last time. Do we even still know each other? Really know each other? We'll be friends again; we already are. But I am not sure if we'll ever be anything else.' He shook his head, letting out a little groan, and brushed his hair out of his face.

'And what about Tristan?' Harry added after a second. 'I know that he is again alive in this time as well, but I don't know who he is. The Gate knows, but it won't tell me. It feels that I am not ready for that knowledge yet. And honestly, I agree with it.' He breathed slowly and toyed with the letter in his hand, the pain behind his eyes thankfully receding. 'I have even problems contemplating the fact that I may or may not have a wife. I'd probably have an aneurism just thinking about the current identity of my son.' The teenager removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking about Tristan.

'I missed so much of his life. Actually, I missed almost all of it. What would I say to him?' Harry frowned deeply. 'What will I say to him? I know that the Gate eventually plans to involve him, but still, I just don't know what to do.' He exhaled again and replaced his glasses on his face. He shook his head once more and tried to move on to other, happier, thoughts. Like the fact that he would have a second chance with Tristan.

Harry folded Luna's letter and placed it back in the envelope. He ran his fingers over the familiar crest. Three intertwined "S's" on the top with a serpent in the shape of a Celtic knot just below. It was the exact same one he had sent to her.

He placed his letter among his other things, hand brushing over another envelope. Harry glanced at his earlier reply from Dom, the one he had received the previous day via Fawkes. The teenager gazed at the envelope for a moment before opening it. He started to reread, making sure that he understood the content correctly.

In the background, the young man heard a strange sound, which was almost like a slight shift of the air. He glanced up momentarily and made sure his wand was in easy reach. After a minute, hearing no other peculiar sounds, he returned to the paper in his hand. But just as he started to read again, he felt a tingling sensation at the base of his neck. It was the very same feeling that told him a wizard was close by. Very close by.

Harry again looked up from his letter. He grabbed his wand and whirled around in his seat.

Albus Dumbledore was standing in his bedroom.


To everyone who reviewed: Thanks!

Special thanks to Hobbit-Tabby for the beta.

Chapter Fifteen: …And Everything Came Crashing Down


Ever Hopeful,

Azar

Updated and Edited:

06/06/08