The Twist of Time

by rwcr

Ch. 10, complete! AU, post HBP. On August 11, 1976, four teenagers appear in Dumbledore's office. With knowledge of the future they will never return to, they set out to cut the Dark Lord's reign short. Will they get it right? Dangerverse spinoff.

9. Don't Look Back

Chapter 9: Don't Look Back.

"Death Eaters! In the village!"

The people in the pub were running helter-skelter, bumping into each other, those who tried to run out forced back, or worse . . .

"We need a room," Danger yelled above the din. "Away from all this." She looked around, and her fears were confirmed. "There are at least a dozen Death Eaters guarding the door to this place and AK'ing anyone who comes out. We're trapped—" stricken expressions— "but I think the prophecy is giving us a way out."

James didn't waste any time. He ran up to Madam Rosmerta, pushing his way effortlessly through the throng of people crowding around the bar and firing panicked questions. "Rosie, I need a room, empty is fine, with space for twelve to sit in a circle. Please don't ask questions. I'll explain later."

Driven, perhaps, by the urgent tone that seemed so out of place on the boy, Rosmerta just handed him a key and whispered, "Room seven."

James ran back to the Pack triumphantly. "Come on, room seven, let's go!"

They got to the room, ran inside, and managed to seal the door with all twelve of the Pack, and nobody else, inside. They were wide-eyed with fear, but nevertheless determined to act.

Silence pervaded. James broke it. "Have you figured any of it out yet?"

Danger shook her head rather fiercely in frustration. "No! I swear, I'm sure there's something I'm forgetting, I just can't remember what it is!"

Suddenly, Fawkes appeared in a flash of flame, bearing a tightly furled scroll of parchment.

"It's from Dumbledore!" exclaimed Ron. "I wonder what he has to say?"

Harry took the parchment, unfurled it, and read it aloud. "I have just heard of the attack in Hogsmeade. I am on my way now, but even I cannot defeat an impasse of Voldemort's most loyal followers in an instant. Please stay safe if you can, but if bloodshed becomes unavoidable, use whatever skills you may have to guard your lives and avoid capture. Whatever happens, remember, I will stand your friend. Godspeed. A.D."

"This is bad . . ." Sirius muttered. "Dumbledore will be here eventually, but he has to fight his way through, and in the mean time I don't think this is the safest place for us to be. Anyone know how to make a Portkey?"

Everyone looked at Hermione; she shook her head. "It's restricted magic. What about Apparation?"

"Don't you think I already tried that?" Harry snapped. He seemed to realize his anger was unreasonable and deflated. "Sorry. They've put up Anti-Apparation wards," he said glumly, "and those can only be taken down from the outside."

Remus, meanwhile, was doing his own detective work. Same voice as before?

Yeah, Danger responded. No clues there.

I wish it would just talk again, Remus said sarcastically. Prophecy isn't much use if you can't figure it out before you need it.

Suddenly, Fawkes sung a high, piercing note, and Danger gasped as her mind was flooded with memory. It did explain— "The singing of the fire's bird— but there's no time—" Danger broke off and composed herself. Everything that had to happen, everything she had to do, unfolded before her, but could she do it?

Not alone, I can't. With sad resolve, Danger met the eyes of each of her Packmates. "Will you trust me?" she asked solemnly. "Even if what I say sounds utterly stupid, will you trust me?"

"Yes," "Of course," "Absolutely," "With my life," the members of the Pack answered.

Did you need to ask?

Yes. I did. I can't explain why—no time—but I did.

Danger released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Now we can begin. First— thank you." Danger put more emotion into the words than perhaps any she had spoken before. "The past eight months of my life have been amazing, thanks to you, all of you. I can never say how much your friendship has meant to me." Not to mention this.

As the Pack sat in stupefied silence, Danger scribbled three notes. One she gave to Harry, one to Ginny, and one to Fawkes.

"What's going on?" Aletha asked shakily. "Why are you saying this? What's going to happen to us?"

Danger closed her eyes. God, give us strength. She opened them and stared at Aletha. "You heard the poem," she said softly. "This is the time of testing. The time of proving." Fawkes began to sing softly, offering much-needed comfort, as she continued. "All our lives, we have been protected. All our lives, people have fought for us. But that can't go on forever." Danger looked around at each of them. "The time has come for us to do the protecting. The time has come—" her voice became firmer— "for us to do the fighting. Do you understand?"

Eleven fierce nods answered her. Fawkes gave one final trill and flamed away.

God, I hope so. "Good. Sit in a circle," she said, pointing out places as she spoke. "Harry, Lily, James, Hermione, Sirius, Letha, Ron, Rachel, Peter, Ginny, Remus. And leave the last spot for me." She waved her wand and conjured a simple white cloth napkin and a small, nondescript knife, placing them in front of herself as she sat. Won't last long, not that pretty, but they'll do.

Danger nodded at Ginny, who looked at her paper briefly and began to speak.

"A sacrifice is required of us all today," she said clearly and determinedly. "We give up something we love, to gain something which will benefit us all and tie us closer together. Will you do this?"

"We will," the Pack answered, almost in chorus.

You may not, when you see what it is. Danger took a deep breath and pulled from around her neck the light chain on which her father's wedding ring rested. She closed her eyes briefly before placing it in the middle of the circle.

Mum, Dad, wherever you are, I love you and I will never forget you. Never. And someday, I'll make sure there's justice done for your death.

A hush fell as Danger's hands returned to her lap.

Remus took something out of his pocket, a colorful, sleepy-looking dragon pin, and placed it atop Danger's ring. "Dad's," he explained quietly. "He sent it to me for my birthday last month. It's been in our family for generations."

Harry lifted the chain from his neck and placed it atop Remus and Danger's, looking at Lily briefly as he let it go. "James's."

With a pained expression, Lily did so as well. "Mine."

Peter followed her, and Rachel looked at him for a moment before adding her own.

James closed his eyes for a second, thinking of something, before taking the Gryffindor signet ring out of his pocket and adding it to the pile. It needed no explanation. Hermione pulled a chain similar to Danger's off her neck and added it as well. "Dad's," she said softly. "Danger gave it to me for my birthday." She saw Lily's eyes widen at that.

After a moment's hesitation, Ginny fumbled in her pocket for a second and pulled out a gleaming silver ring. "Mum's promise ring," she said very quietly. "Dad gave it to her, and she gave it to me. She said she wanted me to save it for a boy I loved—but I think this'll do." She glanced at Harry briefly as the ring left her hand.

Ron was next, adding a curiously shaped gold ring that he said belonged to his grandfather. Sirius contributed his Black heirloom ring. Aletha closed her eyes for a moment as if in pain before removing the Ravenclaw brooch, putting it on top of the growing pile.

"We have given of our belongings," Ginny intoned. "Now we must give of ourselves."

Danger ran the knife she held lightly against her palm, making a cut. She allowed the blood to drip onto the napkin she had ready for a few seconds, before handing knife and cloth to her left.

The Pack sat in silence as, one by one, each of them made the cut and added their blood to the cloth. Remus barely moved as he did; his transformations, Danger knew, had raised his pain threshold enormously. A few seemed afraid—Peter, Hermione, Aletha—this really is affecting her, she never worries like that—but none balked, and soon it was done. Harry was the last; he cut his own hand and handed the cloth back to Danger looking fiercely triumphant.

Danger leaned over, took the pile of rings, chains, and heirlooms, and wrapped it in the now blood-stained cloth. She looked at Harry and nodded.

Harry spoke, in the same tones of formal authority he used sometimes during den-nights, but amplified, stronger somehow, perhaps thanks to the situation they found themselves in . . . "We will now swear an oath. Hear me speak it first, and then look around you. If there is anyone here to whom you cannot swear this, depart now. For this oath is binding by magic, and the one who breaks it will never find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death. Hear me now—

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always.

"Is there any here who does not wish to swear?"

No one spoke. No one moved.

"Then join hands and speak the oath with me, three times, to make it truly binding upon us all."

The Pack joined hands, one generation with the next, former rivals brought together by the horrors of war, and began to recite.

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always."

Danger felt a strange tingling in her hands, an inkling of great and ancient magic; by everyone else's expressions, they felt it as well. Some were determined, some wide-eyed, Harry even wore a small smile.

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always."

The second recitation had been firmer and more together. The tingling increased. It was an odd feeling, somehow both pleasant and foreboding, tying them inextricably together . . .

As they began to speak the oath for the final time, the twelve voices of the Pack melded into one, resonating through their bones and singing in their blood. Vibrations passed from hand to hand, but none of the Pack were really conscious of their senses at the moment; they felt themselves not as twelve but as one, and the sound of their voices, like phoenix song, seemed to come from some place deep within.

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always!"

Suddenly, the napkin and rings were engulfed in golden-red flames. An instant later, they were consumed, leaving no sign that anything had been there to begin with.

In their place lay a confused pile of something gold.

"Everyone take one," Danger said, and was surprised at how tired she sounded. "We're finished."

Slowly, the members of the Pack reached out and each grabbed one of the items. Danger picked hers up; it was a golden chain, like the one her ring had been on, but with four golden medallions dangling from it.

Harry was the last one to take his. Barely a second after he put it on, he collapsed to the floor.

---

Ginny screamed as he fell.

"HARRY!"

She was at his side without even remembering how she got there. "Harry . . . Harry . . . Oh, Harry . . ." He didn't respond. He wasn't moving. It didn't even feel like he was unconscious. It was as if—

No. She clamped down on her emotions and looked back at the rest of the Pack. We are in the Three Broomsticks, trapped by Death Eaters, and we have to find a way out. I can't even think that.

Aletha walked over to him and checked his vital signs. "He's not dead," she said as reassuringly as she could. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but it's not that. He's alive. He's just . . . elsewhere."

Ginny calmed slightly. Aletha wants to be a Healer, we can trust her diagnosis. Harry's fine, wherever he is.

I hope.

And there was still the not-so-small issue of their being trapped . . .

And she wasn't the only one who was worried. "Harry was always the one who knew what to do in a situation like this," Ron said shakily. "Always. What are we going to do without him?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a second. "We, Ron, are going to do our darnedest to get out of here alive," she said crisply. "And you are going to use that grey matter of yours for a change and tell us what to do."

Ron looked stunned. "Me? What? But I'm—"

"The best of all of us at strategic thinking?" Ginny interrupted. "Which is exactly what we need right now? Not to mention fiercely loyal and damn good at keeping his head in a crisis? Damn it, Ron, stop doubting yourself and just trust your instincts!"

It took a few seconds for Ron's look of shock to fade. "Well, if you say so," he said in a tone indicating he thought Ginny and Hermione were both being completely mental. "We're pretty much trapped here, and there're DEs guarding the front of the bar. I say we try to get out the back, Stun anything that moves, and keep at least one of us facing reverse and guarding our backs so we don't get snuck up on."

"I'll do it," Remus volunteered. "I can run backwards fine."

"Okay, that's that, then. Trust your instincts, remember what you learned, don't lose your head, and let's go!"

He really can be pretty amazing when he has to be, Ginny thought with a mental smile.

Eleven people charged out a rather narrow door, wands drawn. They were met with a most unwelcome sight.

They had come out right in the middle of a group of a dozen or so Death Eaters.

The robed, masked figures nearest them turned around in surprise. "Well, well, well," an aristocratic voice drawled. "What do we have here?"

Malfoy! "I have one word for you, Lucy," she responded in the same tone. "Stupefy!"

"Protego!" Malfoy snarled, reacting with lightning-quick reflexes. His Shield Charm sent Ginny's Stunner into a surprised Rachel. "You'll have to do better than that, little girl! Crucio!"

Ginny was out of the way before he finished saying the spell. There's no shield for the Cruciatus, but we're in a hallway with far too many death Eaters in far too little room for them to maneuver . . . A quick shove forced another of the faceless figures into the path of the curse, and he fell to the ground writhing in agony for the few seconds it took Lucius Malfoy to notice.

Bastard deserves it, she thought savagely. Ginny seized the opportunity to revive Rachel, then concentrated on adding her own Stunners, hexes, and some Cutting Curses to the volleys flying around in the hallway, shot by both the Pack and Death Eaters.

Something seemed wrong, though . . .

There's no green, Ginny realized. They're not trying to kill us.

Which means they want us alive.

Gulping slightly, she continued to fight the Death Eaters to a stalemate, dodging or shielding against what came her way. She was pretty sure she had a few cuts on her arms and legs, remnants of curses she couldn't dodge. In a moment of calm, Ginny saw Lily on the ground with what looked like a broken ankle, James standing in front of her protectively and blocking, without fail, everything that came his way.

She didn't notice that that moment came because Lucius Malfoy briefly touched his arm.

The group that was fighting them retreated slightly to block the passage that led to the bar. Ginny mentally cheered the small victory, which turned into an utter smile as Malfoy looked behind him, yelled, "Dumbledore!", and they all Disapparated.

Guess the wards are keyed to the Dark Mark, then . . .

"We did it!" Ron yelled, and Ginny felt the tension drain out of her. They had done it; they had held off a dozen Death Eaters long enough to stay alive until help could come. Remus was the only one of them who was still tense, still watching their backs, almost as if he didn't believe it was over . . .

It wasn't. A flutter of pops was heard, and four more Death Eaters Apparated behind them. They each threw three tiny objects that looked like miniature skulls, and Disapparated before anyone could react.

"Look out!" Remus yelled, and they all ducked, but it didn't help.

Ginny felt something hit the back of her neck with a ping, followed by the telltale jerking sensation of a Portkey.

Before she was whisked away to Merlin-knows-where, she caught a glimpse of one last little skull flying straight into room seven.

This is not good.

---

Remus snapped to full awareness with a start. He was laying on a hard floor, in a place that had a truly Dark smell to it . . .

What is going on?

As he opened his eyes, his memory answered that question for him. Fighting the Death Eaters—back to back with Danger, curses flying in all directions from the pair of them—their "victory" that seemed so incomplete somehow, and then the Portkeys thrown—he had tried to tell everyone to duck, but to no avail, the things seemed to hone onto them—

And now, here I am, looking out through oddly shiny bars, with— he checked— yep, no wand, just waiting for the Death Eaters to come in and have some fun . . .

I do not like the looks of this situation. At all.

Remus began to pace his cell frantically, needing an outlet for all his frustration and worry—he felt rather lupine at the moment, he always did in situations like this—

Calm down, love, soothed a very familiar, and very welcome, voice in his mind.

Remus felt the tension drain out of him; he sagged against the bars of his cell. Damn, but I've never been so happy to hear you. How are you doing?

Apart from the fact that I'm in some sort of cement box that passes for a 'cell' with these people, unarmed and clueless, just fine.

I see your scathing wit remains unaffected by such things as . . . oh, threats to our lives. Remus's mental tone was light; in truth, Danger's levity helped him greatly, and she knew it.

Suddenly, the werewolf noticed a strange tingling in the areas of his skin closest to his cell bars. Startled, he stood up straight, and the tingling stopped—before he sagged in exhaustion. Why am I so tired all of a sudden?

Remus decided it didn't really matter; looking down, he noticed a faint pink tinge where his arms had touched the bars, and he sniffed the air suspiciously . . .

He cursed mentally, quite loud enough for Danger to hear. Silver.

What?

The bars of my cage are silver, Remus elaborated, a bit testily. He felt like pacing again, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy . . .

I still don't understand.

Silver? Werewolf? They know, Danger. Someone told them, and I can count on one paw the number of people it could've been.

None of us could've told—remember, 'never find rest, by day or by night'?—so it must've been—

Snape. Both of them said it at the same time; Remus elaborated. Severus bloody Snape, who Dumbledore kept insisting we could trust, is a bloody Death Eater spy. His mental voice was nearly a snarl.

How do you—

Remus cut her off. Shh. I hear something.

And, sure enough, voices were drifting into his cell, only barely discernible even to his enhanced senses.

"Didn't I tell you we'd win in the end, you foolish little girl? You'll pay for your insolence, and you'll join the Dark Lord, or we'll torture you to death if need be . . ." The aristocratic drawl trailed off menacingly.

"Never, Lucy," spat an enraged female voice. "I'll die before I join your psychotic half-blood master." She paused for a second, and when she spoke again, her voice was much calmer. "Oh, you didn't know that? Tom Marvolo Riddle, Head Boy. Look him up sometimes, and take a good look at the letters of his name."

Malfoy and Ginny, Remus said worriedly, then laughed. Did you know Voldemort's a half-blood?

Oh, the irony.

"How dare you!" Malfoy snarled. "Crucio!"

A few seconds passed in absolute, horrified silence before Malfoy lifted the spell. "Didn't like that, did you?" His sneer was audible, and Remus could hear Ginny gasping for breath. "I'll give you some more time alone. To think. Actually—" he seemed to consider something for a moment— "not alone. I believe I'll put your precious Potter right here, as a bit of a reminder . . . we wouldn't want you getting on the wrong side of a Dementor too, now would we? Which, by the way, will happen if you so much as say a single word further." A gentle thud was heard, and heavy footsteps signaled Malfoy's departure.

He hasn't really been Kissed, has he? Remus asked worriedly.

I don't think so. There were Dementors in town, but I'm thinking of something else. 'The lion-hearted wolf will find / Unwavering call to realm of mind . . .'

A draft of air ran through the cell, and Remus shivered. Merlin, I'm never like this, except when—

Everything clicked into place. Full moon. Tonight. Without Danger. And the wolf is going to be mad

'A choice to make, forever be.' He didn't 'voice' his previous thoughts, but Danger caught the gist of them anyway, and it was reflected in her response.

I can only hope Harry chooses right, she said. And soon. For all of us.

Amen to that.

If there's even any way out . . .

---

Harry woke in light.

What happened? he wondered. Last thing I remember, we made the oath, I put the pendants on, and then—this.

He looked around and started. I know this place. I've been here before. The lake, right here—this grass on the edge of it—I think I was here with Ginny around this time last year.

Wait. This is Hogwarts.

It looks different, somehow . . .

Harry wasn't given time to ponder this, though, as a medium-sized animal with a black-and-white striped head padded up to him and made a half-barking noise.

He looked down at it quizzically. "What is it?"

To his utter surprise, the badger looked back and forth between the castle—Harry hadn't noticed it before, hidden by the trees, but it was where he expected and somehow even more majestic than he remembered—and him. He was reminded of how Danger had described Moony's gesturing the night she had discovered her taming . . .

"Do you want me to follow you?" he asked.

The badger nodded.

This is getting more surreal by the moment.

Harry shook his head to dispel the mysticism—he was here now, however odd it seemed, and he'd have to make the most of it. Addressing the badger, he said, "All right, then. Lead the way, Scion of Hufflepuff."

He had meant it as a joke, but the look the badger gave him seemed almost—impressed?

No need to worry about that now, he thought as it scampered away through the trees. I'd better follow.

And follow he did, through the light cover of the surprisingly fertile trees that encircled the lake, until the badger stopped in a small clearing.

"Where—" Harry didn't finish his sentence, for his attention was diverted: a large green snake was slithering its way through the grass. "I should've known," he said ruefully. "Nothing normal ever happens to me."

He turned and addressed the snake. "Are you here to guide me as well?" The words seemed detached to him, with an undertone of hissing—Parseltongue.

"I am, young speaker. Follow me, please, and do not be afraid."

Harry did as the snake asked, finding the presence of both animals oddly comforting. The three walked in silence until they stepped out from under the trees—and an ear-splitting screech from above sorely tested Harry's ability to follow the recommendation. The majestic eagle from which it had come swooped down and alighted on Harry's shoulder.

"Hey there," he said comfortingly to it. "You're quite a handsome bird."

It ruffled its feathers happily, somehow not seeming nearly as heavy as it should've been.

As they approached the front steps of the castle, Harry was not at all surprised to see a proud lion walk up next to him. All four Houses . . . and this, the last, and the one I hold most dear.

He rested his hand on its mane as they walked up the brightly polished stone steps. The castle seemed newer, too, bright marble instead of rusty stone, almost as if it had just been made . . .

The doors opened unbidden, admitted Harry and his four companions, and closed softly behind them.

This is just too weird.

Flanked by lion, badger, eagle, and serpent, he walked solemnly into the Great Hall—

—and stopped short, gaping. The structure, yes, this was the Great Hall, but he had never seen it like he did now. There were no House tables; in their place stood a number of chairs, some shorter tables, what looked like a loom and spinning wheel in one corner; but, looking up, Harry saw that the candles and ceiling were the same as ever, the latter reflecting a piercing azure sky with the occasional cloud . . . and was it his imagination, or did everything seem more real, more distinct in this Hogwarts than in the one he knew?

And it was deserted—nobody in sight except him. Except . . . A flicker of movement caught Harry's eye; his four animal companions were alternately walking, slithering, and flying towards the door next to the teachers' dais, the door he had gone through when the Goblet of Fire announced his name in fourth year.

The open door.

Guess that's where I'm expected, then. He started walking. One step. Two. Three.

And there were people inside, he could see that now—maybe a dozen of them, chatting amiably. As one of them, a red-robed man, noticed the animals coming in, he fell silent, looked up, and his eyes flickered to Harry's.

Four. Five. Six.

The people fell silent, and their demeanor changed. They're waiting for something. Waiting for me—

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Why am I so nervous about this? But he already knew why—it was the unsettling aspect of just where he was. He wasn't at the Hogwarts he knew, that was for sure, and he had a suspicion the people he was about to meet had immense control over this realm—and over his own.

Ten. He was inside.

The portraits Harry remembered seeing in the small room were gone. In their place were ten chairs: three on each of left and right, four directly across from him. Each was occupied, and each occupant was looking closely at him.

The red-robed man he remembered seeing stood up and addressed him formally. "Harry James Potter, son of Lily, son of James, we bid you welcome."

Looks a bit like Scrimgeour, Harry noted idly, except that I can trust him. He doesn't grandstand—it's more of an unconscious authority . . .

Harry bowed his head quickly; it was not a usual gesture for him, but something told him the situation demanded it. "Thank you. You seem to know a lot about me . . . in return, might you tell me your own names, and what our business is?"

"Direct," the red-robed man said with a small smile, "but polite. Both are valued among us; you may know these things. Will you sit?"

"I will."

Gryffindor waved a hand, and Harry noticed a chair appear before the strangers. He sat in it, looking around as he did so. Three against the left wall, one against the back, four women sat robed in varying shades of blue, surveying him sternly and dispassionately. The last and oldest of these, if her white hair was any indication, reminded Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall. The other three appeared to be a bit softer, one with blond hair, one with red, and one a brunette.

Directly facing him were three red-robed people, two men and one woman: the one who had addressed him just a second ago, and what might have been his son and daughter. They were naggingly familiar, not as if he knew them, but as if he should have . . .

Against the right wall, Harry saw a young man and an older woman, both robed in sunny yellow, both with brown hair. The woman reminded him strikingly of Molly Weasley; perhaps it was the caring quality that her face unconsciously carried, or the fact that she seemed to be someone one could confide in, one whose word was her bond. The man echoed many of these attributes, and Harry noticed a slight green stain on his thumb.

Finally, a lone figure sat robed in green. He was watching Harry curiously, and as Harry returned the gaze, he recognized its object and opened his mouth in surprise.

What in Merlin's name is Alex doing here?

Before Harry could ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, though, the red-robed, tawny-haired man (who seemed to be their leader) began his promised explanation. "You wished to know who we are, and what our business may be with you," he said with formality Harry found unusual. "You know of three of us already."

As he spoke, the white-haired woman in blue and the older woman in yellow came to stand beside him.

"We are the Founders of Hogwarts."

Harry gaped at them. "But— but you're—"

"Let me guess," said the woman in yellow—no, Helga Hufflepuff, she must be. "We're dead."

Not trusting himself to speak coherently, Harry nodded.

"We did die, it is true," said the blue-robed woman—Rowena Ravenclaw. "But, after our deaths, we chose—"

"We were chosen," Hufflepuff interrupted.

"We accepted being chosen," the red-robed man who must have been Godric Gryffindor clarified further, "to remain close to the world in which we once dwelt, and continue to help direct its activities."

"These others are our children," Ravenclaw explained, gesturing to those who remained seated. "They too were offered this choice, and one and all they joined us in it."

So that would make the three other girls in blue her daughters—the yellow man must be Hufflepuff's son—and those are Gryffindor's children. What about— Harry looked at Alex questioningly.

Alex rose. "I am, as you may have guessed, the so-called 'good' son of Salazar Slytherin." His voice held a trace of irony. "He and my brother Matthias quarreled with the other Founders on the subject of blood purity—the story has survived to your day, I believe."

"It has, but not your name—I only know it because of your portrait in the D– Heart of Hogwarts told me. Alex?"

Alex smiled. "Indeed, Alexander is my name. I alone, from the three Slytherin men who swore the oath, remain true to my given word. My father and brother broke their vows and deserted our company, and now they will never find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death." The last part had a ritualistic sound to it—

—and Harry realized he had heard it before, had said it, even. "The oath— you've sworn an oath to one another—"

Gryffindor nodded and extended his hands to his children. "My hand in yours."

The others did the same, forming a circle of linked hands; Alex and the darkest Ravenclaw daughter lifted their hands to each other, since they were too far away to touch. "My wand with yours."

Alex's face twisted into a bitter smile as he said the next line. "My life for yours."

"Now and always." The words echoed far longer than it seemed they should have.

"None who have not sworn this oath may enter this castle," Gryffindor explained as they unclasped hands. "We, the four Founders, so swore to one another before embarking upon our great task—the building of a school of magic. Our children so swore to one another and to us, once they were of an age to do so. All did so willingly, in keeping with their ideals and our own—though I suspect we may never know what drove Matthias to his actions. May I make known to you my son, Paul, and my daughter, Maura."

Each rose and bowed slightly as Gryffindor named them; Harry returned the bows.

"May I make known to you my son, Adam," said Hufflepuff in a formal yet friendly tone, and Harry bowed to him as well.

Ravenclaw was next. "May I make known to you my daughters, Sophia, Brenna, and Margaret." Each stood and curtsied in turn as her mother spoke her name.

Margaret remained standing as the other two sat down. "I'm still amazed I was allowed to be a part of this," she said frankly. "You may not know, but I was a Squib. No magic at all. I married a Muggle, and none of our children turned out magical. I've always wondered if any of our later descendants did, though. Would you happen to know?"

"All the books say records from your time are inconsistent, so no." Something clicked in Harry's mind. "But one of my friends, Aletha Freeman, is Muggle-born, and she has the Ravenclaw brooch—"

"That was mine!" Margaret said excitedly.

"But, as I said, we can't know for sure. One of your descendants may just have sold it, and while Aletha is interested in Healing, she hasn't shown any unusual powers for it."

Paul Gryffindor nodded. "That's the only way to tell, but sometimes they don't show up right away," he said appraisingly. "The family talents." He snapped his fingers, and a ball of fire appeared in his hand.

"Paul!" his sister snapped. "Forgive him, please," she said more gently, facing Harry. "Even after all these years, he's not entirely housetrained."

Harry had been sorely tempted to match Paul's antics—especially here, in the presence of Gryffindor himself—but after Maura's remark, he was glad he had restrained himself.

Adam Hufflepuff spoke up ruefully. "I wish Matthias and Salazar hadn't betrayed us. We men are outnumbered now."

"Oh, and that's a bad thing?" Sophie Ravenclaw fired back.

"Enough!" Gryffindor said quietly, but his word still had its desired effect; the other Founders stopped their friendly bickering immediately. He turned to Harry. "We are now known to one another, Harry Potter, and so we shall address the second half of your question. Our business with you."

Harry sat up straighter.

"You must know," Gryffindor continued, "that the situation you and your friends have found yourselves in is unique, even among wizards. Theoretically, time-travel is simple enough to do, requiring only large amounts of power. However, we normally forbid it over such large scales as one you've experienced. The further back one goes, the greater the change caused, and that effectively creates an alternate timeline."

"Which means more work for us," Sophia said exasperatedly.

"Indeed. However, in this case, it was I, working through my phoenix, who caused you to be sent back. Such an action is highly irregular, but it was deemed necessary in your case; you had a very low chance of surviving capture by Tom Riddle's servants, especially at that time, and we certainly did not want him running around unchecked."

Harry took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "I suppose I should thank you," he said finally, measuredly. "You've made the best part of my life, such as it's been, possible; I've had a chance to meet people I thought I'd never see, and I'll be able to hopefully save them this time around. So thank you."

Although I would like to know what I'm missing, chatting up here . . .

Gryffindor smiled approvingly. "Your thanks are received and appreciated. And in recompense, we will show you something I believe you wished to see."

He gestured, and an area of the air turned opaque, first black, then silver, a mirror showing an image altogether different from Harry's surroundings.

Actually, he realized with horror after a few seconds, the image was of his surroundings.

His real ones.

Harry watched, stricken, as the images of each member of the Pack cycled through. The Death Eaters got us, he thought over and over again as he saw Ron, slumped tiredly against a wall; Hermione, eyes closed in concentration; James, pacing his cell angrily; Sirius, sitting in a corner, in his eyes that deadened, haunted look Harry hoped he'd never see in them again; Peter, in the middle of his cell, beads of sweat on his forehead, shaking.

Remus, being tortured by Snape.

Ginny, crying, looking through the bars of her cell at something—at him—

The Founders shut off the projection quickly.

Harry was agitated. "Whatever you have to say, make it quick," he said angrily, though his anger was not directed at the Founders. "I need to get back there."

"That need may yet go unfulfilled," Ravenclaw said, a bit frostily.

"What?" His anger vanished, replaced by confusion "Why?"

It was Alex who answered. "You should know that your arrival in 1976 has had some highly . . . unexpected consequences. What with your being named in two very active prophecies, and your knowledge of the future that has a habit of coming out, even we are at a loss to predict what will happen. It may very well be that, because of these changes, my many-times-great-nephew will find himself victorious against you and your friends."

Harry gulped, horrified. No— Voldemort can't win, he just can't—

Ravenclaw took up the thread of explanation. "All four of you time-travelers have made ripples in the world you now know, but yours have been by far the largest. Yours are, shall we say, the unpredictable ones. Much, very much, depends on what you choose. You may be victorious, or you may not, but it will be a treacherous road. People will die, Harry Potter. People who love you, and whom you love in return."

Harry sighed, torn. "I know. But what else can I do?"

"We have brought you here to offer you a choice," Ravenclaw said smoothly. "This choice—listen well. You may, of course, return home, keeping in mind what we have told you. You and Voldemort will clash bitterly, and even if you manage to defeat him, it will come at a price. You will live out your life with no further intervention from us, except that which is normal to the lives of all those who have magic in the land of Britain."

"Or," said Hufflepuff, "you could just stay here. Stay here and forget about the war."

Harry stared at her. "I don't understand."

"The prophecy only holds as long as you're both in the same reality. Without your catalyzing presence against his plots, Voldemort will grow confident and overextend himself. You have told your friends, your Pack, a great deal of what he has done to guard his position, have you not?" Harry nodded. "And they will use the information themselves, to great effect; even without you, they and Albus Dumbledore will finally defeat him—and with a lesser cost of life."

"If you choose this course, Voldemort's plot would fail," Paul said. "The rest of your Pack would be home and safe at Hogwarts tonight."

"Your family would thrive," said Maura.

"Your friends would prosper, and grow in friendship for one another," Adam contributed.

"Their children would be many," said Brenna.

"Their lives would be long," said Sophia.

"Their deaths would be painless," said Margaret.

"And they wouldn't miss you," said Alex, last and quietest of all. "No one would grieve for you. They would either know you were somewhere better, or simply forget about you altogether."

"So the choice lies before you now," Gryffindor concluded. "To join us, or not. To aim to protect your friends by returning, or to ensure their safety by staying. The decision is yours, and yours alone, to make."

Harry had sat in stupefied silence as the Founders explained their proposition. Thoughts whirling at top speed through his mind, he did not feel prepared, here in front of them, to decide.

"May I have some time to think?" he asked, his voice reflecting a thousand different emotions he didn't know he had.

"Of course. All the time you wish."

"And may I be alone for it?"

"You may." Gryffindor snapped his fingers, and Harry found himself abruptly sitting next to the lake, on a boulder instead of a chair.

He stared out over the lake, not really thinking about what he was seeing, just wanting to look far away, away from all this . . .

This is, without a doubt, the hardest decision I've ever had to make in my life. Ever.

Go back and fight for peace—or stay, and allow it to come.

Go back and lose those whom I love—or stay, and ensure their happiness at the expense of mine.

Go back and risk all the Pack's lives—or stay, and preserve them all but one.

Harry put his face in his hands, searching for his resolve. I know what I must do. What I want must play no part.

He sat up, straightened himself, and was abruptly back in an audience with the Founders.

"Have you reached a decision?" Gryffindor asked, surveying him inscrutably.

Harry looked him powerfully in the eye.

"I have."

---

James woke in darkness.

He sat up groggily, blinked a few times, and squinted, trying to see in the dim light.

Death Eaters! he remembered.

I need to get out of here. Now.

He surveyed his cell dispassionately, looking for an escape route. Concrete—no luck there—and metal bars . . .

Even metal melts, if you get it hot enough.

Smiling, he reached for the familiar fire power and set licks of white-hot flame around the base of the bars.

Any second now . . .

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Damn it all to hell, James cursed mentally. The flames continued to burn, but they weren't consuming anything. They've put some sort of Flame-Freezing Charm on them, it looks like.

Merlin, I hope Lily and Harry and Padfoot and everyone else is okay . . .

James stood up and began to pace his cell furiously. We're trapped here, anti-Apparation wards, no wand, completely at the Death Eaters' mercy . . .

I need something to think about. Anything. Or I'll go crazy worrying.

As if in response, he felt a lick of heat spread from the back of his neck down to his pendants. As a Gryffindor Heir, he could not be burned, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel extremes of temperature.

These pendants tie us together—they probably react like this when one of us is upset, or in danger . . .

That is not the kind of thought I was hoping for.

---

Meanwhile, Sirius sat, despondent, in a corner of his cell.

He heard a clapping noise outside and jumped, before forcing himself to calm down. Just some muffled voices now, probably routine doing of whatever it is Death Eaters do . . . don't want to call out, I'll attract attention to myself . . .

With effort, he restrained himself from looking out to see what was going on. Don't look at the bars, Padfoot. Look at something else. Like the wall. The nice, gray, boring wall.

The calming effect was ruined somewhat by the presence of what looked to be a bloodstain on said wall.

Sirius buried his head in his hands as a memory came back to him—the childhood memory he had been trying to avoid. When he was seven years old, Bellatrix had locked him in a closet all day, adding a Silencing Charm for good measure. His parents hadn't seen fit to actually look for him until past nightfall.

Because of her—of them—I've always hated enclosed spaces, deep shadows, and most of all, being alone . . .

He opened his eyes and surveyed the cell ruefully. Which seems to describe my situation perfectly.

Severus Snape had visited him an hour ago—or was it ten minutes? Time seemed to flow so strangely . . . The Slytherin had thrown out equal parts taunts and threats as he spoke. "You're all alone now," he had said. "At the Dark Lord's nonexistent mercy, and at mine. You didn't think I actually accepted your apology, did you, Black? No, I just shored up my anger for a time I could use it, like right now . . ."

And I am, Sirius thought despondently, hardly concentrating on the fact that Snivellus was the slimy traitor he'd always known he'd be. Alone. Hardly a minute's gone by since I started Hogwarts that I didn't have one of the Marauders nearby, in spirit if not physically—and then we formed the Pack, and things have just gotten better in that regard, but now it feels like it's all slipping away . . .

It was one of the things that had made the aftermath of the werewolf incident so wrenching for Sirius, he realized belatedly. He had been cut off from his friends, for the first time, really, and it had been a terrible thing for him to go through.

Life-changing, even. Who knew Sirius Black could ever live up to his first name?

And yet this is so, so much worse . . . Then, at least I knew the Pack—only we weren't the Pack then—was safe and alive. Now, I have no idea. They might be miles away, or—dead—

He was either going to cry or scream in a minute, he was sure of that.

"Somebody help me," Sirius whispered fervently, not daring to raise his voice any further. "Anybody. Please."

The chain and pendants he wore around his neck grew warm.

---

Aletha walked around her cell in a manner that most would probably call pacing.

I'm not pacing, she thought firmly. Nervous people pace. I am not nervous. Therefore, I do not pace.

Though she was stuck here, with no rescue in sight and no idea what had happened to her friends . . .

All right, I'll admit it. I'm pacing, and I'm nervous.

And I need to do something about it.

Let it never be said that Aletha Freeman was the type of woman to who gave up when all seemed lost. True, she had been shaken when they realized they were trapped—shaken, in fact, up through the swearing of the oath—but that swearing had removed all vestiges of self-doubt.

We're not alone, she had realized. We have each other. And we each have our part to play.

Maybe mine is the level-headed one.

Aletha stopped her pacing and stood straight and tall in the middle of her cell. She didn't have her wand, that she already knew, and there was no apparent way out.

But since when had that ever stopped her? She knew what she could do. To help the others realize what she knew—and clung to—so that none of the Pack lost hope. Because if we give up now, we've already lost. Pack together.

And it certainly would be nice to, perhaps, rattle a few of the Death Eaters along the way.

Do you have a death wish, Aletha? asked a small voice inside her mind. Didn't they tell you they'd kill you if you talked? You're in enemy territory here! They have the wands! You don't! Don't antagonize them!

That voice was quickly silenced. Aletha clapped twice, loudly. The sound echoed satisfyingly. She paused for a few seconds, then hummed a long opening note and began to sing as her father had taught her, her voice carrying through all the cells . . .

"Close every door to me . . ."

---

Don't stop. Please, don't stop.

The hum had come so soon after Sirius's half-voiced plea that he could almost believe he'd been heard. It hadn't been noticeable at first, and even once he'd heard it, he had dismissed it as something routine—until Letha started to sing in earnest, and Sirius couldn't stop listening.

And the song is helping me, he realized. It's like a light in my brain—I'm not alone. Physically, here, I am, but not in spirit. Never with this. He reached up almost unconsciously to touch the rapidly cooling pendants nestled against his chest.

"Children of Israel are never alone . . ."

I don't think I've quite reached the 'peace of mind' bit yet, but I'm getting there. Thanks to you.

Thank you, Letha. We may argue a lot, but when it mattered, you showed me exactly what I needed to see.

No more despair. No more self-pity. We're getting out of here, alive.

---

Peter Pettigrew sat in the middle of his cell, shaking slightly. He was doing his best to keep calm, but to little avail.

For what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes, he reached for the familiar magic of his Animagus form, willing himself to turn into the small grey rat . . .

Yet again, it failed.

Peter sighed. It's no use. Animagus requires you to be calm, or at least composed, and I'm neither. Not in a situation like this.

I thought I could fight the Death Eaters. I actually did. I spent time in the D.A., learned everything as well as I was able, and look at me now.

Captured, shivering pitifully in the middle of my cell, not even able to get a grip to do the one thing that might let me escape.

Harry, now would be a good time for some help . . .

---

Hermione was in a similar position in her own cell, but her train of thought was vastly different.

I need to calm down. Panicking was very attractive for a few minutes, but now I'm burned out. There must be a way to get out—I just need to figure out what it is.

Taking a few deep breaths, Hermione composed herself, shutting out the occasional ambient noise coming from outside, and searched her mind for a solution.

Suddenly, she recalled the events of a few days previously.

I'm done with my incantation, finished it on Wednesday. I took the potion almost a month ago.

And those bars certainly seem to be set wide enough for a cat to slip by . . .

Closing her eyes, Hermione began to recite.

"Reno mea adsimile curalium, argilla, et merula est." She felt fur sprout all over her in what she knew to be patches of orange, white, and black. It's working, it's working . . .

"Celeritas et decor mea non pare est." There was no visible change this time, but Hermione felt her brain start to become more agile, more streamlined, with the instincts and reflexes of a predator.

"Mea denses et unguis catus sunt, atque ego sum." The transformation of Hermione's brain completed, and that of her body progressed dramatically; her arms changed into the thinner legs of a cat, with padded—and clawed—paws on the ends . . .

"Felis sum qui solus ambulat, sed omne loci idem mihi non sunt." The last incantation completed the change from cat to human; Hermione shrunk, felt herself land on all fours, noticed her eyesight change to the keen sense of a cat.

I am the cat who walks by herself, she mentally translated, but not all places are alone to me.

No places are alone, in fact. Not as long as I have my friends.

Moving quickly and silently, Neenie slinked out between the bars of her cell. She had a task to accomplish.

And I still can't believe Danger picked that name for my form.

The small cat padded noiselessly through the hallways, looking left and right for members of the Pack.

She didn't need to walk very far to find them. Harry's unconscious body caught her attention; it had been unceremoniously dumped in front of Ginny's cell, and the others were all adjacent to it, arranged along what was to her the left wall with a foot or so of concrete between them.

Only ten cells here . . . guess they had to improvise for me.

A quick pawing of Harry showed that the Death Eaters had, indeed, taken his wand. It wasn't in any of his pockets, at least. Never expected them to think ahead so well.

Now how do I undo the locks?

A passing Death Eater answered the question for her. "Oh, would you look at that little kitty," he cooed mockingly. "I think he will make a fine present for our Lord . . ."

Excellent.

Neenie stared, unblinkingly, as the masked Death Eater picked her up (surprisingly gently) and cradled her against his chest. Erg.

She moved. Acting by some new instinct, she shoved her claws into his chest, making the Death Eater stumble backwards.

And now, for the final touch . . .

Reditio ipse.

Yep, that'll do it. The sudden change from sixteen pounds of cat to some nine times that of human made the Death Eater tumble to the ground completely, hitting his head hard against the stone floor.

Hermione smirked. "I," she said slowly, "am a she."

Then, for good measure, she punched him in the nose.

As the Death Eater groaned slightly, Hermione searched his pockets for a wand.

She found one in his back pocket. Second time lucky, I guess.

Smiling, Hermione stood up, brushed herself off, and walked to the door of the nearest cell—Ginny's. "Alohamora!"

With a soft click, the lock came open. Ginny looked up in wonder. "Hermione?" she breathed.

"In the flesh." Hermione smiled. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Anything happen?"

"Well, yeah." Ginny's smile disappeared. "Lucius Malfoy came by, taunted me, put Harry's body outside my cell to torment me. I taunted him back, he Crucio'ed me and left."

Hermione looked horrified. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

"Don't be. We're getting out of here, right?"

"Right."

It was the work of only a few minutes to free the other nine members of the Pack, and they all looked much better once they were together again. Hermione noticed Sirius gazing thankfully at Aletha, who smiled in return.

I wonder what might have caused that . . . no, I'll ask later.

"Come on," said Ron, taking command again, "let's go!"

With Hermione levitating Harry's body behind them, the twelve continued the path Hermione had taken. After going through a long, deserted hallway, they rounded a corner and—

"My wand!" Lily exclaimed.

Sure enough, on a wall to their right was an arrangement of cubbyholes—and twelve of them contained very familiar-looking wands.

"They must have taken them all when we got Portkeyed in," Hermione mused. She reached out her hand to grab one, but a lurid green barrier formed a shield over the wall as she tried, and she was flung back rather painfully.

A small pop, and Severus Snape's face sneered down at the twelve of them.

"So pathetic," he said condescendingly. "The twelve of you actually manage to escape, and you get thwarted by the simplest security system in our book—Dark Mark-keyed wards. Only Death Eaters can get through, and only Voldemort can take them down." He sighed dramatically. "I will so enjoy delivering you to the Dark Lord personally."

"You stinking traitor, Snivellus!" Sirius snarled. "Whose side are you on?"

"The Dark Lord's, of course," the greasy-haired boy replied with a smirk. "He actually offers power. Of course, a pathetic Gryffindor like you could never understand that, could you? I think—"

James Potter, who had been growing slowly more and more incensed as Snape spoke, cut him off. "Stop! Severus Snape, by the power of a life debt owed, I order you to return the twelve of us our wands!"

Moving as if in a daze, Snape did so. His hands passed the barrier as if it wasn't there.

He blinked as if waking up, took one look at the situation, and chose the better part of valor.

He ran.

The various members of the Pack started sniggering. "We've got our wands," Sirius said happily, "and Snape ran away like the stinking coward he is. I could sing."

"Don't," advised Ron. "There are other Death Eaters around, and now we're outside the muffling spells they put between the cells. Incidentally, Aletha—thanks. It helped."

She smiled. "I do what I can."

Ron's expression grew serious as he thought for a few seconds. "I don't think we should keep going," he said finally. "This looks like the end of the prisoners' area, and we can tell Snape wasn't bluffing about the Dark Mark wards. They seem to send up some sort of signal. Remember, they set one on the Astronomy Tower last year too."

A few of the Marauders looked confused for a second until they sorted out the time difference.

"So what do we do, then?" Peter asked determinedly.

"We wait, and if anyone comes—well, eleven wands beat one any day. Hopefully Harry will be able to break the wards."

The words if he wakes up lay unsaid between them.

---

"Have you reached a decision?" Gryffindor asked, surveying him inscrutably.

Harry looked him powerfully in the eye.

"I have."

"And what is your decision?" asked Hufflepuff.

Harry took a deep breath. "I have decided," he said at a measured pace, "to remain here, and in so doing, keep my loved ones safe."

"Very well," said Ravenclaw, her features a calm mask. "Say the words, then."

What words? But even as Harry pondered the question, he knew its response. So I speak, so I intend . . .

As he opened his mouth to say the words that would seal his fate, he was accosted by a memory.

"I respect you, Harry, more than you'll ever know. I'm incredibly proud of you. I'm with you."

"I'm with you."

"I'm with you."

"I'm with you, Harry. We all are. . . . No matter what happens, don't lose sight of your friends . . ."

My friends. They're going to think I'm dead, or worse. I don't want them to worry.

Harry modified his wording. "So I speak, so I intend . . . so long as I have a chance to communicate my situation to Ginny."

The Founders appraised him inscrutably, the Ravenclaws most of all. Finally, Margaret Ravenclaw spoke. "I believe that is amenable. A temporary mind-link, five minutes . . . what say you?"

"So let it be done," said the ten voices in the room. They rose to leave the room, bowing or curtsying as they went. Alexander Slytherin, the last to leave, regarded Harry curiously, almost unnervingly.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" he asked, puzzled.

"No. I was just a touch surprised at your decision."

"Why?"

"You didn't strike me as the selfish type."

And, leaving Harry gaping, he bowed and left the room.

Selfish?

How, exactly, does sacrificing my life to keep them safe count as selfish?

Harry was furious. He strode out the door into the Great Hall, ready to make an angry retort—

The Hall was empty.

Of course. This is a higher reality, or a dream, or whatever they call it. I can probably go somewhere just by wishing it. Like Apparation, but without the mess.

I'll need to learn how. Because I'm not going back.

The reality of his situation left Harry gasping.

I'm not going back.

I'll never have another den-night.

I'll never get hit by another one of the Marauders' pranks.

I'll never have children of my own.

I'll never know the peace I worked for.

I'll never see Ginny again . . . any of them . . .

Harry knew he was very close to crying at the moment. He looked up, and the ceiling seemed to reflect his mood—dark with huge, billowing clouds.

I did what I had to. To keep everyone safe.

Why, then, does it hurt so much?

Harry!

It was not his own thought. Somehow, he knew the difference.

Ginny? he thought back, tentatively. I guess this is what Margaret was talking about . . .

It's not enough. Not even if it could last forever.

But it'll have to be.

---

The Pack sat in silence, Ginny most of all.

I wish I knew what was wrong with Harry . . . he's the one we need right now, he's the only one who can break down Voldemort's wards . . .

And then, suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by another set, foreign but familiar. Selfish? How, exactly, does sacrificing my life to keep them safe count as selfish?

With growing horror, Ginny listened to a litany of regrets she finally realized as Harry's—wherever he was—

Damn, I hope this connection goes both ways.

She reached out with her mind and shouted. Harry!

Ginny? Harry's response was tentative, raw, almost disbelieving.

Yes, you prat, it's me. Now, where are you and why are you having such morose thoughts?

You heard that?

Yes, of course I did, she snapped. Now, please, just answer!

And Harry began to explain, haltingly at first, but growing in speed and desperation as he poured out what the Founders had told him, his worries for them, for her—

He's so selfless it's idiotic sometimes. Now is one of them, and I won't be able to convince him like this.

Acting as seemed natural and right to her, Ginny closed her eyes, concentrated, and flung her soul out through the link she had with Harry, willing herself to be with him, as she should be, wherever he was, forever . . .

---

Harry blinked. Something dark had appeared in front of him. A shadow.

He moved his arm. The dark thing moved too. No, my shadow.

And to have a shadow, you have to have light . . .

Harry turned around. She was there, behind one of the candles—the one person he knew it would be hardest to leave behind, the one person who had almost made him refuse the Founders' offer—

"Ginny?" he asked hoarsely, hardly daring to believe his eyes.

She smiled, and before Harry knew it, they were in each other's arms. Time seemed to stop; there was only the now, and the granting of a wish that had seemed impossible just seconds before . . .

Harry pulled back a bit and looked closely at Ginny's face. "How did you get here?" he asked joyfully.

"I don't know. I sort of flung myself onto the link we had—and I have no idea how that happened, by the way—"

"Margaret Ravenclaw set it up, gave me five minutes to explain myself so I wouldn't worry you." His expression turned somber. "Why did you try to get here, anyway?"

"To bring you back, of course," Ginny shot back matter-of-factly.

"What if I don't want to go back?" Harry asked without thinking.

Then he realized what he'd said. Merlin, did that just come out of ME?

Ginny let go of him and slapped him. Hard.

Harry winced. "Ginny—"

"Don't you 'Ginny' me!" she shouted angrily. "I thought we had this argument last summer! I thought you knew—" she took a breath— "that I could handle myself! I thought we were in this together!"

Harry cut her off before too much steam could gather. "Do you even know what the Founders said?" He spoke quickly, but quietly, forcefully.

"No, what?"

"They said people would die, Gin. They said that people I loved would die in the war." Harry was pacing back and forth agitatedly by now. "And as far as I'm concerned, that means you. Do you have any idea what that would do to me?" he choked. "Do you?"

Ginny visibly deflated. "Yes, I do," she said softly. "Because it's the same thing your death—or exile in Founderland, or whatever—would do to me. There are a lot of people who love you, Harry. Eleven of us in the Pack. Plenty more outside of it. It would be a small miracle of all of them did survive." She sighed. Couldn't he just understand?

"But the Founders said—"

"Let me guess. We would be safe. We would live a long time. Did they say anything about our happiness?"

Harry gaped at her as he thought about it. Never noticed that little loophole . . . "No."

"Allow me to fill in the blanks, then. We would be devastated. All of us. It would only hurt more to know why you'd left. You, Harry Potter, are not the only one whose feelings matter. That's what Alex meant. You only considered your feelings about it. Yes, I know your feelings were telling you you should come back. That doesn't matter. It's easy to ignore your own emotions. You didn't think of ours."

Harry blinked and sighed. "God, Ginny, Alex—"

"—is a Slytherin, and was probably trying to fuel the very impulse I've just denounced. Harry, do you still love me?" she asked, a bit meekly.

"Of course, Ginny. Always."

"Then come back," she said warmly, but firmly. "Come back and let us face this war together. Yes, Harry, people will die. Good people, who didn't do anything to deserve it. But that happens in life. You didn't need the Founders to tell you that." Ginny paused, and her voice softened. "We keep living anyway."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "You're right," he said finally, shaking his head. "You're right, I was a complete idiot, and I'm unbelievably lucky to have you to set me straight. Thank you, Ginny. I need you, and don't ever let me forget it."

Ginny smiled widely. "Oh, don't worry, I won't." She readopted her expression of determination. "Then you'll come back?"

Harry took a breath to answer. Quite possibly the most important question of my life . . . "Yes. I'll come back."

And then he was being kissed more thoroughly than he could remember being in the past three years or so.

And since before then I'd never had a date . . .

Yes, I'd say this is the best moment of my life.

Ginny's right. I was letting my fear play with me. Of course they'd want me back. I have real friends now, a family almost. They wouldn't want me sacrificing myself to keep them safe.

I was just being stupid and selfish and scared.

Harry pulled back and grinned. "Do you love me?"

"I do," said Ginny, laughing. "I do!"

Harry had no idea how, but a veil appeared over Ginny's head and they both laughed even harder. "You may now kiss the bride," she said coyly.

"Not yet," said a tart female voice.

Harry and Ginny spun on the dais to face it; Ginny's veil disappeared. The Founders and their children were ranged in a half-circle below them. Rowena Ravenclaw stood slightly forward, being the one who had spoken.

"Our business with you is concluded," she continued, more gently. "You are free to go."

Ginny's eyes widened in understanding of something still unclear to Harry. "This— this was a test," she said astonishedly. "You were testing us, to see what we'd do, weren't you?"

"Very good, dear," said Helga Hufflepuff approvingly. "I do hope you'll forgive us; it is what we do, after all. And you've both passed with full marks."

"We haven't had anyone do so well in over seventy-five years," Margaret Ravenclaw said pensively. "Those two red-haired boys, the brothers—remember?"

"Indeed I do," said Sophia. "I remember you asking me whether I'd made a mistake with their threads. When you know perfectly well I don't make mistakes."

"Oh really?" Brenna challenged. "What about that time in the other universe, where you measured one sixty-five years too short?"

"Well, I'll try not to do that again this time. But still—"

Rowena Ravenclaw's voice rose over the chatter. "Girls—enough!"

"Because you have done so well," Gryffindor said, "all conditions are lifted. You will both return to your bodies at close to the time at which you—" he looked at Ginny— "left." He looked at Harry. "And do remember that the future is never set in stone. You would do best to protect your loved ones by fighting alongside them, not by pushing them away."

Harry looked slightly shamefaced. "Trust me, sir, I've learned my lesson."

"It certainly seems so. As well, we offer you a boon—anything within our power to grant, and our power is considerable."

Harry thought for a moment. "Give us what we need," he said.

"Ooh, very good, that one," Adam Hufflepuff said approvingly. "You sure he's not related to you, Alex?"

Alexander Slytherin sighed. "Sadly, yes. You know who is." The others nodded gravely.

"But that doesn't matter now," Paul said, waving a hand. "The gifts, esteemed friends, the gifts. In order—Gaga, you're first."

Helga put her hands on her hips and tried to look stern—which didn't work well, as her face wasn't built for stern. "What have I told you about calling me Gaga, young man?"

Paul stroked his temple, pretending to think. "Hm . . . what was it . . . Ah, yes. I believe it was, 'If you call me Gaga again, I'll throw you in the lake.'"

Alex began to chant. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Adam and the Ravenclaw sisters joined him. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Paul gulped. "Maura, little help here?"

She smiled innocently and joined the opposition. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Paul whimpered slightly.

"Later," Godric said severely, but Harry could see the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Alex, would you begin?"

"Gladly, sir." Alex came forward, stepped up onto the dais, and placed his left hand on Ginny's chest, his right on Harry's, so that both pressed gently into their pendants. "My gift to you," he said measuredly. "The chains and pendants which you wear shall be tangible only to those people and things for whom you wish them to be tangible. So that no one shall ever take them from you."

Alex bowed and stepped back to join the half-circle as Rowena Ravenclaw stepped up.

"My gift to you," she said, after placing her hands in the same position. "The pendants you wear shall act in the manner of a Pensieve, recording your memories. And if two or more share a chain, they shall be able to view the memories using spells which you shall know, and their minds shall be linked, allowing silent conversation."

She stepped away with a dignified curtsy, and Helga Hufflepuff took her place. "My gift to you," she said, mirroring the others. "The chains you wear shall grow or shrink as you will them to, and the ends of the chain shall grow together or apart as you wish, with no need for a clasp." She smiled gently. "So that you may share your memories and your thoughts more freely."

Godric Gryffindor was last, and as he stood before them, his hands in the same position on their chests, Harry thought he knew who it was he reminded him of.

I think it's more than one person. Dumbledore, Remus, . . . me, maybe. The quiet leader. Scrimgeour's a bad imitation, I can see that now.

"My gift to you is already partially given," he said. "It was in the original materials you used to make these pendants. They grow warm or hot when another who wears them is in emotional distress, and cool or cold when one who wears them is in mortal peril. To this, I add that the carving which represents that person will glow, so that you may know who it is you must aid." He smiled thinly. "After all, a warning doesn't help much unless it's specific enough to work from."

He stepped down, and to Harry's surprise, Margaret Ravenclaw came forward.

"This gift is for the two of you, alone," she said. "The other gifts have been for your entire Pack—all your pendants will behave the same. But I have a gift for you and only you." She reached over and grabbed Ginny's right hand in her left, Harry's left in her right, so that they formed a sort of triangle. "You, Harry, came close to forgetting what you truly fought for today; and you, Ginny, came to his aid by dint of the link I formed between you. May this bond now continue in perpetuity, so that each of you remembers always that, no matter what may happen, you are never alone."

Harry felt the threads of his connection with Ginny, which had faded away unnoticed during the ceremony, retwine in full force, and stronger, more comfortably. It was an amazing feeling.

Margaret dropped their hands and returned silently to her place in the circle.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, so softly Ginny doubted the Ravenclaw daughter had heard.

Did it work? he asked silently.

Certainly seems it, Ginny replied cheerfully. Thank you for doing the right thing, Harry.

And thank you for showing me the truth. Now I feel like I can face anything.

"Now it is time for you to return," Rowena said with a hint of a smile. "You must go first," she said to Ginny. "Alone. And you must play the part of Orpheus."

Huh?

Mythological reference. Harry sent her the appropriate memories.

"Don't look back." Ginny smiled. "I'll manage. I trust you. See you back home, Harry," she said softly. "I love you."

Harry smiled in return. Ginny turned away from them, took one step—and vanished.

The Founders faced him, separating themselves into four distinct groups—Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and the lone Slytherin.

As one, Helga and Adam bowed. "Savior of the Lost, we bid you farewell," they intoned.

The three Gryffindors were next. "Bearer of Faith, we bid you farewell."

Finally, the four Ravenclaws offered their respects. "Bringer of Hope, we bid you farwell." Harry had a strange feeling that the words had a double meaning of sorts, but he was too drained to figure it out right then . . .

Alexander Slytherin smiled at him. "Go in peace, Harry James Potter, lion's son, serpent's fall."

Harry smiled back and lifted a hand in farewell as whirling colors brought him back to the reality he knew.

---

Suddenly, everything went black.

That's because you have your eyes closed, love, said the voice he most wanted to hear.

You're absolutely right, Ginny. And Merlin, am I happy to be back.

Harry opened his eyes, groaned, and sat up. "Everything seems to be working," he said to himself.

Then he looked around.

All the Pack. Together.

With our wands.

"How'd you escape?" he blurted out.

"Neenie managed to slip out, if you know what I mean," Ron said with a conspiratorial wink.

Harry beamed at Hermione. "Congratulations. And thank you."

Hermione frowned slightly. "How'd you know we'd been captured, anyway? You've been unconscious since we did the oath."

"With a little help from Godric, Maura, and Paul," Ginny said calmly.

Seeing Hermione about to launch into 'thousand-questions mode', Harry quickly cut her off. "We'll explain later. For now, I think we should get out . . . any reason we've been waiting here?"

"We think there's a Dark Mark-keyed ward in the path," James explained. "There was one around that thing—" he pointed to the cubbyholes— "where our wands were, and when Lily tried to grab hers she got thrown back and Snape got alerted."

Harry gnashed his teeth briefly at this confirmation of Snape's loyalties. "How'd you get the wands, then?"

James smirked. "Called in his life debt to me."

"Nice one, James. All right. I think I can take down this ward—Dumbledore's been working with me on them. Anyone got my wand?"

Harry caught it from Ginny, then started to walk, muttering revealing spells every few feet. After about five yards, one of them showed a shimmering green barrier for a few seconds before fading away.

"That's it!" Lily exclaimed. "That's what the ward looks like. It's invisible until you try to get through it."

Harry took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing, then." Let's hope Hermione and Dumbledore were right . . .

He walked straight through the barrier, feeling nothing but a slight tingling.

"It worked!" he exclaimed quietly. "Now let me get to work taking it down. It has to be done from this side."

Harry began waving his wand in arcs against the invisible barrier, muttering basic ward-weakening spells; the barrier appeared in full force almost as soon as he started working, and green sparks marked the areas at which he was chipping away.

Some five minutes later, there was a loud CRACK; the green light of the ward brightened briefly before shattering and fading away to nothing.

"Done. Come on, let's go!"

With judicious use of the Point Me spell, the group made their way around several corners, through long, dark corridors, to—

Sirius groaned. "A dead end? Come on, this can't be right!"

"Could it be an illusion?" Aletha suggested.

Harry snapped his fingers. "Perfect. Yeah, Aletha, it seems like it is. And—" he sent a few spells at the 'wall', which glowed blue— "it looks like this is where the Apparation wards end."

"Yes!" Danger exclaimed, then sobered. "Erm . . . how are Aletha and I going to get out?"

"We can Side-Along you. Now, through the wall!"

Harry ran through it first—it felt rather like going through the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters—and found himself in a large antechamber, with no exit except that through two huge obsidian doors carved with serpents, that practically reeked of darkness.

Testing the wards, Harry Apparated a few feet to his left—and got there successfully.

YES! We're out!

He turned around to face the group of Pack members that had come right behind him, noting with amusement that Remus was holding his nose. Guess he smells the darkness a bit more acutely than most of us.

"Except Danger and Aletha, you all know how to Apparate, right?" Harry asked softly.

A chorus of nods answered him.

"Great. We're going to Hogsmeade. Remus, you can Side-Along Danger. Hermione, you do Aletha." The two moved to grab their passengers' arms. "Everyone—"

Someone appeared behind them with a pop.

"GO!" Harry shouted, and a sound like the firing of a machine-gun was heard as eleven people disappeared.

Harry whirled around to face the new occupant of the room as they left.

Oh, shit.

What is it, Harry?

Voldemort. Sensing her horror, he added, Don't you dare come back. He might raise another ward or something, and then we'd be trapped. Trust me—I'll be fine.

Now if only I wasn't saying that to convince myself . . .

The self-styled Lord Voldemort stood in front of Harry, looking even more distorted than Harry remembered seeing in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He didn't quite look like the Voldemort that had risen from Wormtail's cauldron yet, but he was close—close enough, Harry thought, that no sane person would join him. With narrow red eyes, a barely distinct nose, and waxy-looking skin, he spoke.

"Why, hello there," he said in a cold, high-pitched voice. "I see you managed to get your friends to safety . . . pity it won't work for you." He fingered his wand threateningly as he walked closer and closer to Harry.

Harry's brain was working a mile a minute. His wand! Voldemort's wand is a Horcrux!

This might prove to be a good thing after all.

Harry double-checked his Occlumency shields as Voldemort continued. "For you, you see, would be the jewel of my collection. I do keep better wards than I think you realize, Harry Potter. The ones guarding entrance into this room were triggered twelve times. Twelve. Anything strike you about that number?" Voldemort spoke slowly, deliberately, in a manner calculated to induce fear; he was barely three feet away by now.

He knows the Prophecy. This is not good.

Harry didn't allow his fear to show, though, as he answered. "It's the same as the number of brain cells you have, Tom?"

He had figured out, based on Pensieve memories of Dumbledore's duels with Voldemort over the years, that the Dark Lord tended to get off-balanced when angry. And insulting him—using his name, even—was a good way to get him angry indeed.

If one was prepared to brave the consequences.

"You insolent whelp!" Voldemort hissed, raising his wand, his eyes glowing even more angrily red. "Crucio!"

The reddish-brown curse flew from the Dark Lord's wand through the few feet of air between him and Harry—

—and whizzed by, some three inches to his right. Harry, expecting a reaction like this, had jumped to his left before Voldemort even began his curse.

Off-balanced indeed.

Before Voldemort could react—before, indeed, his curse had hit the far wall—Harry took action. He pointed his wand and focused all his hatred of the creature before him into two words:

"Avada Kedavra!"

Time seemed to slow. Voldemort didn't even move as the curse sailed toward him, though he certainly would have had a chance to react, to jump out of the way, to send one of his own. He just smirked.

Guess he has some sort of protection, then . . .

It was only at the last second that the Dark Lord realized the jet of green light wasn't heading for him.

It was heading for his wand.

Startled, he tried to pull his wand out of the way, but too late. The curse hit.

Harry gasped as he felt a wave of resistance to his spell. Voldemort's soul was incredibly stubborn and had been bound more tightly than any other—this was his fifth Horcrux, and he had had time to refine the art of creating them. He was going to be pushed out, the soul fragment would stay put, and his curse would rebound back on him—

Searching himself for every last thought of positive and loving experiences, Harry brought his most powerful memories to the surface to hold the dark thing at bay. The piece of Voldemort's soul recoiled for a moment, but regained its footing, even more immobile this time. It refused to be pushed out any more than about halfway—it seemed to get harder and harder to 'squeeze' it as Harry did so, and it was pushing back with more and more intensity—

Suddenly, without asking, Harry felt Ginny meld with his consciousness, offering him her support, love, and not insignificant force of will. Voldemort's soul receded further, compressing itself into what Harry assumed was a fraction of the wand's handle—

With one, final mental heave, Voldemort's wand split zig-zag along its length. There was a blood-curdling shriek, and Tom Marvolo Riddle dropped his last Horcrux, stunned.

Harry sagged with exhaustion, gathering the last of his strength to Apparate before he collapsed.

---

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes and took in his surroundings.

A Death Eater would be killed for making a room this bright, he thought detachedly.

It took almost five seconds to connect that brightness to the fact that he was now in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

I'd love to get back to sleep, but I need to know what happened . . . A quick mental prod showed Ginny to be fast asleep, so Harry did the only other thing he could think of for information.

"'m awake," he mumbled. "Mad'm Pomf'y, 'm awake."

"Oh, you are indeed," the matron said briskly, bustling into the room. "You've suffered a severe case of magical exhaustion, but you'll recover—no long-term damage. We found eleven people near you in Hogsmeade; ten of them were awake and fine except for minor bruises and such, and Ginny Weasley is in pretty much the same state as you."

"'k." Guess Ginny got the same thing because she helped me . . .

"The Headmaster knows most of what happened," Madam Pomfrey continued. "He's questioned the others, though he'd like to speak to you sometime soon. You should be just fine by Wednesday. For now, though, just get some rest. I know it can't be too hard, not in this state."

No, not hard at all. And I can rest easy, now. Everything will be fine.

Smiling slightly, Harry closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

---

When he next awoke, Harry felt much more rested. With a bit of scrambling on his bedside table, he found his glasses and put them on.

"Ah, Harry, you're awake," said a welcome voice.

Harry looked over. Sure enough, there was Professor Dumbledore, looking decidedly worried.

"Hello, Professor."

"You cannot know how welcome it is to see you mostly recovered, Harry. Madam Pomfrey said you would be fine, but even so . . . you have been sleeping for three days, did you realize?"

Three days? "No, I didn't. And I'm still tired." He sighed. "I destroyed Voldemort's wand, by the way. It took a lot of my energy, but I don't understand why."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled strongly. "This is excellent news indeed. Harry, I believe destruction of that particular . . . item . . . was so difficult because it was the last such item Voldemort had created—he had a chance to hone his methods—and it was in contact with the remainder of himself as you tried to destroy it. These sorts of objects grow more tenacious in close proximity to their creator."

Harry understood the message Dumbledore didn't want to say outright in such an insecure environment. Horcruxes are harder to destroy when there's two soul bits near each other.

The two sat in contented silence for a few seconds, until Harry remembered something. Dumbledore mentioned a bond when we talked about the prophecy . . . 'joining unto eleven' . . .

"Professor, the bond you mentioned having formed with your brother—is it a magical oath that starts, 'My hand in yours'?"

The twinkle grew even further. "Indeed it is, Harry. I believe it is safe to assume you and your friends have sworn that oath?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, we did. And then I got accosted by the Founders, who tried to convince me to stay There because it would keep the rest of the Pack safe . . . long story."

"You most certainly have 'emerged', as the prophecy would say, over the past few days, Harry—just as predicted. You cannot expect Lord Voldemort to forget that you and your friends have defied him, now. Be on your lookout—but do not forget to live."

"I won't, Professor. I've learned that by now, at least. Anything else?"

"Simply some more rest, Harry . . . Madam Pomfrey has refused to allow you to leave the Hospital Wing for another day, and even I have never been able to argue with her. Good luck."

"Thanks, sir. Could you let my friends come in now?"

"Gladly, Harry." Dumbledore rose and left the Hospital Wing, and barely five seconds later, eleven members of the Pack came barreling in.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione shrilled, "we were so worried—" She reached over and gave him a bone-cracking hug.

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Ron suggested, smiling. Hermione immediately let go.

"You're as good at that as Mrs. Weasley, I swear." Harry's eyes gained a teasing glint. "Perhaps because sometime soon you'll probably be 'Mrs. Weasley' . . ."

Ron and Hermione flushed. Everyone else laughed.

"What happened, Harry?" Lily asked. "We all got out of there when you said to, but you didn't follow for almost five minutes, and both you and Ginny collapsed right after you Apparated . . ."

"Damn, was it that long?" Harry muttered. "Sorry. Voldemort found me."

"And?"

Harry smirked slightly. "I riled him up a bit so he was off-balance, dodged a Crucio, and AK'ed his wand. It was the last bit that took all my energy—I'll explain later, when we're in a more secure area." He hadn't told most of the Pack about the Horcruxes yet—between his pack of revelations in January and James's in February, it had somewhat slipped his mind.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were smiling unabashedly; everyone else, though, looked confused.

"But why would destroying Voldemort's wand do anything?" Peter asked, puzzled. "Come to think of it, why would the Killing Curse work on an inanimate object at all?"

"That falls under the stuff I can't talk about in here. Let's just say Voldemort is now only three steps away from mortality, as opposed to the five he was before we got here. What else has been going on?"

"Not much," said James. "Things have been pretty subdued around here. The Daily Prophet printed a woefully inaccurate piece about the attack, everyone's pretty happy Dumbledore managed to stop it, classes have been normal—you missed a few days of work, but nothing you can't make up. No sign of Snape yet, and we told Dumbledore what he did. We were only gone for about six hours, you know—no time for people to really get worried—and no one died."

"That's good." Harry sighed tiredly; maybe Dumbledore was right about his needing more rest. "Remus? How was, er, the night of the 30th for you?"

Remus smiled. "Just fine. We got out ten minutes or so before moonrise, and with Danger nearby I was able to do the invisible-wolf-goes-into-Gryffindor-Tower thing again. We actually managed to get into the Den before Madam Pomfrey found us—she was none too happy next morning, though, let me tell you."

"What were you saying now, Remus?" Madam Pomfrey asked accusingly as she walked out of her office.

Remus gulped.

Harry stifled a snicker. Life is back to normal, it seems.

Well, normal as it ever will get, at any rate.

And I couldn't be gladder.

---

(A/N: Large parts of this chapter—the oath-swearing and all the scenes with the Founders—were based very closely on Chapters 38, 40, 42, and 44 of "Living with Danger." They belong to Anne Walsh.

So . . . some action, Snape proves his loyalties—or does he?—and the Pack has formed in earnest. Things are just beginning to get messy.

Next chapter: "Unraveling the Future," which finishes up Part 1 of "The Twist of Time"! Coming to a computer near you in probably a week or so, or more, or less.

Review!)