Posted 2/15/2014, fixed typos 2/25/2014

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Twenty-Two - A New Life

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A familiar smell greeted him when he came to, and he recognized it even with his befuddled mind. He was in the hospital wing, and the clanking he heard was obviously the matron working on something. His head hurt horribly - hot, hammering pain, and he tried to remember what he had done. He had tried something, hadn't he? He'd planned something for the evening, something important. He had been with someone, doing something. He'd visited someone. Flashes of memories came to him, and he saw Dumbledore resolutely pointing a wand at him.

Duelling the Headmaster? He had had better ideas, and even he wouldn't be so foolish as to try that in what he thought he recognized as the Headmaster's office. But why had he gone there in the first place? He'd been there when that girl died, yes, but that wouldn't factor in at the moment, would it? So why had he been in the Headmaster's office?

As he wondered about that, he became aware of the pressure on his wrists. Pulling slightly, he found himself restrained.

So, restrained in the hospital wing after duelling the Headmaster? But no, another image came to his mind. He had talked with Dumbledore about something. Something had worked? It had worked?

And with that, he remembered everything as the pain redoubled. The shock would have made him jump had he been standing, but he still jerked wide-awake. His eyes popped open and were attacked by the blinding light from overhead. But he didn't care about the pain in his eyes as he screwed them shut again.

It had worked. That's what he had said that evening. The previous evening? Or was it still night? But it didn't matter –it had worked in a way. Before he could think about it some more, the doors of the hospital wing flew open and fast steps approached the bed.

More out of impulse than anything, he turned his head towards the sound. The pain doubled, maybe tripled, and he cursed loudly.

"Yes, that happens," Dumbledore's voice announced. He sounded wary.

"Still not pleasant. What happened?"

"You fell. Yesterday, before you ask." The Headmaster still didn't sound as amicable as usual, and he asked, "Harry?"

His response was a snort, followed by a flinch. "'Harry?' Honestly? 'Harry?' Ouch. Yes, I am Harry, but then, that doesn't help all that much, does it? It's something I'd say either way. I could have said that I think I am Harry, but..." He paused. "How late is it, by the way?"

"Shortly after eleven in the morning. Miss Granger has already asked about your well-being," the Headmaster replied. "She is worried about her friend."

"You haven't told her I'm here?"

"She knows where you are, but she wasn't allowed to come here. Would you let any of your friends near you in the present situation? Would you allow anyone near you?" Dumbledore asked, probably raising an eyebrow.

"I'll give you that," the boy conceded. "Ouch. You couldn't ask... Madam Pomfrey for a Headache Remedy, could you?"

"We will see," the Headmaster spoke, "but again, would you do that in my place?"

"And again, my reply wouldn't tell you much," the boy answered. "Without knowing whether it's a lie, at least. You want to know who I am, but Tom would give you the same answers as Harry, wouldn't he?"

"He would, yes, but he would also point out that very same fact to impersonate Harry." Dumbledore sounded slightly less wary than at the beginning.

"So how do I prove I am Harry? Or more Harry than Tom, in any case? I'm sure you've come up with something brilliant while I was taking a rest."

The Headmaster sighed. "I fear I don't know for certain. At the moment, I am more concerned with what happened yesterday. I would like to hear your views on it; maybe it will tell me a bit about yourself."

"Ah, yes. I'm guessing you cast some privacy spells over this area?" When he heard no answer, the boy continued. "Well, you tried to unite the soul fragment of Lord Voldemort with Harry Potter's soul by using a modified Summersby-Tsareva bridge. I think we both agree you accomplished that?"

"Indeed. I am curious as to what happened during and after, though," the Headmaster said.

"Yes, I can imagine. Well, the two fought each other. One of them won. I think it was Harry. I feel more like him, but... well, Tom would say the same, wouldn't he? And it's a bit difficult telling them apart, it's... It was unpleasant for both, but it worked as far as I can tell, which proves the theory is sound."

"If it weren't, I would never have agreed to it," Dumbledore replied.

"True. And naturally, Tom would say the same and call it a success as well, which means you're likely still not convinced," the boy said, almost rolling his eyes. "Well, the procedure went roughly as expected, but there was more to deal with than either Harry or you had thought, and that's where things went wrong, in a sense. Too much to merge in such a short amount of time. All things considered, I think Harry did a decent job, Headmaster. Ouch. Thinking, not good. Why's my head so hot?"

"You fell and hit it," Dumbledore told him.

"Ah. So how do I prove I am who I think I am? Or claim I am, yes, I'm aware."

The Headmaster hummed. "Ultimately, I do not believe you can prove yourself without a doubt. However, you could elevate some of my worries by doing something only Harry should be able to –call your house-elf."

"Heh. –Ouch. Again? Well, fine. Kreacher, come!"

Only moments later, the ugly creature appeared. "Disgusting master called poor Kreacher?"

"Yeah. Err, sing your name and then return to the kitchen, following the orders you received in July of 1996 from Harry Potter."

Kreacher spat, but true to his orders, he sang his own name as off-key as he could. Then, he popped away.

"That was a very creative order," Dumbledore mused.

"I was temped to have him get me my potion. This headache is really bothering me. Or maybe have him scratch my nose, since I can't." To demonstrate his point the boy shook his still restrained arms.

Dumbledore chuckled. "That is unfortunate. So, Harry did a decent job, you say?"

"I think so, yes." He opened his eyes slowly, sick of not seeing anything. The light still stung. "It wasn't something he had been prepared for, and he had too much to deal with, but he managed to deal with it. I'm here, I'm alive, so I think he did well."

"You fainted shortly afterwards, though," the Headmaster prompted.

"Stress caught up to me. I was dead tired. That merge really does take a lot of strength. Just too much in too little time. Shutdown."

"And you were also laughing," Dumbledore added.

"I had just realized what had happened –what it meant, what you hadn't been prepared for. I was... thrilled, I guess, and the stress didn't help any. It's a bit of a lengthy explanation, and I really would prefer a Headache Potion beforehand."

Dumbledore stared for a while, but then, he nodded and left. When he returned, Madam Pomfrey had joined him with a bottle. She poured something of it in a glass and tipped it in the boy's mouth.

"Honestly, Headmaster, is this really necessary?" she scoffed.

"I would prefer to be on the safe side, Poppy," he replied, but his voice sounded a lot calmer than at the beginning of his visit.

She left, grumbling to herself.

"You haven't told her what you and Harry have done, have you?" the boy on the bed asked.

"I told nobody about it," Dumbledore confirmed. "Professor McGonagall has already complained to me because I hadn't informed her about our meeting and plans. She was very cross. Do you feel better? Good enough to give the explanation I asked for?"

"I can imagine her being cross," the boy replied. "Well, fine. It all leads back to your talk about magic and intent, as well as the one about Horcruxes. Tell me, Professor, did the ring talk to you?" He looked over to the man to find him frowning.

"Talk?" Dumbledore frowned. "No, the ring did not talk."

"I figured as much. There might not have been enough time for that. But remember what you were told about the diary. That one did talk, and it also allowed a somewhat physical Tom Riddle to appear. Or maybe the ring did talk to you and you simply didn't understand?

"Well, as for what happened yesterday, I'll point out that Harry Potter was a Parselmouth because Tom Riddle is one. When he created the unintentional Horcrux Harry, Voldemort copied the ability and gave it to the boy." He hissed for a moment. "It seems like I retained that ability. It was part of the soul fragment in Harry and has stayed with me. That's nice. Useful, perhaps. But back to topic. Why would Parseltongue be copied into a Horcrux in the first place? And it was copied, as Voldemort can still use it. Furthermore, the creation of yet another Horcrux was not intentional, so giving Parseltongue to the child wasn't planned by Voldemort. So why would a Horcrux be given that ability?

"To my knowledge, neither you nor Harry has come across any other Horcrux apart from Harry himself, the ring and the diary. Well, the ring I cannot say anything about. So let's talk about the diary, Voldemort's first Horcrux. Harry never told you much about the confrontation in the chamber, did he? Only that he had met Riddle who had been most interested and had told Harry they were similar. That they had talked and that the Riddle from the diary opened the chamber."

"I remember, yes. That Riddle used Miss Weasley to speak Parseltongue. Please continue," Dumbledore told the boy, but there was definite curiosity in his voice.

"Indeed. Another Horcrux that could use Parseltongue. And Harry never told you he had seen that diary before, did he? No, he didn't. He had found it when Ginny Weasley had tried to get rid of it. And Harry wrote in it. The Riddle in the diary had been very interested in Harry and had offered to show him who had opened the Chamber of Secrets the first time. And he showed Harry a memory, much like it is possible in a Pensieve. And in the chamber itself, during their talk, Riddle wasn't just spouting nonsense or something he had learned from Ginny. Harry told you about that neat trick with the name, didn't he? Yes, he did. In other words, Voldemort hadn't just put a piece of his soul into the book, but also his memories of the time as well as a copy of his Parseltongue. It makes sense when you think about it. If he wanted the chamber to be opened once more, whoever would do it would need to be able to speak Parseltongue. And he or she would need the knowledge of where to find the chamber as well as how to handle the Basilisk."

"And so, Tom put his memories and the Parseltongue in the diary as well," Dumbledore finished. "I did not know about his memories; I had assumed he had given it only the necessary knowledge. Am I to understand he placed..."

"A full copy in there, yes. Memories about discovering Hagrid with Aragog or meeting you on the staircase don't really matter; Voldemort could have done the same with a simple shift of perspective, from one memory to another, if all he wanted to do was give the diary everything it needed to teach the victim. But Riddle chose to include all of his memories –the more the diary knew, the higher the chances of success. So, yes, the diary contained a full copy of Tom Riddle's memories from that time, and that was why I was laughing yesterday. I had come to that realization – Voldemort included not only Parseltongue, but also memories in that Horcrux."

"That is why you asked about the ring," Dumbledore said. "You suspect it contained another copy of his memories? It is something Voldemort would do, yes. He would see it as an improvement, in fact," he decided.

"Exactly. Well, he made the first Horcrux and put his memories and ability in there as well. He made the second Horcrux and put his memories and ability in there as well, and the same for each of the Horcruxes he intentionally created. Soul, memories, and skill. Then he visited the Potters on Halloween 1981. He killed the parents. Easy enough. Then he turned his wand on the infant boy. But his curse failed, and just like you told Harry back in his second year, a part of Voldemort was blasted away and attached itself to the young boy. Another Horcrux was created, just the way Voldemort's magic had learned how to do it." He paused and looked at the Headmaster who stared back. "Want to know how many Horcruxes there are?" The boy tried not to smile too much. "Or their locations? The names of every supporter, marked or unmarked, from 1981? Or how about the memory of Slughorn's talk with him?"

Dumbledore's mouth moved, but no sound came from him. Then he blinked and paled dramatically. "Am I to understand... ?"

"That I have Voldemort's memories from 1981? Yes, I think so. I remember stuff I really shouldn't. I know I'm in the hospital wing and I know Madam Pomfrey is bustling around in here, but I also remember cankerous Healer Grant. Then there's that corridor up on fifth floor that I remember as the one where I caught a couple students when I was the Head Boy. Some other things are there. I know about the talk down in the dungeons with Slughorn. I know about Voldemort's Horcruxes and where he put most of them. I think I know about them, at least, it's a bit... I remember the day the curse failed, and some parts the child couldn't have seen. There should be more, other memories, but I cannot recall it right now. It's... there, I'm sure of it, but I cannot recall it. I should, but..." Shaking his head, he sighed. "I said it all leads back to our talk about magic and intent. Well, Voldemort had always linked the creation of his Horcruxes with including a copy of his memories and the Parseltongue."

"So when he accidentally created another Horcrux," the Headmaster continued, "his magic did as it had learned by then and automatically included both as well. Oh, Tom, you really had no idea what kind of a weapon you foolishly handed to us, did you? Does that mean you can give me a clean and full copy of his talk with Horace?" Dumbledore asked with narrowed eyes.

"I can do that, yes, but it doesn't really matter now, does it? I remember it. I can tell you. He asked about a seven-part soul."

"Seven?" The Headmaster paled even further.

"Yes. One part remains in his body. The diary and the ring we have taken care of. Let me think. Horcruxes, Horcruxes. Mmh. Err. The cup, yes, I remember. He gave it to Bellatrix Lestrange to be put in her vault at Gringotts. Crap! That will be tricky. Then there's the locket. It's... it's in a seaside cave. He put some Inferi there. Great." The boy frowned, but then shook his head. "The snake, if you are correct. Eugh! He had intended to keep the body. Harry's body, I mean, in a glass as a trophy, not as a Horcrux. Really didn't need to know that, but it fits, you already said he likes to collect things. One Horcrux is still missing, though." Biting his lip, he tried to recall everything he could about them. He knew it was there; he knew the number and could remember the talk.

Why could he, though? Why could he remember one thing and not the other? He really wanted to, so why couldn't he see the last Horcrux?

Something flashed in his mind. It had been too fast to know for certain, but also too much of a coincidence. He focused on it, retracing his thoughts until he noticed the flash again when he thought of Horcruxes. Painfully slow, he recalled, piece by piece. It had been something light. Something shimmering, fragile. A... a...

"Crown, or something. With lots of..." He stopped, as the last pieces fell into place. Laughing out loud, the boy who claimed to be Harry shook his head. "The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. And I know where it is and its protections. Well, Professor, how about we go Horcrux hunting? If we are quick about it, we can be back for lunch. Hey, we could visit the cave too! Ha! And I..." He stopped and his eyes widened as he looked at the blackened hand of Dumbledore. "You're cursed. You're dying. That's what is going on and why you're getting weaker over the year; you were affected by that curse, the one on the ring." And he spat a curse of his own that had Dumbledore raise an eyebrow.

"I am old," the Headmaster told the boy. "It will not matter if I die soon. I had hoped to teach you everything you need to know to finish the mission, but it seems we can cut that short now." The Headmaster sighed. "I believe you are Harry, or more him than Tom, at least. I am truly sorry for the restraints, but..."

"I understand," was the reply. "Strangely, I understand it more than I should. I would have done the same in your place. Is that weird?"

"I should ask you that, shouldn't I?" Dumbledore laughed. "Let me help you with your bindings," the Headmaster told him. With a wave of his wand, the restraints slackened and fell off. "Incidentally, how should you be called? You are more Harry, I think, but there is likely also a hint of Tom in you."

The boy didn't have to think about that one. "I'm Harry. I feel like he did. I want to go flying, something Tom never really paid much attention to. Heh! And Hermione always said Quidditch is only a game, yet here it tells me who I am. So, yes, I think I'll stay Harry James Potter. It's what everyone knows me as anyway and changing it would only draw attention to me. Not that I need to draw it to me, but..." He shrugged and carefully sat up. "But first, I think I'd like something to eat. Yes, I think I should eat something."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "That can be arranged, I'm sure." He called an elf, and Harry gave an order for a sandwich and some tart.

"While we wait, Harry, there is something I would like to know," Dumbledore began hesitantly. "You mentioned you have Voldemort's memories from 1981."

"And you want to know just how much I remember," Harry finished. He sighed as he tried to make up his mind. "Right now, bits and pieces. It's not as topsy turvy as I would have expected if I had known beforehand. Some is there, ready to be recalled, other parts are... I know about the night... Voldemort visited my parents in minute detail. I can remember their expressions when they died, something Harry hadn't seen. The Horcruxes... Well, Harry had seen the cup and the locket before; maybe that's it. Those two were easy compared to the Diadem." He gingerly stood up and was delighted to find himself steady on his feet.

"You think there is a connection?" Dumbledore asked, pensive.

Harry turned towards him. "Well, yes, I think so, Headmaster. It kind of makes sense, or as much sense as these things usually do. Information both Tom and Harry had could be put together immediately. The talk with Slughorn. Riddle was there, and Harry saw it in the Pensieve. That would be easy enough to connect or merge into one."

"And Harry had seen the locket the same way, so with Voldemort knowing it as well, these memories could be connected as well and were matched in your mind," Dumbledore added.

"Like shelving books, in a way," Harry said, pacing for a moment. "Since there was already a book about Horcruxes on the shelf..."

"Voldemort's memories would be easy to put next to it. A brilliant deduction. Yes, that might be it. It is not something one might find with normal Summersby-Tsareva Bridges..."

"Since there would be two pieces of the same mind and space in the shelf already reserved for the books that are added. Interesting. 'You do realize, of course'," Harry scowled, "'that we cannot publicize it?' Yes, Professor, I do."

Dumbledore sighed. "That is unfortunate, yes. Based on our theory, though..."

"I will probably remember a lot more once my mind has sorted through the information, yes, I think so too. Sooner or later, I will remember all his misdeeds, all the crimes he committed..."

"I'm sorry, Harry, I truly am, that you will have to bear such a burden. Perhaps you can try to..."

"No," Harry interrupted. "No, I will live with them. The victims should be remembered by more than just their murderer. I grew up burdened. I have faced hardships without hope of improvement. I can bear it. I will bear it." His gaze became fierce. "And I will use it to bring Voldemort down. He will pay for it, one way or another. There's no way I'll let him kill me, I'm too fond of living."

"That is very noble, Harry. Yes, I can see just how much of the old Harry still remains within you."

"And if he's brought down by his own skills, all the better," Harry added, giving a twisted smile.

Just then, the elf returned with the food.

"I will leave you to it then," Dumbledore announced, getting to his feet. "I want you to take it easy in the next few days, try not to ask too much of yourself. Maybe next weekend, we can go on that Horcrux hunt."

"About that, Headmaster," Harry said with a slight smile, but Dumbledore interrupted.

"I do not care if you feel up for the task. Even if one were right under our noses, we will not fetch it until at least next weekend. For one, I have a lot of business I have to deal with now that our little experiment is finished. Professor McGonagall will likely want to talk to me a bit more. For another, the school has always been more demanding right before St. Valentine's Day. And with it on a Friday this year..." He shook his head and left.

Harry quickly finished his meal. Madam Pomfrey walked over after a while, checking his health. He ignored her grumbling about insane students and death-defying stunts. He guessed the Headmaster had told her some cover story, but he was fine with it. In the end, it really didn't matter. In the last twenty-four hours, his world had been turned on its head, and he had achieved a lot without actually planning to. All he had hoped for had been to get rid of the Horcrux, but instead he had also solved his problem with Slughorn. Why ask him for a memory? He could provide it himself. And speaking of that, he had also made their search for the elusive objects considerably easier.

His plate was soon empty, and after promising not to do anything else than read and write for the rest of the day, he was allowed to leave. Madam Pomfrey seemed to think he would run headlong into an adventure. Honestly, he didn't plan anything of that sort. True, he very rarely did, but he still had about half of a day left of his weekend. And whatever he had told the matron, he still felt slightly weakened. He walked slowly up to the common room, mindful to not trip on his way.

When he stepped into the Common Room, few people were around, and they had their noses stuck in books or bent over rolls of parchment. Glancing to the window, Harry could understand their grim expressions –although quite early in the year, the sun had come out and shone on the grounds. It was ideal weather for some Quidditch training, he mused; forcing the team through some ridiculous routine sounded like more fun than it probably should.

But no, he had promised not to do anything of that sort. Instead, he walked to his dorm, finding it equally deserted. He checked his trunk and was not surprised to find the Marauder's Map missing. Then again, he would have been shocked to see his friends not thinking that far ahead. Well, if they had it, and he had no doubt about that, they would have a far easier time finding him than the other way around, leaving him to find something to occupy his time.

He settled on a quick shower. It was an odd sensation to undress. Most of his mind was completely used to the body, but a small part also considered it to be wrong and lacking. It was similar to a radically different haircut, he decided as he put the clothes in the hamper. Something was missing, but he was still exactly how he felt he needed to be. How long would it be until he would get used to it?

He stretched his fingers in the running water. Being young again and still old was another weird combination. He knew he hadn't lived more than sixteen and a half years, and yet part of him felt older. Well, part of him was older. While he was rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, he knew had had lost it already -yet he still had hair. His arms were shorter than he remember and still exactly how they were meant to be.

To distract himself from the conflicting memories, he thought about the inevitable talk with his friends. How much should –or rather could and would –he tell them? It was a difficult question. If he explained the Horcrux that was now assimilated and part of himself, he would have to explain the consequences. If he simply said he had dealt with the issue, even if Hermione were willing and able to let it drop like that, sooner or later the truth would make itself known. And if he wanted Ron and Hermione at his side, they needed to know who they were dealing with, didn't they? Furthermore, after his stay in the hospital wing, he couldn't hope they wouldn't ask. And he wanted them there. Hermione was both smart and a capable witch. He would need all the help he could get. Ron had shown to be able to adapt.

Drying the body that was both his and not, he made up his mind. They were his friends. They were a security risk, especially Ron, but they still deserved to know.

As if by command, the door opened and Ron peeked in.

"Ah, sorry," he mumbled, "The Map said..."

"... that I'm up, yes. I'm done here anyway," Harry finished. And he was. Looking one last time in the mirror and seeing the familiar, yet new face, he walked out of the bathroom. Ron sat on his bed, glancing around nervously. Hermione was pacing through the room, wringing her hands. The moment she saw him, she threw herself at him.

"Oh, Harry, what have you done? Professor Dumbledore refused to tell me anything, I was so worried, we were so worried! You said it wasn't anything dangerous! You said Dumbledore thought it was safe enough to try!" she wailed.

"And it was as safe as it could be," Harry said, fighting down the laugh he felt rising in himself, "and we didn't leave his office until after it went slightly different than planned. But I'm alright now, aside from having only a towel and a girl on me."

She blushed brilliantly and jumped away.

He smiled at her. "Now then," he continued, "I think I'll get dressed first. And then..."

"Dress all you want, but talk while you're at it," she pressed, turning her back to him. "After all the worry you put us through, you owe us an apology and an explanation."

Figures, Harry thought. "An explanation I can do. And I apologize for causing you grief. Now where to start? Hmm. Well, I guess the best would be to begin in summer. Yes, that might be a good starting point. What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room, are we clear?" he told them, quickly picking up his wand and casting some privacy spells. "When Dumbledore told me about the prophecy, I had understood that this is my war, in a way. I cannot walk away, and until it is over, I will not have a life. In a way, I cannot live until this war is over –until Voldemort is dead. I also realized that I would have to fight him sooner or later, and likely some of his followers as well." Harry put some clean clothes on his bed. "Well, I guessed that would be my lot, fighting them. And I'm not that delusional; I realized as well that I would likely die."

Hermione cried and whirled around, likely to tell him off. Luckily for her, Harry had held the towel up for the moment, but although she hadn't seen anything, she still made the sound of a flattened mouse and whirled back around, her blush likely more brilliant than before.

"Don't deny it, Hermione; if I have to face them regularly, it is simply reasonable to expect something to happen to me. Even my luck will run out someday. So I wrote my will and read a bit about defensive magic from the books I got from Sirius and Lupin for Christmas back in fifth year. I had planned to try that stuff out once I was here, but Occlumency came first, and then all that other stuff happened. You know, the deaths here, then the homework for Dumbledore and of course the Quidditch Captaincy to keep me balanced and sane. I had barely any time left. But in mid-November, I learned something new and valuable. On the day I learned about Horcruxes, on my way back," he put his shirt on, buttoning it up; at least he was decent when he dropped the first bomb, "I remembered something Dumbledore had said in second year. Back then, we had discussed my Parseltongue ability, and he had told me that on the night Voldemort had tried to kill me, he had inadvertently transferred that power because he had put a small piece of himself in me."

Hermione gasped, and half turning around, staggered slightly. But she was too shocked to speak. Ron on the other hand was still trying to figure it out. Or maybe, Harry thought, he didn't want to accept the reality.

"Well, in mid-November, I had an epiphany. Voldemort had indeed put a piece of himself in me. He had made me a Horcrux without knowing it. Well, he cannot die until all the Horcruxes have been destroyed..."

"No!" Ron yelled, and Harry raised his hand.

"It's alright, hear me out. Two more minutes, and then you can both yell at me for being stupid. It's actually alright; it's fine and sorted out now.

"Well, I understood then. To end this war, all the Horcruxes have to be destroyed, all his parts sent to the great beyond or whatever you might want to call it. And I connected the dots. To do that, the piece in me needed to be dealt with one way or another." Hermione staggered even more, and fell onto the bed next to Ron. They were both crying, and Harry wondered whether he shouldn't have started at the end rather than the beginning.

"I prepared for it," he said, louder than before, "but during my studies of Occlumency, I stumbled upon a little nugget. I read about the Summersby-Tsareva Bridge."

That shocked Hermione out of crying. Perhaps it was her thirst for knowledge, but she stared at him nonetheless. He continued. "Well, I remembered, and an idea was formed –the plan for what Dumbledore and I did yesterday. Basically, the bridge is meant to reunite the minds of people who accidentally shattered theirs while learning Occlumency. Dumbledore and I modified it a bit so that it could unite souls instead."

"You didn't!" Hermione screamed.

"Well, it is better than dying in battle in any case or allow myself to die, which were the other reliable solutions. And it worked, from what we can tell. Once the two souls were merged, the part of Voldemort is no longer a part of him. It no longer exists as a separate entity."

"But," Hermione shouted, "wouldn't that be true for you as well? Or rather, for Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Yes and no. It was a small piece of Voldemort and a whole lot of Harry. When those two met, Voldemort's part was apparently consumed and integrated into Harry, so no, it wasn't be the end of Harry because he still contributed the majority of the newly formed person. On the other hand, as a result of the procedure, yes, he became me who just so happens to be overwhelmingly the old Harry."

Blinking, Ron looked between his two friends, a fish out of his water. Finally he said, "Anyone mind explaining to me what you are rambling about? Because I haven't the foggiest what you were saying just now."

Harry spoke up before Hermione could. "Bottom line, in order to not have to die to destroy the Horcrux, Dumbledore assisted in uniting Harry and the soul fragment of Voldemort's, forming the new and improved Harry you see standing in front of you. Since Harry proved to be capable of consuming and integrating what was there of Lord Voldemort, I am for all intents and purposes simply Harry. It also means I don't have to die to defeat the stinker who is running around right now. Which is good, all things considered -I like living."

"But you're still you, right? You didn't die or anything?" Ron asked.

"I changed slightly, from what I can tell. That's what people do. And I would consider the old Harry dying a small price for what has been won, mainly me not dying. Or me being born. The procedure also had a few perks.

"I'm still a Parselmouth. Whether my children will be as well I don't know, but I kind of look forward to finding out. Wouldn't that be hilarious? Slytherin's cherished ability passed on by a mangly half-blood? And to a bunch of terrors of their own right? But I'll see, hopefully. So, I'm still a Parselmouth, which might prove useful.

"The important gift requires a bit of explanation, so if you want to shout and get it out of your system, you may do it now."

Hermione moved her mouth wordlessly, and Harry wasn't sure whether she was talking in too high of a voice, or whether she was simply mouthing whatever was running through her mind for her own benefit. Ron beside her didn't look any better, but neither cried any more.

After a while, Harry continued. "Well, the procedure was a success, but it didn't go as planned. There had been more locked away than just his soul fragment, and when the bridge forced the two sides to merge, all that rest was sort of thrown into the mix as well. Harry, that is, I who is standing here, couldn't really deal with it and was overwhelmed by the sheer amount to sort through. Well, I fainted and woke up in the hospital wing. Dumbledore wasn't quite sure whether I was who I claimed I was but I could convince him. I offered him some information he was interested in. And here I am."

Hermione frowned. "Well, ignoring for a moment that you could indeed be Voldemort acting as if you were Harry..." She ignored Ron's gaping, "you still haven't said anything about this oh!, so important gift."

Nodding, Harry smiled at her. "Indeed I haven't explained it. Well, first, let's assume that magic has a mind of its own to some extent. Like a dog, it can learn to react to specific actions. Repeat a spell often enough and the magic knows what to do with little input from the witch or wizard casting it. Dumbledore's knowledge, Hermione, before you ask, and it is apparently something that a lot of people don't realize or think about, but also nothing new. It's not important in most cases, but it is the reason why rituals have to be done in a specific way –because the magic surrounding us is used for the actions of the ritual. Well, the creation of the Horcrux is partly a ritual, but it is one of the caster who can modify it, apparently. Now then, back when he was young, Voldemort created his first Horcrux, the diary, and he put in it not only a part of his soul but also his Parseltongue ability and his memories of the time. That way, the diary would know all it needed to know."

"The location of the chamber and how to open it," Hermione said, fascinated by his words. Ron meanwhile sat back and tried his best to follow.

"Exactly," Harry spoke, pointing at her. "It made sense to Tom Riddle to preserve as much of his young self as he could. Well, some time later, he made his second Horcrux. And again, he put both the ability of Parseltongue and a copy of his memories in it. Again, it made sense -since he was already creating a safety for himself, why not make a copy of his memories in case something happened? Well, that's what he did again and again with each Horcrux he created, and his magic learned about his intentions. On the night he tried to kill Harry, he accidentally made a Horcrux. Used to the process, Voldemort's magic gave the child a copy of his Parseltongue..."

"... and his memories?" yelled Hermione with an odd mix of horror and awe. "So you remember everything?"

Ron cursed loudly, and Harry laughed at both of them.

"Well, yes and no," he said, more to keep the tale going before they made any assumptions. "The memories, Harry's and Voldemort's, didn't quite fit together. Some stuff of Voldemort, or rather, Tom, Harry knew about, and I can recall them. I know about his first meeting with Dumbledore and can recall the repugnant smell of the orphanage. Harry saw it in the Pensieve, and with that connection, I can remember it. Harry saw the meeting with Slughorn in the Pensieve as well..."

"... so you know what they were talking about" Hermione finished the thought.

"So I know what they were talking about," Harry confirmed. "Harry learned about Horcruxes from Dumbledore and, due to his memory of the talk with Slughorn, I know how many there are. And since I have an understanding of Horcruxes, I also know what they are as well as where they are hidden. And since I know where they are hidden I'm beginning to remember the protections around them," Harry told them. "You know, I can't wait for the next time I'm meeting Death Eaters."

Hermione screamed something, but it was too high for Harry to understand. Ron's eyes bulged at his exclamation.

"Well, think about it. Here I am, a reasonably powerful wizard with the honed reflexes of a Seeker in his prime. And somewhere inside my head is the vast knowledge about Dark Arts and their counters, ridiculously complex duelling spells just waiting to be used. Power, trained reflexes and extensive knowledge, all combined in one body." Then he grinned widely. "The Death Eaters were likely ordered to not kill me, just to capture. They have to be careful. They have to take me alive. On the other hand, I don't need to be careful at all. I can stun them, break them, bind or strangle them, send them running or make them beg for mercy. Once I've tapped into that knowledge, they'll never know what hit them, and perhaps literally. There'll be little I won't be familiar with. Or I could..." He stopped mid-movement as a thought occurred to him. A glorious, hilarious thought, and he burst out laughing. He had to steady himself on his bed or he would have fallen to the floor.

"H... Harry?" Hermione asked. She sounded frightened, and in the echoes of his mad cackle, it seemed even worse than it probably was, but Harry couldn't hold it in. Ron, having risen from his bed, inched closer, ready to defend her from the obviously insane Harry.

But it wasn't necessary. Harry finally managed to calm himself and chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, that'd be too good..."

"Err, Harry, mate," Ron began, his hand on his pocket, "are you alright?"

"Fine, perfectly fine. I just thought of the most brilliant pranks I could play on the Death Eaters." Seeing them stare at him, he elaborated. "Well, he's given them all the Dark Mark, hasn't he? Or most of them anyway. There are at least two spells in there, one to work as a call for them..."

"You could call them into a trap!" Hermione yelled, jumping up as well. "You could call them to you, and instead of Voldemort, they'd meet dozens of Aurors!"

Harry nodded. "That was my first thought, yes. But Dumbledore would never go for it, and with good reason."

Ron gaped at him. "What? Are you out of your mind? We could get them all in one day! No searching or anything, just a call and they'd be caught!"

"Yes, and Voldemort would know we have figured his Mark out. He'd be far more careful and might even start looking for spies. He might catch Snape that way, and he is too valuable at the moment and providing us with important information. Or at least for his sake I hope he does. But yes, a trap like that might be possible if I can figure it out. The other idea was actually way funnier, though. See, whenever the Death Eaters hear his assumed name, they flinch and hold their arm, their Mark, as a reminder and punishment."

"You think he put some kind of spell on it to cause them pain? That's barbaric!" Hermione said, disgusted.

"You say that now, Hermione. But if he can add his name to cause the pain and the Marks are all connected..."

"... perhaps the Protean Charm or something similar?" Hermione pointed out.

"Perhaps. So, if he can add words, maybe I can too? Let's say I'd add the incantations of the Unforgivables, perhaps Mudblood as well, some random words for good measure... oh, and dunderheads, our names... maybe I could change the result as well. Instead of causing pain, maybe make them laugh or slap themselves or something. They'd probably be too frightened to tell their master, and it would bother them constantly trying to figure out their master's wishes."

Ron guffawed, and Hermione too fought a smile. "Well, it would certainly cause trouble. Maybe we should make a list of all the uses we can put... put that... knowledge..." she slowed down as her brow furrowed.

"You could change them daily or something –to keep them off-balance, you know?" Ron chortled.

Harry nodded. "That's why I was laughing. Can you imagine their faces?" Both grinned, thinking about the many applications that knowledge could have.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted them before they had found a new, hilarious trick they would want to try, "you say you have his knowledge -Voldemort's, I mean."

He nodded, wondering where she was going with it. "I will, once I've sorted through it."

"His memories from when he... first met you," Hermione continued.

Again he nodded, beginning to see her point. They had been friends for years; he knew where her mind had turned to. It had been on his mind earlier. "Ah, yes. Well, I'll just have to live with that, won't I?"

"Live with... live with that?" she asked, blinking in surprise. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh, I hadn't thought...! Oh, Harry, that's..."

Ron returned to looking between the two of them before he too caught on. "Oh, his bad memories. His... yeah."

Hermione's and his moods turned sombre. Of course Harry would remember the crimes as well. Sooner or later, he would know about it as if had been himself who had cursed and killed, tortured and extorted the same way he could already recall his parents' dying moments.

"Ah, don't worry about that now," Harry told them with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll have to live with that, but if that's the price I have to pay to get all these inside informations... well, we can't expect it to be without any cost, can we? So forget about it, alright? But if that wasn't what you were thinking about, then what did you have on your mind before, Hermione? You were asking about his knowledge. Well, my knowledge, sooner or later."

She blushed faintly. "Oh, it's ridiculous. But that's just it, isn't it? It will be your knowledge sooner or later. I'm guessing you will try everything you can to integrate his memories. It's far too advantageous not to."

"Yeah, so?" Harry asked, failing to see the importance, but as soon as he had said it, he had another vague idea where she was going with it.

"Well, it will be your knowledge. The knowledge of over thirty years of studies on the secrets of magic. Legilimency and Runes and Arithmancy and Transfiguration, Charms and combat spells of all sorts. You could ace the N.E.W.T.s with that kind of knowledge, perhaps even this year. You'd be leagues ahead of our age group."

"I could set the exams with it as well, yes," Harry agreed. "Does it really matter, though? Over time, they'll start to catch up, I think. And remember, this is Voldemort we're talking about. His main focus has probably been on destruction, on chaos and terror. I imagine before long I will trash the most powerful protections known to wizardkind; I could lay waste to everything we hold dear, but I don't think it will all be pleasant. That advantage will come at a price. Let's say I'll be perhaps ten or fifteen years ahead on nice topics. Knowing you, that's something you will catch up on before we're twenty-five. Others might be similar."

"Well, of course it doesn't matter, but you'd still be way ahead on the..." Hermione agreed, but then she nodded slowly. "Right. A soldier's knowledge. Of course. So, ten to fifteen years, then."

"If you dally, that is," Harry chuckled. "I'm guessing you'll just see it as a challenge."

Ron rolled with his eyes. "Again, explanation for those who aren't super smart and know this stuff?"

Smiling at him, Hermione elaborated. "Well, Harry has Voldemort's knowledge. How to kill, how to torture, that kind of thing he will know sooner or later. But then, as soon as the war is over and we're civilians, well... it wouldn't do him any good then, would it? Sure, he could join the Aurors..."

"I probably should, just to show them how it's done," Harry said with a grin. "Can you imagine Moody's face when I do?"

Ron snorted, and Hermione forced herself not to laugh as well. "Very mature. He could try to make the best with it, but it won't necessarily help him in his daily life unless he specifically chooses a field of work where those skills will be useful -in this case, something to do with fighting or protection, both fields of work with a high risk. My mum told me about a similar situation. My grandmother had joined the Naval Nursing Service during the war. One day, they needed help, and there she was, assisting in amputating arms and legs –that is, cut them off, Ron, a Muggle practice for badly damaged body parts. By the end of the war, she might have done it herself; she knew how it was done after having seen it hundreds of times. But once the war was over, those skills were basically worthless. Lots of people had them, which isn't the case here, I hope, but it also wasn't necessary to amputate as much any more, and she had no love for that kind of work. She had become a vegetarian and couldn't stand the sight of blood."

"They cut off body parts? Are they insane?" Ron yelled, finally having grasped that part.

"Well, it is a lot easier to treat a clean cut than the mangled remains of something. And if, let's say, the hand is already little more than a stump..." Hermione shrugged.

"Back to topic, yes, I think it will be something like that," Harry threw in. "I reckon Voldemort learned all he could about causing pain and damage, but didn't spent nearly as much effort on learning how to fix it. And that will be far more useful in the future, I hope."

"Until the next Dark Lord rises," Ron pointed out, but Harry narrowed his eyes darkly.

"Thanks for pointing that out. Great, so I'll never get my peace and quiet –once I've stopped one Dark Lord, people will ask me to repeat the trick. Oh well, if I will be a weapon, then I might as well be a weapon against dark lords."

"But you can't fight the Dark Arts all by yourself," Ron told him.

"And I won't. Dark Arts are not the same as dark lords. I have little reason to go after the former. As long as no one is hurt, why should I care what people do? And not everything the Ministry labels as dark is necessarily evil. Considering that the Ministry has a tendency to label stuff as dark just to have something to act upon..." Both of his friends stared at him, and he explained. "Well, Occlumency isn't really evil in itself, but call it dark and lots of people will stay away from it. Werewolves? Dark, and people avoid them, no matter whether they are evil or just given a hard lot in life. Lots of spells with lasting effects, impairing the victim. Good for catching crooks, yes, but dark, and most people stay away from it."

"Old magic families won't share, handed down from father to son, from mother to daughter," Ron added, cottoning on. "Dad tau...old me about them."

"Polyjuice Potion," Hermione added. "Restricted and classified as dark because the Ministry wouldn't want people running around impersonating each other on a regular basis, yet it is not particularly harmful in itself. It might lend itself to shady business what with impersonating people, but following that logic, knifes need to be forbidden, deadly weapons that they are. You're right, there's something funny about some of these classifications, but still, lots of the Dark Arts are probably very troubling."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Be that as it may, I'm also a Black now. Sirius might not have liked it, but I think he still knew the stuff and offered his insights into dark wizards and witches to the Order. And I'm quite sure dark doesn't have to necessarily mean evil. Basilisks are classified as dark..."

"They are evil, Harry!" Hermione yelled.

"The one in the chamber was just following orders," Harry argued. "Otherwise, it was just being its snakey self. Sure, given the chance, it would have devoured a student or two, but to a Basilisk, humans are probably similar to chicken for us –food. And just because we make the rules and fight them..."

She groaned. "Harry, please, please tell me you don't plan to raise them or something!"

Laughing, he shook his head. "No, I hadn't planned on it. But look at it from a Basilisk's point of view. It is alive, it is hungry. Whether it's a sheep or some dogs or a human, to the Basilisk, they will all look like food. Just because Basilisks might hunt us does not make them evil per se. An owl hunts mice and frogs, and to them, the terrifying monsters come to hunt and kill their families. But to the owl, they are food. Similarly, Basilisks are hungry. They want to eat, and just because they aren't averse to eating humans does not mean they have ill intent. It's their nature to want to satisfy their hunger, that's all. You wouldn't call Crookshanks evil just because he hunts mice, would you? Well, the mice might, true, but..."

"We fear Basilisks and call them monsters, but to them, we are just food," Hermione finished the thought. "Just as long as you keep them far, far away from me and, better yet, don't help them with their hunt on humans..."

"Great," Ron groaned. "One wants to free our servants, the other's siding with monsters out to kill and devour us."

"I am not," Harry replied resolutely. "It's called open-mindedness. I just wanted to point out that Basilisks are classified because of their inherent nature. They are considered dark because humans don't like their nature."

"Being bloodthirsty monsters does that, yeah," Ron agreed.

"By that logic, humans would be dark too," Hermione said with a grimace. "We kill animals, sometimes for silly reasons like entertainment. Animals can't really voice their complaints, but we can. We make the rules, so..."

Harry laughed. "Well, yeah, that's kind of what I meant, isn't it? But it doesn't matter. I don't have a basement large enough for a Basilisk, so there's that. They'd make awesome mounts for the conqueror of Dark Lords, though, now that I think about it."

It was Ron's turn to laugh. "They'd label you as dark, then. Nobody would look at you anymore..."

"It does have its perks, doesn't it?" Harry interrupted, scratching his chin in thought. "But no, Basilisks are out. Far too difficult to breed and keep. And in any case, I wouldn't want to be there alone, would I? You two should be there as well. Maybe the twins, Luna, and Neville too. That'd make seven. Six more perhaps? Thirteen riders? That has some style."

"And what, pray tell, should we ride, since giant, deadly snakes are out for the moment?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, dragons, of course. Just imagine Hagrid's joy at seeing them fly. Or perhaps thestrals?"

She shuddered. "No thanks. Once was more than enough. And dragons are far too dangerous for me to be near them ever again."

It was Ron who replied, "Now come, Hermione. Dragons are just misunderstood! They're kind creatures! Just ask Hagrid! Well, alright, they might bite off a head or two, but they're just bored then. Or hungry. Or awake."

"My point," Harry told them. "Once everyone sees how much fun dragons are, we'll get that ridiculous ban on breeding lifted in no time at all. If the conqueror of Dark Lords wants it, he will get it."

They laughed for a while, enjoying the moment of light-hearted talk. Then Hermione became serious. "Well, what do we do from here on out? With you, Harry, being... well, gifted... Where do you want to take it? You can't plan to challenge Voldemort to a duel or something equally... idiotically boyish?"

"Boyish," Harry repeated with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, right, Hermione. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You're the one who decided to outfly a dragon. Or tackle a Troll. Or run after a Basilisk in the chamber. Or, sorry for bringing that up, storm the Ministry on a hunch with all of five teenagers to help you. You have a tendency to come up with some stupid, reckless ideas. So, what are your plans?"

He thought about it. "Dumbledore and I will take care of the Horcruxes next weekend. It's kind of important. I'll try to integrate all these new memories. The faster I have it all ready, the better. If Voldemort knows a spell, who's to say he doesn't know the counter? I'd feel better being on more equal footing and not guess what he'll fling around if I should run into hi one day. It might also give me some idea as to how to tackle him at all –I'm not too eager to go toe to toe with him, but I'd like to know how he thinks. Know your enemy and all that. He might have his minions around when I do run into him, and I'd feel better having some kind of plan or advantage over him just in case. Everything to have a better chance of getting away or perhaps even taking him down; he's still a very powerful wizard with decades of experience and no scruples to hold him back. If I know his weaknesses..." Harry broke off. "I guess if I remember a really good, easy spell, I might teach it to you two..."

"Might?" Ron asked with a frown.

"Well," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes, "I'm guessing I'll learn hundreds of deadly spells. How many do you need, really? I'd prefer to keep the really dark stuff where it is..."

"Why learn it at all?" Hermione interrupted. "How many dark spells do you need?"

Sighing, Harry turned to fully face her. "It will all find its place sooner or later, I think. It's as if I were moving in somewhere –lots of boxes with my stuff. Some is unpacked sooner, some later, but the boxes won't stay closed forever."

"Why not put them in storage?" she countered. "Or throw them out. Moving is a great time to do just that."

"Well, if I got the stuff in a deal and can put it to some use, even if it is to swat a fly or right a table, then I should at least look through it. Since I'll have to live with them, I might as well try to take advantage of them. And not using it might cost lives if I don't know what we're dealing with."

She grumbled, but stayed silent.

"Back to topic," Harry continued. "I might teach you a spell or two, ideally those that aren't too difficult or special. We can't risk having you start flinging curses around only a dozen people ever heard from, and we shouldn't waste our time on the obscure spells with little use outside of unlikely situations.

"I think I'll have the offence and likely also the defence covered. Voldemort probably learned enough to prepare for any fight we might come across, so that's good. Or bad, since he can use it against us as well, but you know what I mean. However, now that I think about it, I might need someone who knows some healing spells." He looked at Hermione.

"What, I'm meant to look them up? Why me?"

"Well, if you ask Madam Pomfrey about healing magic or told her you had considered becoming a healer, she'll believe you. She won't question it. If Ron or I talked to her, she'd be suspicious. I tried a bit earlier in the year, but I'll be busy with the memories. And what if something happened to me? Let's face it, that's still a possibility. If that happens, I'd need someone to patch me up again. True, I could bring Madam Pomfrey along, but I'd rather not have her around. And between the Ron and you, I'd feel better asking you... it'll be a lot of work," Harry pointed out with a quick glance to Ron, who shut his mouth immediately. Message delivered. "We might need a few healing spells one day. I could sit down and do it, but it'd be a risk to not have some back-up around in case I'm busy. And you do want to help, don't you?"

She pursed her lips. "A healer, you say?"

"It sounds reasonable enough for a cover, I think. Pomfrey will know you are very dedicated and also looking into many different branches of magic. Pince won't suspect anything if you ask her for references. If someone sees you reading up on it, they won't think too much about it, knowing you as a studious girl with many interests. Also," Harry smiled, "with Ron and I constantly getting into trouble, knowing that stuff will become your second nature anyway. I know I can trust you with that important job. I'd have someone to patch me together if necessary. Not to mention, once either of us has brats of their own, who do you think they will run to if they are hurt? Especially since it's quite likely Ron or I will be the cause of any injury in the first place."

"Well, let me tell you, if you ever hurt any of my or your children, Harry, you will be in deep trouble because I will find or invent a spell just for you that even Voldemort's extensive knowledge will be no match for."

Ron snorted. "That'd be something to watch, wouldn't it? But you know what? I think this is great. We've won the upper hand and we're on the upswing. Things will only get better from now on." He grinned at the thought, but Harry couldn't join him. Not only was he painfully aware things usually didn't work out quite like they had been imagined in the beginning, Ron's exclamation also sounded suspiciously like tempting fate.


You'd think Ron would have learned by now. You'd be wrong. At least that business is mostly dealt with.

.

After some deliberation, I changed the ending to reflect Hermione no longer being the healer of the team and more one of two alongside Harry who might have enough time to look other things up. I know making the girl the healer is horribly cliched. It's preferable to making her useless in short term once Harry starts integrating Tom's memories.