Chapter 77: Sanctuary

The Patronus listened in disbelief as Luna explained her idea.

"You plan to save the Source of Magic…by rescuing Harry?" asked the Patronus. "But that is impossible."

In the sky above, they heard a crack like thunder that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

"Not quite, actually," said Luna, raising a translucent finger. "Harry's spirit has been erased from the Source, but his soul still remains here, within time." She pointed to a spot just past the angel's shoulder. "If we travel to the past, we can–"

"But Harry must die by Draco's hand, or we create a paradox."

Rumbles of aftershocks reverberated through the air, and Hermione couldn't stop tapping her foot. Hurry up!

"Well…yes, this is true, but there is a brief window of time in the past where he has made his choice and has not yet died. We can save him then...or a copy of him, anyway."

"A time copy? Those are rare dimensional mistakes, and they disintegrate rapidly."

"I know, but I saw him, in my visions. Hermione can give him life." Luna gazed upward for a moment. "This plan will only work if she changes the rules about death rituals, which she has agreed to do. This solves the other problem we're facing with the Priestess trying to destroy the world using soul magic."

The Patronus shifted, looking at Hermione as if she'd never seen her before. "I will admit, this did not occur to me." After a fraction of a second, her silver face frowned. "But…no, I've run the numbers, and it is still a terrible decision. You won't be able to retrieve Harry without navigating directly through the time distortion, twice. Time magic is restricted for a reason, and even with my help, this venture will likely be fatal and fruitless."

"You've done it before, though," said Hermione in sudden realisation. "When we were about to die in the Hogwarts quests and the world started collapsing. You saved us and brought us to the bus station."

Valencia turned to Hermione, a cold look in her eyes. "You are correct, but this is different. I was not facing down ritual and prophecy, or flying through a broken timeline in which the past bleeds through."

The Patronus lifted her wings, seeming to rise to a terrifying height. "I do not understand you, Hermione. When the fate of the entire world hangs in the balance, you cannot decide to save it. But now you want to risk everything for the one who destroyed the world we're trying to protect!" Her voice lowered to a harsh tremor. "I did not tell you what he did, because I wanted to protect you. But you need to understand that Harry is a murderer, just like the one who made him. You are blinded by your emotions, and that is why you came up with this foolish plan at the eleventh hour. Tell me I'm wrong."

The angel's voice reverberated in her ears, ringing with condemnation. The world around them shook with more thunderous cracks, their loud and urgent booms an echoing alarm bell.

Hermione's fists tightened as she stared hard at the ground. She heard the disappointment, the confusion and the anger in the Patronus' voice. It wasn't like she hadn't wrestled with the same questions, or felt the same guilt and shame.

But at the same time, she also heard the steel voice of Madam Bones, who wounded her as she tried to help. The voice of someone who never suspected they could be wrong.

After a tense moment of silence, Hermione met the angel's eyes. "I'm sorry, Valencia. I know you're disappointed, but the truth is, I don't think I was ever meant to be your Saviour." Hermione hesitated, then said softly. "You never told me you could see Harry. You didn't tell me the truth about a lot of things."

There was a significant pause, the Patronus' wings fluttering softly. "There was no way for us to interact with him. Telling you would only have prolonged your grieving."-

"Yes, but that wasn't the only thing you hid from me. The fact that Luna was living on the Source of Magic, for example. Or about the future inhabitants of the Source. You should have told me everything if you wanted me to trust you, even if it was terrible things I didn't want to hear."

"Some of that knowledge was not mine to give."

Hermione glanced at Luna, who was gazing back at her. "You're right. That's why I don't blame you. You did everything a Patronus could do. You're powerful, but bound by stupid, archaic rules that don't make sense. I can't imagine how frustrating that must be."

And maybe that's why you really wanted me to become an administrator. So you could be free.

Hermione was silent for a long moment. "The girl in my vision asked me to heal her, and it's up to me to figure out what that means. Ultimately, I have to make a choice I can live with." She let out a breath. "And I think…no, I know. This is the right decision."

The Patronus stared at her for a long moment.

"I am trying my best to understand," said the Patronus. "But even if this plan works, it is still monumentally dangerous. Forget about saving Harry for a moment–which I am not sure is even possible. First, you must bargain with the Source to enact the most powerful change to the rule of magic that's ever been attempted. Once you start down this path, you cannot stop until you succeed. Because if you fail–if you cannot fulfil your part of the bargain–then the world will end."

"Well…that's not exactly true," Luna interjected. "We could still destroy the Source ourselves, right?"

The Patronus shook her head. "It must be one of your kind. A living human."

"Okay, then we find someone else. We don't need Hermione to blow up the Source, any magical human would do. Or a muggle with nuclear weapons, even." Her lilting voice was calm and patient. "I know it's not ideal, but if we don't try this plan, we're doomed anyway. This is the best chance we have to live."

"Please," said Hermione. "Help us, Valencia. We…I need you."

Valencia sighed, staring into the lines of magic pulsing ominously in the sky. "If we're going to do this, it must be now. You won't have much time. You'll need much more than just willpower to achieve this. You will need luck."

"Well," Hermione quirked a smile. "Hopefully my unicorn magic will come through for me, then."

"And there is one more thing you must know," said the Patronus. "If we can manage to save Harry–there will be a cost to you. There always is, when dealing with ritual magic. Are you willing to pay it?"

"Will I receive Harry back alive, healthy, and of sound mind?"

"If your plan works then…yes, and you will save many lives."

Hermione smiled. "Then, how do I start?"

###

Several hours in the past…

Harry ran.

It was a stumbling, shambling run, his body still half-bound in spider's web. It weakened with every step, as he ran towards the grey outline of Hermione.

"Damn you, Potter!" Draco screamed, his eyes blinded.

Harry tripped over the last step, falling next to her, then dragging himself closer. Her eyes were covered with a mask, and he pulled himself upright.

He needed to wake her, now.

Every spell he tried hurt, like his magic was a live wire shocking his stomach. But where Harry touched her, the spider's web sizzled under his fingers, weakening and dissolving. Hermione's eyes remained closed, and he touched his wand to her temple as his light bomb enhanced vision faded. "Innervate!"

He wrenched off the mask and whipped around to see Draco, his wand levelled at them.

There was a moment of clarity, when he realised he had one choice left. He positioned himself in front of Hermione.

Suddenly, he felt himself falling backwards as an iron grip pulled him away. He kicked and thrashed, but the force dragged him until he could see his weary, beaten body standing a few feet in front of him.

Wait. What?

Harry watched in blistering confusion as the Harry before him spoke, his voice weak but clear. "Draco. I surren–"

"Avada Kedavra."

He watched himself fall, and Hermione–who lay beside his body–waking up.

Harry's breathing quickened as he struggled. He wondered if this was just what death felt like, being dragged away from your life in media res.

Harry noticed the touch of fabric draped against his skin, like a veil. The iron force that held him trailed to one of his hands, and he heard words whispered against his ear. "Come with me, Harry."

His eyes widened. He knew that voice.

Hermione turned to face him, her warm brown eyes inches from his.

"I'll explain everything, but we have to run. Now."

He hesitated only a fraction of a second, then he took her hand, and they fled. She led them down a hill, skidding to a halt beside a large rock, as the sounds of fighting faded into the distance.

Once they were behind cover, Hermione turned to him again, pressing close under the fabric that enveloped them. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, drawn to her warmth and softness.

She tensed, and then leaned into his embrace, her heart thundering against his chest.

It's you, he thought. It's really you, Hermione.

He knew this wasn't really the time, but it was all he could do not to bury his face in her hair, to shower her with a rain of kisses. Harry felt the fabric of the veil brush against his fingers, and he heard it singing softly. It was the cloak of immortality.

Hermione captured his face with her hands, as if studying him, her eyes drinking him in.

"Hi," he said, pressing a kiss against her lips. "So, the other version of me is dead?"

She took a necklace from around her neck, and placed it over his. "Yes."

"Am I going to die?"

"No, because I came back in time to save you, along with the rest of the world."

He heard the boom of an explosion spell in the distance. "How?"

She breathed out slowly. "It's uhh…kinda complicated. You're a time copy of Harry Potter, who was supposed to die tonight as part of a ritual sacrifice. But I rescued a copy of your magical signature. Normally they disintegrate within a few seconds, but the cloak of death is hiding the fact that you're alive, for now."

"Good cloak," said Harry, patting the fabric. "How do you plan to keep me from disintegrating once it comes off?"

"Well, the Source of Magic defaults to the timeline with the most consistency. This means that if I take you into the future where it is against the rules to sacrifice someone's soul to fuel a ritual, then the most consistent timeline is the one in which you live. We might get you to survive on a technicality."

"Ahh, I see. You're changing the rules and grandfathering me in," he said with an amused smirk.

"Right…" said Hermione slowly. "It's like seeking sanctuary in the future, you know? The only issue is…umm…I haven't exactly changed the rules about ritual magic yet. I thought it would happen before I rescued you, but maybe it's supposed to happen after…"

Her hands clutched the cat-shaped amulet around her neck, one that was identical to his.

"I see. Do you mean, after we travel back to the future?"

"Umm…well, something is about to happen that will sort of throw us out of time for a moment. I uhh…think that's where I'm supposed to talk to that girl spirit again..."

Her brows were knitted together in concentration, which in spite of himself, he found quite adorable.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, exactly," said Harry. "But as I understand it, in order to get to this future where you've changed the laws of magic, we have to pass through a giant rip in the fabric of space time? And as we're doing something quite illegal, it would definitely not be a good thing to be noticed by this girl, who is some kind of supernatural being that is waiting in said time rip?"

"Well…sort of yes?"

"Forgive me, Hermione," he said with a disbelieving smile. "But this is crazy, even by our standards."

"It's absolutely insane," she sighed. "I'm starting to understand why Valencia didn't suggest this plan in the first place."

He should have questions about Valencia and quite a lot of other things, but his brain felt hazy and unfocused, his eyes drawn to her lips.

Looking past him, her eyes went wide. "Hang on."

She yanked him to the side as a red spell crashed into their rock cover, melting half of it. They hunkered down behind another rock as the ensuing firefight raged near them. Harry heard as Hermione from the past cast the spell of power. "Ohh. Playing with fire, there," he murmured.

"Don't look," she said softly, gripping his robes with her hands. "It only gets worse from here. I'm not exactly…proud of what I did."

Harry gazed down at Hermione, close enough to his chest that her hair fell against him, her face turned away from the fight with Draco. He couldn't see much from his position, but he could hear chilling cackles that sounded like Hermione's voice.

The hazy exhaustion came over him again, and he stroked her shoulders lazily. He either wanted to fall asleep or kiss her senseless, and he couldn't think straight enough to do either.

"So how do these cat necklaces figure into your back to the future plan?" asked Harry, partly as a distraction.

"If we don't die in the space-time rip, and Time doesn't smite us, then these necklaces are supposed to help us find each other. It's also to help my Patronus find us, in case she needs to come to our rescue. The version of me from the past was wearing it, so I'm hoping when we go back, it will take us back to where I was."

"Supposing our plan fails, and we turn up dead," said Harry. "Is there anyone back there who can preserve the bodies? Just trying to think ahead, here."

"I don't know about anyone else, but the plan is to not turn up dead." She hesitated. "Umm…Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry blinked, trying to bring the world into focus. "I don't know. Don't let me fall asleep."

Hermione gripped his shoulders, keeping him from falling, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Am I the real Harry? Or am I just his hedonistic hindbrain that only wants to sleep, eat and snog Hermione? No...that's too reductive. Look at it from another perspective. If sleep means death, then maybe…

.

No way, that's too ridiculous and you are not going to suggest that.

.

Uggh, screw it.

Finally, listless, Harry said, "I think I need to kiss you."

"Huh?"

Slowly, his fingers cupped her chin. "You have…life magic. Worth a…shot."

Cautiously, Hermione took him in her arms. She pressed her lips to his, willing life back into him. But aside from vague sensations, Harry could barely move or think. At least this wasn't the worst way to go.

But after a short while, he could feel the softness of her lips, the press of her warm hand against his cheek. A shock of adrenaline ran through his body, and she was all he wanted. He gripped her shoulders and kissed with a kind of feverish desperation. It was messy and intense and incredible. Tears wet her cheeks, and she gasped as he pressed her against the rock and kissed the tears too.

This is kinda weird. Merlin, I don't want to stop.

As magic spells burst around them, and shouts and cries brought them back to harsh reality, Harry let her go with a final kiss.

"Ha. My trick worked," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Her eyes were confused for a moment, then her lips twitched. "If you faked dying in order to make out with me, I'm going to kill you."

"Of course, but wait until after you've saved the world, dear."

She startled as a loud boom shook the entire earth. He saw the fear and apprehension in her eyes, and knew it was close to the end. As she scanned their surroundings, her gaze haunted by fear, he never took his eyes off her. There wasn't much point to worrying about the future when you knew with 99.99% certainty that the world was ending. And besides, if these were to be his last moments, this was who he wanted to be looking at.

"It's time," she whispered.

"Mmm," he said. "I know. Whatever happens, thank you, Hermione, for trying to save me. I love you."

She was about to respond when he kissed her again, and then–clutching her to him–they faced the inexorable darkness.

###

As the graveyard was swallowed up by flames, Hermione fell into a void of limitless brightness.

Once her vision cleared, she found herself standing on a dais of pristine marble, suspended within the brilliant, empty void.

She looked around for Harry, but he wasn't at her side or anywhere nearby. He might be hiding under the cloak nearby, but if he wasn't, she'd have no way of knowing. They might have been separated during the blast, or he might be dead.

She touched the amulet, and it hummed softly under her fingers. He's not gone yet.

Hermione could see nothing at first, as everything around her dais was obscured in overwhelming light. But as it dissipated, she saw a golden gate, and a young queen standing at the threshold. Her garments were a brilliant green, radiant like crushed emeralds.

She'd never seen anything so beautiful.

The lady floated towards her, as if she had one foot off the ground. Her face was too radiant to look at directly, so Hermione's eyes stayed fixed on the ground.

"What do you seek?" she asked, her voice gentle and clear.

Hermione didn't know how she found the courage to speak. "I want…to save the world."

"How?"

She swallowed. Courage, Hermione. "I want to change the laws of magic. Rituals, spells and enchantments should no longer be fueled by death, or by the destruction of souls."

"That is as easy as preventing murder. Magic does what men require it to do."

"But…magic is life," said Hermione, slowly finding her voice. "It reverences and respects all living things. It should not be corrupted in this way, it makes a mockery of its own nature."

"Men are corrupt," said the queen. "And so is their magic."

"Then they will use their magic to hurt. They can fuel their magic from pain. But not from death, and not from souls. Those cannot belong to them anymore. The human spirit is sovereign, and has the right to be free."

The brilliant green shimmered just outside her focus.

"This will weaken magic in ways you do not know. How many lives have been given to protect Hogwarts? To save the lives of loved ones? Even Merlin, who died to save the world? Without their sacrifices, the world would be a much darker place."

"Let magic be weakened, then," said Hermione. "And let men become strong. The greatest magic from now on will be powered by the best of humanity–love, intelligence, hard work and courage."

The queen paused, considered her suggestion.

"Sacrifice," she said, with a kind of grave reverence. "Is the greatest gift of one human to another. It will not be taken from them. But their lives must be given freely to have magical power. On this I can agree."

Hermione's heart sank. She hadn't expected loopholes. If they existed, Harry's life would be forfeit.

At the same time, she knew this monumental change in the laws of magic couldn't just be about Harry. She had to be fair and do this right, and hopefully save Harry in the process.

"So you would let victims be coerced?" countered Hermione. "Allowing human sacrifice leaves magic open to abuse by manipulators, who would convince a poor soul to die to increase their power."

"Human souls are free to live and to die. Free to love, and to be manipulated by one they love. But they will no longer have their souls taken by force. This is justice."

"Death is not what gives sacrifice power!" cried Hermione. "That is love!"

When Hermione raised her eyes, she was struck dumb by the queen's brilliant gaze. But she was even more amazed to see her gentle smile.

"Ahh, really? And how would you measure love? What makes a sacrifice of love more powerful than one of duty? Or of vengeance? These are questions we must answer. If we cannot, then another who is less kind and generous will corrupt our good intentions. Though I agree with you in spirit–love is stronger than death. But sometimes, love is death."

Hermione felt at a loss. She kept coming up with more and more arguments, which the girl refuted with precision and clarity.

So Hermione decided to take a page from her playbook–she'd be precise.

"If death is used in a spell, ritual, enchantment–or any other magical action–then there must be informed consent," said Hermione. "The person must be aware of what they are sacrificing, and outwardly agree to the exchange. They must not be under any obvious magical coercion or a substance that could impair their consent."

They argued on this for a while, chipping away at the rules until they reflected reality as they understood it.

"A sacrifice of love is the highest order," said Hermione. "It is defined as a sacrifice meant to will the good of another, even at the cost of their own suffering and death. The life that is sacrificed must still be valued by the one offering it. Sacrifices motivated primarily by the desire to seek vengeance or out of obligation will be exponentially weaker."

Hermione was thinking then of Bellatrix, who would have died for Voldemort at the drop of a hat. But that was not love–that was obsession. She no longer valued her own life, and wouldn't have died for Voldemort's good, but simply to feel like she was needed.

"And," continued Hermione. "A sacrifice of life is a free gift, but it can only be given once. A person cannot sacrifice their life, be resurrected, and asked to do it again. While their physical body may die, their soul is not destroyed–it will live on in the Source of Magic."

"Very well. I accept this as just."

Hermione was closing loopholes, but it wasn't enough. She needed to find a way to save Harry.

"If someone regrets their sacrifice, and they are still conscious and in a physical body, then they can rescind their decision, or revise it."

Please let that work.

"Yes, this is fair," said the lady. "While they are in their original physical body, they are allowed to change their decision. Before the sacrifice has occurred, or even after it has begun."

"I said a physical body–"

"Oh, excuse me," she said. "I misspoke. I mean while they are in their body in which the sacrifice was made, which in some rare cases might not be the original body."

Hermione thought hard.

"If the person is younger than sixteen years of age, they are unable to make a death sacrifice, as they are not yet a legal adult."

"In some cultures, legal adulthood begins at fifteen," said the lady. "They must reach the age of reason, which is different for every individual. Anyone incapable of making sound, informed decisions is unable to sacrifice their life for any reason."

Hermione could feel hope slipping through her fingers. Harry wouldn't give up. Come on, think!

"If a person dies in ritual sacrifice, they can be resurrected."

"On what grounds?"

"The…person they sacrificed themselves for can bring them back."

"Through self-sacrifice? This could create an endless loop of death and resurrection. Not accepted."

"If they are brought back to life by some means, their ritual, spell, or enchantment will not kill them again."

"Define 'by some means.'"

She thought very carefully before speaking. "By a force which is not directly bound by the Source of Magic. A natural event, or an alien force."

"Very well."

Time copies were theorised to be a byproduct of the convergence of dimensions, so she hoped that would be outside the scope of the Source of Magic. If she was wrong, though…

Hermione felt a tingling sensation in her fingers, which spread to the rest of her body.

The emerald queen looked into the distance. "Humanity is safe for the present, but there is still much work to be done. I will not be healed until the Source of Magic is made whole. You have not saved the world, Hermione Granger, but you have bought it time. And you have healed a wound I have borne far too long. Thank you."

The queen gave Hermione a weary, yet radiant smile.

"Who are you?" blurted Hermione. "Are you Time? Magic? Are you…God?"

The lady turned her mysterious smile skyward. "It is time for you to return. The price of your gift to the world is that you must forget you ever gave it. And as for Harry–he is forgiven for what he did to me. I will not harm his soul, he may live on in whatever form he pleases. But I will not save him. I am sorry."

Hermione went cold.

"No, wait–"

Her body disintegrated into the void.

###

Hogwarts, 5:28 am

Perenelle flew backwards, an explosion of sound and light throwing her across the room.

She coughed and groaned, pulling herself to her feet. White dust fell like a snowy fog around her, clouding her view of the solemn grey wizard.

Whatever he'd done had thrown him outside her control. She needed to act fast. She scoured the floor to find the ring where it had fallen.

It had cracked in two.

She stared at it a moment before crushing it in her fingers, her last hope of finding the Ancients shattering with it. She stood up, a heavy weight on her shoulders.

"Dumbledore," she whispered, letting the shattered pieces fall at her side. "Say your goodbyes. It will all be over soon."

She thrust her hand into the circle of power, activating it.

Instead of the burst of raw power rocketing into the sky, she felt a dull pang as her hand hit the stone.

"Oww! What…?" She stared at her hand as if just noticing it was there. "Why…?"

She thrust her hand into the circle again, and nothing happened. Again and again, until her fist was bloody and raw. "Why?!"

Dumbledore smiled, faint but triumphant. "She did it. Good girl. Always the brightest witch of her age."

"What are you talking about, old man?"

"Hermione. She changed the rules," he stated. "You may no longer use death magic to do rituals, and all of your power is tied to those deaths. You cannot destroy Hogwarts or the Source of Magic. You cannot ignite the sky. You are a threat to precisely no one."

It was like someone flipped a switch. Power swirled around and in her, darkening the room as her eyes glowed red.

"No. Not a threat to no one."

In one ear splitting punch she hammered the mirror, kicking and striking it until its perfect reflection–which had outlasted the destruction of hundreds of empires—finally splintered with cracks. In the shattered pieces, Dumbledore disappeared.

Breathing hard, she spit on the mirror, which hovered in place like nothing had happened. Slowly, the cracks mended until the mirror was pristine once more.

Falling to her knees, she let out a scream and beat her fists on the stone floor. The mirror—likely the last link to her people she would ever have—refused to reveal its secrets. She realised then it was all for nothing.

No matter what she did, she would never see her people again.

Her forehead touched the ground as she doubled over. "Please…please..."

The castle rumbled, groaning as if it would cleave in two, and a single door opened in the wall.

The Priestess sat up and wiped her eyes, red and swollen with tears. She gathered herself to her feet and walked towards the new wooden door, cracked open to reveal a dark interior.

"What is this?" she whispered, pressing her hand against the frame. "Will you finally talk to me, Atlantis?"

Her hand slipped down the wall, and she stared at the writing on the door.

Welcome children of the Earth to the Hogwarts Quests!

She let out the softest of snorts. "So. Merlin's game is finally testing me." She let out a laboured sigh, her voice trembling. "After I have already failed at everything he asked me to do."

It was the strangest thing. She'd spent half her life hating Merlin for leaving her here, but now her eyes swam with tears at his stirring words, the last he ever spoke to her. We can be one people, stronger together than alone. We can create life where there was once death.

Dumbledore's words reverberated in her mind. You go to your judgement.

Perenelle knew this was probably a trap. Even if she made it through Merlin's tests, his game would have a thousand things to punish her for. But as she stared into the dark opening, she realised she didn't care anymore.

Let the castle kill me, and let the Ancients judge me. But let me die free.

Perenelle disappeared into the wall in Hogwarts, and was never seen again.

###

London, 5:30 am

The sky was brightening in the east as Harry looked down at his dead body for the second time that day.

It was strange, remembering something that never happened. In his mind, he could see himself hiding with Hermione under the cloak of invisibility. He could feel himself fading away in exhaustion and reviving with the press of her lips. But it only existed as a memory—he never actually did it.

A second set of memories placed him here, in the warehouse that was once their graveyard battlefield. He had waited only a few seconds for their return, and he'd been cautiously hopeful that he'd be alive when she did.

But when Hermione reappeared, she collapsed onto the ground, cradling his body in her arms. "Oh, no…no, please…"

Trembling, she checked the body's pulse, tears filling her eyes. "Harry, no…please, wake up."

Harry felt his heart drop. In between her sobs, she kissed his unresponsive lips.

With a sense of solemn resignation, Harry walked over. He knelt down and tried to touch his body. His hand passed right through.

"He won't wake up," said Dumbledore. "Not yet, anyway."

Harry stared at his own bloodless face. "This isn't my body, is it?"

"It isn't. He's a different Harry," Dumbledore said. "You share his memories, just like he shares yours. Most of them, anyway."

The words fell on him like a punch to the gut.

His jaw working, Harry tried to think of something to say that wasn't a string of epithets. Something in the pit of his stomach told him he should have expected this. Magic never seemed to give anything without requiring a heavy price.

Harry stared down at his replacement.

"Why isn't he waking up?"

"Because two identical souls cannot exist within time."

There was a tense silence, as the words of a prophecy resurfaced in his mind. For those two different spirits cannot exist in the same world….

Voldemort had to die so he could live. And now, he understood why.

"I see," he said, turning to Dumbledore. "Does Hermione know? That he's not…well…I guess he is me, but…"

He shook his head. "I do not believe she does."

Harry took in a breath, let it out.

It made a kind of cruel sense. Harry had received the memories, which was only supposed to happen when he died. Those memories gave him a destiny, a sense of purpose that this new Harry would never have. They also gave him a share of the guilt for his part in destroying the world.

This new Harry would have the slate wiped clean. He would be a good man, untroubled by the scars of Voldemort. Hermione would finally have someone worthy of her by her side.

Harry realised that–as a spirit–he could continue following this timeline, skipping through to see Harry and Hermione live the rest of their lives happily together. Before he faded into nothingness like a used up tissue.

Tears filled his eyes, and he shook his head.

"Fuck magic," he said.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think you have one last choice to make, Harry."

"What?"

"Do you accept this version of reality?" asked Dumbledore. "Do you choose to allow him to live, sacrificing your memories, the choices you could have made, and your destiny? Do you give everything up, so that she can be happy?"

"You're kidding." His voice was void of emotion. "This is my choice?"

"It is. He is you, after all. Your consent to this new timeline is necessary."

Harry watched as Hermione cradled the new Harry in her arms, kissing his forehead and spilling tears across his cheeks. A lump formed in his throat, and he felt his mind racing for some alternative explanation, some final plot to save himself.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, kissing his cheek. "Wake up, please."

He knelt down beside them, ran a hand against Hermione's hair, though she could not feel it. He observed his pale body, remaining motionless and unresponsive in her arms. He saw the Patronus, standing over him, her eyes roving the spectre version of Harry with curiosity.

Harry glanced up at her, and she raised her eyebrows at him, as if asking a question.

"I don't suppose you have any suggestions?" he asked the Patronus.

"The Patronus cannot speak to you," said Dumbledore gently. "Nor can she speak to Hermione."

The silvery figure stared at him a moment longer before turning her gaze back to Hermione and the corpse-like Harry.

"What if…I say no to letting him replace me?" Harry glanced at Dumbledore. "Do we both die?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry sighed, muttering through his teeth. "Of course."

He stood up, his fists clenched in anger at the unfairness of it all. Ritual, ritual. He'd had it up to here with ritual! He didn't want to lose these moments, didn't want to give them to someone else. He didn't want to die.

But in the end…what was the right move?

Harry saw his life spread out before him like a chess game. Each player had twenty four pieces, but only one of them really mattered. Absolutely every other piece could be sacrificed, except for the king. For a long time, Harry had thought his king piece was his own life. It made sense from a logical standpoint: you were naturally inclined to protect yourself first. But he'd also felt certain—as if it were burned on his heart— that he must destroy death before it took any more lives. That was his goal, his destiny in life, one that he absolutely must not fail.

He watched as Hermione sobbed into his black hair, feeling a dawning realisation.

Harry Potter didn't feel worthy of that destiny anymore. He had tried everything–in the previous timeline–to save the world, and all his efforts had led to its destruction. Even in this timeline, where his power was severely limited, he'd made many more foolish choices than sane ones. It all came back to his pride, to his inflated sense of self importance, a flaw that was probably inherited from Voldemort, but that he had been more than happy to feed into.

Perhaps the true win condition was that someone else needed to be the king.

Harry stared at his doppleganger. This new Harry would not be able to stop death. He would have none of the necessary memories to access the stone, and he would not be aware there was a second method. Even if his intelligence remained the same, his brain would be running on the imperative to use magic to travel to space, which was currently impossible. So after a few hundred years of fruitless research, this version of Harry would quietly slip into death, having achieved none of his dreams.

And…maybe that was okay. It felt strange to think it, but what if his destiny belonged to someone else? Another wizard—someone stronger and wiser than Harry—would try to invent immortality. Someone else would save the world.

If Harry died now, and all the memories with him, then Harry's destiny would die too. But a new one would spring into place, something Harry couldn't even guess at, and…Hermione would be by his side, through it all. She would be happy. This version of Harry would be good enough for her.

Maybe, if he was very, very lucky, he would have some small part in making the world a better place. Perhaps someone would even grant him immortality, and he and Hermione would spend eternity under the stars. He could peek through time right now, perhaps, just to check.

It was funny that right now, the thing he'd been so afraid of, and the reason why he'd taken so long to choose to love Hermione Granger, was the exact reason he was about to make this choice now.

The Harry that had tried to save the world had died. It was as easy as falling asleep, or slipping on the stairs. He would quietly slip into oblivion, his chess piece whisked off the board. But Hermione…she would live. And hope would live on with her.

Slowly, slowly, he released his anger into the quiet night.

"If it is the only way," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Then I will sacrifice the life I wanted." His voice broke. "Take care of her, you lucky bastard."

"It is done then," Dumbledore said. "Go and live, Harry."

"Wait…what?"

"I had to play a little trick on Time." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "She wanted to keep the two Harrys separate, you see—one to live and one to die. Rules of ritual, and all. But, sometimes we can find…loopholes. If you know where to look."

Harry's fingers tingled, and he felt himself disappearing into his body.

###

London outskirts, 5:40 am

Draco had cast a tempus charm, counting down the exact moment when his mother's stasis spell would break.

3…2…1…

He wiped tears from his eyes. His mother had died, alone.

His Priestess was gone too. Bellatrix, Boris, and all of his other allies were dead now.

The salt from his tears mixed with blood and dirt, stinging his eyes. He stood at the very edge of the concrete building, the tips of his boots touching the open air, wondering what the city would look like if it was covered in ash.

Draco had been careful and methodical in his planning. He had an entire arsenal stocked up for a peaceful coup—which had been his intention from the beginning. His father had taught him the value of diplomacy, of winning a war without firing a single shot. But that was all before Bellatrix and prophecy intervened, forcing him to violate every value he ever had.

And it had all led to nothing but his ruin. The war was over, and he had lost. But even though he was beaten, he still had the firepower, and a last chance to use it.

Before entering the maze, he'd Imperioused three of his followers and sent them on a mission: arm the nuclear weapons in three separate countries. If he did not send an update by 8:00 pm tonight, they would be set off in China, Russia and America. World war III would begin, and the Muggles would destroy the world.

It would all be over.

He stared down at the city, which was just beginning to brighten, the sun rising over the Thames.

He wondered about Hermione. He hadn't seen her since he ran from the dementor horde. Wounded and crawling on his hands and knees, he couldn't move fast enough to get far. He'd expected to die on the ground, in a pool of his own blood and tears.

But then, he'd felt a force of brilliant light cascade over him. He'd heard the dementors scream in blood curdling terror. He'd turned around, and he'd seen the angel.

It felt like a dream, even now, so bright it dazzled his eyes. She floated in the air, wings raised high. A pure force of life that was so brilliant it made the night like day.

That beautiful creature turned back to look at him, and he held his breath. Her eyes locked with his, and without realising it, he'd started to cry.

In her eyes, he'd seen mercy. As if she'd killed the dementors to protect him too.

He'd left, running away into an abandoned building. He used an elevator to climb to the top floor. He'd spent the night watching the dark magic build in the sky, waiting for it to rip open and vaporise them.

But that morning, he'd watched as dawn broke over a clear sky, the dark veins disappearing like a healing wound. He could hear the first stirring of life below him, cars honking and sirens wailing.

He took a deep breath in and let it out. He tried to recall the face of the Patronus one more time. The kindness in her eyes, that he'd only seen before on the face of his mother.

Raising his wand, he called off the Imperious. He sent his minions a message to stand down from their world-ending mission, and to go home.

Then, he pulled a canister from his bag, staring at it for a long moment.

Draco wouldn't destroy the world, and he wouldn't try to remake it, either. He'd shown himself incapable of changing a goddamn thing. Bodies seemed to pile up in his wake–and soon, the name of Malfoy would be seen as more contemptible than that of Voldemort.

It almost made him happy his mother hadn't lived to see their name raked through the mud again. What a fool he'd been, and what a mess he'd made of his entire life.

Draco didn't have a lot of options left in the magical world. He had no friends to stay with, nobody who could protect him. The Ministry would hunt him down like a hound seeking a fox. If he turned himself in, threw himself on their mercy, perhaps they might give him a second chance?

No. No, they would send him to Azkaban for life.

He opened the canister, his thumb grazing the edge of the rim. This decision would be final, in some ways worse than death. It would mean giving up his name, his legacy, and his birthright. He would have to remake himself as a poor nobody who would spend his life in meaningless drudgery, never fitting in and cut off from the only world he'd ever known.

The old Draco never could have done this. But that was before he had seen hell, the marks of which he still bore on his body. He had seen how his pure blood was spoiled by decades of arrogance, his legacy tainted with so much violence and death it was impossible to count the bodies.

He thought of Harry, Tonks and Bellatrix. He thought of Lavender and Romilda, and their charred bones buried in his backyard.

He didn't want to be a Malfoy anymore.

He tipped the canister, swallowing their contents. The pixie worms slid into his stomach and set to work destroying his magic.

In the Muggle world, he would disappear. He could live a quiet life of repentance. And maybe someday, when he was a bit older and wiser, he could come back to Hermione and tell her he was sorry. If he was very lucky, perhaps he would show the world he was worthy of the Patronus's mercy.

But today…today, he would just try to live.