In the last chapter: Harry starts the second task, using the Gillyweed Barty had given him. He saved Fleur from the Grindylows, but Cedric ended up their victim instead and was disqualified. Harry reached the merfolk village first, but when Fleur's sister starts to drown due to the spell wearing off, he had to save both Anthony and her. Which invokes the mighty wrath of the merpeople and they drowned Harry in revenge. Harry returns to his body just as the other champions show up, but had yet to fully heal with water still in his lungs, so when he reaches the platforms, his heart stops and he has to be revived. Harry and Viktor tied for first again, Fleur is still in second, and Cedric is last.


Harry set down his cup of milk and honey tea just as the seat across from him was claimed by Ginny, who was holding a letter in her hand one hand and a croissant in the other, with a slight frown between her brows.

"Is something the matter, Ginny?" Harry asked politely, the redhead shook her head distractedly, but the shallow crease in her brow deepened for a moment before disappearing as she finally looked at Harry.

"No, it's just Percy. He almost never writes to us, but ever since his boss started staying out sick, he's been writing to everyone in the family just to brag about moving up in the ministry. As if he'd actually taken the man's job already!" Ginny grumbled, crumpling up the letter in her hand with a sour expression on her face.

"Boss? Doesn't Percy work under Bartemius Crouch?" Harry asked, feeling suspicion prickle in his gut. Barty Crouch Snr was one of the judges for the tournament and from what he'd been told, the man had been avidly against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Crouch even went as far as to advocate for the unforgivables being used against Death Eaters during the first war. Discovering his son was a Death Eater had done nothing to change his views, as he'd gone so far as to imperio his own son for years and keep him locked up in his home.

Unless Barty Jr had something to do with the man being away—though, he hadn't been reported missing, just out sick so there must still be some sort of correspondence to dispel suspicion. But with the up-tightness of the man, Harry highly doubted he would really take any length of time to be out of work.

"Yeah, he does. The bloody knob won't let any of us forget it, either. I mean, he barely talks to any of us, and when he does come home all he can do is stare down his big stupid nose at us and make not-so-subtle jabs about us dragging down his career. What a wanker." Ginny growled and began to viciously tear into her croissant.

Harry went back to his tea to let the young Gryffindor seethe silently. It had been a little over a week since the second task and despite Harry been good-as-new after only a good night's rest, he'd been kept in the infirmary for several days afterwards for observation. He was only released a few days ago and had been spending most of his time in the library either catching up on missed coursework or avoiding those who wanted to hear more about what had happened to him during the task—as the staff and other champions had been blocking people's view and were keeping it under wraps. Harry suspected that the biggest motivation was the backlash the tournament and those who orchestrated it would have if the public found out that one of the champions—and specifically Harry, the beloved Boy-Who-Lived—had nearly died in one of the tasks.

Harry didn't care why they were keeping it quiet, he just knew that it was much better than having people know and hounding him for answers or trying to pick a fight for him where there was nothing to really fight about.

Unfortunately, that didn't keep Harry out of the papers, as it seemed that Rita Skeeter had been cooking up a scandal of her own for a while. It was only days after Harry had left the infirmary that he found his face plastered all over Witch Weekly as Skeeter apparently 'unveiled the truth' about the private and mysterious Harry Potter. Harry had stolen a copy out of a giggling third-years claws at breakfast one morning and was dangerously silent as he sat down and began to flip through and read, his friends cautiously dropping down around him as they sought out copies of their own—Ginny being the only one among them actually subscribed to the drivel.

Going by the numerous pictures scattered all over the glossy new pages, it was clear that Rita had been there at the Yule Ball and had then been following Harry around ever since as every single picture included not only him, but Anthony as well. Skeeter fabricated a long, woeful, and utterly rubbish story about some secret love affair between Harry and Anthony, accompanied by images of Harry walking close to Anthony and looking up at him for a moment, or Anthony putting a hand on the small of Harry's back to guide him out of the way of oncoming students, or dozens of other little moments slowed down to make them look far more intimate than they were in reality.

It was all blown way out of proportion and Harry could just feel the awe-filled gazes of girls imagining him and Anthony together, cooing over them like they were some blushing newly-weds. When Harry was done reading, he tossed the magazine carelessly into the center of the table, moved the empty plate before him aside, reached into his bag and pulled out parchment and a quill. The others around him watched silently as Harry continued to stay quiet and penned out several letters.

Once they were all written and sealed, Harry excused himself from the table to go straight to the owlery. He'd warned Mrs. Skeeter the last time they'd come in contact that were she to write anything about him without his consent, he would invoke the protective rights of a minor and although Harry didn't particularly mind his relationship with Anthony being confused or the clear implications of his sexuality, he knew enough about how information spread and was received in the wizarding world to know that if he didn't nip it in the bud, he would be pestered for the next year or so on when the two of them would get married. Besides, the thought of so many people knowing about and being avidly interested in his love life when he had yet to even turn 15 was unsettling in so many ways.

Harry knew that the wizarding world was still so behind in their ways, because they felt that there was no reason to change, and that though he had never encountered any outright disdain for homosexual relations like in the muggle world—and therefore cannot predict the consequences of that aspect of the rumors—he did know that most wizards and witches of prominent families didn't simply date casually. Harry wasn't exaggerating with the notion that people would soon expect them to become engaged if they were led to believe that there was some type of relationship between them. Harry was the heir to several prestigious, wealthy, and affluent lines including both Black and Potter, and Anthony's family was well off and influential enough for people to expect thorough marriage negotiations.

And so, to prevent that horrid headache from ever occurring, Harry sent out a letter to Sirius, a second to Phil, and a third to the Ministry's Department of the Protection and Care of Magical Children. Harry didn't really expect Phil to have much involvement in the matter, but Child Protections and the DMLE worked together often and it wouldn't surprise Harry if the case crossed his desk if they decided to take any legal action.

He hoped that Skeeter had one hell of a lawyer, because he was not letting her get by so easily this time. It wouldn't just affect him if rumors got out of control. Any future courtships or potential engagements for Anthony could be sullied by past rumors, especially if he gets entangled with a pureblood since the Goldsteins weren't a part of the sacred twenty-eight.


Everything was fairly quiet during the spring term, that is, until April 24th when all four champions received a notice to meet one of the judges, Ludo Bagman, on the quidditch pitch after dinner. They walked out of the castle and over the darkened grounds in a loose group, Cedric amiably discussing with Harry about the reason why they might have been summoned and the chilled night air tugging at their clothes.

Bagman was waiting at the entrance of the pitch for them, looking over the unused but still kept grounds. Harry didn't really miss quidditch per say, but he did feel the absence of the physical endurance training. When he found time to himself to practice, he usually only focused on his magical abilities, not his physical ones—it's caused a slight loss of muscle mass, but he was still growing at an acceptable rate and his developing magic certainly made up for whatever he might have lost in physical prowess. Though the tasks were hardly a stroll through the park.

"Ah! Good evening, champions. I do hope that your studies and time off between the tasks has treated you well so far." Ludo beamed at them, eyes glittering and wispy white hair curling out from under the edges of his stiff charcoal-grey cap. Bagman half-turned back around to look out over the quidditch pitch. "I called you all here to give you information on the next task, as the last one did not off any clues. Over the course of the next month, Madam Professor Pomona Sprout will be growing a magical hedge maze right here on the pitch. Within the maze will be a multitude of obstacles and creatures set up by the staff that you must surpass in order to reach the Tri-Wizard Cup and win the tournament. So, I advise you all to brush up on your knowledge of defensive spells while the other students prepare for final exams."

Ludo winked at them, dismissed the group, and then proceeded to try to talk to Harry alone while the other champions began the walk back to the castle. Ludo seemed to be trying to give Harry 'helpful tips' for the next task, but Harry carefully withdrew himself from the conversation and ended up the second to last person off the pitch, with Ludo lingering behind on the field for whatever reason.

Harry sighed, seeing the closest champion was nearly at the castle and he was barely halfway there. Ludo Bagman was about as subtle as a rock to the face and Harry definitely didn't need help from someone like him, he'd do fine enough on his own.

Harry slowed his steps as his gaze shifted up past the castle to the vast sky over head. The air was comfortably chilled with a gentle breeze and a dewy dampness that clung to his skin and dripped down his throat pleasantly. There were only a few murky clouds in the sky to obscure his view of the overwhelming sea of stars and constellations overhead. Without the light pollution of the cities or suburbs, the night was dazzling here. Clusters of stars glowed brighter than others and knowing just how far away they were and how endless the space above his head was, that he was looking out into a brilliant and endless abyss made his world feel so immense. Harry stopped walking all together, his neck craned and eyes wide to try to take in every little bit.

Harry's lips parted and cool air pooled in his mouth. He felt like at any moment his feet could detach from the solid compacted ground beneath him and he'd go floating up and out amongst the stars. And maybe someday he would . . . grab ahold of the veil and drift out into space just to see what it was like, to see how far he would go.

'It would seem that one, Bartemius Crouch Snr has entered the Forbidden Forest and is currently rushing here with urgent news for Dumbledore. I suggest we take a little detour.' Death interrupted Harry thoughts and one dark brow quirked up as Harry turned to look at the darkened forest beside him.

'Curious. I though Mr. Crouch was out sick.' Harry thought blandly as he glanced around himself to make sure nobody saw him before dowsing himself in a disillusionment spell and entering the forest.

'It appears that he has been keeping Tom company these past few weeks and has just escaped. Perhaps Crouch has not been exactly himself lately.' Death suggested as Harry quickly and soundlessly made his way through the night.

'Imperio?' Harry huffed quietly. 'Rather fitting considering what he put Jr through, don't you think?'

Harry was getting deeper and deeper into the woods and was starting to hear the sounds of life—though he doubted anything human. Suddenly, Harry felt a warm quiver in his magic and slowed his trek as the distant sound of a gruff, low voice cursing could be heard.

'The man's son has reached him first, it appears.' Death announced as Harry crept closer. Between the towering, elderly trees, Harry came upon the sight of an un-polyjuiced Barty Jr pacing by the foot of a still, sprawled figure Harry took to be the elder Crouch. Barty hissed out a breath between his teeth and fisted a hand in his muted brown hair as he cast glances at the man at his feet. Barty looked anxious, angry, and slightly distraught. It was only another minute of pacing and tugging at his uncombed locks before the Death Eater cast one last hateful glower at his father before turning on his heel running back towards the castle.

Once the man was out of sight and earshot, Harry sighed deeply, wondering just what kind of mess he was getting himself into by meddling with Voldemort, if this was one of the people he took council with. Then he turned back to un-moving man laid on the smooth ground between the twisted roots of two dark giants. Harry moved over to the man and knelt down next to him. His skin was paler than a sheet in the light of the moon, brown eyes glistening like black onyx in night and form so still he looked like he'd been turned to stone. Harry's hand moved out to hover barely an inch above the man's face and slowly moved downward over every feature—careful not to touch—until Harry reached the center of Crouch's chest where his sternum lay beneath his robes and layered dark suit and cooling skin.

Harry's eyes drifted closed and he felt magic gather between the thin bones in his hand, cold like the near-frozen waters of a lake. Harry's index and middle finger curled down until they pressed against his chest and like closing a circuit, magic poured from his fingertips into the dead man and he sucked in a breath at the odd sensation of suddenly being consciously aware of every little still mechanism within Crouch down to the soft tissue fibers in his organs or the dead neurons in his brain. Beyond that Harry could also feel the residual sharp tang of the killing curse coating his insides and clotting in his blood. Harry could also feel the faded and older clouds of the imperious curse caught in his lungs and wrapped around his spinal cord and brain like a parasite. Focusing on those, Harry drew out the residual foreign magic, carefully extracting it without leaving any behind or damaging the body any more than necessary.

When both of the curses were removed completely, Harry dissipated the magic before turning back to the body underhand. Gathering his magic, Harry shifted his hand up from the chest—his magic following from within the body like a magnet—and then rested it once more on his cold forehead. Carefully, Harry sought out a blood vessel within the brain, nicked it, and then pulled blood out to flood that section of the brain. Harry made sure that the flooded part was a bit more damaged than the rest of the brain and then withdrew his magic.

Harry opened his eyes and pulled his hand back with a sigh. At least now Crouch's death would be wracked up to a stroke and there wouldn't be any unnecessary investigations, hopefully. It wasn't Harry's place to say who lived or died—he was not death—and he knew for a fact that death was hardly the end, nor was it any sort of punishment.

Harry stood and looked down at the man one last time. It wasn't about light or dark, good or bad, everything was just different variants of grey. The only true cycle was life and death and everything that happened in between. Life will always greet death and death with bring about the fertile soil for life to grow once more. Once simply cannot be without the other, so how could one be condemned or hated while the other celebrated?

Harry turned away and began walking back through the forest, eyes catching the patches of starlit sky through the gaps in the trees and wondering once more to what lie beyond.


Bartemius Crouch Snr was discovered two days later by Hagrid when he'd been notified by the acromantulas that reside not too far from where he was found. News spread fast, but was glossed over quickly by the news that Percy Weasley would be taking over Crouch's duties at the Ministry as well as filling in as a judge for the tournament.

As far as Harry could tell, there wouldn't be any sort of investigation as it was concluded that Crouch had been having a stroke when he had apparated into the forbidden forest and tried to reach the school in his disorientation but never made it. The only ones who didn't seem entirely convinced of the man's coincidental demise were Severus Snape, Igor Karkaroff, and perhaps Dumbledore, but less so.

Two weeks following the death of Crouch, Harry was taking advantage of the lack of classes on Sunday and spending a relaxed day indoors when he got a warning from a third-year Ravenclaw that Anthony was looking for him but that it wasn't urgent. Despite that, Harry didn't really have much else to do, so he went in search of Anthony, but it was after lunch and he had a hard time tracking down the blonde in the enormous castle. After a while, Harry gave up looking and figured he'd find Anthony at dinner at the latest.

Once more alone, Harry passed the library and instead headed up the endless steps to the astronomy tower, knowing it would be deserted since it was not a journey most would want to take in their leisure.

At the top, Harry moved over to the metal railing and leaned against it, taking in the sight of Hogwarts at dusk and the fresh air. After several minutes, the sun having just disappeared beyond the horizon and vibrant red hues giving way to the encroaching muted periwinkle of the sky, Harry hooked a finger under the collar of his shirt, caught onto the warm chain there, and pulled out the locket that had hardly left his presence in nearly a year's time. The locket on the end clicked softly against the gold chain until Harry took it in his hand and looked down at the worn but still brilliant surface.

The soul within had become so strong in comparison to when he'd first combined the horcruxes into one. It was becoming harder and harder to keep it sedated and not fully-sentient. The magic and soul still reacted to Harry, but if he just let it be the soul would be a talking, conscious Tom Riddle that would undoubtedly use the magic at his disposal to cause a whole slew of problems for Harry before he could get it contained within a physical form.

Harry brushed his thumb over the imbedded emeralds that comprised the snake on the front and as always, was hit with a wave of magic that grew stronger each day. The magic swept through him and curled around the small piece of soul that had fused with Harry's own. He shivered slightly at the feeling of being open and bare for another soul to reach inside of him.

Like a hesitant hand, it grazed over his cheek and tickled through his thick black curls. It dipped down out of his hair and over the slight pale knob of his spine until it slowly traced down his vertebrae like fingertips, spreading breathtaking heat in its path that curled around Harry's ribs, seeped down into his lungs, and drifted out between his lips. It circled around his waist to his navel and deliberately drew upwards over his stomach, skating past his sternum, and running along the canals of his clavicle, over his shoulders and down over his arms until the magic was surrounding him and felt like an invisible barrier, glass armor.

Harry gripped the locket tighter and the heat around him intensified, causing sweat to form on his brow and his fair cheeks to flush. He didn't like warm weather, he'd always preferred the cold, but this heat was different, it was the heat of a warm bed on a late December's night, it was the warmth of fresh tea slipping down your throat and pooling in your stomach. It didn't burn away the cold, but mingled with it and created something comfortable.

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped to the side and his fingers closed fully around the locket just as he caught sight of curly dark blonde hair and confused hazel eyes. Anthony stood in the doorway to the Astronomy tower, looking like he was in the middle of saying something but stopped as his attention was focused solely on his closed fist. If it were anyone else, perhaps Harry could brush it off as just some old necklace he'd found while exploring Grimmauld Place—not entirely untrue—but Anthony wasn't just anybody. Not only was he Harry's closest friend, but he was acutely sensitive to magic. Usually Harry had the locket hidden under his clothes and the magic tightly contained so that it was undetectable, but not at that moment. Right then, the magic was free and wild and overwhelming even for him.

Words failed Harry as Anthony's gaze slowly shifted from the locket to his face. His mind blanked and all he could do was wait for Anthony to come to some sort of conclusion, speak, and then hopefully be able to right any misconceptions afterward.

"Harry, what is that thing?" Anthony sounded tense and worried and more than a little like he wanted to grab the locket, toss it over the balcony of the tower, and drag Harry as far away from it as he could. He could only imagine what the other teen was sensing from the immense power.

Harry looked down at his own hand and his fingers uncurled, revealing its gleaming surface to him and for several moments Harry fumbled in his mind for some out, some explanation he could give that would make the whole situation disappear. However, every time he tried, it brought him right back to the same conclusion—that it would involve lying, and he refused to lie to Anthony. Sure, there had been little cover ups in the past, omissions, but Harry hadn't blatantly lied. He always told Anthony 'later' and 'now is not the right time.'

But how would he make it past this without lying, and what about the future? After Voldemort's resurrection things may change drastically and Harry didn't want to unintentionally push his friend away just because he might have his hands full with other matters.

Releasing a weighted breath, the brunette let the locket slip from his fingers, falling back against the soft material of his dark blue jumper. Harry met Anthony's gaze and beckoned the blonde with a small gesture.

"Come here, I think it's time we talked." His voice sounded calm and relaxed, which went a long way in making the other boy less tense and Anthony didn't hesitate to join him—though he did continue to shoot the locket several uncertain glances. Harry turned back towards the railing and rested his forearms against it, looking out at the darkening landscape before him instead of at his friend.

Silently, Harry constructed strong privacy wards around them to make sure that their conversation remained private, and said nothing when he saw Anthony shudder slightly from the corner of his eye. Silence settled between them like a small pool that had been disturbed and neither spoke while they waited for the ripples to disappear.

"I suppose I should just start at the beginning." Harry began after a while, and then chuckled under his breath, because the 'beginning' went back a lot further than Anthony would be expecting. "Well, before I can really delve into my involvement, I need to explain a few other things first. Primarily, this all started with Voldemort—or more accurately, the man he was before Voldemort." Harry glanced at his friend to gauge the others reaction, Anthony looked confused but determined to remain silent and listen to everything Harry had to say, at least.

"Before you or me—or even our parents for that matter—were born, Voldemort was just a very intelligent and powerful half-blood wizard named Tom Riddle. An orphan in the middle of WWII who knew nothing about our world until he received his Hogwarts letter. Now, I'm not going to go into his entire life story, but I will mention the important bits. Growing up the way that he did, and in the middle of a war, there was one resounding thing that Tom feared above all else—death. So, when entered the wizarding world, he soon sought out a way to make himself invulnerable.

"There are ways to stave off death for quite some time, but those teachings fell under the old and obscure branch of magic known as necromancy, which has been lost to wizards for a very long time. Instead, what Tom found in his incessant search was a counterfeit, sloppily constructed, and dangerous shortcut that was nowhere near authentic necromancy. But he was still practically a child, scared out of his mind of dying, and without any proper warnings to keep him from trying it. The magic he used is called a horcrux. It is meant to be a last resort that tethers a person's soul to the living world so that if they die they have the chance to build up strength and power over time and hopefully regain a body.

"What hadn't been explained was the numerous consequences that far outweighed any gain. You see, in order to create a horcrux, one would need to split their soul and place it into an object to act as the anchor. What necromantic teachings would have taught anyone curious about horcruxes and soul magic in general, is that a person's soul and their magic are intrinsically intertwined. The soul is sort of the conduit between the physical body and the magic. So, to cast out half of one's soul would be to cut off access to half of their magic and loosing that sets the body completely off balance and would significantly cut down on a person's cognitive reasoning." Harry paused to take a deep breath, it was his first time ever telling someone so much and his own thoughts were getting a little tangled and off track. Once he was back on his chosen path, he continued.

"But Tom knew none of that and after accidentally creating his first horcrux, his mental and emotional stability took a nosedive and he became so paranoid about it being discovered and destroyed, that he finally decided that just one horcrux wouldn't be enough, and then he planned to create seven. Something about the number being powerful or some other rubbish. And so, any future goals he might have had about changing our world or making something great of himself were put on the wayside as his focus centered on creating more horcruxes and he spiraled further into insanity with each piece of his soul he hacked away at." Harry stopped again, this time for Anthony's sake, as he'd just laid out a whole hell of a lot of information and wanted to give him a bit of time to process before he continued.

"How on earth do you even know all of that?" Anthony's voice was low and incredulous. Harry quirked a small half-amused and half-sympathetic smile.

"I'll get to that in a moment. Anyways, so Tom continued to create his horcruxes and became more of what we recognize as Voldemort now. But at the root of it, he was still a half-blood who'd been raised in the muggle world for the first decade of his life. His construct of 'Death' was more of a concept than a being as wizarding children are brought up to believe, so he thought little of what other consequences his actions might have. But Death is a conscious being, and he felt scorned by Voldemort's complete desecration of his own soul and preventing himself from running the natural course of life and then death. . . And then Voldemort slipped up. He allowed his irrational paranoia to get the better of him and began chasing after a child over half a prophecy that was likely self-fulfilling anyways. It led Voldemort to me and that night he came into my home and killed my parents," Harry's tone had become hushed and the only other sound to be heard was the gentle wind ruffling their clothes. He turned and his vivid green eyes locked with Anthony's as he took a moment to convey his honesty before speaking.

"And me. . ." Anthony blinked and his brow scrunched, as if he wasn't quite sure if he understood or not. "He succeeded in taking my life but the residual protective magic of my mother took his life as well. I've been hailed as the 'Boy Who Lived' and 'Savior of Wizarding Britain,' but what happened that night had nothing to do with me." Harry broke eye contact and fixed his gaze on some blurry spot out in the night. "However, Death had been watching and saw an opportunity. He knew that Voldemort would eventually come back and he would continue to evade Death's clutches, so he decided to even the playing field a bit and offered me a deal. The deal was, he'd bring me back to life, give me a second chance, and if I lived to see my eleventh birthday when my magic finally settled, he'd give me a gift. It was settled, I was brought back and went about my life from then on out.

"Several years later, Death returned to me and began to guide me, teach me. He taught me about magic and wizards and my parents. He prepared me for the world I would be entering once I received my Hogwarts letter and taught me wandless magic long before that so I wouldn't be helpless. And then, when the time came he told me all about the deal we had made and the gift he was giving me." Harry's lips quirked at some thought. "Ironically, he was giving me the one thing Voldemort would have torn the world apart for—immortality." His words trailed off and a harsh exhale could be heard from the body standing beside him.

"I'm not really sure what to say." Anthony finally burst after a few moments, voice sounding higher and more breathless than normal. Harry huffed and smirked, hoping that his light-hearted demeanor would help smooth the transition for the other teen.

"Neither did I. I couldn't believe it at first—sounded mental to me—but then I turned eleven and for the second time in my life, I died, and then came back. So, technically I can die, I just never stay dead." Harry mused and grinned when Anthony made a pained sound and lightly hit his shoulder. The silence stretched on as he gave Anthony another minute to soak it in and allow his mind to even accept the unbelievable information.

"Is that why you never seemed to hold any normal amount of self-preservation? Because we play quidditch together and nobody should be taking that many dives if they truly value their life!" Harry burst with genuine laughter, feeling freer than ever before, finally having someone to share everything with so fully felt like he could indulge in a bit of the normalcy that everyone else but him seemed to have in abundance.

"Perhaps, or maybe I'm just that good." Harry shot back with a little wink that had broken through some of Anthony's shock and pulled a livelier smile from his friend. Anthony scoffed and pushed his shoulder back gently.

"Cheeky." The blonde seemed much more comfortable after that and eventually warmed up to asking a more serious question. "So, how does that connect with the locket? Because that thing is like a mini sun!" Anthony exclaimed, looking down at the gold locket still looped around Harrys neck with a slight wince.

"Well, after I came in to my gifts, Death made it clear that they were mine to use as I'd like, but there was something I could do in the meantime. Because of Voldemort's horcruxes, it's inevitable that he'd eventually regain his strength and come back, right?" Harry began carefully, knowing that he was once again walking on uncertain ground and didn't know how Anthony would react.

Anthony nodded so Harry kept on. "Which means that he'd return just as mad—if not even more off his rocker—as before and probably bring about the second wizarding war. It would mean the light and the dark going back at each other's throats—possibly countless deaths—and I honestly doubt that everyone here would be safe just because it's a school and we're underage. Hogwarts has already been the venue of multiple dangerous altercations between the light and dark just in these past few years alone"—most of which were unknown to everyone but a select few—"and will undoubtedly become a battleground in the future. And if Voldemort returns, he will have every motivation to pick me as his enemy. No matter what I say, people will elect me as their 'champion' to face him when the time comes." Anthony expression soured at the truth behind Harry's words and a cold anger lit behind his hazel eyes.

"That will happen with or without my help, so Death offered me another option." Anthony perked up at that, but looked hesitant. "He told me that if I were to follow his guidance and begin learning the magic he had gifted to humanity so long ago and then took back when it was squandered, I could right Tom's mistakes from so many years ago, undo the damage he'd done unto himself, and in doing so hope that his sanity will return and prevent the next war." Harry pursed his lips for a moment. "And if it doesn't work out and he decides to continue on down his path of tyranny, then I have all the means to destroy him. Quietly, though, as I refuse to add any more fuel to the fire of people's overinflated image of my 'heroism.'" Harry rolled his eyes at the thought.

"So . . . you'd be helping Voldemort?" Anthony asked slowly, unsure of himself, but thankfully not looking at Harry as if he'd proposed the idea of murdering their classmates and running naked through the school.

"Sort of. Though, to say I was helping him would be oversimplifying it, I think. I am not really his ally. Think of it this way: if Dumbledore is considered the leader of the light, and Voldemort is the leader of the dark, I'm sort of the figure of an independent, one-man party that pulls a few strings behind the curtains to offer opportunities to both sides to make things even. I'm not light, dark, or grey. I am outside of the playing field at the moment and will only intervene to restore balance." Harry gestured to the locket resting against his chest.

"And this is the key to changing it all. Voldemort has already found a temporary physical form and very soon he will attempt to regain his body so he can continue with his plans. However, I'll be stepping in just when the time is right and return what's in this locket to where it rightfully belongs." It only took a few moments for Anthony to seemingly catch on to what Harry was implying and his eyes zeroed back in on the locket.

"That's his soul?!" He shouted, mouth agape and looking more than ever like he wanted to rip it from Harry's neck and lob it as far over the balcony edge as he could.

"Correct, but in this state, it is harmless. I keep it on me for safe keeping, as well as the fact that I'm unsure when exactly I'll meet Voldemort face to face. Though, I know that it will be before school let out for the summer." Harry omitted some private—and frankly embarrassing—truths he hid about why he kept the locket on him. Anthony may have paled slightly at his words, but in the darkness, Harry really couldn't tell.

"I thought . . . I thought it'd be dark and sickly-looking, like tar. It's actually really bright and warm, fresh like cut grass and the thick aroma of sweet grass. Reminds me a lot of summer, actually. And no wonder they say he's powerful! I've never seen so much ambient magic. I couldn't possibly imagine what the guy was like before that horcrux business." He admitted, sounding grudgingly impressed. Harry smiled and bumped shoulders with him.

"You've taken this amazingly well so far, are you sure you're alright?" Harry asked tentatively, unsure.

"Probably not, but I'll get there. I think I'm just a bit overwhelmed right now. Also, I think we're going to miss dinner because we still have a lot to discuss." He stated honestly and Harry had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

"But we're alright?" Harry asked in a small voice, fearing for the first time since starting the conversation that his secrets may impact their friendship negatively. Anthony smiled warmly, grabbed Harry's shoulder and before the brunette could say or do anything, pulled him into his arms for a warm embrace. Harry was shocked at first by the sudden contact, but didn't take long to return the hug.

Annoyingly, it was times like that when Harry was reminded that no matter how much he sprouted up over the past couple of years, Anthony was clearly ahead of the game with generations of tall Goldstein men and women in his gene pool and would probably always be taller than him. Harry's chin rested on Anthony's shoulder at an angle and he silently cursed his own genetics as he felt dwarfed in his taller, broader friend's hold. He must have said something aloud about Anthony's height because he felt the deep tremors of laughter against his abdomen and a gust of breath on his ear.

"Yeah, Harry, we're alright."