A Beautiful Lie - A Stone of Life and A Stone of Death

For living in a remote mountain top with a face that wasn't his own, Harry found it increasingly difficult to hide. There were places to be sure, but few that were not known by others. Unlike Hogwarts with its scores of empty rooms, he was struggling to find a place to himself in Beauxbatons. The time had come for their final examinations, and students could be found in the strangest of places with papers and textbooks spread about them, cramming information for test day. It was only last night that he'd walked into one of the bathrooms and found a student locked in a stall muttering incantations under his breath.

He often questioned whether his identity being discovered was for the better or worse. It seemed that each time he turned around, Fleur and Viktor would appear. Seeing them again, it filled him with a feeling beyond mere words, as if their presence illuminated the dark world he had been living in previously. But with each passing day that feeling slowly began to fade, and now he had taken to moving through the palace underneath his invisibility cloak.

Whenever they sought him out, the conversation would inevitably turn to war, and despite their best efforts to disguise it as otherwise, they were coming to recruit him. A few words about the ICW here, mentions of important meetings there, and continually dressing in their pristine green robes (even though their colleagues had taken to more casual wear), their attempts to subliminally persuade him were not quite as subtle as they thought. He had wished for a sense of normality – that being with them would bring back a sliver of the life he once had lived – but it proved to be the opposite. They only spoke to how much the world had changed.

He wasn't sure which he avoided more. Harry liked Viktor, he truly did, but this was not the same sullen Quidditch star he'd known previously. What he had experienced the night he revealed himself to Viktor was not out of the ordinary. The man was prone to violent mood swings, shifting from his normal quiet self to a blind rage in a matter of seconds. People were nervous around him, he noticed, even his own colleagues. One wrong word could set him off, and the guilt was too much for Harry at times. I did that to him…

And Fleur… His attitude to Fleur had not gone unnoticed, as Gabrielle had just pointed out to him. "You don't like my sister." She looked sad, a frown scrunched upon her brow. They sat together leaning against a mound of dirt piled outside the greenhouse, one of the few vacant locations left in the school. First years at Beauxbatons did not write exams, only mock tests meant to prepare them for the next year, and that afforded them much more time off while other students stressed. "Why don't you like 'er?"

"I… er, I do…" Why was such a simple question so difficult to answer?

"Zhen why do you run away whenever Fleur comes?" She looked at him haughtily, her arms crossed over her chest, daring him to defy her.

"It's… there—"

"And she eez always upset when she talks about you."

"Gabrielle…" He sighed. "It's complicated."

The little girl looked at him as though he was stupid. "Eet eez not," she said firmly. "If I am friend's wiz you, zhen Fleur can be too. C'est facile."

Harry laughed. Yes, if only it was that easy…

Gabrielle didn't quite see the humour in what she said. "She eez leaving soon, can you be nice to 'er? I do not like seeing Fleur sad."

It was a simple request, and denying those big blue eyes that were staring at him was becoming increasingly difficult, much to his chagrin. "I can try," Harry said, making her smile. "But only if you stop playing with your snitch in class. You won't learn anything otherwise."

The choice seemed to be a horribly difficult one to make, but eventually she relented. "I promise," said Gabrielle meekly.

"Good." Harry pushed himself to his feet, and wiped the dirt off his clothing with a wave of his wand. "You can start next in Charms class — up you get." She did so with a painful reluctance, slapping away his wand when he moved to clean her clothes as well. A smile tug at his lip as he watched her run off, loose papers in hand, and dirt smudged robes fluttering in her wake. I wonder if this is what it's like having a younger sister? If it was, he would have like it.

Slipping through the halls, he made his way to one of the passages that led to the dungeons – there were four that he knew of, though he was certain there were more. The grounds were more familiar to him now, making Beauxbatons lose much of its foreign feel, but there were still times where he took a wrong turn or went up instead of down. Rooms did not move as they pleased like they did in Hogwarts, but learning what went where within the palace was both tiresome and frustrating. He held a newfound respect for the frightened little first years and the strange new environment they were thrust into.

Across the staircase, between a set of jade vases, and standing near six feet in height was a gilded candelabra, with candles as thick as pipes sitting unburning in their place, until Harry set them alight with a deft flick. Not a moment later, a low grinding could be felt rumbling all around him, and turning, the floor vanished. A staircase seemingly stretched into an empty black void, and Harry could feel a rush of air prick his skin. His thoughts turned to what lay hidden in its dark and chilly depths.

Life. That was what lay in store for him — so close, yet still out of his grasp. Flamel's discovery and the Resurrection Stone had given him a glimmer of hope he'd never thought to have again, but since then he'd hardly seen the man. The laboratory was a maze, and somewhere amongst the twists and turns of its cluttered shelves the old alchemist was hard at work. At least Harry hoped he was. The few times they had crossed paths in recent days, Flamel looked strangely ill and almost as pale as his robes. On one occasion, Harry caught the old man sprawled out and sleeping over a counter, gauze wrapped tightly around his skeletal wrists, and for a fearful moment he thought the man to be dead — though his shallow and rattling breathing was not an encouraging sign either. When Harry had later chosen to voice his concerns, Flamel turned them away with clipped and dismissive responses, saying only that his research was tiring and not mentioning his injury. It was as though all progress in Harry's survival and reached a standstill.

The sound of simmering flames filled the chamber with its sissing, and a gloomy orange glow was cast over the stone floor and crawled up the walls. Beside the great pit dug into the floor, the workstation Harry would often see Flamel hunched over was empty. Piles of papers were scattered across the chipped and stained surface of a long bench cut from oak, their edges rustling from an unseen current of air.

Harry searched the first page simply to satisfy his curiosity. The chance that somewhere scribbled on its crinkled surface was the secret to destroying the horcrux inside him proved to be too much. It would help if I could read the bloody thing, he thought while squinting, and he lifted the page next to a candle for more light. Nothing – he could make neither heads nor tails of it all. Symbols and foreign scripture and shorthand markings made it impossible to decipher, leaving only the crudely drawn images as his sole source of information.

A small, black pebble was depicted several times across the page, and flipping through several other sheets of parchment, Harry found similar drawings on them as well. Each piece was as cryptic as the next, though the more he searched the more he found. Some pictures were roughly scratched out, while others were seen only once and never again, but there were those that formed a clear pattern with their appearances. Two women could be seen in sequence, one standing and one laying down, with the stone centered between both of them. It was graphic in its depiction, with both women naked and cut open from throat to genitals. Harry frowned, not understanding their importance amongst the images he could clearly identify as himself and the three stones born from the purifying flames.

An ugly CRASH stole Harry's attention away from the notes and directed it to some place deeper in the lab. It sounded as though metal pots had been knocked over and came clattering to the ground, or perhaps one of those strange silver instruments with thousands of spinning parts. "Hello…?" Harry called out tentatively at first, feeling oddly at unease. "Who's there? Nicolas is that you?" He found the strength in his voice, though it echoed without response. "Wulfric? Hello?" He tried, but still nothing.

Maybe something shifted and fell off a shelf? Harry thought to himself after a long pause of dead silence. With a shrug, he returned to looking over the notes, trying to piece together whatever he could.

It was a laborious task, and one that came with little success to show for his efforts. Slowly, as the candle lighting his work burnt lower and lower, numbers and letters and the ink forming them all began to pool in his mind. It was a dark, sludgy mixture, and he could feel himself submerge beneath its depths. The metallic taste of copper filled his mouth, and looking around, the black was turning a deep red. Blood came running down the walls – thick rivulets filling the lines and cracks of the stone floor, before congealing all around him. He could hear screams and cries, and felt tears on his face, and then Harry jumped awake. The light had died out leaving only a puddle of wax in its place. That's the last time I fall asleep on an empty stomach…

Pushing the papers into a half-organized stack, Harry stood with the intention of finding some dinner, but the feeling of unease from earlier continued to pull at his insides. Bloody paranoia, he grumbled to himself. There was an eeriness about the laboratory, from both the silence and the dusky hue that settled over it like a fog. Even with only two people, he could hardly remember a moment where it wasn't burning with life and bustling with the noise of ongoing experiments and strange tests. Without that, it felt wrong.

A stream of air came brushing over his skin, the same that must have been blowing at the papers. His feet followed in its direction without thought, leading him further into the lab, and the strength of the breeze grew with each step. Harry felt something crunch under his foot. Lighting his wand and looking down, he could see chips of broken glass glittering up at him. Kneeling over and extending his arm further in investigation, cracked potion bottles and shattered vials could be seen scattered across the ground. A metal tray lay overturned two feet over; and near black in the light, a growing pool of red surrounded it all. Dipping a finger in and cautiously bringing it to his lips, it had a familiar bitter taste. A blood replenisher…

In that moment, a current of air passed under his nose, bringing with it the scent of copper. Immediately, his legs were moving again. It was the only thing he could smell now. Ahead of him now, were the red-stained hooks and hanging corpses he'd come across when he first arrived months ago. The sight of them only made him run faster. His previous unease was flooded by a surge of panic. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong.

The stench was unbearable now, and Harry could feel his eyes watering. Through his blurred vision, he could finally make out where it was coming from. The breeze was being carried from the open door of a vault carved out of oily black stone.

Stumbling through its opening, Harry retched at the sight.

Hanging from the ceiling was the corpse of a naked woman, her head slumped forward sending a curtain of brittle hair to cover her nipples. Blood was weeping out of slits in her wrists, though most of it had already dried. Her abdomen was gutted like a slaughtered pig, leaving her body an empty husk. Below, lain almost perversely across an alter where much of the cruor had drained, was a lump of crimson stained flesh. It was a woman, Harry thought, though there was so much blood and viscera it was impossible to tell.

The pile of flesh moved, and Harry attempted to steady his spinning world by grabbing hold of the wall. It moved again, and let out a low moan.

Horror took hold of his heart, and Harry sprinted over to the alter. There was more blood then he could ever have imagined, splashing and sticking and staining all of his clothes. With a jolt he suddenly understood why – small crystal vials lay at the foot of the alter. He heard the moan again, and noticed that it wasn't coming from the woman, but a frail wrinkled frame on top.

How is he alive… Harry flipped his body over, and took in the pair of ugly gashes cut deep into his own wrists. Strange wheezing sounds were leaving his throat, and it took Harry several seconds to realize he was speaking. "…Perenelle… Pe… P… Perenelle…" Harry's head snapped around to the old dead woman beside them. Oh Merlin… he thought, sick filling his mouth, don't let that be her… "…Per… I… ple… ome… back… my… fault… so… rry…"

"Nicolas!" Harry shouted, not wanting to even shake the man for fear of what that might do.

"… Al… ic…?" His eyes remained closed and he muttered incoherently, but at least it meant he was somewhat aware of his surroundings. "… Perenelle… th… stone…" The resurrection stone was held firmly in his grasp, where all his remaining strength went into twisting it between his fingers. "… I… I… see… Peren… talk… her…"

"Nicolas! Nicolas, you need to stop!" Harry shouted, grabbing hold of his wrists that continued to seep blood. "It's not working! You have to stop this madness!" He wasn't sure how, but he could feel it. The stone wouldn't bring her back – it didn't answer to him.

"…can't… sto… st… stop… Pe…" His voice was fading, and Harry didn't know how much longer he had left. What was he to do? He wasn't a healer? This was beyond anything he was capable of fixing? His breathing was coming faster and shorter, and he could feel a dizzying lightness come over his head. What do I do? He can't die. I need him. Harry was panicking, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do. It reminded him of when Katie was cursed and he couldn't do anything, until…

Fleur. She saved Katie when nobody else could. She was trained for could do this. He needed her.

Sparked into action, Harry summoned an intact vial of Blood Replenishing Potion and poured it down Flamel's throat. And with the little first aid he'd picked up over the years, Harry did as much as he could in the way of stemming the bleeding and closing Flamel's wounds, though his work left much to be desired. "Nicolas," Harry said, gently touching his face to catch his attention. "I'm going to get help. I promise to be back soon. Fleur will know what to do." He turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand gripping his wrist.

Flamel's eyes were open now, and staring up at him with surprising intensity. "The stone… it must be destroyed for… its power." His voice was halting but strong, and his grip tightened with each word. "The ritual… the stones… they need blood… yours."

"My blood? Why?" Flamel's sudden strength caught him off guard.

Flamel gave a jerky nod. "It is the anchor… the source… the plane… where you and your mother's protection meet… destroy the Hallow." He let go of Harry and collapsed to the alter.

"Nicolas!" Harry shouted, fearing the worst, but then he saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. "I'll be back. I promise." Giving him one last parting look, Harry sprinted out of the vault and through the laboratory.

The stench of blood followed him up and out of the dungeons, clinging to him with its sickening claws. He would need several baths at least before he ever felt clean again. It was a nightmare, what he'd seen down there, and every intake of breath reminded him of it. Blood and sweat crawled down his throat with its repugnant taste.

He burst through the passageway without a care, and took off down the hallway. "Bouge de la route! Bouge!" Harry yelled, sending students screaming out of his way, and he pushed through those too shocked to move. He climbed up the main staircase, three steps at a time, trying to remember the direction of Fleur's room. He stepped off on the second landing when he ran into a large collection of lower-year students coming down from the third, and ignored their shouts after him. Thinking back to where he travelled before, Harry took a left, then a right, another right, and a left, before ending up in a corridor he didn't recognize. Damn this school! I need a bloody map! "Fleur!" He shouted out, beyond desperate at this point. "Fleur! Fleur!" Taking a corner much too fast, and without looking, he nearly barrelled into another student.

"Alic? What eez wrong?"

Harry spun around, and saw a very frightened looking Gabrielle – her eyes impossibly wide and shaking. "Gabrielle! Where is your sister? Where is Fleur?" Harry knew he was yelling at the poor girl, but he didn't have any time to spare.

She didn't answer, petrified at the sight of him. I must look ghastly… there was just so much blood…

"Gabrielle!" He reached to grab her by the shoulder, but she flinched away. Harry looked to his hand, and saw it dripping. I don't even know who's it is.

"Fleur… she eez in 'er room I zhink." It was the most tentative he'd heard her speak since their first meeting.

"I know!" Harry snapped, and instantly regretted it. "Where is her room, I mean." He tried to be more gentle, though he wasn't sure how successful he was.

"Eet eez zhis way." She immediately led him up a flight of stairs and through several crisscrossing halls, likely too afraid to ask any more questions. They eventually reached a section of the palace he recognized, and Harry took off again, leaving Gabrielle behind.

He was in the guest wing of Beauxbatons, and headed in the direction he knew he'd travelled previously. She said her room was the first one in the row… He grabbed the golden knocker and hit it harshly against the wall. "Fleur! I need your help! Fleur!" His voice went echoing down the hall.

A door materialized and opened seconds later, revealing a slightly mussed Fleur who looked as though she was woken from a nap. "'Arry? What do you…" The words were stolen from her at the sight of him. He could hear a set of footsteps running behind him. "What happened? Are you alright? Why are you covered in blood?" She looked him up and down for injuries, and frowned when she saw none.

"I need your help. Right now. Nicolas is hurt."

"'Arry, what—"

"'Arry?" Fleur was cut off by a third voice, and they both turned to see a panting Gabrielle standing behind them. "What 'appened to 'Arry?" She was looking between the two of them, and strangely at Harry.

"Fleur!" Harry said sharply, not caring about what Gabrielle might have heard in that moment. "We need to go now. He's dying."

Perhaps it had been the desperation in his voice, or the blood soaked clothing, or even her want to gain his trust again, but she snapped to attention almost immediately. She nodded, and grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and pushed her gently into her room, before sealing the door in the face of her childish protestations. "Where is he?"

"The dungeons," Harry answered quickly, "I'll take you there."

It was only as they were racing through the palace that Harry noticed Fleur wasn't wearing her ICW green robes. He wasn't quite sure why it mattered, but it did.

Re-lighting the candelabra, she gave him a questioning look, until it morphed into one of surprise when the floor gave way. The tunnels felt much darker all of a sudden, as though the air was filled with anguish, and they stretched on for what felt like forever. The blood spread on his skin and soaked into his clothes was as heavy as lead. "'Arry, what happened to him?" He could hear the heaviness of her breathing from behind him.

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. "He tried to do a… ritual, I think. I'm not sure. But I found him bleeding out and couldn't risk moving him. You're the only person I could trust to help."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "A ritual with blood, it is a very serious thing, 'Arry. I am not sure how much I can help."

"I just need you to heal him," Harry explained, "I fixed him up as best as I could and gave him a blood replenisher, but I need you to do the rest."

"'Arry— "

"Look, we're just here." Harry pushed through the door to the lab, which was pitch black without any light. Both Harry and Fleur cast glowing orbs into the air, illuminating the path in front of them. Through the shelves he led her, and past the hanging corpses, before finally reaching the vault. Harry could feel his heart racing against his chest, and a pit opened up in his stomach.

Fleur screamed, and he couldn't blame her. The scene was almost more gruesome the second time around.

"He's on the alter, come on," Harry took her by the arm and practically dragged her over. The shock having worn off, and seeing the man in need, brought Fleur back to her senses. Not caring for the red mess, she scrambled to the stone pedestal and started casting a series of charms.

Harry closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, trying to calm the untamed rush of his thoughts. It didn't seem to help. Looking back up, he saw Fleur standing still, finished sooner than he'd expected. "Is he well?" Harry asked, taking a step closer.

Fleur choked out something unintelligible.

Maybe it's the smell getting to her? Harry thought, it had only gotten worse since he'd left. "Do we need to take him to the medical center?"

"'Arry…" Fleur turned to face him, her face long and solemn. "He is dead."

Dead. The word rang hollow in his head.

"No," Harry said, certain of himself, "he can't be dead."

"I'm sorry," said Fleur, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No." Harry brushed passed her, and ran to the alter. "Nicolas! Nicolas, I brought you help. Nicolas!" There was no response. "Nicolas!" He tried again, shaking the body. "Nicolas, please." But still there was nothing. "Please…" His eyes were stinging now, as reality began to sink in. He's dead, he's really dead. All that remained of the legendary alchemist was a shrivelled, naked body stained with blood.

Fleur stood beside him again, holding him, and he wasn't sure when that happened. "He lived for over six hundred years… and this is how he died," Harry found himself saying.

"What happened?"

"It was his wife, Perenelle, she died after I destroyed her stone in my first year. He tried to get her back." It was the only option that made any sense to Harry. He remembered the ugly drawings of the women in his notes. "I… I think he saw her, and couldn't stop himself." Sliding his gaze down the corpse, Harry could see the Resurrection Stone, a black dot in his hand.

"Saw her? You said she is dead?"

Reaching over, Harry plucked the stone from his dead hand, and held it up for Fleur to see. "Do you know the story of the Deathly Hallows?"

Fleur's eyes widened. "It can't be… It is simply a story for children." She spoke doubtfully, but Harry could see the wonder behind her eyes, and the want to believe.

"They're not."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because… I'm the Master of Death."

Perhaps such a statement would have been comical, and Fleur might have laughed had they been anywhere else, but with the grisly death of Nicolas Flamel, and Harry dressed in blood, it was all so terribly serious. "Cloak and wand and… stone." He pulled them out, one by one, holding them all in his possession.

"That— This… 'Arry, this is incredible! People have been searching for the hallows for centuries, and now—"

"I need to destroy the stone." Harry said, and Fleur looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. And before she could even open her mouth to speak, Harry left the vault and went back to the laboratory.

A certain madness had come over him. Tearing through shelves and cupboards, and pulling out centuries of books and papers, he couldn't find them anywhere. He tried summoning them, but as he expected, that did not work either. Searching high and low he came up empty, until by chance he looked to the pit dug into the ground. There, sitting in the space where they were created, were the three stones in their stone bowls. Harry picked them up and brought them over to a workbench.

"'Arry." With a wide swipe of his wand, Harry cleared the surface, sending up a shower of notes and quills that fluttered down to the ground. "'Arry!" Reaching into the bowls, he could feel a stone both cold a wet, another that filled him with warmth, and a third that gave forth no feeling.

"'Arry!" Harry was jerked around to face Fleur, who's face was red with anger, but also held a touch of fear. "What are you doing? What do you mean you have to destroy the stone? Do you know the importance of such an artifact?"

"Better than most," Harry snapped back.

"Then you know why it can't be destroyed!"

"It's exactly why it has to be destroyed!" Harry pulled himself away from Fleur. Drawing his wand, he sliced it down his palm cutting straight through the skin.

Almost instinctually Fleur grasped his hand with her own, not caring for the blood spreading between their fingers. "'Arry, what is going on?" She sounded afraid now. I am too, he wanted to say. Instead he dislodged her hand, but she quickly grabbed it with the other. "Please… tell me… I want to understand. You are frightening me."

There was no use in hiding it anymore, everything had changed. Taking a deep breath, he looked her steadily in the eye. "I told you that in order to win this war, to defeat Voldemort, I need to die. That is what the stone is for."

"You can't—"

Lifting his bloody hand into the air, he stopped her before continuing himself. "There is something inside me… something evil, that needs to be destroyed." He could see Fleur opening her mouth to speak again. "Just listen, please, let me speak. Do you remember that day in Grimmauld Place when Dumbledore brought me back from the Lethifolds, where I told you about the connection through my scar?" She nodded. "It wasn't just a connection… it was a part of himself. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, a portion of his soul latched on to my mother's protection inside me." Harry swallowed thickly. "If I want to kill him, then this part of me needs to die as well."

"To kill a part of yourself, is to kill all of yourself. It is impossible Harry."

"As impossible as living over six centuries?" Harry said, and a certain amount of understanding flashed within Fleur's eyes. "That's why I came here, for Flamel's help. I needed him to find a way."

"But he is dead now." She warned.

"It doesn't matter – I don't have another choice." With that, he lifted his hand over the first bowl, letting his blood drip over the surface of the stone. My blood is the anchor. As the stone basin began to fill, he could feel something shift in the air. His heart began to beat faster and faster, almost erratically so, and Harry gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. It took a moment for Harry to realize that it wasn't his own heart he was feeling, but the pulsing of the stone within the bowl. The blood bubbled, and then there was a blinding flash. Harry cried out in pain. It was as though red-hot hooks dug into his flesh, tearing and melting skin with its hold.

"'Arry!" Fleur screamed. "Stop this!"

"I can't!" He shouted back through gritted teeth. "I have to do this. Nicolas made it this far, I have to see it through. There's nobody else who can save me."

"He is dead, 'Arry! Flamel is dead! You don't know what you are doing!" Harry could hear the tears through her voice.

"I know enough." Harry grunted as the rakes dug deeper, reaching and pulling at something that didn't want leave. He lifted his hand to the next bowl, spreading his blood across the second stone.

"This is madness! You are going to die! Stop this! Stop this please! I love you! I can't watch you kill yourself!" Fleur ran forward to stop him, but was held back by some invisible force. The magic in the room swirled like the beginning of a storm, and Harry stood in its eye. The flames of the great pit shot to life, blazing almost twenty feet in height. Glass was shattering, and shelves were creaking, and everything in the laboratory felt as though it was on the verge of bursting from some unseen pressure. Harry heard an explosion, and flying silver shards cut dangerously through the air like knives. Around the room, the intricate spinning instruments were popping like balloons into puffs of colorful smoke and deadly shrapnel. It was chaos.

And then there was a second flash.

Harry's mouth filled with copper, and he spat out red. His tongue was throbbing with pain, and for a moment he thought he'd bitten half of it off. Ice filled his veins, a stark contrast to the hellish fire that scraped his skin. He could feel something holding on to him, grasping with frozen fingers that closed like a vice. Then the hooks pulled, and Harry felt as though he was being torn in two. He'd never experience such agony before. Through the buzzing of his ears he could hear Fleur wailing after him, but Harry was too busy holding on to the remnants of his cracking psyche. Red, then white, then black, the world flashed in his mind. I'm dying. It was the only thought that could make sense of his suffering.

Somehow, through all this madness, Harry managed to touch the third stone. He never saw the final flash, only felt the world open up beneath him and swallow him hole. He floated in a void – earth, space, and the universe around him gone, leaving him in a different plane of existence. In his hand, where it hadn't been before, was the Resurrection Stone. Three turns, he told himself, the pain a distant memory in this strange new place. He closed his eyes, and found that it rolled easily in his hand.

"Hello, Harry." He opened his eyes. More than ghosts, and less than warm living flesh, they stood all around him. Red hair and shining green eyes looked at him with a smile that spoke nothing but love.

"Mum…" He whispered emotionally before he could help himself.

"My beautiful boy… you've grown so much." She was so beautiful it hurt. He could see the ghost of tears at the edge of her eyes, but her face shone with immeasurable joy. They looked at one another as though they would never turn away.

Harry felt a familiar weight on the crook of his nose, and reached up to touch it with his fingers.

"They're there, son, we see you. We've only ever seen you." Harry turned to his father, who had a smile even wider than his wife's, and one that looked to be delighting in some secret jape. Without thinking, Harry ran a hand through his hair, thick and tangled and messy – just like his father. "We're so proud of you… everything you've been through," James said, with a more serious look on his face, but one just as happy.

"Your protection," Harry said suddenly, turning back to his mother.

"Is gone," said Lily with an easy smile. "It kept you alive.. but without it you can now survive, which to us is more important than the price I paid."

"Then the horcrux is gone?" Harry couldn't help the hope that leaked into his voice.

"Destroyed, and sent to a place that monsters like Voldemort deserve." It was Sirius who spoke, younger and more handsome than the man who suffered through thirteen years of Azkaban. An easy-going grin danced across his lips, and sparkling grey eyes looked to him with laughter. "I've missed you, Harry."

"I miss you too, Sirius. All of you, I miss you so much." Harry turned to face them. They were all so young – hardly older than himself, and gone before their time. This was the price of being the Chosen One, the price of the prophecy and those who stood in its way.

"We've never left you, Harry," said Lily, her hand clenched over her heart.

"Every step of the way, we've been with you," James said.

"And you'll never leave?" Harry asked, he couldn't quite keep the quiver out of his voice.

"Never," Sirius said. "We'll be with you until the very end."

Harry swallowed, doing his utmost to choke down the emotions that threatened to drown him. "Where am I?"

"The doorway between the physical and the spirit." Harry started at the sound of a new voice. Dressed in snowy white robes, and as old as Harry could remember him, was Nicolas Flamel.

"It worked?" He found himself saying.

"Of course it worked! No thanks to you running in and trying the ritual without thought." He sobered suddenly. "Though I am proud of your strength in seeing it through without me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," Harry apologized.

"It is my fault, Alic." Flamel gave Harry a tired smile. "It was I who fell to the temptations of the stone. I should never have used it to call for Perenelle. I was always a weak man, and lost whatever strength I had left with Perenelle's death. The price of immortality is high, and I was foolish to try and reverse nature. In death I am with her again, and that is all that matters."

It was strange talking to the man here, when he'd spoken to him not hours before. He could almost still feel the warmth of his blood on his hands. The stone took Flamel for its own, just as it did the second brother. It was no wonder the story of the hallows was used as a cautionary tale.

Harry could feel the presence of another, one who'd only just arrived and had yet to speak. A calming presence he'd only ever known in one individual. Turning, he noticed that the rest had vanished, leaving him alone with Albus Dumbledore, dressed in his favorite set of cerulean robes that shimmered with each step.

"It seems the rumours of my survival are greatly exaggerated," he chuckled deeply, fingering his long white beard.

"But your body? They said it wasn't found." Harry had never believed the tale Viktor had spun, but still, he felt a rush of relief knowing that Dumbledore was, in fact, truly at rest.

"A simple magic trick, that is all. I did not wish to leave my earthly remains to Tom's tender mercies. I lay at peace with those I love."

"Then why do people think you're still alive? And why do they think I'm dead?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and readjusted the half-moon spectacles sitting on his crooked nose. "We are not all knowing, Harry, that is a fact you must understand."

"But my parents… they told me they were with me," Harry protested.

"And they are, just as I am," Dumbledore said gently. "The dead are forever with those who hold them close in their heart, Harry. But we do not see all – only feel through those that we love."

"Why? Why didn't you tell me about all this?" Harry asked painfully, and Dumbledore looked away in shame.

Time passed strangely in this plane, and it was quite a while before Dumbledore responded. "Because I was afraid. Not for what this knowledge would do to you – for you are much stronger than I could ever have hoped to be – but what it would have done to me. I could not bear to tell you the fate you faced, nor of my approaching demise."

"But what about your plan?"

"I had many plans that I tinkered with night and day, using the most of the limited time I had on earth to come up with a solution. There was another…" Dumbledore paused, and looked away from Harry. "One that led down another path, though whether it was a more difficult one I am unsure. However, circumstances changed, and my hand was forced."

"And you led me to Grindelwald." Harry's tone was hard, though he wasn't quite sure if he felt any anger.

"Blinded as I am by the love I hold for him, there is good left in Gellert. But there is also a darkness – a corruption that festers deep within him, and hungers for power. It breaks my heart knowing I put you in the position of letting him free, but there is value from his teachings, and Gellert was always a more powerful wizard."

"He left me," Harry said.

"He will be back," Dumbledore replied.

"How do you know? I thought you said you couldn't see everything."

Dumbledore laughed and looked to Harry with pride. "I do not need to see, in order to know that he will eventually return to you."

Harry looked around the vast emptiness that surrounded him, and could feel the beginnings of a slight chill that hadn't been there previously. He knew it was almost time. "How do I get back?"

Dumbledore glanced down to Harry's hand.

"I destroy the stone?"

"As it should have been all those years ago."

"And if I don't?"

Sad blue eyes met his own. "Then you will remain at these crossroads. Separated from us, as we will be from you."

It was his own decision to make.

"One final piece of advice from an old soul such as myself," Dumbledore spoke up with a twinkle in his eye. "Keep in mind the story of The Three Brothers. Each of the Hallows has its powers, and each has its fate. We all love you, Harry, and do remember what I told you – live and love." Harry nodded, and watched his mentor slowly slip away in a white mist.

He didn't need to call them back to say goodbye, he knew they were with him, and one day they would join him again. With a smile spread across his face and a surge of renewed strength, he crushed the stone.

AN:

I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter! Some big moments, and a shock death. Killing Flamel was... hard, but necessary. I really liked writing him and it was sad seeing him go, but the story has to move on and Flamel was never a long term player. I don't take pleasure in killing characters, and I try to make sure that each death holds some sort of meaning or follows a certain theme.

Let me know your thoughts. I'm really interested in reading your reviews on this chapter, and where the story might take us next.