Chapter 22

Shortly after Harry's arrival, the Weasleys also relocated to Grimmauld Place. I was confused at first at why they'd waited before it hit me. Mrs Weasley had been responsible for the 'cleaning' of Grimmauld Place in the original timeline and for cooking. With the house properly renovated already and Kreacher in a more cooperative mood, there had been no need for her to intervene. Not until Harry arrived. I doubted an army of aurors would be able to keep Molly Weasley from making sure that Harry was properly fed and watered.

Hermione dropped in the day after the Weasleys, bringing the house up to the original timeline's population plus one. Oh, and Percy hadn't split from the rest of them this time, meaning he visited semi-regularly in between working his day-job and managing his own flat. We didn't get many chances to talk, but I wasn't too bothered by that. I had plenty to occupy myself with.

Harry's survival was still under close wraps, so his shopping for school supplies was carried out by Sirius and I under disguise two weeks before term started. He'd thanked us profusely, insisted on repaying us from his own vault, and then stowed them away to not even be thought of until school started back. I had to remind myself that few students were as studious as myself and Hermione were.

The Quidditch World Cup was held elsewhere that year, the organisers put off by the budding war, much to the disappointment of many. Without that to look forward to, the younger Weasleys and Harry had found other ways of amusing themselves. After Molly scolded them for the fifth time in three days for causing a ruckus in the house—Sirius just laughed in the background—I took pity on them and worked an Undetectable Extension Charm on one of the unused rooms. It took a day or so to make sure it was safe and secure, but Grimmauld Place soon sported its own indoor Quidditch pitch.

Molly spent a few minutes gaping like a goldfish while her charges ran for their brooms. She looked at me as if contemplating something before shaking her head and walking off to the kitchen.

"So long as it keeps them out of trouble," she shouted back at me. I just shrugged and went back to my reading. Albus had sent me some interesting volumes on curses that I wanted to peruse. I was almost at my room when I was accosted again.

"I didn't think you played Quidditch."

It was Tonks, leaning against the far wall. Her hair was shifting between various shades of blue, purple and—of course—pink. Her eyes were focused on me, thoughtful but not bothered.

"I don't," I said.

"Then why did you go to the bother of bewitching a massive space for the purposes of playing it? It's a lot of effort for something you're not going to use. And besides, I thought you were busy with your own stuff these days? Books and letters and exploding doormats and top-secret-hush-hush plans?"

"It's good practice," I said, a bit more defensive than I'd intended to. "I've never created a space that size before, so it was a useful experiment. Besides..." I broke off and gazed at the wall for a moment, refusing to meet her gaze. "There's a war coming and if we can't win it fast enough then they'll be caught right in the thick of it. They should have the opportunity for fun while they can."

"Fair enough," Tonks said, straightening and settling on a wavy pink hairstyle. "I guess I'll see you around then. And Poe? For what it's worth, you're a pretty nice guy."

She never saw it, but I couldn't help but smile after that. It wasn't something people told me very often.

I was in a good mood for the rest of the afternoon, reflecting on the irony that within a few weeks the Quidditch pitch I'd so carefully created would fall into disuse once more. I didn't mind. It really was a useful experiment, after all.

—tN—tN—tN—

Molly returned to the Burrow once the children had gone back to Hogwarts. Sirius and I mourned the loss of her cooking over tankards of Butterbeer.

Outside the walls of Grimmauld Place, magical Britain was breathing a collective sigh of relief as Harry Potter was sighted alive and well for the first time since the attack in Hogsmeade. Fudge had been browbeaten into not saying a word on the matter, letting us keep it quiet until we were sure that Harry was okay.

The revelation was old news to a select few, cause for celebration to most, and a source of unbridled rage to one Tom Riddle. Riddle had discovered his archenemy's survival even before it broke to the collective public, fed to him by his latest spy in Hogwarts, Barty Crouch Junior.

I resisted the urge to slam my face into the table when Albus told me how he'd accosted 'Moody' the day after the Opening Feast and uncovered the impostor. It was just like it was in the original timeline. Crouch had ambushed Moody the week before school started and locked him away to milk for disguises and information. Moody's abrupt cessation of visits to Grimmauld Place had roused our suspicions and made me glad I'd persuaded Alastor to temporarily surrender certain memories following strategy meetings in Dumbledore's office.

Albus had set Moody free and then—between them—they swapped the situation around. Moody was taking his normal classes, but he was also playing the part of Barty Crouch on a mission from Voldemort, feeding Riddle information from within Hogwarts. Crouch himself was a tough nut to crack, but sustained interrogation—I tried not to think what that might have entailed—by some trusted aurors revealed that he had been sent to kill Dumbledore.

Ironically, that was just about the most competent strategy that Riddle had employed in either timeline. Going straight for the biggest threat with a talented assassin as opposed to a teen still in school. The only downside to the situation was that Snape was forced to play an even harder part than usual, though he claimed to be managing just fine.

When Riddle thought he had successfully killed Harry, he lost interest in the prophecy, the details of it no longer relevant. With Harry's survival, he abruptly switched to pursuing the recorded omen with unnerving fervour. It would have been much more worrisome if we hadn't destroyed the prophecy and replaced it with a cursed fake. It probably wouldn't take Riddle out, but we'd take any advantage we could.

Thankfully, Riddle hadn't issued Crouch/Moody or Snape any orders with regards to Harry, beyond observing him closely. He probably wanted to know the full details of the prophecy first, and he'd have a harder time getting them than in the original timeline. Even leaving aside the fact that the prophecy was a fake, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had secretly struck a deal with some other countries to each house an imprisoned Death Eater or two until the War was over. The Lestranges and—more importantly in this instance—Rookwood were out of Riddle's reach.

If he wanted to retrieve his most loyal and powerful lieutenants, he'd have to find them first, then travel far from Britain and his power base to confront whatever defences other countries had on their maximum-security prisons. Leaving him with only the few that had escaped Azkaban through lies or gold, and fresh—therefore inexperienced—recruits. And all of the Death Eaters that slipped away the first time were now under watch by order of Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour. "For your own protection" was the excuse they came up with, citing the targetting of the Malfoys with the Imperius curse in the first war.

If Riddle wanted to break into the Department of Mysteries, he'd have to do it himself. And the more he acted according to our predictions, the better our chances of winning.

—tN—tN—tN—

I descended to the kitchen one morning to find it already thronging with people. Sirius, Remus, Percy Weasley, Tonks, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones were in attendance. Surprisingly, Percy seemed to be at the centre of attention, fielding questions from the others. I stood in the doorway and put the pieces together.

Something important had happened, something to draw the members of the Order together to assess the situation. And if Percy was the centre of the conversation then it was something to do with the Ministry. Since Tonks wasn't being questioned, it wasn't anything immediately relevant to the aurors' department. It could have been almost anything else considering Percy's position as a Secretary in the Minister's office.

"Voldemort went after the Department of Mysteries?" I asked as I entered the room, drawing the attention of the others for a moment.

"He did, how did you know that?" Tonks said, brow creasing. "Percy only arrived with the news half an hour ago."

"It seemed logical," I said, waving my wand to set the breakfast things in motion for me. "I mean, we already knew that he had his eye on the place. Was anyone hurt or killed?"

Percy shook his head.

"The Department of Mysteries has been on alert all year and the Unspeakables cleared out of his way. There were quite a number of other people Imperiused, possibly for months. They're doing damage control at the moment, cleaning up the mess he made on his way in. He left a few problems behind him to distract the aurors, like Fiendfyre in the Atrium. There were some treatable burns and a witch from the Obliviator Squad got poisoned by something he flooded her floor with, but she's expected to make a full recovery. Property damage is pretty high and we're going to have to evacuate the Ministry building itself for a while, but we don't think there were any casualties."

"Casualties can refer to injuries as well as deaths," I corrected as I sat down with my usual bowl of porridge. "How's Fudge spinning it?"

"The Minister plans to make a broadcast later about how He Who Must Not Be Named was foiled in his attempts to take over the Ministry," Percy said, uncharacteristically rolling his eyes at my pedantism.

"Not a bad story," I mused in between spoonfuls. "It's hard to disprove and it's not like Voldemort can come out and say that he was actually failing to steal something else entirely."

"Failing?" Remus said, gaze snapping up. "What do you mean, he failed?"

I paused and reviewed who knew what. While the Order as a whole knew that Voldemort was interested in the Prophecy, only a select few of us knew that the Prophecy had been sabotaged. It was to increase the chances of the trap being successful but evidently, I was the only person in the room who was in on it.

"Albus replaced it with a cursed dummy a while back," I said. "Forgot that he hadn't told ye. Doesn't matter now, anyway."

"I suppose not," Remus said, shaking his head. "So many secrets must get confusing after a while."

I finished my breakfast and waited to see if Albus had any instructions in the wake of the latest development. Instead, I received a call informing me that a package had arrived from Gringotts.

—tN—tN—tN—

The Ring was cracked. The Diadem was broken in two. The Cup leaking. The Locket pierced. The Diary shredded. And after months of covert research, we were now certain. Harry Potter's soul was once more his and his alone. All that remained now was the snake.

Oh, and Nagini. Couldn't forget her.

The problem that remained was that for all that Riddle had his blindspots and flaws, he was not stupid. And even without his immortality, he was still a stupendously powerful wizard. I'd persuaded Albus to spar with me a few times and, knowing that Riddle was on the same level, I doubted I would survive even a full minute by myself. The death toll from the battle at Hogsmeade was proof of Riddle's skill and power.

To kill the Dark Lord... We would have to resort to trickery.

Riddle was powerful and intelligent, he would not be fooled easily. But what blindspots he did have were crippling if exploited. Chief among them was his belief that nobody knew of his Horcruxes. After that was the terrible fear that would strike him if he ever thought someone had stumbled upon his secret. Riddle was at his most vulnerable when he was panicked and forced to act rashly.

Before the destruction of Ravenclaw's Diadem, we had taken many photographs and measurements. These data, along with a substantial amount of gold and assurances that the product would be returned following a single task, was sent to the goblins. Experts in crafting magical items, the goblins created a reasonable facsimile of the Diadem in short order. Albus and I had put our heads together to bewitch the resulting fake with a careful selection of spells that would protect it against destruction. Reluctantly, we'd also enchanted it with a Dark spell plucked from Albus's collection of confiscated tomes that would attack anyone who attempted to wear it. A nasty, subtle, curse that would steal their sight and slow their senses.

The result was a diadem that a cursory examination would reveal was very heavily protected. A more thorough examination would reveal that it concealed a powerful piece of Dark magic. It would take quite a bit of examining to determine that it was not, in fact, a Horcrux, by which point Riddle would, hopefully, be weakened by the curse.

Hogwarts was a castle filled with many students and staff. Exploring its secrets was one of the population's favourite collective pastimes. That someone would stumble upon the Room of Requirement and recognise the Diadem was more than plausible. And so, when news broke that a long-lost treasure of the founders had been unearthed and was being sent to a secure location for examination and authentication, people were excited but far from suspicious. Said secure location was a closely-guarded secret, of course. It was kept only to a select few officials and recorded only in a high-clearance location in the Ministry. Not even Snape was informed of it.

Naturally, Riddle would eventually be able to get his hands on the information, one way or another. When he did, he'd come after the Diadem, likely alone.

From the point of view of the Death Eaters or the public, it'd be Riddle flaunting his abilities by stealing one of the nation's most valued treasures and adding its power to his own. It wasn't a perfect plan. Riddle could smell a trap, or react in a way we hadn't counted on. We couldn't control when he'd receive the information either, in case he realised he was being led.

All we could do was prime the trap, set the bait, and wait.

—tN—tN—tN—

There was an explosion in Diagon Alley. Someone had unleashed a deadly poison in St Mungo's. The Dementors of Azkaban had finally revolted and attacked the mainland. And Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

Dumbledore had taken off for the Diadem with Shacklebolt and Moody in tow. I thought they'd be joined by one or two others on the way. Their job would be to ambush Voldemort after he'd been weakened by the Diadem and put an end to him once and for all. Of course, that would be a moot point if Nagini wasn't there. Albus and I agreed that Riddle would keep his latest lifeline close if he felt the rest might be in danger but we couldn't be certain. If Riddle came completely unaccompanied then they'd have to attempt to restrain Riddle instead, or else cripple him in some manner. Either way, a much riskier proposition.

I had nothing to do with that part of the plan, however. My job was to deal with the Dementors.

The portkey Albus had given me before leaving dropped me on a clifftop overlooking the North Sea, at the point nearest the prison itself. The moment I landed—after I regained my balance—I cast a patronus. My glowing cat rubbed against my legs and dispelled the chill that had ensnared me on arrival.

The scary part was that there were no Dementors in sight. The water had chunks of ice floating in it and around me plants showed signs of having been through a harsh winter, even as far as I was from the nearest of the foul beings. I brought some more happy memories—of the kindness of Frank and Henry—to the fore of my mind and my patronus glowed a little brighter.

A powerful patronus could drive away even large numbers of Dementors. I had my doubts that mine could be effective against more than a handful. It didn't matter. If I had my theories straight, the presence of a Patronus would draw the attention of any Dementors in the area. Bolstered by massive numbers, they'd gather to crush the potential threat in their midst.

A minute later, the first cloaked figure glided into sight. My cat arched its back and faced it, stopping the Dementor in its tracks. It waited there, about ten metres away, not moving to attack or flee. It was soon joined by a second, then a third, then by countless others.

Visiting the Burrow, practicing with Bill and Charlie, opening my shop, flying on my own wings for the first time, striking up a friendship with my neighbours, laughing with Sirius... I'd dug out my photo album before taking the portkey and made sure each moment of happiness was as fresh and sharp as I could make them. My patronus shined ever brighter as the hordes of despair gathered, encroaching on my little spot of light bit by bit.

My cat wrapped itself around me, snapping at any Dementor that drew near. And they did draw near, closer and closer. I reached into my pocket with a shaking hand. I'd made a terrible mistake. I thought I knew how to deal with the Dementors, had run the plan by Albus months ago and I was wrong, so wrong. Albus was a fool. There was no way that Riddle would fall for such an obvious ploy. They were walking straight into a trap, straight to their own deaths.

I wasn't smart. I was a fool farther from home than anyone could possibly understand. I knew the stakes in this battle and had thrown myself into the war without any care for my own safety. I was alone, utterly alone. And I'd lose my soul where I stood, without a friend by my side, nobody for me to hide behind. I'd all-but-die and accomplish nothing more than giving the Dementor's a tasty snack and leaving another corpse that refuses to live or die on this shore. There were people counting on me and I'd fail them. I'd fail myself.

A Dementor reached out and nearly brushed my arm before recoiling from my cat's attention. I'd waited as long as I could. Any longer and they'd have me.

The depression-inducing effect of Dementors was debilitating. It stole confidence and focus, robbing their victims of their ability to fight or escape. Why bother doing anything when there was no point to any of it, right?

But I was used to doing pointless things. So nothing stopped me from drawing a wrapped object from my pocket. Nothing stopped me from turning it three times.

Nothing stopped Voldemort's victims from rising, emerging into the space between me and my attackers and driving them back.

James and Lily Potter and the people who died in Hogsmeade were the only ones I recognised and they were soon swallowed by an ever-growing army of not-ghosts. Regaining my wits, I tried to direct the dead to herd the Dementors instead of just driving them back but they were already moving, diving among the black-cloaked crowd and surrounding the Dementors in small groups. My cat brushed against my leg before bounding off to intercept a Dementor that tried to break away from the group.

The cloud that hung on my thoughts receded enough for me to pull out one of the chocolate bars I'd brought with me and take a bite. The chocolate was near-frozen and chewing hurt my teeth. I did so anyway, forcing the squares down one after the other until I could think clearly again.

It appeared that I had hypothesised correctly. In the original timeline, Harry was protected from the Dementors by the presence of his parents, Sirius, and Remus. In short, the spirits summoned by the Resurrection Stone could fight against the Dementors on some level.

I doubted that they would be able to drive off the horrors to the same extent that a patronus would but I'd hoped that it would be enough. It was just as well that I was right. I didn't really have any kind of backup plan beyond 'throw the cat at them and run', which only helped me.

"You survived after all." I jumped at the voice and blanched when I saw who spoke. It was the wizard who took a Killing Curse for me in Hogsmeade. I... I hadn't remembered to find out his name, even after what he did. I swallowed and he sighed. "Don't be like that. You're a damn civilian for Merlin's sake. You should never have been there but you were and people would have died if you hadn't been. I knew the risks going in and don't regret the choice I made, alright? Just... Move on. Any guilt weighing on you? Forget it. The idea of it offends me."

"I-I thought that spirits summoned with the Resurrection Stone tried to tempt those who called them to join them in death? Isn't this kind of the opposite of that?" I managed, stuttering and filing away what the dead wizard said for consideration later.

"Usually, yeah. But this isn't usually. When most people pick up the Stone, death already weighs upon them. Grief, guilt, you name it. They want to ask the questions they didn't have a chance to while alive, to beg for forgiveness one last time, to scream and shout at someone gone beyond the reach of their vengeance. You... You didn't. You called us here with only the intention of protecting others. You aren't haunted by death, literally or metaphorically. I'm the closest you have to a regret but I wasn't even on your mind when you called us."

"So... That's the secret to using the Resurrection Stone?" I asked, looking down at the bundle clenched in my hand, now stained with chocolate. "To be able to call on the dead without wanting to actually call them... Or something. I think I get the idea. It's a bit like the trick Albus pulled with the Mirror of Erised back then..."

"And that brings me to another thing..." The nameless wizard trailed off, hollow eyes turning far-away. The Dementors were being herded away now, heading back out to sea instead of travelling inland. "You do belong here. I just want you to know that. You may have lived somewhere else before, but you were born here. And when you die, your soul will join us. Unless you do something utterly stupid in the meantime."

I was pretty sure my jaw was hanging open and the dead man smirked.

"There'd be a lot more of us without your influence. So, I thought you were owed at least this much. You belong. You don't have to worry about having everything snatched away from you if you look away for even a second. Remember that."

He walked away and joined his fellows in driving the Dementors ever-further out to sea. I let them go, kept company only by my patronus. Soon, it too faded.

I sat on that clifftop for a long time. The clouds drifted by overhead and the cold was blown away by nature's own breath, cleansing the space one gust at a time. The sun was sinking before I moved. And even that was only when prompted by the arrival of a brilliant silver phoenix.

"Poe, we have received information that the majority of the Dementors have vanished but you haven't answered my attempts to call. Please respond if you are able. If not then I will be there in a few minutes." Dumbledore's voice, incongruous when coming from the beak of a bird, paused before continuing. "And I thought you may want to know... It's over. Tom is dead for good and the aurors have moved in on most of the leaders among the Death Eaters. We will still have to deal with the remainder, but the war is over. Thank you. Join us at Grimmauld Place when you can. I understand that Molly is preparing quite a feast."

The patronus faded, and with it, I realised how dark it had gotten, how long I'd sat there. I checked one of my pockets and discovered that my lighter was indeed glowing a faint red, a sign of missed calls. I hadn't noticed it at all. I raised my wand and sent my own Patronus to Albus, wherever he was. While he had invited me to join 'us' at Grimmauld Place, the headmaster himself was likely tied up with the politics and such of the aftermath.

I Disapparated, willing myself into the sky above Grimmauld Place and falling towards the ground. In midair, the freefall became a dive controlled by well-tuned feathers and I swooped neatly to a stop over the front step, shifting back just in time for my foot to hit the mat, and my knuckles the door. Such coordination was usually beyond me, but I was buoyant all of a sudden, a goofy grin breaking out no matter how hard I tried to stop it.

The door opened and I was welcomed into the party. Molly's cooking was, as ever, delicious.

Somewhere else, a silvery cat would stretch out before the Headmaster and speak to him as I'd dictated it to.

"Dear Albus. My apologies for not responding to your attempts to contact me. My mind was elsewhere. The gambit was successful and I came into possession of an unexpected and entirely welcome piece of information of immense importance to me. I will speak on it at a later date. I'm glad to hear you were successful. I look forward to hearing the details when next we meet, my friend."