Chapter Thirty-Nine: Return to Hogwarts

King's Cross Station was awash with people. Harry struggled to keep up with Sirius and the others – and stay as inconspicuous as possible while he was at it.

The gift giving was a highlight of his holiday. He had been sure to be on his best behavior for Sirius – a thought that rather depressed him – the entire time. Harry hadn't wanted to ruin the experience for Ginny. He had taken too much from her already.

The presents had all been light and fun. The adults had enjoyed the funny knickknacks Harry had picked up on a whim – Bill had threatened to throw his sunscreen at Harry's head, causing much laughter. Ginny had worn her earrings the entire day.

As for his presents – a few jumpers, a book from Remus and a figurine from Bill. Ginny had presented Harry with a wizard's watch. It was a lighthearted exchange and for once during the holidays Harry had felt truly happy.

Harry pulled up short to avoid flattening a gaggle of first years as they stampeded past him.

"Harry? Where are you?"

"Here, Ginny." He struggled past a knot of glaring Gryffindors. Sirius had a proud, if watery, expression on his face. "Off you go, then," he hugged Ginny so hard she squeaked. "Remember to write!"

"Yes, Father!" Ginny pulled away to give Remus a hug, leaving Sirius and Harry to stare at each other.

"You…be good, okay, kiddo?" Sirius' smile wobbled. "I knew you'd pull out of it, no matter what Healer Fondorn said."

Harry felt a muscle flex in his jaw. "Yeah," he said, looking down and away. "I'm fine, Sirius. Really."

The unexpected feel of arms going around his shoulders made Harry stiff with tension. Sirius muttered something intelligible into his hair and then pulled away, leaving Harry to blink at the older man.

"Off you go!" Sirius' cheerful grin was back, plastered across his face. Remus stepped forward to give Harry a careful hug – they had already said their farewells to Bill the day before when he had to return to work.

The whistle on the train blew, cutting through Harry's thoughts. A flurry of activity rose around them. Parents and children said their last goodbyes. Porters were checking the hatches on the doors. Trunks were being floated into the last compartments.

"Harry?"

He blinked and started after Ginny, swinging up into the stairwell as the whistle blew again and the brakes were released with a hiss of steam. He stood and waved with Ginny until Sirius and Remus were obscured on the platform.

As Harry climbed the stairs onto the train proper, he realized the weight on his chest had disappeared. He was going home.

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They found the Slytherin compartment with ease. Harry poked his head in through the door, eyed Sasha's ready wand and beamed a smile at those gathered. "Hello," he said.

"Harry!" A blond flash grabbed his jumper and dragged him forward. They fell onto the seat together, Harry sprawled out on top of Draco. The blond cupped Harry's face with two chilly hands and kissed him in front of everyone.

Harry thought there might have been a wolf whistle somewhere in the background noise, but he wasn't sure. He fisted his hands in Draco's dress robes and held on tight.

"Dear Merlin, my eyes!" Sasha sounded half-strangled with laughter. "Boy, boys – Draco, Harry, unless you want your Head of House to critique your technique…"

Draco pulled them to rights as Professor Snape opened the compartment door. Harry hadn't been aware that it had shut. Ginny had her face buried behind her hands. Harry felt flush, knew he was probably beet red, but most of him didn't give a damn.

"Well, happy Yule," he told Draco as the others turned to greet their Head of House. "I didn't know what to give you either."

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said before Draco could answer. "I must say, you are quite red. Are you well?"

Harry blinked a half dozen times and managed one – tiny – glance at the man's face. "Fine, sir. Thank you."

"Very well. Ms. Black. Draco," Snape paused in the door for a moment before sliding it shut with a soft click.

The room burst into giggles.

Yes, Harry thought as he was shifted more comfortably against Draco's side. I'm going home.

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Gwyn ap Nudd had a pocket full of feathers. Some had bits of flesh still attached. All of them were an eerie, familiar blue-black sheen.

There were no tracks. The feathers seemed to have been blown across the Dark at random. He searched for them in the shifting sands under his feet, careful to try and not damaged them, however useless the attempt could be at that point.

He had to find her. Something was wrong.

At times he thought he heard sobbing in the Dark. Of late – and he had no idea how much time was slipping through his fingers – the Dark had grown cold. The sand had turned to fine powder, more like dust than earth.

The sobbing was coming louder. He had been tracking it for what seemed like hours. It sounded young, too young to be lost and alone in the Dark.

Without warning, his boots stepped from dust to flagstone, catching him short. He stared down at his boots, watching as the Dark peeled away, exposing a ragged thought of a room, walls and ceiling too hazy to make out, and a lone dais seat at the far end. The sobbing was coming from the bundle of rags on the stone chair.

Gwyn ap Nudd let out a quiet breath. Not all things that cry are prey, he reminded himself. His footsteps echoed in the vast hall, causing the creature on the dais seat to jerk their head up with a startled gasp.

He froze, feet glued to the floor. Pale skin, ringed with shadows under the eyes. Dark hair tumbled across a narrow shoulder. The girl's cheeks were wet; she wiped the backs of her hands across her face and straightened in her chair, grasping at the armrests.

"W-Who goes there?" Her voice was clear and high, a touch hoarse from crying.

"I am the Lord of Annwn," he said. "Who are you?"

"I am Hel," the girl's chin lifted. "I did not give you leave to enter my realm. Go away!"

"Hel," he tasted the name in his mouth and knew it to be true.

"I said, go away!"

"You are the mistress of Niflheim," he took a measured step forward, watching the panic chase itself across her face.

"I am mistress here. What I say is law and I say go away!" Her small hand smacked down on the flat stone armrest.

He stopped his advance, watching as her eyes darted back and forth. They were alone. The Dark was breaking away chunks of the hall with each passing second.

"I will not harm you," he said.

The laugh that came from her throat was dry and bitter. "You are one of the shining ones, aren't you? Father says Bifrost used to stretch to the small islands to the south. He told me stories of your kind," her lip curled.

"You recognize me?"

"No. You're pretty, though, just like he said you all were. Even the –," her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. "I said, go away!"

The feathers in the pouch at his hip felt like a stone. But… "I have been on a long journey," he stepped to the side, where the last of a few simple chairs stayed intact around a strange well of black liquid.

"What are you – no, you can't!" She lurched forward, tumbling out of her seat as he drew near the well. She let out a pained yelp as she hit the floor.

He was at her side in a moment. He hooked a gentle hand under her elbow and tried to help her to her feet.

"Leave me alone!" She struggled with him, breath catching on a sob. He let go and she fell again with a cry. "Go away!" She swung at him, open handed and easy to dodge.

He crouched at her side, studying her face. "I said I would not harm you," he left his hand in the air between them. "I was trying to help you stand."

"You fool," she snarled at him. Up close her eyes were as dark as her hair. "I cannot stand. It has been my curse since Odin All-Father came to play with us one day while Father was out. 'Call me Grandfather' he said and turned Fenrir into a wolf. 'Call me Grandfather' he said and laid waste to my legs!" She lunged at him again, fingered hooked into claws, her eyes glittering with tears.

He caught her in his arms, letting sharp nails hook into the rough linen of his shirt. He curled a palm around the back of her head, ignoring the sharp snap of teeth near his neck. She struggled for a minute more before sagging against him with a shuddering sob. He pulled the wasted, limp girl into his arms as she curled a fist into his shirt, the too thin bones of her body shuddering as she cried.

Behind them, the pool of black liquid began to bubble.

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It had been a wonderful evening. Gifts had been given in the Slytherin common room – even Ginny, Harry was surprised to see – had gotten things for their Slytherin housemates. How she had arranged, under Sirius' watchful eye, Harry was not sure, but he was impressed. Blaise had laughed like a loon at Harry's present, while Neville tried to defend his boyfriend, even as he tried not to smile. Harry had even received small gifts from a few of the younger years, their eyes wide as they sidled up to the boisterous group that had claimed the couches near the hearth. Draco had promised to deliver Harry's presents, since Harry had not wanted to risk Sirius' tantrums to send an owl to the Malfoy Manor over the break.

It had been a pleasant evening. A good evening. Harry even got to fall asleep, tangled with Draco under the thick covers of his dorm bed without a nightmare being involved.

Which was why, when the Dream hit, it displeased Harry very, very much.

He landed in a heap on a shining Path. The air from his lungs was forced out with a high squeak. He slapped a hand to his chest, sucking in a lungful of air.

"Just once," he told the Dark. "I'd like a graceful landing, please."

"Only once?" A familiar voice asked.

He spun, scrambling to his feet. "Pythia?"

The Greek oracle smiled and opened her arms. He gave her a careful embrace, intimidated by the pristine fall of white cloth that tumbled down around her.

"I thought…" Harry trailed off as he drew away. "I thought you could not leave your cave."

"Yes," she shrugged. "And no."

"Huh?"

"I dream and I am away. I did not leave my cave the night I came to your Draco's manor – I dreamt and I walked and you dreamt along with me."

"Huh?"

Her smile did not reach her eyes. A soft touch of her fingers at his cheek made him jump. "Did you think every time you Dreamed you came to a place that was the same in time and space as the one in which you left your physical body?"

"…Well," Harry frowned. "It makes sense that way. Wait – you mean I haven't?"

Her thumb swept his cheek bone. "Time is fluid, Harry. Backwards and forwards often have no meaning when time does not move at all."

"But…doesn't that mean…"

"Yes?"

Harry curled his hands into loose fists at his sides. "I can appear in time? Like a – a time traveler?"

"No, you can only Dream yourself in time," she cocked her head to one side. "But the other is…almost possible."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you see when you look to the future, Harry?" She caught his shoulder and turned him around. The Dark wavered, shifted and changed.

"Wait – how –,"

"The threads of past and even the future can be teased out, gathered with gentle hands and tugged," her grip tightened on his shoulder. For a second they stood outside a familiar house – the Dursley house – and watched Harry struggle with a stubborn can of tuna. The image blinked out even as the then-Harry raised his head.

"Wait – was that…" Harry turned to look at her.

"The threads, Harry," she said. "Are the things you must understand."

"The…threads?"

"Yes."

"But…I don't understand."

Her hand slipped away. "Each choice we make, Harry, is a choice that affects the future and the past. But, if you bottle the threads too tight, if they are scattered and tangled, the future and the past can come together and disappear." Her fingers snapped together, a sharp, dry sound that made him flinch. "But sometimes, even the paradoxical is needed to undo the unthinkable."

"Huh?"

"It was good to meet you, Harry Potter," her smile shaded the dimples in her cheeks. "Until I meet you again."

"Wait – what? Hey!" Harry reached for her, but the Dark rushed in, like the waves from a broken dam. It crashed in the space between them, ripping the Dream to shreds.

Harry woke to Draco calling his name as he thrashed against the hold the blond had around his body. Harry buried his face into Draco's neck, breathing in the familiar scent. It was a long time before Draco was able to calm Harry down long enough to talk.

The chill of the dream stayed with him until morning.

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Hel was quiet in his arms. The girl had her head tucked under his chin, shivering from time to time.

"I wasn't supposed to come back," she said after a long while.

"Neither was I," said Gwyn ap Nudd.

"I remember the Dark coming, rushing in one day after I had slept and I was so happy. I thought – I thought, yes, maybe, Fenrir was freed or Father had found a way to avoid the Ragnarok, but – that wasn't it, was it?"

"Perhaps," he shifted her on his lap, getting a sharp hip bone for his thigh. "Every culture has an end of the world belief. And the end of the world - your, our, worlds – did happen. The old ways were forgotten. All was reborn."

"There was supposed to be a fight," she sounded a touch sulky.

"Some plan to go with a shout, only to gutter out on a whisper," he swallowed a sigh, his own last words soft in his mind.

"We still weren't supposed to come back," she said, pushing away from his chest. "I didn't want to come back. I don't like this place. He made me mistress of this realm and I don't like it."

"You could leave."

"I can't," she bowed her head. "Odin All-Father thought of that as well. I leave my halls, my realm and I start the Ragnarok." Her smile was little more than a twist of her lips. "I considered the decision more than once."

"Then perhaps friends could come to you."

"…Friends?"

"Yes."

"You are mad, Lord of Annwn."

"Gwyn ap Nudd," he corrected.

She looked away. "Gwyn ap Nudd," she echoed. "You are still mad."

"Perhaps. My fairer siblings have always believed that I am."

She shook her head. "I…"

She was interrupted by a soft sighing sound. They twisted together, facing the direction of the noise. Hel gasped as they watched the pool of black liquid bubble up to a mound, the hiss of the broken steam bubbles sounding again and again.

"No!" Hel struggled forward, using her arms to drag her body along.

"Wait!" Gwyn ap Nudd held her back, even as the pool began to shoot small fountains of inky liquid into the air.

"This – something is happening…" Hel pushed at his hands. "Something –,"

From one of the small geysers a feather fluttered out. Blood dripped, still hot, from the stem. It landed in his hand with a smear of copper scented red. Another jet brought the ragged edges of a scream into the hall. It was the Morrigan's voice, screaming war cries that only the Morrigan knew.

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. Hel latched onto his ankle.

"What are you doing?" She shook a fistful of his pants material.

"I must go," he wanted to flinch at the expression of betrayal that crossed her face.

"No," her expression grew hard. "No, you said we were friends."

"I must do this," he knelt and grasped her hands in his. "I will come again, I swear it."

"Don't leave," she shook her head, hair flying about her face. "Don't leave."

"I must. I am sorry," he let her go and stood. The hall had gained definition. The tall ceiling was pattered gray-on-black, the looping circles of wards trailing over each other. The great doors at the end of the hall were thick and shiny once more. He strode for the opening, forcing himself not to look back. He never saw Hel crumple to the floor with a cry, or see her jerk back from the spreading pool of black liquid with a curse.

He did not hear her ringing screams as she stared into the well of the future, the bright images flashing across the slick surfaces, one after the other.

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Crom Cruach ran a hand along the smooth temple wall. It was almost there, almost ready. The altar block had been prepared, coated in the blood of newborn infants his followers had been eager to gather. No one, they had assured him, would miss the sniveling, pregnant mothers. They would be fodder for another ceremony, if they lived. It was their children, so heavy with the bright promise of life, that he had been interested in.

The walls were up. The altar was in place. Soon, soon it would time for the fires and for the screams of Imbolic.

"Soon, yes, soon," he crooned to the crusted altar stone. He and he alone heard his own laughter bounce off the barren walls, late into the night.

End Chapter Thirty-Nine