Chapter 2.

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I landed at Heathrow and waited through the long line at customs. An hour or so at the very least, a maddening wait made worse by the fact that I actually did have places to be. Work I was anxious to do. That and I had absolutely no desire to be recognized. It's always been a difficult task for me, but these days… well, as I've mentioned, I'm probably not the most popular figure anymore. I'm willing to be that the majority of the formerly magical society would have rather been conquered by Voldemort than lose the thing they so tied to their identities.

I caught a cab to my old apartment, my old flat. I'd paid it off back during the war, the year after Hogwarts and Dumbledore's death. I'd needed a safe-haven of sorts. It was still there, if likely a bit dusty. I hadn't seen it since I'd fled the country in the aftermath of the war's catastrophic ending. I tipped the cabbie as we pulled over at an old familiar corner. I stepped out and shut the door lightly, so as not to attract any kind of attention from those passing by. That old paranoia; it couldn't hurt to be careful.

With a sigh and a moment to breathe, I withdrew a key from my inner pocket and pushed open the solid steel door. The steel had been just one of the preparations I'd made in case I'd needed to hole up during the war.

And the flat was just how I'd left it, a front foyer that spilled out into a bright, open space that was both kitchen and living room. Books were strewn across the table, a thin sheen of soot had collected about the place and I longed for a way to simply banish it away. Even now, after all these years, I still instinctively reached for my wand as the desire came to me. Of course, I caught myself and did not draw the impotent weapon.

I sighed and sat heavily on the couch pushed up against the far wall. It was soft, sky-blue, and I could have slept for ages there on that couch. But I didn't have the time. Well, I guess I did. But in my head I made things urgent, because that's how I work best. Under pressure. But still, I allowed myself a moment to think, a moment to collect myself, I guess. Being back brought up all sorts of memories, all sorts of worry.

The flat wasn't large, but it had been enough. There was also a garage, which had been a big reason for the purchase. After allowing myself a moment for that nostalgia, that regret, I shook my head and took to my feet. Work to do and all that. I walked over to the garage door, opened it, and came face to face with that old heirloom, my Godfather's bike. It still ran, I could still ride. But I couldn't manage to make it fly, not anymore.

The most frustrating part was that the bike itself was probably still capable of flight. Old enchantments like muggle repelling charms, wards, self-sufficient and enduring spells, they still seemed to function. It was only us, only the magic of the people that had vanished. Lacking the ability to fly or take a train, I knew this would be a long trip. But I had to go. It was the only thing I could think of, the only starting place. I had to get to Hogwarts.

I snagged the keys for the bike from their hanger and was about to power the thing on when I heard the doorbell ring.

A pang shot through me. I'd been followed. Why else would someone ring now, after all this time? Someone must have seen me, either in the cab or at the airport or something. Someone must have followed me. I weighed my options. I could answer the door and face whoever it might be, I could hide and pretend I wasn't home, or…

I turned the key in the ignition and pressed the button that controlled the garage door. The bike roared to life beneath me and I felt that old familiar weight as I inched the bike forward, just waiting for enough space to burst forth.

As I did, I heard a female voice shouting my name. It was a voice I knew, a voice I recognized. I powered down the bike and sat back, my heart pounding but knowing that I couldn't run. I'd have to talk to her. The garage door opened in full and I saw Hermione standing before me, arms crossed. She was staring, her hair bushy but tied back in a tight bun. She was dressed in this crisp, immaculate suit, the type muggle bankers might wear to work. She looked older, which was natural. We both did, most likely.

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that she was probably better off than anyone else in the aftermath of the Trace's cataclysm. Her and the other muggleborns or muggle-raised. By the looks of things, I wasn't wrong. It was a pretty expensive suit, I was sure. She stood there staring.

"Harry."

I nodded. "How did you find me?"

She frowned. "It wasn't hard."

I almost unconsciously ran a hand through my hair. "That's a little… I'll admit, it makes me nervous, to be honest."

"Why?"

"You're probably not the only one looking for me." I said, sighing and schlepping myself off of the bike to face her fully.

She smiled. "It's good to see you, Harry."

"You too."

There was this pause, the long, slow silence. I hadn't seen her after the battle. I'd run. I couldn't face what I'd done, I couldn't bear to see the world I'd plunged into darkness. I couldn't bear to see Hermione, Ron, any of the people I'd denied of their birthright. I didn't even know who'd lived or died in the fight. I remained willfully ignorant. I knew that most of the ministry had fallen. The infrastructure was gone, and there was no method by which laws could be in forced. Precious few were even relevant anymore.

Instead, I'd fled the city for my Grandfather's estate. It was the one other place I knew of, the only safe-haven outside the city or Hogwarts. It was tucked away, not far from the cliffs of Dover. I spent about a month there in pure shame. I searched the house, eventually, for information on my history. I'd only been to the estate once before, again with Dumbledore, and then I had not had the time to do the thing properly. It was there I found those photos my Grandfather took. It was there I found the portraits, still talking. It was there I realized that I hadn't destroyed magic at all – no, that would be a feat beyond me. Instead, I'd just taken it from the people. I felt for that manila envelope again in my bag I still had slung over my shoulder. I don't know why I kept carrying those photographs. Maybe I just wanted to be reminded of my family, of a past that could have been.

I looked up at my childhood friend. "Really, though. How did you find me?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't difficult, like I said. But that's because I work as an Associate Director of Information Technologies with the Government. The only functioning one, that is. I pinged your name and saw when you applied for a passport, when you left the country. I was able to track your movements after that, too."

I laughed. "Yeah, you never needed Magic to be brilliant."

"I miss it."

I couldn't help but sigh. "Me too. Did I do the right thing, Hermione?"

She sat down on my doorstep. I wandered over and sat beside her.

"I don't know," she said softly."

I shook my head and felt a soft breeze blow in over my skin. Goosebumps.

"It was selfish. I didn't want to die."

She didn't answer that. Instead, she said, "I pinged Riddle too, but he hasn't shown up anywhere that I've been able to monitor. Nobody saw what happened to him after the Rapture."

I frowned. "The Rapture?"

"That's what people call it."

"Oh."

She continued, "Like I said, his name hasn't surfaced. Nobody has seen him. Personally, I think he's dead."

That surprised me.

"I mean, he was basically held together by magic, by rituals, at one time by his collection of Horcruxes. Without magic, I suspect his body might've begun to fail, to falter. And if it didn't, well… I wouldn't be surprised if he killed himself. The only thing worse than death in his eyes? Weakness. Being powerless. Which he would be, now. Just like the rest of us."

Again, there was a pause. She'd come in search of me, she'd been tracking me. She didn't seem angry with me, not really. She should have.

"People… they hate me, don't they?"

She paused, and then nodded. "Yes. They do."

"I figured."

She put a hand on my shoulder, a soft, light touch. "But you're up to something, Harry. I know you are. You'd only have come back…"

I looked over at the bike tucked away in the garage. I felt the keys I'd put back in my pocket.

"Yeah. Yes, I am."

"Can I help?"

I actually smiled there myself. "Of course you can. I'd welcome the company."

She nodded and fished for something in her pocked.

"I actually can't go with you now, Harry, not yet. I still have work to do in my own life, I can't just up and leave. I need the money, too. But take this. Call me, when you can. My number is already programed in."

She placed a phone in my hand. I nodded.

"I haven't used a phone in ages."

She grimaced. "What else is there, anymore?"

I nodded again and looked down at the small flip-phone she'd placed in the palm of my hand.

"I will. I'm absolutely positive I'll need your help."

She stood, slowly, wearily. The act made her seem so much older in my eyes. Worn out. I felt in that moment that the loss of her magic must have been an absolutely devastating blow. And the fact that it was she who had been the brainchild behind it all, well, I imagined she might actually feel as much guilt as I. I felt a pang of shame.

"I don't have time, Harry, I've got to get back. I just saw you'd landed and I figured you'd come here first. I'm glad I was right, because I'm relatively certain you weren't going to contact me."

I shook my head.

"Or Ron?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good that I caught you, then. Call me when you get wherever you're going or when you have the chance and we'll talk through whatever it is you've got planned."

"I promise," I said as I stood.

Hermione nodded, turned, and walked down to the black sedan parked by the side of the road. With a last lingering look she got in and eventually drove away. I watched as she went and felt the weight of the world crash down once again on my shoulders. She thought I had a plan, and idea, something. The truth was I just had the drive, a burning desire to set things right. That's all I had. I had no idea how I was going to go about doing that.

I hopped on to the bike and started it up once again. I pulled a map from my bag and surveyed it carefully. After a few moments I nodded to myself and replaced the chart cautiously in the canvas. With a sigh, and almost for some reason I couldn't quite place, a smile, I drove. To Hogwarts.

The trip took hours and I barely had the money for the petrol. Money was an interesting thing now, in the world. Without a ministry, without a real economy… well, I didn't know the end result, but I could guess that a lot of formerly wealthy men were now struggling. I'd actually pawned off a few galleons at a muggle shop. Highly illegal in the past, but now? Who would know or care? It was the least of my crimes. The money, though, was starting to run low.

Still, I made it. My first view of the castle in over three years. It was as ruined as I'd left it, rubble from the fallen towers still strewn across the lawn. The grasses, the trees, they were all unkempt and unattended. I passed through the outer gates unmolested and strode eagerly to the castle doors. I paused for a moment. Was anybody even here? I found it hard to imagine. The castle was quiet from the outside. Still, I raised my hand and pounded on the door. I waited moments, minutes, but there was no response, no groundskeeper to get the door. I was almost certainly alone, I thought to myself.

Almost wistfully I pushed the doors open and walked inside. The great hall still stood, the ceiling still enchanted. I moved from room to room, hallway to hallway. Occasionally I couldn't get to a certain place due to a cave in of some sort. I had no idea as to the structural integrity of the place, but I couldn't bring myself to be concerned. This was Hogwarts, home. In my heart of hearts I still believed it would protect me. I knew, though, that this was a foolish notion.

I spent hours wandering the halls, aimless, searching. It was really just this nostalgic moment more than anything. It wasn't practical, it wasn't purposeful. Not until I found myself at Myrtle's bathroom, at the entrance to the chamber I remembered so well. There was a pool of water still on the floor, the toilet somehow still overflowing. Myrtle was still here, somewhere. I just couldn't see her anymore. But that wasn't what had my attention, no. I was instead transfixed by the fact that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was open wide before my eyes, inviting me in.

How? Had the Chamber been breached on the night of the attack? No. I couldn't imagine it had. Riddle was the only one, besides myself, who knew of the Chamber's location and had the ability to actually open it. As far as I knew, he had not himself gone within the castle walls. So then who? What was the entrance doing open? I was quite positive I myself no longer had the capacity to speak to snakes. I was burning, my curiosity threatening to overwhelm my good sense and rationality. Then again, what use was rationality, really, in times like this? I'd come in search of a clue, something, anything that could help me. And this was… well, this could be something. What other option did I have? I had to go. I had to go in. I looked around, wishing I could see Myrtle, wondering if she was watching me. I hadn't seen a ghost in my exploration, and there'd been hundreds of Hogwarts ghosts. I began to assume that I just couldn't see them any longer.

In all honesty, I couldn't understand the inconsistencies. Why could I see Hogwarts, walk through muggle-repelling charms, but not see ghosts, not speak to snakes? What sense did that make? It was a mystery to me, the nature of what I'd done and what might have been left within each of us.

I looked up from my reverie and gazed into the tunnel, that wide entrance to the dark and dank below. I thought to myself again: what do I have to lose? I took a deep breath, and then another. Finally, I jumped.

Down, I went, through that old familiar tunnel of my second year. I hadn't been back in almost a decade, but still my journey with Ron and Lockhart was clear in my memory. I wondered idly in that moment what had become of St. Mungos, of the spell damage ward, or of Neville's parents.

I landed on my feet and felt my shoes crunch on the decades old bones of rats and mice, old meals for the long-dead Basilisk. The stench was putrid, pungent; far more noticeable than the last time I'd been down. And as I traversed the tunnel towards the main room of the chamber, I realized why. The great snake's corpse still lay there, rotting, in the center of the room, long forgotten by the world of wizards that had lived on the surface.

As I entered that room, I moved softly, cautiously. Somebody, sometime, had opened the Chamber again. Of course my mind turned to Riddle. But why? Better yet, how?

I paced through the great opening of the cave, the darkness of the walls and dankness of the air unsettling me to the core. This place had fuelled nightmares. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I took the time to explore the layout of the room, something I hadn't had the chance to do before. The main chamber had several openings that I took note of as I felt my way around the perimeter. I was careful to avoid touching the corpse, the beast. There was, of course, the opening the Basilisk had used to slither in. Including that, there were five openings branching out from the room, not counting the path I'd taken to get there. Where did they lead?

I did not have the time to search further. For as I was feeling down the tunnel furthest from the way I'd come I heard the slow scrape of footsteps coming from behind me. They were slow, measured, and very much coming closer. I whirled on my feet and, again on instinct, drew my wand.

"And what," said a raspy voice from the shadows, "are you going to do with that, Harry Potter?"

He stepped forwards and I could see his face, his crippled form, his bloodshot eyes.

Tom Riddle stood before me.