The days following his visit in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry spent his time in the Restricted Section, looking for anything remotely connected to what he had discovered.

Unfortunately for him, no matter how many books he read, the only mentions of souls he found were all related to the Dementor's Kiss.

The soul doesn't belong in the physical world, a book had mentioned. It exists in another plane of existence, and the very fact that Dementors can somehow drag it into our world and consume it like one would 'food' is an abomination. The soul contains our ego, our will, our emotions, our magic. It is the strongest force in the universe and anybody dealing with the magic of the soul should tremble in front of their power. So how do these Dementors do it? How can they not be crushed by the weight of what they're doing? Are they even alive, or is there another secret that these monsters are hiding from us?

Harry closed the book with a sigh. He should have known better. Already he had trouble with finding anything related to his Defense project and this 'horcrux', why did he think he would have more luck with discovering what Voldemort's diary had been?

Leaving the library to head to class, he wondered not the first time how Hermione had always been able to find anything she wanted there. If she had been the one sent in the past, Harry had little doubt that she would have managed to find a way home by now.

Still, even this setback wasn't enough to ruin his good mood. Because, for the first time since he'd gotten here, Harry had been able to communicate with his time and his friends.

How that miracle happened, Harry had no idea, but perhaps he had never been meant to find a way in the first place. Perhaps the solution had never been in the past but in the future and it was the people in the twentieth century who were always meant to bring him home.

Harry whistled on his way to Divination, imagining his teacher's face when he would tell him after class he had finally found a way home and it was, surprisingly enough, because he had studied divination well enough he had a vision. The man would be impressed, he was sure of it.


Professor Mesmer looked stunned. "You've been able to contact your time?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "I did."

"How?" he exclaimed. "It doesn't make sense. How can you possibly do that?"

"I got a vision," Harry proudly announced.

Theman blinked rapidly for a moment, looking at Harry with a sort of dazed confusion. "You got a vision."

Harry excitedly nodded. "I suppose learning divination was useful because I got a vision. I got a vision and I was able to talk with someone from the future. If we can communicate that means-"

"Mr. Potter-" Mesmer pinched his nose and closed his eyes. After a few deep breaths, he said, "Mr. Potter, you are not a seer. That's not- That's not how it works. You can learn divination like anybody and you may one day become a convincing fraud, but there are things that you will never be able to copy. Getting visions in your sleep is one of them. Very few seers get them, in fact. Take me for example: I am a rather powerful seer able to see different potential futures but when I close my eyes and am in my bed? Nothing.

Harry's smile lessened. "There's oneiromancy though," he pointed out.

"Oneiromancy is trying to make sense of things your subconscious couldn't help but notice and is reviewing when you're asleep. Like tassomancy, it's your instinct guiding you. A true vision goes beyond that and many seers cannot help but believe there's something more, like some higher being is actually sending them for some reason. Now, you seem to believe what you saw is beyond a mere dream, correct?"

Why am I telling you this? Blimey Harry! We don't want You-Know-Who to get his way, do we? He's trying to trick you, so make him pay. You've got to mate, Harry. You've got to mate before it's too late

It could have been a very fortunate dream, he was forced to acknowledge. One Harry had because, in hindsight, Voldemort hadn't behaved the way he should have. Still, even with Mesmer's explanation, something wasn't quite right with that theory. Ron's warning, the way he had explained in great detail the queen's sacrifice before revealing that Voldemort was planning something… Could it have been just a stroke of luck, or was it something else?

Seeing Harry wasn't convinced, Mesmer gave a long-suffering sigh.

"My teacher had visions," he admitted. "He never told me much about them, but from what I remember, he would be sent to some place in the future and witness what was happening there. He was a spectator, and, no matter how many times he tried, he could never communicate with the people he saw, or even find a way to help them. You however are telling me that you've been talking with somebody, that you could interact with your surroundings. I'm afraid to tell you that this is impossible."

"But-"

"No but," Professor Mesmer interrupted mercilessly. "A seer is meant to be a spectator, not an actor. We may resent the situation, that's the rule. Everything we See is happening in our head, that's why we cannot show our visions through a pensive. The very fact that you were able to hold a conversation with them in your sleep is proof that you did not have a vision."

"I understand what you're saying. But..." The seer rolled his eyes but Harry kept pushing, "But is there really no way for somebody to talk with somebody else in his dream?"

"Oh, there are many ways. Legilimency can be used to send dreams, or allow you to share dreams with somebody else. That is not divination however. Also, is the person you've been talking with from your time and who does not exist yet?"

Harry blinked. "How do you-"

"If somebody here wanted to give you a warning, it would be far easier for them to talk to you face to face or send you an owl. The same way you would have talked to them first before running to me. Now, I have no idea about how time travel can possibly work, but I do believe that, if it was a message coming from the future, they would have told you how to go back to your time then."

A rush of excitement ran through him. "I was going to make a big mistake though," Harry quickly said. "So it makes sense that my friend would want to stop me from doing it and-"

"And nothing. It is true that a legilimens can send dreams to somebody but several conditions have to be met and from where I stand, none of them have been met."

"But-"

He tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Listen. You seem convinced that, somehow, you got some help and that a friend from your time was able to talk with you. I'm not saying that you're mistaken-"

You kinda are, Harry couldn't help thinking.

"-but if there is indeed a way for them to do so, it wouldn't be by using legilimency, nor divination." Mesmer suddenly frowned, "Well, maybe if-"

A rush of excitement ran through Harry. "Yes?"

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, is that friend of yours dead?"

The question was like a slap. "Wh-Why would you even-"

"Like I said, I don't know any divination art able to do what you're telling me happened. However, when it comes to necromancy, the usual rules go out of the window. Like I told you during our failed necromantic seance, the dead are supposedly outside time. If some ghost wants to send you a message…" He shrugged. "Perhaps sending a message in 1896 is as easy as sending one in 1996."

Hermione had been attacked by Dolohov, Harry suddenly remembered. But he and Ron had been separated once he got attacked by the brains and he didn't know what Malfoy and the other Death Eaters had done to the rest of his friends. What if Lestrange had killed Ron and Harry had never known until then?

Harry violently shook his head. "My friend isn't dead," he answered, voice firm.

Professor Mesmer must have sensed this was a sensible subject for he let it drop. "At the end of the day, we have no way to prove or disprove our theories," he acknowledged. "We don't have enough data. Perhaps you're right, perhaps I'm right. Still, let me give you one word of advice: even if what you're saying is true, that doesn't mean you should blindly trust what your visions are showing you."

Harry sighed. "I know, I know."

"I'm serious, Mr. Potter," he said firmly, a hint of steel in his voice. "I have known somebody extraordinarily gifted in divination, on par with Trelawney herself. And these 'visions' are the reason why he's dead now. So when I tell you not to focus too much on them and to keep a critical mind, I mean it . Question everything, because if something seems too good to be true, that's because it probably is."


"Harry! Harry, where are you?"

Harry opened his eyes in shock. All around him was nothing but darkness, and he wondered how he got here. He had been in his bed, wasn't he?

"Harry!" a far-away voice screamed. "Harry, can you hear me?"

He knew this voice. He knew that he knew this voice but he couldn't remember who the person calling him could be.

"Y-Yes, I can hear you!" he hesitantly screamed back. "Wh-" Who are you, he wanted to say but instead he settled for "Where are we?"

"Oh thank god it worked!" The feminine voice screamed. "We're- We're inside your mind, Harry. You're… I suppose you could say that we're in your dream. Of course, you probably weren't actually dreaming before I tried reaching you and that's why there is no landscape, but perhaps if you focus a little you can bring us somewhere nicer."

Harry dazedly blinked. Not only had he no idea how he could do it, his mind was drawing a blank when it came to choosing a nice place.

"Is there anywhere you would like to be?" he decided to ask.

The voice hummed. "How about the library?"

"The library?" He repeated. "Do you mean Hogwarts'?"

"Of course, Hogwarts'! It's my favourite place, you know it is!"

Harry froze. Surely it couldn't be…

"Hurry up!"

"Right." Closing his eyes, Harry tried to focus on the place the voice had picked: the mahogany bookshelves filled with grimoires, the long tables between them, the old smell of parchment…

When he opened his eyes, he gasped.

In front of him stood an all-too familiar bushy-haired girl.

"Hermione," he breathed. "Is that-Is that really you?"

Not even waiting for an answer, he started walking toward her, his mind blank for this Hermione. Hermione was here. He wasn't thinking in that moment. All he felt was a desperate need to hold her.

Hermione let out a surprised eep when he opened his arms and tightly hugged her.

"Thank god," he choked. Hiding his face on her shoulder, he couldn't help but cry. "Thank god you're here. I've- I've missed you so much, Hermione. You cannot believe how much I missed you."

Strong arms softly, but firmly pulled him away. Hermione gave him a soft look. "It's good to see you too, Harry. How have you been?"

Harry wetly chuckled. "I've been ok, I guess. It's just-" he looked at her face, and attempted to smile through his tears. "It just wasn't the same without you and Ron, you know?"

Her eyes watered as well. "I know. Believe me, I know." Pointing at the desk on his right, she said, "We probably should sit down. I think we have a lot to say to each other."

He did as she told, his eyes never leaving her face. Once she was sitting in front of him he asked her, "How did you find me?"

"It's a long story. Do you remember when you charmed your galleon?"

Excitement ran through him. "The coin we used for our D.A. meetings? Does that mean it really worked?"

"In a manner of speaking. The thing is, the D.A. coin cannot be used to bring you back, I could receive your message, but that's all we could do."

Harry grinned. "It did plenty already. Albus said it wouldn't work but I'm glad he was wrong for once."

"Albus ?" Hermione repeated, not without a hint of disbelief. "Are we talking about Professor Dumbledore?"

"Well, yes. He is a student here. Funny, isn't it? This Albus doesn't even have a beard yet, if you can believe it."

"And you call him by his first name? You know this wasn't done back then, right? Even in the wizarding world, people didn't call their friends by the first name. People will look at you strangely if you do."

Harry stiffened. "He asked me to," he explained, suddenly defensive. Suddenly unable to handle her staring, he looked away and felt forced to add, "He also asks all his friends to call him Albus, so it is normal here." He had never thought much of it, only accepting this as one of his friend's many eccentricities. Eager to change the subject he pointed out, "But if you received my message, then why didn't you send me one? It would have really helped, you know?"

Hermione looked away sheepishly, turning back to face him with an apologetic look. "I honestly didn't think of doing that. The thing is, I was too busy trying to find a way to actually talk to you that it slipped my mind. By the time I remembered, I was almost done with the preparation for the ritual. I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry couldn't pretend he wasn't hurt by her excuse. For an entire year his friend had let him believe that he was alone, and the only apology he got was 'I forgot'?

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore," Choosing to let the subject rest, he leaned on the table between them and asked her, "Now tell me, how are you going to bring me back?"

"Well…" Hermione bit her lower lip and Harry couldn't help but be drawn by her large front teeth. "I was just thinking… Is it really the right thing to do?"

Harry was startled. Leaning back on his chair, he exclaimed, "Is it really- Of course it is! Why are you even saying that? Hermione, this isn't my time and me being there could create a paradox and-"

"I know!" she exclaimed. "Believe me, I know. We had this conversation about time travel and avoiding paradoxes, remember? But you're already there, Harry. You've been here for a year and the present hasn't changed so maybe time is able to heal itself."

These last words made him frown. "Time healing itself. What does that mean exactly?"

Running a hand through her bushy hair, Hermione sighed. "This is just a theory, and I only read about it once, but some unspeakables have speculated that time wasn't a dimension like the others, that it may be sentient, to a certain point. This is why there are prophecies: some events have to happen, no matter what, and reality will bend in order to protect these precious moments, sometimes going as far as possessing someone and making a prophecy."

Harry incredulously snorted. "What, are you telling me there's actually a Higher Being?

She frowned. "A Higher what now?"

Harry winced and embarrassingly waved his hand. "Nothing, nothing."

"That doesn't sound like 'nothing'. It sounds actually very- You didn't join a sect, did you, Harry?"

"No," he lied. "I didn't and even if I did I- Why are you even talking about this, anyway?"

Hermione dazedly blinked. "Oh, right. Well, to summarise, some events are fixed. No matter what, they have to happen. Some people will always die, because this is their fate. If you try to save them, reality will find a way to kill them later. If you defy Fate, you'll pay the price and terrible things will happen to you and reality. If this event isn't fixed now… Time will let you off the hook, so to speak. Nothing will happen because time would have found a way to make it look like it was meant to happen."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I understand."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright then, let me give you an example. Do you remember when we used my time-turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak? We heard McNair killing Buckbeak, but when we went back into the past, we saw him throwing his axe on the ground."

"Yes, we didn't see what he was doing so we assumed that he had cut Buckbeak's head when in reality -"

"That's the thing: Buckbeak died back then." Seeing Harry's stunned face, she gave a long-suffering sigh. "Think about it: with your reasoning, we were in a causal loop with no beginning and no end, where any knowledge gained would come out of nowhere. A paradox that we had to create for reality would have shattered because we didn't do what we were meant to do."

"Isn't that how it works though?" Harry argued. "You're saying Buckbeak died but you don't know that, do you? You never saw his head falling so what makes you think-"

"That's why time was able to heal itself: because there was still plausible deniability. We didn't see the kill, so the sound we heard could have been either McNair decapitating Buckbeak or him throwing his axe in rage. If our rescue created a tear in the fabric of time, reality was able to handle the paradox and time was rewritten in such a way it's as if everything was always meant to be this way. Time could be rewritten, so it healed."

Harry was stunned. Crossing his arms, he incredulously looked at her. "You always told me that terrible things always happen to people messing with time, that stepping on a butterfly could change the world, and now you're telling me we could have caught Pettigrew and time would have just healed? You're not making any sense, Hermione."

Hermione's right eyebrow twitched. "Didn't I tell you that certain events are always meant to happen? Some points in time are just fixed."

"Yes, we saw Pettigrew escape, but we could have caught him when nobody was looking and-"

"Have you forgotten the prophecy Trelawney made? The one where she said the Dark Lord's servant would be free and bring his master back? She made a prophecy, so Wormtail had to escape and bring You-Know-You. Had you gone against the prophecy, now we would have been in a lot of trouble. We only managed to save Sirius and Buckbeak because, in the great scheme, they mean little-"

"Excuse me ?" Springing up from his chair, he slammed his hands on the table and - looking down on her- he spat, "They mean 'little'?"

"Oh you know what I mean." She said with a roll of her eyes, waving her left hand about in a flippant way, like one would to chase off an annoying fly. "The one thing that was always supposed to happen was Wormtail escaping, and You-Know-You coming back to life, I suppose," she added. "Everything else was fair game, just details in a greater story. Their fate wasn't decided, so they could be saved."

Harry gritted his teeth, any joy he had felt from seeing her vanishing. " Details , eh."

Hermione raised her eyes as if to say 'God help me'. "Back to what I was saying. You have been here for more than a year and nothing on our end happened. So it may just be possible that time is able to heal itself and your presence won't change the timeline too much. Either that, or you were always meant to come here. In any case, as long as you don't do anything rash like killing your own grandfather, you should be fine here. You could even get married and have children too, most probably."

"Children ?" he blurted out. "Hermione, why are we even talking about me having kids? I'm seventeen!"

Hermione winced and looked away. In a controlled voice, she told him, "I'm just saying that you could, not that you've got to. Also I thought… I thought you would like to have a family. Have you never thought of it?"

Harry dazedly blinked.

He was seventeen years old. He had never really considered the idea of having children, or getting married. He could see himself wanting to be a father, someday, but not before he was at least twenty, or even twenty-five. For Hermione of all people to tell him that he should be one of these teen parents was so unbelievable he wasn't even sure if this was really a vision and not some terrible nightmare. Why would she-

A thought came to him. A thought so terrible his forces left him and he had to sit down.

"You're not telling me not to come back, are you?" Brown eyes impassively looked at him and Harry suddenly felt very weak. "You came because you're going to help me go home, right? That's why you're here. You're not-" His voice broke. You're not abandoning me here, are you?"

Hermione looked away and Harry's heart fell. "I've just been thinking that you've always been miserable in our time."

"I wasn't miserable," he choked. "I had you and Ron. And Sirius and-"

"But You-Know-Who has always been after your life," she pointed out softly. "He will always try to kill you and everyone you love. Here though? He will never find you and you will not have to look behind your shoulder ever again. You can finally have the normal life that he took from you. You can find a witch, get married, have children and live a long and happy life with your family. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be 'just Harry'? In this century, you can have it all and nobody will have to suffer for you to get it. Think about it: would it be so terrible for you to stay here? Is it such a horrible life, for you to want to leave it so badly?"

Harry winced.

He never had allowed himself to look at his situation this way. Still, in hindsight, he had to admit that, on paper, his life in this era was everything he had always wanted: he wasn't Boy-Who-Lived and people just liked him for who he was and what he did and not something he didn't even remember doing. He was an orphan whose family was alive and well, and he didn't have to worry about stopping Voldemort and his war, or even protecting his friends. Voldemort had taken so much from him, and by an extraordinarily stroke of luck he had now everything back. Looking at it this way, why would even fight so much to undo all the good this accident caused?

Why did he want to go back so much? He had a perfect life there. True, it wasn't an easy one, but he also had friends there, he had a family, and, more importantly, he had no dark wizard trying to kill him and that he had to stop.

He should have it all and be happy, so why was Hermione's proposal making him feel nauseous? Why would he feel this way, when the choice should be an easy one to make?

"Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right."

Staying here would be so damn easy, but would it really be the right thing to do?

"The prophecy," he murmured. Hermione blinked and Harry repeated, "The prophecy we saw in the Department of mysteries and that Voldemort wanted me to get. If what you're saying is true about time healing, except that some things need to always happen like prophecies needing to be fulfilled, then I've got to go back and defeat him."

"You've got to defeat him?" Her lips twitched for an instant, as if he had said something amusing. "How do you think you can do that? Think about it: You-Know-Who is the most dangerous and most powerful wizard of all time and you're… well, you're you."

"What is that even supposed to mean?" he said, pride wounded. "I've ruined his plans time and time again. If anybody can stop him-"

"It was luck, Harry," she cajoled him. "Your mother sacrificed herself to save you, but the protection she gave you has been neutralised and now he can kill you with a flick of his wand, or have you forgotten him taking your blood in the graveyard?"

"I haven't," he lied, "but I also remember that our wands are brothers and will refuse to fight."

"He'll just pick another wand. Once he understands what happened that night, he will use another wand and yours won't be able to save you. When that day comes, Harry, you will die ."

"There's the prophecy and-"

"-And the prophecy could have already been fulfilled for all we know," she mercilessly cut him off. "You banished him once, why should you have to do it again? The same way, do you really believe a child can fight You-Know-Who and defeat him, the most gifted student Hogwarts has ever seen and someone who has over fifty years of experience? Even if you were to work hard every day, the chasm between you and him is just too big. You'd need decades of experience to stand up to him and fight him as an equal, perhaps even a century."

"A century ?" he strangled himself.

Hermione looked defensive. "What? Perhaps that's why you were sent into the past, for all we know. Perhaps you coming here wasn't an accident and it was always meant to happen and that's what the prophecy was always about."

Harry had never felt so lost.

Putting his head between his hands, he took several deep breaths, wondering what on earth was going on. That was madness. None of what Hermione was saying was making any sense. Hermione wasn't making any sense. How could she say such horrible things and act as if he was the unreasonable one? His friend would never-

He froze.

His friend would never say something like that. Hermione Granger, the girl who created SPEW and who would fight the entire world for house-elves would never call anybody as 'little'. More than anything, Hermione Granger would never abandon him; she'd break the rules and laws of the universe before giving up on him.

"Shit," he murmured.

Those big front teeth that Hermione had gotten fixed in their Fourth Year after Malfoy cursed her. The bravery that she had shown him the first time she called Voldemort by his real name. Only somebody who disliked and didn't truly know the real Hermione Granger and who had a big opinion of Voldemort would make such glaring mistakes. The person in front of him might look like Hermione at first glance, and even talk like her too, but it was becoming clear to see that she was in fact not his friend. This was just rather another trick by Voldemort. Just another great, evil ruse to break Harry Potter.

Harry more than anything had wanted this illusion to be Hermione. He had wanted this dream to be real so badly that he had been more than willing to ignore all the red flags waving about right before his eyes. That was how desperately he wanted somebody to come and save him, and Voldemort knew that perfectly well and was more than ready to take advantage of the situation.

He had been livid the last time he had confronted him. He had been furious when Voldemort had used his parents' face like one puppeteer would pull his dolls' strings. But in this moment felt something different, something new gnawing away at him like warmth under winter's bite. He felt hatred. Cold hatred freezing his insides, like he was an ice cube and every atom of his was shaking, squeezing and constricting in on itself as the chill grew within him like frost and Harry could taste his hate. It sat there, fat and heavy on his tongue, weighing him down as his disgust grew in turn and began to overwhelm him. Images and urges surged through him: he wanted to grab that fake Hermione by the Hair and slam her head against the table. He wanted to curse her, he wanted to strangle her, to make her bleed, to make her pay. He wanted so many things that he was unable to act on any of his murderous impulses. Worse of all, no matter what he did, Harry knew it would be pointless. Nothing here was real. Not this library, not Hermione, everything was just in his head. No matter what he did, Voldemort would just laugh at him, rejoicing in seeing his tears and his pointless attempts to have his revenge.

He should leave this place. He should go back to the real world and lick his wounds there. That was the reasonable thing to do. He should use occlumency every day for the rest of his life and never let himself be vulnerable to his manipulations ever again.

He wanted to end the whole thing, but his pride would never be satisfied with such a cowardly escape. If he left, both he and Voldemort would know he had run away like some stupid child and he refused to give him that victory. He wanted to make Voldemort regret ever using his friend's face in such a despicable way. No matter what, Harry would not leave until Voldemort stopped hiding behind this mask and faced him as himself.

"I wish it wasn't like this too," the fake Hermione sniffed. "I-I really do. The thing is…" Her voice trembled and the attempt at sympathy, at pretending she cared in that sickeningly sweet way that Harry now saw for the act it was. "The thing is this is better for everybody. I want you to be happy and this is the best way-"

"Cut the crap," Harry interrupted. Raising his head from his hands, he looked at her straight in the eyes. "Stop pretending you care, I know you're not Hermione."

The person in front of him was startled. "What-? Harry!" she exclaimed. "It's me! I swear to you it's m-"

"Hermione had big teeth, that is true," Harry said. "However, she got them reduced after Malfoy cursed them during our Fourth Year."

The fake Hermione blinked dazedly, a look of surprise flashing in her eyes before she reset her face to its snivelling facade. "It's not my real body though. We're in your dreams, Harry. If I have big teeth, it must be because that's how you see me. This is your mind; ultimately you're the one in control of everything happening here."

The Hermione I know would have let me hug her. She's an emotional person, the sort of person who'd worry about me, who is overbearing, and she likes physical contact far more than I do. If she and I have been separated for a year, she'd jump on me and cry before asking me what happened. You're being too impersonal. It's as if you cannot stand me."

'Hermione' stiffened.

"Also Hermione stopped calling Voldemort 'You-Know-Who' when we founded the D.A. Why would she go back to calling him 'You-Know-Who'? No, only somebody who has a low opinion of her, who cannot stand me, and who has too high an opinion of Voldemort would act like you did. But that wasn't even your biggest mistake. No, not at all."

Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry – be careful!

"You tried to look like her, you tried to sound like her, but you missed what really made her Hermione Granger. You forgot that she was loyal, you forgot that she valued friendship and bravery over books and cleverness, or even following the rules. No matter what, my friend would never abandon me. She would break time before giving up on me." Harry said through gritted teeth, a dangerous glare pointed at 'Hermione' as he spat out his final accusation. "Nice try, but I can recognise my friends from phonies, Tom ."

"This is me, Harry," she murmured. "I know it's been a while since we last met, but it's definitely me."

Harry raised his voice. "I'm not falling for it, Tom."

"I'm not You-Know-Who! I swear to you, it's really me. He's- he's trying to trick you, but it's really me and-"

"I told you, Hermione isn't afraid to say Voldemort's name, so why are you still calling him 'You-Know-Who'? Come on, at least make an effort," Harry said mockingly, the taunt spilling out of him viciously. "What's the point in a name if nobody uses it? It shouldn't be too hard: just say 'Voldemort. Do that, and maybe I'll start thinking you're my friend."

Her eyes watered and Harry was torn between feeling sadness and disgust. "How can you believe I'm not me? It's me, Harry. It's really me." She pleaded. "I've been trying to reach you for so long and now you're thinking that I'm… that I'm…that I'm him ? I've done everything I could to find a way to contact you, and you're calling me a fake?" She hid her face behind her hands and her shoulders began to shake. "You're so- You're so-"

At first, Harry thought she was crying and Harry almost believed he had been mistaken and hurt her. That worry quickly turned to fury however when he realised that she was actually laughing.

"You're so gullible, Potter," she cackled. "No, really." Something flickered and Hermione's image vanished, only to be replaced by a white, serpentine body for a quick second. Then Hermione returned and, leaning back against her chair, she crossed her arms and looked at him with a cocky smirk. "The reason why you are trapped in the past is because you trusted your visions too much and here you are, so convinced that the answer to all your problems will appear in your dreams. You never learn, do you, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Stop wearing her face."

"Believe me, I do not enjoy passing for her either," the fake Hermione nonchalantly said as she inspected her fingernails and clicked her tongue with a dissatisfied tsk. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that they're full of dirt. Dirty people, these Mudbloods. Still, considering the situation, I felt like using the face of the person your foolishness killed was necessary. Someone has to make you face your failures, Potter."

Harry was shaking in rage. "Hermione is not dead," he corrected him, jaw so tense he could swear he heard the bone crack.

"Are you sure of that, Potter? The curse Dolohov cast on her is a nasty piece of work. Unless she miraculously got immediate medical treatment, she died and it's all your fault."

The accusation hit him like a punch. "You're lying."

She chuckled, as if anything about this scenario was funny. "Am I now? Why don't you try finding out which curse he used yourself then? Try being the key word, naturally, as I'm far from impressed with your current research skills."

Harry refused to believe the man wasn't lying. True, she had been cursed, but as long as Harry could ensure that help would come, she could be healed and she should be fine. As long as he discovered what curse was used and warned the right people, Hermione should make a full recovery.

Trying to chase the image of his friend's body, Harry faced the witch in front of him. Not wanting to speculate on his friend's eventual demise any longer, he asked, "Why are you here? How did you manage to come here in the first place?"

"I've always been able to do so," came the swift answer. "The only reason I didn't before was because I had no reason to do so. Your life is not that interesting, Potter. Still, I find it amusing how quick you are to repeat your mistakes. Poor Potter, so stupid that he can't do anything on his own and needs somebody to do the hard work for him. No matter how I look at it, I don't think you've ever been able to do anything without relying on your devil's luck or on somebody else to do the hard work for you. Now that there's nobody to pave the way for you, you have come to rely on people with dubious intentions, going as far as hoping that some ghost will come to you in a dream and hand you the solution." A sigh. "Pathetic."

Harry's right eyebrow twitched. "I saw right through your plan though."

The fake Hermione's lips twitched, if only for a second. "What plan now?"

"The one where I was supposed to kill your snake."

"Oh that plan." She nodded to herself. She then grinned. "And what makes you think you did?"

Harry startled. "W-Well, you wanted me to kill the basilisk so that-"

"Why would I bother protecting something that's already dead?" she pointed out. "Why should I stick to some plan if I already know that said plan ended in failure? Don't try to act like you're clever, Potter. It doesn't suit you and you only look ridiculous."

He fumbled. "My-My dream-"

"Yes, yes, we know: you got a dream," the fake Hermione said impatiently before gesturing to herself and then the library around them with a cruel smirk. "A dream like this one, in fact. Noticing a pattern yet, Potter?"

The question caught him off-guard. "You're not actually- You didn't-" he spluttered. "You didn't actually give me that vision!"

"Why not? You don't actually believe that you've become a necromancer overnight and that your friend's ghost somehow managed to send you a message, do you? Harry!" The fake Hermione slammed a hand on the table, in what was nearly a perfect imitation of his friend when she was exasperated. "Didn't I tell you that divination is a lot of rubbish?"

"Stop this," he hissed. "Stop this right now. You stop wearing her face right now."

"I'll stop when you stop being in denial, Potter. That seer told you it was not possible but you don't care, do you? You're merely trying to twist facts to suit your latest theory. He told you that even talented seers don't get visions like the one but you refuse to believe that he may be right."

Harry smiled through gritted teeth. "We both know that I got visions in the past. It wouldn't be the first time I got a vision nobody can explain.."

"That was legilimency, Potter." The fake Hermione slowly said, drawing out the words with extra emphasis as she look down at him like he was a dumb child. Waving her finger in his direction, she began to explain, "For a legilimens to be able to invade your dream, they'd first need to have a preexisting connection to exploit. Ours was created sixteen years ago so it is possible for me to send you a false vision, but your friend is no legilimens and nobody really had an opportunity to go this deep in your mind and leave such a backdoor.-Well," she amended, "I concede that Severeus is skilled enough to do it and he did use legilimency during your occlumency lessons, but he knows better than to do something like that when our minds are connected."

"Professor Dumbledore could have-"

"You don't create a backdoor to somebody's mind with passive legilimency, Potter. You need a frontal attack to reach that part of your victim's subconscious. Furthermore, even if Severus or Dumbledore had ever attempted something like that, I can guarantee you that I would have destroyed that connection long before any of them could exploit it. No, if you ever get a vision from the future, it will have to come from me ."

That was more or less what Professor Mesmer had told him earlier. Still, no matter how logical the whole thing appeared to be, Harry couldn't trust the dark wizard. Not after what he had just done. After everything, Harry couldn't trust anything leaving his mouth. Why would Voldemort send him that vision in the first place, and why would he now tell him what he had done? It made no sense. No, there had to be something Harry was missing. There had to be a trick, somewhere. Some magic trick Harry had just missed and that Voldemort didn't want him to see. But which one could it be?

The show must go on .

Harry froze for a moment, then slapped his hands over his mouth in shock.

The fake Hermione must have misunderstood his reaction because she gave him a haughty smirk. "You understand now, don't you? I confess it was amusing to see you believing that your friend had somehow managed to break the laws of time for you, but-"

The show must go on. That was what his ancestor had taught him. More than somebody skilled with sleight of hands, a good magician was someone who could manipulate his audience and keep smiling while doing so.

"Oh God," Harry breathed behind his hands and Voldemort laughed.

He had seen Mr. Evans do it. He had seen Professor Mesmer do it. When both men were in control, they didn't mind playing the ignorant fool; when they were not, they'd do everything to convince their audience they had planned everything that was happening from the very start. It seemed counterintuitive, but perhaps that was the point. Perhaps manipulation was just a game of hypocrisy where the winner was merely the better actor.

In that respect, Harry knew without the shadow of a doubt that Voldemort was the greatest actor of all. All that confidence leaving his body could be just an act on his part, that was how good Harry believed him to be. Still, Voldemort could also be doing this because he enjoyed breaking his spirit. As things were, there was no way for him to know which was which. If he wanted to learn the truth, his enemy would have to make a mistake. If he wanted Voldemort to make a mistake, Harry would have to keep him talking, no matter what poison would leave his mouth.

Considering how Voldemort loved hearing his own voice, that part shouldn't be too difficult.

"You said that it wasn't possible with legilimency," he slowly started. "T-Then-" The stress made him fumble, but he held onto it, playing off the error in order to make his act more convincing. "Then maybe it was something else. M-Maybe with necromancy-"

"Hilarious," the fake Hermione drawled. "A few minutes ago you were convinced that I was lying and that your friend couldn't be dead and now you're claiming that some dead spirit sent you a message? Well I have bad news for you, Potter: there is nothing after death and even less a way for some sort of 'ego' to live on and somehow send a message a century in the past."

It should have been the end of it, but Harry had to keep the conversation going. "You were convinced that Salazar Slytherin was the real deal though," he suddenly remembered, watching Toms/'Hermione's' face with a careful, steady gaze. Searching for any cracks in the mask, a slip up made too soon. "Your ancestor got you pretty spooked back then, didn't he?"

"Bah!" The fake Hermione flipped a hand in dismissal. "Who says it was Salazar we were talking to? I admit that I was curious, if only for a moment, but it's now obvious what truly happened and the fact that you cannot see it only proves how naive you really are."

"Oh, am I now?"

"Absolutely. You have spent your holidays with that squib playing fraud, can't you see the 'magic trick'? Pathetic, honestly. Had it never occurred to you that maybe the palette was merely charmed to follow a predetermined course and pick random words?"

"Random words that terrified you enough you were ready to kill everybody," Harry reminded him. "Random words pointing to specific objects that, if I'm right, are where you hid your soul. How do you explain that ?"

"Ah yes, my diary," the fake Hermione wistfully said, as if remembering a fond moment of her life, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed by Voldemort's acting skill. If he was right, Voldemort should be terrified yet there was no hint of such a thing on that face, no red eyes, no crack or tell to exploit. "A memory I left behind when I was sixteen and that you now believe housed my soul and was the 'book' that that phoney Slytherin mentioned. I confess I didn't quite understand how you reached this conclusion when we were in the Chamber, but you've always been quick to jump to conclusions. As for why Mesmer picked these words," she continued, "please, remember that the man is a seer able to see the future."

"Salazar's ghost called you though. How do you explain that ? If you really believe Professor Mesmer was really behind everything, then how did he learn your real name?"

The answer was instantaneous, as if he had been waiting for this very question. "Have you forgotten, Potter? Mesmer invited Trelawney last year. The greatest seer of the century. Do you really think that she doesn't know about me?"

Harry frowned. "I don't see how she-"

"Remember that night, Potter," Voldemort ordered. "Stop trusting others and use your brain for once. After taking a look at you and fainted, what did the great Cassanra Trelawney say once she woke up?"

The pain, the despair… the Darkness… And that being. He was the most terrible thing really. A monster with red eyes… A man who tricked the Devil himself, now unable to go to neither Heaven nor Hell… Trapped in a farce of life… Neither dead nor alive… Jack O'Lantern is here tonight!"

Harry felt like he had been slapped. "No way. That- That cannot be-" Surely the Jack O'Lantern she had mentioned couldn't have been Voldemort.

The fake Hermione's lips formed a thin smile. "You heard your teacher, didn't you? Trelawney's sight is absolute and can see into people's souls. If there is any truth in these words, then she saw me hiding there. And if she knows about me, then Mesmer knows about me too. From this point, it shouldn't have been too hard for either of them to get my name. All the man had to do then was to stage a fake necromantic seance and observe how you'd react. How I would react to being exposed."

"Th-That's not possible." The man had never said anything. In the months he had known them, neither he nor Trelawney had let anything slip. There was no way either seer could have known about Voldemort. "You're mistaken. Th-There's no way that Trelawney-"

"Still not convinced? Very well then. Do you remember when you talked with her? Once Black left your side, what did she say? Humour me, Potter. Do you remember her exact words?"

However, no matter how hard he fumbled his mind, Harry couldn't see which incident Voldemort was referring to.

"I suppose it doesn't matter that you do not remember." She raised her left hand and snapped her fingers. "For if you have forgotten, I most certainly did not."

The fake Hermione then turned her head and Harry followed her gaze. His eyes widened when he saw they weren't alone anymore and that two figures appeared, one looking exactly like him and another like Cassandra Trelawney. The illusions then started talking.

"What about you?" the shadow of Cassandra Trelawney asked the other Harry. "Lost souls like yours… Did the Higher Being send you too? It is clear that Ananke marked you but it is not clear why."

"I don't see-"

"Ananke, the god of fate, and prophecies," Voldemort pointed out. "Like the one liking the two of us. Also, she said souls. Plural. The same way, I think you misunderstood her the first time. She actually said:

Lost souls like yours… Did the Higher Being send you two? It is clear that Ananke marked you, but it is not clear why.

Harry loudly swore.

"We never fooled her, Potter," he told a pale-faced Harry. "Not one second. You assumed that you could because she is blind, but the great Cassandra Trelawney is not her descendant. The moment your eyes met, she knew what you were. If she knows, then she must have told Mesmer what she discovered. Using this knowledge, the wizard then created a scenario that would trick me to reveal myself. That is all." Voldemort said firmly, his eyes hard, cold chips that gleamed in the library's lantern light. For a moment, in the flicker of fire Harry swore he could spot a red glint in those chocolate eyes. "There is nobody sending you messages from the afterlife to help you, no spirit watching over any of us. There is nobody, for there is nothing after death, only nothingness. The same way, these people that you were foolish enough to rely on have been lying to you from the very start. They're all using you and you didn't even notice. You may want to believe otherwise, the truth is that you're all alone."

Harry flinched.

He wanted to refute everything the dark wizard had told him. He wanted to scream that he knew he was trying to trick him, but everything he had said so far made so much sense . Of course a seer of Trelawney's calibre had never been tricked. Of course Mesmer's help wasn't free. Of course his vision was Voldemort's doing. After all, when has anything been easy for him?

Harry stared at the fake Hermione's self-satisfied smile. His friend had tried to warn him that his vision may be a trap; she had begged him to be careful when Harry had wanted to rush to the Department of Mysteries. Had he listened to her, he wouldn't be trapped in this century, Ron would have never been attacked and Dolohov would have never cursed her. If she were truly here, would the real Hermione Granger blame him for everything that happened to them? And Ron… What would Ron say?

He choked. "It was all fake, wasn't it?"

'Hermione' grinned. "All fake, I'm afraid."

"The snakes, the diary holding your soul… That was… That was never real. Just my imagination playing tricks."

"Oh Potter," 'Hermione' softly said, "did you really believe you could discover Lord Voldemort's secrets and outsmart him?"

He hid his head behind his hands. "And-And when Hermione- When Hermione told me the Order had rescued the DA, that was a lie too, wasn't it?"

He cackled. "How would they even know you were in the Department of Mysteries? Think, Potter, think. There was no daring rescue, I was just playing with you. No, no, no. Your friends are all dead. They're all dead and it's all your fault."

His shoulders started shaking. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

Voldemort laughed and Harry couldn't hold it in anymore.

He laughed. He laughed like a madman, because finally, he had him .

"Damn, you're so gullible ." He dried his fake tears and 'Hermione'', who had stopped laughing, stared at him. "Almost as gullible as me, in fact."

Harry could see the confusion in his opponent's eyes and he couldn't help but grin when he heard, "What are you inventing now, Potter?"

"I've got to admit, you almost got me. Hermione coming here to rescue me like some knight in shining armour, you telling me everything I believed was fake and that you were behind my vision… You sure could have been a great actor. Perhaps you should have been one. Here's the thing though: Hermione wasn't the one I saw in my vision. It was Ron ."

Unlike before, Hermione/Voldemort wasn't able to hide their confusion. "What are you-"

"I thought it odd at first," he interrupted her. "I mean, why would you try to convince me that she was dead? Why were you focused on her? And then I started thinking: I told Professor Mesmer I got a vision of my friend, but I never specified which one it was. It made sense, didn't it?" he pointed out. "Why would Ron Weasley be the one who told me about you trying to trick me and hinting that it was your diary you were trying to save? Such a clever move on your part, only a brilliant mind, only somebody who is top of the class could understand it, right? Then when Professor Mesmer implied that my friend could be dead, your mind immediately thought of Dolohov cursing her, never thinking I could actually be worried about Ron being attacked by the brains and another Death Eater. If you had no idea what I saw and who I met, then it was a very easy mistake to make."

"Well guess what?" Harry told his enemy, smirking like a cat who'd gotten the cream. "It wasn't her who saw right through you. No, it was Ron who figured out your plan. Ron Weasley, who is as average as I am. With an ego like yours, there was no way you would have created a vision where he was the one who beat you. That's how I figured out that the vision that I had was the real deal and that you were saying bullshit."

The fake Hermione furiously glared at him.

Harry smirked. "Admit it, Tom. You fucked up. Oh, you're trying to cover up your mistakes, but the more you try to hide it, the more you try to persuade me I'm mistaken, the more convinced I am that I'm right. Your diary, and everything else that Salazar's ghost mentioned… They're the reason why you managed to survive your body getting destroyed, aren't they? It's funny really. If you hadn't so desperately tried to trick me, I would have stayed blissfully ignorant. Although Professor Dumbledore probably figured out what you did, so I suppose it doesn't matter. It was game over for you then and all you can do now is damage control. You gave away your diary and because of Malfoy your greatest secret-"

"Lucius is a dead man walking," a cold voice hissed.

Hermione vanished and, finally, Voldemort replaced her, his chocolate eyes burning away to their familiar crimson, eyes though now they were filled with barely contained rage.

"His family too, they're dead," he informed him. "The second I escape and go back, the first thing I'm going to do is destroy Malfoy's entire bloodline. There was a plan, you know? A brilliant plan, if I say so myself. Tell me, Potter, have you ever wondered why I never tried to invade Hogwarts?" Before Harry could say anything, the man answered his own question. "It has nothing to do with me being afraid of Dumbledore, I just didn't have to. Why would I send an army when my greatest asset was already in the school? When his son was born, I ordered Lucius to make a generous donation and to join the board of governors. The old fool was suspicious -of course he was- but Hogwarts desperately needed that money at the time so there was nothing he could do to stop this happening. With now free access to the school, it would have been very easy for my servant to slip the diary in some unsuspecting student's bag and open the Chamber of Secrets one final time. Imagine the basilisk coming to the Great Hall while everybody was having dinner, never suspecting that they were the food. One move, and it would have been the end for Dumbledore and Hogwarts. I had planned everything decades ago. Everything had been carefully prepared for this moment. All that was left for me to decide was when exactly I was going to do it. Perhaps it would have been before Christmas, but I would have more probably picked the Leaving Feast."

His white face contorted in fury. "Unfortunately for me, a week after I handed Lucius my body, I went to kill you and my body was destroyed."

"My pleasure."

He gave Harry a thunderous look. "Even then, I could have salvaged it," he started ranting. "It could have just been a minor setback. The basilisk had been biding his time for a millennium, what was a few more years in the great scheme? Unfortunately, eleven years after that night, that muggle-lover wrote his 'Muggle Protection Act' and that coward got scared." His thin lips twitched into a grotesque imitation of a smile. "Oh, I'm sure Lucius did not actually know what the diary really was. He isn't smart enough to recognize greatness, but even he understood that he would be sent to Azkaban the second somebody discovered who its true owner was. So what did he do? Did he try to protect his master's diary? Put it somewhere safe? Did he hide it in a place his enemies would never find and place on it as many protections as possible? No, of course not, that would have been far too clever. Instead he decided to use my diary to ruin his enemy's life and save his skin. I trusted him!" he shouted. Getting up, he slammed his white hands on the table and screamed. "I trusted him to hold my magus opus and because of him Dumbledore now knows what I did and how I survived that night!"

"Is he really to blame though?" Harry taunted him. "I remember Tom being very talkative. He could have killed everybody in the Great Hall, like you said, instead of being so damn picky. He could have also asked the basilisk to go after me in an empty corridor but he didn't. Even when we were alone in the Chamber, he could have still killed me. He had my wand, I was at his mercy and could have ended it here but he had to tell me he was you and play with his snake. No, no, no. This is your fault."

And Voldemort struck. A pale hand that shook with rage snaking out from where it sat clenched at Voldemort's side to grab him by the neck.

Before Harry could even scream, Voldemort pulled away, his face contorted in pain, the white hand that had been on his neck now covered with bubbling blisters.

Everything suddenly became clear. "It's my mother's protection, isn't it?" he breathed. "You've said that you using my blood to come back to life made it ineffective, but that was just another lie. My mother's protection is working just fine."

It made sense, in a roundabout way. Even if using his blood could neutralize Lily Potter's protection, the Voldemort who succeeded in getting it had been the one who was resurrented in the graveyard, not the one hiding in his scar. If that Voldemort had been living in his body all his life, like some parasite, then why hadn't he tried to take over his body? It should have been dead easy, for what could a baby do? The answer was clear to see; of course he didn't because he couldn't do it. Lily Potter's love had protected her son every day of his life. Her love had reflected a curse known to be the physical manifestation of death itself, it had turned Quirell unable to even lay a hand on him. Even when the battle hadn't been in the real world but in Harry's own soul, Lily Potter's protection had stopped Voldemort from trapping him inside his own body. This Voldemort could talk and try to manipulate him as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day that was all he could do.

Harry raised his head and laughed. He laughed like he had never laughed in his life. He laughed because Voldemort, at that moment, was the most ridiculous person he had ever met.

"God, you're pathetic," he giggled. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to fall for your tricks. I spent weeks fearing you could possess me but you cannot. You cannot do anything. The great Lord Voldemort," he mocked, a great grin blooming across his face as he stared down on him,"the smartest, most dangerous wizard of all time is in fact as helpless as a flobberworm. All he can do now is to talk and hope I'll be dumb enough to believe anything that leaves his mouth. That and watch my life like some desperate pervert. Well then, watch me, Tom. Watch me as I go back to the future and destroy every single trinket you created to make yourself immortal. Watch me, for that is all you'll ever do."

Harry woke up and, despite his scar burning and the raging pain he got from feeling Voldemort's fury, he smiled.