A/N: This chapter contains the full text of the fairy tale Rowena grew up reading from Beedle the Bard, a story about Harry written at a much later date. Harry Potter's story as we know it is more than a million words long, supplemented by Pottermore and other sources. The fairy tale is less than a thousand words. I wrote it in the fashion of traditional fairy tales and there are many facts I distort, skew, or ignore altogether in creating it. I am aware of it. In this story, canon is the actual history. However, Rita Skeeter has taught us how stories get distorted, and we all know how stories change with time. My fairy tale reflects this.

Professor Finney was waiting for her in the Entrance Hall after breakfast the next morning. Usually kind and smiling, his face was grim and disapproving and it made Rowena even more nervous for her weekend. They walked in silence, and the road to Hogsmeade had never seemed so long. Rowena kept waiting for him to ask something about what had happened in the forest, to chastise her or tell her to be safe, but he did none of that. It unnerved her and kept her on edge; Professor Finney wasn't usually one to remain silent for so long. The silence weighed on her, willing her to speak. She reached her breaking point about halfway to Hogsmeade and wondered only after she spoke whether this was his intention.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Rowena?"

"About the night in the Forest..."

A half smile. "I was wondering if you might bring that up. You both are very lucky I found you, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, I know that. Thank you for helping us."

"It's not a thank you I was looking for, Rowena."

"An apology?"

"Yes - and a promise not to do anything so stupid again."

She sighed. Could she tell him the truth? After all, she had no choice in that case - she was inside the Forest before she was aware of anything. And what was there to do at that point but to fight back? Morgana could have done much worse to her than the damage she received. But he wouldn't believe her, surely. If he did... he had warned her about the Hallows, told her not to get involved. She was lying before she realized she made up her mind about it. "I'm sorry, Professor. Truly. I didn't think Rhys and I would be in so much danger there, and it won't happen again."

"I'm glad to hear it." The silence continued, but its oppression lifted. The rest of the journey to Hogsmeade Station was completed in a more comfortable state, and Rowena was glad at how willing Professor Finney was to forgive, although the weight of her lie still pressed lightly against her conscious.

The Station wasn't crowded at all, which didn't surprise Rowena. It was the middle of the term and the village was small. In front of her, though, stood a tall man, skinny for his age, with messy blackish hair. Despite his appearance, however, Rowena nearly passed him by. Her own father would never stand so still; but he smiled as she approached and she let her own grin mirror his. "Papa!"

"Hi, Ro. Do you have your things?" Rowena stopped short as he spoke, expecting the bear hug he usually greeted her with. But she didn't deserve it, certainly. His coolness made sense and reminded her that her trip home was a punishment.

"Yes, Papa," she said, pointing to the bag levitating behind her.

She had her wand in her hand, but didn't think anything of it, until her father said, "That's not your wand, is it?"

"It's Rhys's. I'm borrowing it for the weekend. Mine... mine was broken when we were in the Forest. Rhys thought maybe he could get it fixed for me while I was gone." The lie was out before she realized what she said. Why was she lying to her papa? She had never lied to him before; though she remembered bitterly that he'd been lying to her for most of her life. Plus, she hadn't told him anything that had happened with Morgana and the Resurrection Stone. Hogsmeade station didn't seem like the best place to start that long story.

"Oh, yes. Okay. It's a very nice wand. I'm surprised he parted with it," Aquila said absently as he walked onto the train that had just arrived.

"The train? Why aren't we Apparating?" Rowena asked incredulously.

"It's too much work for me to do Side-Along Apparation with you and your things."

"I'm of age! I can Apparate on my own!"

"You seem to have abused that privilege the moment you received it," Aquila said, and Rowena fell into a pout reminiscent of her early teenage years.

"Fine. We'll take the train."

Like Finney on the walk over, she found herself determined to take the train ride in silence, though it lasted several hours. She took it in turns to look out the window at the speeding scenery and read her Ancient Runes homework. Occasionally, her father attempted to talk to her, but she shrugged off his attention like he had shrugged off any desire to tell the truth for the past ten years.

Together, Rowena and her father walked the short distance from the Godric's Hollow train station to their house, still in silence. Rowena knew hers was fueled by a late-adolescent stubbornness, but her father's silence was a bit of a mystery. Although, he had always retreated into himself when he was angry. He must be livid for everything she had done in the past week.

Once inside the door, shoes off and comfortable, he finally turned to her. "Shall we go into the living room, then? I would like for you to read to me." His words were stiff, like they were read from a script.

"Are you okay, Papa?"

He ignored her as he set about grabbing their well-worn copy of Beedle the Bard from the bookshelf. The story of Harry Potter was bookmarked at the end. Aquila sat down and held out the book, which Rowena took. It fell open in her hands at the proper spot. "Harry Potter and the Forbidden Forest," she began to read.

Once upon a time, there was an evil man who went by the name of Voldemort. This man was very afraid of dying, and did many terrible things in order to keep himself alive. Two of them interconnected and they were both very important and terribly evil. The first was murdering innocent people; the second was splitting his soul in order to prolong his life.

Voldemort's power and influence grew, and the people of the wizarding world were in disarray, scared for their lives and never sure who to trust, because Voldemort was known for using the Unforgivable Curses. Then, one day, a Seer gave a prophecy that a child would be born soon who would be able to defeat him.

The idea of a mere child being able to beat him obsessed him, and Voldemort decided he would kill the child before it was old enough to kill him. When he found the boy he was looking for, he killed both of his parents and tried to kill the baby as well. But the child, only a year old, did not die. Instead, it was Voldemort himself who died that night... or so everyone thought for nearly fourteen years.

The orphan's name was Harry Potter.

While Harry Potter grew up, Voldemort was living in a half-state, a cursed state, as a severed soul wandering the earth with no body. This was because of his Horcruxes - the objects where pieces of his soul lived. When Harry Potter was still in school, he realized he would have to kill Voldemort or die trying.

Rather than wasting his time studying for classes and doing his homework, Harry Potter researched the Dark Lord for six years. He tutored under wise old Professor Dumbledore, who knew Harry's destiny would be to one day face this dark wizard.

One day, in his lessons with Dumbledore, Harry was put through a test. It was split into three sections, testing his ability to fly, to play chess, and his ability to use logic. He attempted to beat it, but though he did well with the task that required flying, he could not pass the other two, no matter how hard he tried.

He returned to Dumbledore, saying, "I'm sorry, Professor. But I am not very good at this test. I have one friend who can play chess, and one who is good with logic, but I can't do it on my own. I'm sorry for failing you."

Dumbledore simply smiled. "You have learned the importance of friendship, Harry. Take your friends, and complete the test together."

Harry did as he was told, and the three of them emerged triumphant.

Again, later on, Harry was tested. The Chamber of Secrets was opened and Harry was brought down to its depths, where the body of his future wife, still a first-year, lay nearly dead. Harry didn't know what to do as he faced the snake and the memory of Voldemort as a boy. But for the sake of the girl, and with faith in the Headmaster, he was able to defeat the Basilisk and the memory. When Dumbledore saw him after the ordeal, he said, "You have learned the importance of love and loyalty, Harry. I am proud of you."

Finally, Harry was chosen to compete as Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Inside the lake were his best friend, a girl he loved, and a stranger, all in suspended animation and waiting for their rescuers. Harry, having learned the importance of friendship, wanted to save his friend. Having learned the importance of love, he wanted to save the girl. However, when the hour drew to a close and the girl was saved by another competitor, but not the stranger, Harry decided to save both his friend and the stranger, coming in last during the race.

Shivering from the cold, but with all of them safe, Dumbledore found him. "Harry, you were only required to save your friend, but you saved the stranger as well, jeopardizing your lead to help a stranger. You now know the importance of self-sacrifice. You have done well."

When it came time for Harry to finish school, he found out that Voldemort had created Horcruxes. In his final lessons with Dumbledore, he found out they must be destroyed. Because Harry had learned the importance of friendship, he took his friends with him on the journey. The one who was best at logic formulated a plan, and his best friend, whom he saved from the bottom of the lake, was the first to destroy a Horcrux.

Near the end of his journey, in the early hours of the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and the girl he loved remembered the power of Basilisk fangs to destroy Horcruxes, and went down to the Chamber of Secrets together. Inside the Chamber, they shared their first kiss and destroyed another Horcrux, proving that Harry had indeed learned the power of love.

However, he realized there was still a lesson he hadn't used, and in remembering the value of self-sacrifice, he suddenly knew that the final Horcrux had been created the night his parents died. He was the final Horcrux. So in the midst of a battle, Harry went into the Forbidden Forest alone and unarmed to die.

There, Voldemort once again sent the Killing Curse at Harry, but rather than killing the orphan, it only killed the part of Voldemort's soul that had been residing in him for seventeen years. Because the boy was willing to sacrifice himself, he didn't die, and continued to fight Voldemort once the Horcrux inside of him was defeated.

But Harry was not ruthless. He did not try to kill the evil wizard, but when he sought to disarm him, Voldemort's own Killing Curse rebounded and finally the Dark Lord was vanquished.

"The end," Rowena read, and as she closed it, the spine of the book seemed to shiver with the weight of the story. Rowena couldn't blame it - related or not, simple fairy tale or historical fact, Harry's story was powerful. Surely the three virtues he found were three of the most important to be had.

She got off the couch to return the book to its place, and beside her, her father finally seemed placated, like somehow the story had settled something inside of him. Rather than calm her, it made her more worried. He was never one to be as affected by Harry's story, although it was likely he was his direct descendant. "Papa?" she said as she returned to the couch, closer to his side this time. "Papa, are you ill?"

"No, Rowena. I'm fine. Thank you for reading to me." He closed his eyes, leaning backwards into the couch and letting it mold to him. In his sleep, she was able to study him, and the more she looked, the more disconcerted she became. Surely he was not normally that pale, with skin like porcelain, nearly translucent. Surely he had not been so skinny recently, with his shoulder bones protruding over the curve of his neck. She reached out to feel his pulse. It was weak and irregular. No matter what he said, Rowena was sure of it. Her father was dying.

Was that why he brought her home? Not as punishment, but as a last effort to see her? Maybe he wanted to read from the Bard to be reminded of times when she was younger, when she crawled into his lap while he read, and she carefully traced her finger along the words, trying to study them. It was late, now, and her day had been exhausting. Leaning down to plant one kiss upon her papa's forehead, she retreated to her old bedroom.

The room hadn't changed since before she left for Hogwarts. The walls were a pale yellow, and a pink duvet covered her bed. The carpet was soft beneath her feet. There was a chair in a corner that displayed her favorite childhood playthings. Rowena expected the familiar comfort of her room to bring her peace, but she felt removed from its childish decorations, like somehow she outgrew them in the few months since Christmas break when she last slept here. She longed for the comfort of the red and gold decorations at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor Tower... and near Rhys. Facing the weekend without him, after a week in hospital with his bed beside hers, felt suddenly lonely. She dressed for bed in a pale pink nightgown, crawled under her covers, and eventually found herself in a restless, disturbing sleep.

Rowena and Rhys have gone back in time, and found themselves in a tent with Harry Potter himself. They were on the Horcrux hunt, sitting around a table and coming up with ideas for where to look.

The scene shifted and all she could see were ancient artifacts, bleeding and dying - they must be the Horcruxes, she realized, as another one was stabbed with the Sword of Gryffindor.

She was in the Forbidden Forest, Rhys on one side, Harry Potter on the other. They were approaching Voldemort. They were about to give themselves up, to exorcise the Horcrux within them. Rowena obediently dropped her wand. In front of her stood a figure in long black robes, facing away from the trio. It turned. It wasn't Voldemort who raised his wand and shot out a killing curse - it was her mother.

Rowena woke up screaming, but couldn't remember anything but the horror she had felt. She calmed herself, still feeling her racing heart trying to escape her chest, but in the silence after her scream, she heard noises from down the hall. "No, please." "I'm trying!"

She got out of bed, her slowed heartbeat racing again. The voice belonged to her father. Rowena tiptoed to his room and slowly opened the door. Her father was standing next to the dresser still in his dressing gown, his hands placed firmly on its surface, as he started down his reflection in the mirror. He seemed to be arguing with himself.

"Papa? Papa are you okay?"

"Just get out already," he hissed, but his face was still locked on the mirror, and Rowena knew instinctively he wasn't talking about her. "Get out."

Rowena quickly moved to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Papa, Papa, let me help you! I will get it out of you, okay? Just tell me what to do! I'm here, Papa. I'm right here."

"Tell her to leave. We can handle this." The voice coming from her father was different, somehow not himself. It was more determined, more sinister, than the voice that was speaking when she walked in. His eyes were less focused, his body less rigid.

"No." His face contorted with the effort to get the syllable out. "Help." He collapsed, his knees buckling and his face only just missing the corner of the dresser as he fell to a pile on the ground, Rowena unable to stop his weight.

She knelt beside him, his body pale, his pulse weak. "Papa, no. Your name is Aqulia Potter. I am your daughter, Rowena. You need to come back to me, Papa. I'm right here. Don't give up. Keep fighting."

"Out, out, out, out..." he mumbled, but his syllables began to mush together, like he was struggling to stay conscious.

"Keep fighting. Keep fighting." She reached out for his hand and held it tight. He squeezed it faintly.

"Out," he said again, then collapsed into unconsciousness. Beside him, The Tales of Beedle the Bard lay open to the chapter on Harry. But as Rowena reached over to put it away, a figure appeared from it.

"You weren't really in time, Rowena," Morgana said, standing before her nearly solid. "He didn't manage to get rid of me. He just ran out of strength."

"What are you doing here?! What were you doing to him?" Rowena asked. "He's your husband!"

"I'm not sure anyone before me has really understood what it meant for husband and wife to become one," she said. "Or the ancient saying that a man should lay down his life for his wife." She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She seemed entirely serious.

"You're going to kill him! What are you doing to him? He's going to die and you're going to be at fault, and you'll both be dead. And I... I will have no parents."

"That's not true, Rowie. You'll have me. Mother and daughter together again."

"You're stealing his life?"

"Not exactly, Rowena. Life isn't something that can be stolen, only willingly given. He poured his soul into me by choice. He just didn't realize it was a limited resource and now he's running out."

Rowena wished she had her wand, that she hadn't left it at her bedside table when she woke up. She was getting tired of facing off to her mother in the middle of the night in nightgowns. It was like her mother never wanted her to be prepared, weakened by lack of sleep, lack of armor. Rowena grimaced - it was like her. "You're a coward, Morgana."

"A coward, am I? I would think that I'm doing a fairly good job of doing exactly what I intended to do."

"And what was that? Possessing my father? Using his life to regain yours?"

"Sort of. Like I told you before - I didn't entrust my coming back to life to a seventeen-year-old. I had another plan in place, from even before the time that I searched for the Elder Wand. I entrusted my soul to Harry's story."

"You... what? You created a Horcrux out of a story of fighting Horcruxes?"

"I simply put my soul where it has always belonged. Your father found it and slowly, over time, he has come to put his trust in the story as well."

"You are evil," Rowena said. "Absolutely evil." She had no wand, no defenses, no desire to turn her back on this woman to get to her room and get it.

"Well I've got a body to enjoy, Rowie. I'm sure we'll meet again." Her mother left the room, touching the door handle, moving through it with a body that created slight noise as her feet touched the ground.

Rowena had half a mind to chase her, to grab her wand and fight her mother right then, but she needed to see if she could save her father, first. He had to make it. He needed to be okay. Plus, Rowena had a feeling her mother would be back. "Papa, Papa, I'm here for you," she said, but then ran out of his room to her own, picking up her wand from the bedside table. Rowena was thankful it was still there; Morgana might have taken it. But apparently she had more important things to do. Rowena did not want to know what they were.

She knelt over her father, feeling for a pulse that was faint at best and began to cast every healing spell she could think of over him. She couldn't tell if they were working or not. How did one heal an injured, a stolen soul? "Stay with me, Papa. I love you so much. I love you more than Mum ever did. Stay with me, please, Papa."

"Rowena?" His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes open but unfocused.

"I'm here, Papa. I'm right here."