Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to JKR and the Warner suits.

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Chapter 53: Broken Universe

Warning: Spring snow mistletoe is proven to have hallucinogenic properties under certain magical fields, although researchers have not significantly narrowed down the range of these fields.# Its full magical properties are unknown, but research has hinted at an ability to channel temporal patterns of intent. Readers are not advised to handle spring snow mistletoe, but, if other options are lacking, spring snow mistletoe should be harvested and processed only under supervision from either an accredited Potions master or a level seven druid from a family which can prove its genealogical history going back at least sixteen hundred years in the broad geography of the mistletoe collection zone.

#At the time of this publication, research has been halted due to the unavailability of researchers. Three of the researchers are known to have joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; one claims to be her own long-lost twin; two are currently in France awaiting trial for burglary; one is petitioning the Ministry to recognise his claims as the reincarnation of Merlin; and one has disappeared, leaving only a note to say she is visiting Martian Space Bunny Colony Gamma thanks to a generous donation from Gringotts. All have had their funding cut.

(Ministry of Magic Guidelines for Collection of Rare Flora of the British Isles, page 57.)

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The second thing he thought was: Where's Severus?

The third was a bewildered: Why am I wondering about Severus?

The fourth, as the world spun around him in five dimensions and infinite shades of rustling shadow and he looked around and saw stars moving as if viewed through a kaleidoscope was: I'm back in Hufflepuff's glasshouse.

The fifth thought was: Bugger.

What does one do in emergencies?

Well, first one endeavours not to involve oneself in an emergency. That's step one. However, should step one fail, move on to step two where one takes stock of one's surroundings. As quickly as possible in the event something is trying to eat one.

Harry's manual would be a best seller. Maybe he could swap signed copies with Robert Python.

Step two showed he was in Hufflepuff's secret garden. Or something very like, and if there were two gigantic fig trees in gravity-defying private universes squirreled away within the Forbidden Forest then Hogwarts needed to do something to rectify this ridiculous example of overkill. Perhaps the United Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin could organise a working bee to raise money for the effort.

Harry realised he wasn't thinking quite rationally. Sanity had been left behind in the real world, along with working prepositions.

Get a grip, he told himself fiercely.

Well, on a literal level, here he was clinging to a root or a branch – no, it seemed to be a root as it arched out of either the ground or a very, very dirty sky and plunged back in – so that was a good start, grip-wise. The Sickle had fallen onto the ground. Light gleamed off the curved golden blade and flickered as shadows swam through the metal. Rather than look at them, he looked deep into the eternally twilit world, through the faintly-glowing mist hanging in thick streamers between the branches, and saw the knotted heart of a great tree. He knew he had to reach out and get the Sickle – it was right next to his hip, for Merlin's sake! – but sudden and utter terror of letting go of the root overwhelmed him in a tsunami. Harry bit down a sob and turned his head, searching for a way out.

To his far right (he was still pretty sure of left and right, even if up and down had deserted him) was a pale smudge. A handkerchief on a stick? He couldn't stand up and see, although he desperately wanted to check just to make sure it was the hanky Severus had left to mark the trapdoor – the trapdoor that would be useless now, opening into a caved-in tunnel.

And as he swallowed against his dinner (threatening to come up in a surge of bile as gravity whirled his inner ears in a mad tarantella), he realised something else:

He was alone.

There was no Luna, Simon, Neville, Draco or Snuffles. Certainly no Severus.

After the first instinctive and selfish horror of being alone in this crazed world, Harry forced a moment's gratitude no-one else was trapped here.

That was good. Wasn't it? Of course it was. Now he was the only one who was going to be trapped here for the rest of eternity – or until he vomited himself to death. Yay. Happy, happy. He breathed in and out quickly, trying not to panic. It was hard to push it back… and fear that gripped his mind like this was an alien sensation. Harry wasn't proud, he'd known terror, but he wasn't the sort of person who panicked in a situation like this. And he should know from experience by now if he was or not. But the giddiness of being in the spinning kaleidoscope made him feel small and helpless, alone and terrified in a dark, stormy sea.

More than anything else in this or any normal world, he wanted to go home.

But where was home?

He looked in the brief direction of up and saw stars. Real stars. Possibly. Real stars shouldn't shiver and spin, then pause and whirl back in the opposite direction.

The world flipped over and Harry was hanging above the sky again, ready to drop into an infinity as black as Voldemort's soul.

It would swallow him whole and leave nothing.

Harry closed his eyes, clung to the root, and threw up. Literally. He opened his eyes for the less-than-edifying-and-more-than-hair-raising sight of his stomach contents zooming up and splattering the ground above him.

The stink of vomit made him retch again. Mist clung to his face. Harry whimpered at its cold touch and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them as it drew back, just in time to see the shifting gleam of pitch-black eyes. He started, almost losing his grip on the root and falling into the night, but saw that the eyes were simply stars set into the midnight sky. Not Severus. Not even a ghost. They shivered in the firmament and began their lopsided rotation on yet another plane. Please stop, Harry begged, but his throat was too tight to allow anything louder than another whimper. Please, please stop… let me go. I want to go home. Mum, Dad… I want to go home… don't leave me alone here… I want to go home…

Perhaps something heard.

The wallowing stars froze, forming a new constellation in the sky Harry hung above.

The stars shattered.

Through shards of broken light, a new darkness soared into the world. There was a silvery glint too hard to be starlight. The ground vibrated as the darkness landed silently and skidded to a halt right under (no, over – it just feels like the world is upside-down) Harry: a darkness taller than a tree, standing four-square upside-down with its pointed ears brushing the remaining stars, more solid than anything else in this insane world.

Simon.

Harry was almost hyperventilating by now, but the tall black shape looming between him and the stars pushed back the panic. He flung out a hand and grabbed a foreleg. The relief was immediate. He wasn't alone. Tears rolled from his eyes up his cheeks. Simon dipped his head for half a second, just long enough to blow steamy air in Harry's hair, then, as the world spun on a new axis and Simon went from standing below to standing above Harry, the horse threw his head up again and glared around at the branches and lingering mist as if daring them to come within kicking range.

"G' boy, Simon." Harry was beginning to love that glare – when it was used on his behalf, that was.

Simon lifted the forefoot Harry was hanging onto. "Nn. Stay he', S'mon. Don' lea' me."

Simon stayed, although the ligaments vibrated faintly beneath Harry's death-grip. Simon seemed to have no problems figuring out which way was vertical, so why couldn't Harry?

Harry forced himself to calm down. He let go of Simon and, with another Herculean effort, picked up the Sickle and tried to put it into his pocket before remembering that had been the trigger for this whole blast from the past.

(As a matter of fact if it hadn't been for Simon, Harry might have been seriously worried he'd been thrown into another time. But if he had been then so had Simon. And that made things… less bloody.)

He let go of the Sickle and felt into his pocket. His fingers touched something rough.

Damn and blast and double damn him for an idiot. This was what must have triggered the magical explosion…

Harry pulled out the spray of mistletoe and angrily hurled it into the mist. It hung in mid-air, glimmering like a star, pinned by shadows and vapour. It winked at him.

It didn't make Harry feel better, but at least now he could put the Sickle into his pocket without any new hell being unleashed. Which was a nice change. Now all he had to do was find a nice, safe way out of here just like he hadn't done twenty-one years ago.

No problem.

Harry shut his eyes a moment and took a deep breath.

Maybe sitting on Simon's back would help. That had helped Malfoy get out of the Forest after the Acromantula attack. And if anything came running out with its mouth open to show big pointy teeth and poisonous slobber, then Simon could run on Harry's behalf.

Sounds like a plan, he thought. Now all he had to do was climb five, five and a half feet, onto Simon's back.

Damn. Why hadn't they taught Simon to lie down?

Simon shuddered and bared his teeth as a tendril of mist reached out and stroked his ebony flank with an almost possessive curiosity. But still he stayed.

Inch by careful inch, Harry dragged himself up onto the twisting root. Simon's nostrils were wide as the horse stared with bulging eyes into the centre of the world and gave a low, rolling snort.

"You and me both," Harry grunted as he struggled up (or down, but he trusted Simon to hang onto up… and right now it felt a little bit like the way he remembered up to be).

Simon ducked his head to nuzzle Harry's shoulder, giving Harry an idea.

The next time Simon lowered his head, Harry hooked his elbows over the crest, feeling like he was hanging off a cliff. Or possibly falling off a cliff. Panic nearly set in again when Simon lifted his head and stepped back, puzzled, but Harry swallowed hard and hung on as the horse lifted him up. Or down. Or sideways. Simon snorted and shifted uneasily at this odd behaviour, and for a moment Harry feared he would bolt, pushed beyond equine courage.

But Simon stayed.

Harry managed to swing a leg over Simon's back and grinned in sudden hope. This could work...

Simon swished his tail as Harry's heel dug in and Harry apologised as if the horse could understand… and heaved himself the rest of the awkward way u- into a riding position on (?) the horse's back. The bony withers dug into his solar plexus especially painfully after Harry had been sick, and the equally bony spine wasn't doing much good to anything below that. Harry gritted his teeth and shifted his hips into a position as close to comfortable as was possible, reflecting girls had some advantages when it came to riding without saddles.

That was when he realised he didn't have a bridle either.

The headcollar was there, but it didn't even have a leadrope to guide Simon. What in the world had happened outside? And how was he – they – going to get back out? Now he was on the horse, it was time to begin part two of his plan for getting out. The trouble was that there was no part two. And while Simon stood as solid as that root or any rock, he was the only point of stability in the world… and Harry couldn't think with the way everything was reeling around him. And then Simon pawed at the ground, rocking Harry and making him nauseous all over again.

Shit. Harry was going to throw up on Simon…

The trees – tree – groaned around them. The mistletoe twinkled, spinning slowly.

"Let's go," Harry husked, and nudged the horse with his heels.

Simon was already of a mind to leave. He half-reared and stamped at the ground with his forefeet, a frightened and angry stallion, snaking his head from side to side with his teeth bared at the darkness in the centre, then wheeled one hundred and eighty degrees on his back legs. Harry clutched handfuls of mane and prayed Simon had somewhere to go Harry didn't know about.

With a bound so strong Harry almost lost his grip on the mane and fell backwards, Simon leaped into the night sky.

There was the sensation of being torn off a surface he hadn't known he was glued to – Harry hoped it wasn't Simon. Then they landed, Simon's forefeet hitting the ground and sending the echo of the jolt up through bone and shock-absorbing tendons through the bony withers to Harry's solar plexus.

Harry gasped for breath. He opened his eyes and saw the most welcome sight of his life: Neville, Draco and Snuffles – all three shocked, with relief bursting onto their faces; Luna, tears running down her cheeks, looked like the sun had risen.

Simon halted before her and lowered his head.

"Harry…" She wiped at her face with the hand not resting on Simon's nose. She sniffled and leaned forward to give a kiss – to Simon, unfortunately, although Harry admitted the horse certainly deserved one after saving him. Harry blinked and tried to focus. He readjusted his glasses, but that didn't seem to help and his uncoordinated fingers nearly poked out an eye.

"Ow. Luna… Wha' happened? An'… an' how come y' standin' up?"

Snuffles' wildly wagging tail slowed uncertainly. Luna blinked and Harry wished he had some more control over the connections between his brain and his tongue.

It was like the time he'd tried firewhisky with Ron and Seamus. Not as bad as Hufflepuff's insane glasshouse, but still with a whacking great spin to the world coupled with a St Mungos-grade disorientation.

At least he didn't want to throw up any more. That was a plus.

"You fell… sort of inside-out," Draco said. Harry was guiltily pleased he looked as pale as Neville and Luna. "You tell us what happened."

"I kinda…" Harry licked his lips and tried again. His mouth was on strike. Maybe it was setting up a revolution of its own. Well, if his mouth wasn't going to be helpful that'd be the last time it got kisses from Luna. Grr. That'd teach it to be unhelpful.

Er… is that me thinking that? Mouth, stay shut. Brain thinking weird stuff. He concentrated hard on stringing together a sentence.

"Uh. Ca' we g' home? Don' feel so good. S'mon… Good boy, S'mon."

Well, that was sensible, if not massively well articulated.

Even Snuffles nodded at that. Luna clipped the leadrope on Simon's headcollar and said, "Good idea." She wiped her eyes again. Simon nuzzled her shoulder. Harry wished he could reach out and touch her – she looked like she'd had a terrible fright – but his hands wouldn't let go of Simon's mane. It was as if the terror he'd just had drained away along with the power in his muscles, leaving his brain baffled, while his body, which still couldn't tell which way was up, remained fully aware of how awful the world could be. And now he couldn't put a hand out to Luna and that was almost physically painful…

"Can you walk?" Draco was asking.

Harry shook his head, then wished he hadn't. "Nn. Dizzy. Up is sideways."

"I wonder if it's a hallucinogenic effect of spring snow mistletoe," Neville said quietly. "You're not meant to take it internally. Not unless you want to play with the Martian Bunnies."

"And they're not very playful," Luna pointed out, shaking her head solemnly.

"Er…"

Harry shut his eyes for a moment. "Tell you 'bout i' lader. Uh – later, I mean." It was terrible having to concentrate on forming words like this. What would happen when the Acromantulas attacked and he couldn't shout a curse at them?

He opened them when the gently rolling ship-at-sea motion of Simon walking started. Luna was on Simon's left, her wand in one hand and the leadrope in the other. There was Neville, thick and solemn with oaken magic, walking at the front with the gliding shadow of Snuffles padding next to him, while to Harry's right, ready in case Harry should begin to slip from the safety of Simon's back, was Draco. Draco was so pale he shone like the moon. And every time Luna looked up at Harry, her eyes were shining tunnels to a mercury world complete with its own laws of physics and philosophy.

Simon was a world unto himself. For a moment Harry wondered if the horse fancied a midnight snack of chocolate cake and Ribena, but it was unlikely any horse had ever liked Pink Floyd. The Animals album contained only sheep and pigs and dogs. Maybe that was why it was so bitter, Harry thought, stunning himself with his incandescent wisdom and miraculous insight. Horses carry our dreams. Who'd said that? Harry? He hoped so – it was ever so profound. He needed a book to write these profound thoughts down in.

He wished he hadn't thought of food. Hunger lanced through him.

Hunger as a lance… that was another profound image that should be preserved for posterior… er… posterity.

Trees stretched paisley leaves into the undulating night. The Forest exhaled softly as they passed. Unicorns brought starlight beneath the canopy. Acromantulas wouldn't attack while the unicorns were with them. Harry was on an island and the unicorns were the surf breaking in shades of cream and silver around it, keeping away sharks and sea-going giant spiders.

Harry caught the eye of the unicorn stallion.

For a moment the world steadied and Harry felt the weight of thousands of years of forest speak one word in a voice so deep only his bones could feel it as it pulsed a single bass note through his body. The unicorn blinked and Harry was stranded exhausted and human at the edge of wild magic, wondering what the hell had been wrong with him to suddenly think he needed a book to write down his pithy thoughts.

Surrealism drained out of the world as the unicorn looked away. Harry didn't miss it one bit. It was too much like that time he'd peered too close into Neville's cauldron and inhaled the fumes from his latest botched attempt at appeasing Snape.

He was too tired to walk, but at least the world had stopped spinning. How had the unicorn done that? Strange creatures, unicorns…

He realised he was lying flopped forward over Simon's neck. It couldn't be comfortable for poor old Simon… and it sure as hell wasn't comfortable for poor young Harry. That bony bump over the shoulder was doing terrible things to his solar plexus. Plus it couldn't be reassuring for Luna or Sirius to see their Harry sitting on a horse with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Maybe he could try sitting up…?

He pushed his hands against Simon's withers and concentrated on sitting up.

But no. The swaying walk kept him just that bit off balance and it was only Draco's hand shooting out to grab Harry's ankle that kept him from sliding a long way down to the ground. Simon stopped. "Don't push your luck, Potter," Draco warned, as Snuffles turned his head and made a small whining sound of concern. Last year them would've been fightin' words, but tonight they were simply good advice. Harry flopped forward again with a resigned sigh. Simon echoed it more hollowly, sounding like he couldn't believe the idiocy of human youth not knowing when to stay put and let their elders and equine betters take care of matters.

Harry shook his head a little against the smooth but coarse mane tickling his cheek and decided this wasn't such a bad place to be right now. He breathed in the distinctive and not-unpleasant smell of horse and it wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Simon would take him home. Sirius was there in case something really bad happened, but the unicorns ushering them through the Forbidden Forest at night were a better shield than any team of Aurors.

He was going home.

Harry wriggled back a little so that he was in a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again, feeling better than he had in a very long time.

Muscle and bone worked with the smooth precision of high-performance biological machinery beneath him. The gentle stride combined with the feeling of being carried home by someone large and trusted stirred an old, old memory.

The Sickle warmed, but Harry didn't notice it.

The light of a unicorn seen through his eyelids was a single candle. And Harry was putting a pudgy hand into a cake with one blown-out candle. His mother laughed as she shook her head in mock-despair and wiped the sticky mess away. And it was his father picking him up and carrying him in his arms. And Harry looked up and there was no pain, no betrayal, simply the love between child and parents, the love that had always been his due. And the runes flickered behind him, spelling out TRUTH, and Harry was being carried home… by Simon, by Sirius, by his dad, by… it didn't matter who. Luna was walking just ahead, next to his mother who was climbing the stairs as she swapped a joke with Sirius, his young face unlined and laughing as he kept a pale, canine eye on the dark trees around them. Was that Remus telling his dad that of course it was no bother baby-sitting Harry if James wanted to take Lily out to the Muggle cinema next weekend? It was nice to hear Remus' voice, too. He'd see Remus when he got home. Harry smiled. He was being carried home to Hermione and Ron, and in the meantime Draco was there to catch him if he slipped, and Neville knew the way…

The Sickle was as warm as his dad's arms; as warm as snuggling in bed on a cold rainy day, Simon's back, or the taste of chocolate cake and Ribena after curfew.

Harry drifted. He only began to vaguely make sense of his world when he saw stars through the trees and realised they were the lights of Hogwarts.

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By the time they reached the edge of the Forest, Harry was feeling somewhat better. Or within a few metres of sanity, at the very least, which was reassuring after the trip into the glasshouse. The unicorns left them silently as his odd dreams, fading into the darkness of the trees. Neville watched them go with a wistful expression. Harry could understand: the unicorns were lovelier than moonlight. Poor Neville didn't have a Simon. He patted Simon's shoulder.

"I think we should dump Potter back at the castle before we put Simon away," Draco said.

"I might be able to walk," Harry said. At least his mouth was working properly now. Maybe his legs would be able to do something by the time they got Simon up to Squirrel Hill.

"We can't get him back into Gryffindor," Luna said. "It'll be too difficult getting him through the corridors at this time of night… I can't afford any more detentions."

"What did you do to those mandrakes?" Draco asked.

"I… um… Harry, do you want to stay with Hagrid tonight? Neville can tell Ron and Granger so they don't worry about you. And we have to see Hagrid anyway."

Draco rolled his eyes as Luna evaded the question, but said, "That's not a bad idea. You're not going to exactly be able to evade Filch in the state you're in. He'll give you something really nasty if he thinks you've been drinking."

"How do you know?" Luna asked.

"I… um… So are we going to leave Harry at Hagrid's or what?"

Harry could have laughed, but didn't think Draco would forgive him. Harry wasn't the only one exhausted judging by the dark circles around the others' eyes.

"All right. I like it at Hagrid's. No Filches. Or Mrs Norissesses. Nev, are you okay with that?"

"Sure. No problem. Can I stay with Hagrid, too? Might stop Ginny going ballistic."

"Well, not immediately," Draco smirked, perking up a little at the thought.

"Thanks for the inspirational optimism, Malfoy," Neville said.

Draco showed teeth in the moonlight. As his smiles went, this one seemed genuine. "Any time."

Simon had brought Harry back to the wrong world. The one he'd left hadn't involved rudimentary light banter between Draco and Neville.

"There's a light on at Hagrid's," Harry observed from the vantage point of Simon's back.

"I told him I'd stop by and let him know we were all safe, remember," Luna said.

Snuffles wagged his tail in approval. Harry wished he'd thought of that before they left – it was courteous to let Hagrid know they were out of danger. Looking back on how annoyed he'd been with Luna for promising Hagrid to do exactly that, it seemed ungracious.

To everyone's surprise, Hermione, Ron and Ginny met them at Hagrid's hut. Ron was holding a small copper cauldron, while Hermione had a basket of little jars, bottles and packets, and a pair of small brass scales. Ginny was fingering her wand as she stared off into the night. Harry didn't like her sullen expression, although the way the angry embers in her eyes sent out a few warning sparks when she looked at Neville suggested Harry was off the hook this time. The three students were sitting on an old log Hagrid must have dragged across to serve as an informal sofa, while Hagrid was sitting on his doorstep, Fang at his feet. He stood up as Harry and his companions came into sight.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said. "I hoped you'd come back here. I wasn't sure if you'd go straight up to the paddock or not, but Hagrid said Luna was going to bring you here first…"

Hagrid beamed at Luna, who smiled back.

Ginny shot a glare even fierier than her hair at Neville, who grimaced apologetically.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry asked, surprised and a little alarmed.

"Don't worry, nothing bad happened," Hermione said quickly.

"You all right, Harry?" Hagrid asked, brow creasing under his wild black hair.

Harry realised he was still clutching handfuls of mane. He tried to sit up, but the world rocked alarmingly. Damn. He'd thought that bit was over and done with… Simon appeared to be standing still, but the rest of the world didn't want to conform to the horse's view. Or Harry's wants.

Bloody typical world.

"I had a bit of an accident. But I'm feeling much better." He tried to smile reassuringly. Judging by their expressions ranging from startled to alarmed, he didn't succeed.

"Going to get off that thing?"

Draco bristled at Ron's slur against Simon as Harry said pointedly, "Simon, you mean? I was thinking of it. Maybe in another minute or so. Well? Why are you here?"

"The mistletoe needs to be processed quickly," Hermione told him. "And under the light of the moon."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" demanded Draco.

"She didn't know," said Ron, scowling at the Slytherin who'd dared criticise his girlfriend, no matter how obliquely. "Thank goodness we were re-reading –"

"He was rereading, credit where credit's due," Hermione interjected, beaming at her boyfriend.

"Erm." Ron was going red. Draco rolled his eyes – luckily Ron continued quickly before Malfoy could say anything to make him kick off. "There was something in those notes… you know, Snape's notes… but the handwriting was a bit dodgy… one of those bits where he was writing sideways up and around the margin when he ran out of room… I didn't quite notice it before… and it said the mistletoe has to be added to the base during the night of harvest. So unless you want to go back and get some more tomorrow night –"

The collective groan from the returned mistletoe gatherers must have been a bit of a hint.

"– then we have to add it to the potion tonight."

"Okay," said Draco wearily. "Let's get it over and done with."

"Where should we do it?" Neville asked.

Hagrid sighed. "Here's a bit too visible from the castle. And I'm sorry, Harry, but lookin' at yeh right now there's no way Ah'm lettin' yeh go back into the Forest."

"That's fine." Hagrid was the one adult Harry didn't mind putting limits on him, he realised with a large measure of surprise. How strange.

"We need a place outside," Hermione said. "It's got to be under the moon, so no tree cover. Shame there's no hillside out of view of the castle. I wouldn't put it past Filch to go creeping up Astronomy Tower just to look at the scenery. Well? Any ideas?"

Harry and Luna exchanged a look. "Squirrel Hill," they said.

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