Shall I believe

That insubstantial death is amorous,

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps

Thee here in dark to be his paramour?

~ "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare

Draco Malfoy was in quiet conversation with Victor Krum when breakfast gained a most enticing distraction. He had been sending gloating smirks to his father and self-claimed uncles when three boys walked in holding a sniping viper between them.

The boy was mostly invisible in his snarls and struggles, twisting in ways Draco didn't think possible for humans. The movements were wild and desperate, and Draco could only make out a thick mop of ink-black hair as they dragged him to the table.

He wasn't the only one watching. His father was observing the exchange curiously, but James and Lily were horrified, the latter twisting her napkin into a gnarled mess. Sirius and Lupin both looked angry, glaring at the older boys restraining the boy. Victor cursed beside him, burying his head in his hand.

The older students pushed the boy forward roughly with a few smugly clipped words. He was quick to gain his feet, rising fluidly and gracefully. It was the first time Draco could see him, and he gasped.

It was like looking through a time scryer at James Potter, but there was an angry dignity that James could never quite perfect. He was too playful and wily. This was pride, the true pride of nobility and brutality. He met his headmaster's furious gaze with a jut of his chin, daring him even as he backed away a safe distance from the man's long arms.

He was beautiful in his mismatched, undyed robes, untidy hair, and broken face. His profile was bruised and swollen, but he seemed more regal for it, a survivor instead of a victim.

It was interesting to watch the two of them. Hatred. Loathing. Anger and pride. It battled back and forth but the boy didn't even seem to care that he was winning. That no matter how tall Karkaroff drew himself or how harsh his gaze, he could not match the strength of the boy before him. The boy's stance was undaunted, solid and fierce as if ready for battle.

"Take him to the ship," Karkaroff ordered, spite and fury dripping from his heavy voice.

One of the older students reached forward, not so cocky anymore, but the boy shrugged him off as he would an insect. He turned, and Draco gasped again. The left side of his face was disfigured with a jagged lightening bolt scar. It stretched over his eye, which was milky and blind, and trailed over his cheek, ending at his jaw line as it curved towards his ear like a demented sickle.

The way he walked was dark, reminding Draco of Severus, who was staring at the boy in astonishment, his mouth hanging open undignified.

"By Thor," Victor muttered beside him in exasperation, as if this was a common occurrence.

Draco was about to turn to address him when the boy turned to them. Draco's breath was caught in that rich amber-green gaze. It was as dark as pine and deep as a stone well. The eye sparked interestedly, seeing something he liked, but just as soon as it came, it was washed away.

He turned back, continuing his rigid pace and sweeping out of the hall, the three older lords trailing like dogs. The hall remained silent after they left. Everyone turned to Karkaroff, who angered even further at their attention.

"Pardon me," he said in a heavy tone to Lucius beside him. "I must see to something."

He left, and Draco watched James restrain his wife, who moved to accost him. He shook his head at Sirius and Lupin, who also had risen as well.

What the hell is going on? Draco thought and could see his father and Severus thinking it too.

"Who was that?" he asked Victor instead.

He watched as the people at the head table moved to eavesdrop, and Draco allowed it for the sake of information on this intriguing, mysterious boy.

"That was Dyre," Victor said, his voice heavier than Karkaroff's with his accent. "He is the headmaster's servant."

"Servant?" Draco repeated incredulously. That was no servant.

Victor nodded, understanding his disbelief. "He was raised by the Maiden, but he has lived at Durmstrang his whole life."

"Who is the Maiden?" Draco questioned curiously.

Victor's lips thinned as if it was something he did not wish to speak of. "It is forbidden to speak of her in such informal terms. It is rumored that she raised Harry when he was a baby."

Draco's eyes suddenly sparked. "I thought you said his name is Dyre."

"Yes," Victor said. "Dyre Harald Durmstrang. He allows very few to call him Harry."

"May I ask why?"

"It is a topic of discontent. Harald is a warrior's name. It is improper to call him thus."

Draco furrowed his brow. "I do not understand."

"Harry is not a warrior. It is forbidden for servants to learn craft or carry weapons. You see those daggers," he said, pointing to a few of his fellow students.

Their daggers hung from their belts as they ate. Draco had never seen them without it. Even now, Victor was wearing his. Draco nodded.

"Those are signs of a competent fighter. It means that we have passed Holmgang. It is a great honor."

Draco didn't say anything, thinking.

"Only the students who have passed Holmgang can have a warrior's name," Victor added.

"But you call him Harry," Draco said.

"Aye," Victor agreed. "Harry has spilt enough blood that I consider him a warrior."

The statement was hallowing. Draco paused, letting a shiver pass through him.

"Why was Karkaroff so angry at him?" Draco asked curiously.

Victor growled. "Because the lad does not know when to lie low. This is the trouble of forcing a soldier to act a maid. I've told Igor for years to give him his freedom. No good can come of leashing a wolf. Mark my words. You can only hold it so long before it bites you."

This was quite a long statement for the Bulgarian, and Draco was surprised by the deep feelings the quidditch player felt for the… 'servant.'

"You seem like you care for him," Draco said softly and admiringly.

Surprisingly, Victor flinched. "You should not say such things, Draco Malfoy," he said quietly.

Draco was shocked. "Why not?"

"Harry is cursed," he said sadly but firmly. "He doesn't speak of it often. He warned me of it when I first began to approach him."

"Cursed with what?" Draco said, meeting his whisper.

Victor shook his head. "He won't say. He says only that the Maiden told him to beware of getting close to people. It isn't so difficult as a servant in a school of lords and ladies, but he felt the need to warn me so it is certain he believes it."

Draco shook his head. "I know I asked, but this seems very personal. Why are you telling me this?"

Victor shrugged but when his eyes fell on him, they were piercing and knowing. "I am not blind."

To this, he turned, meeting James' eager gaze head on. He floundered, surprised to be caught out so suddenly, but he had been doing nothing to hide his eavesdropping. Neither had Lily and Sirius, though Severus, Lupin, and Lucius had more dignity.

"This is my warning, that he asked me to give should anyone become interested in him," he said in his stumbling accent.

Finished, he rose to leave, but Draco grabbed his sleeve. "Wait. What is going to happen to him?" he asked speaking of Karkaroff.

Victor looked unwilling to say, and the adults leaned closer.

"Why do you wish to know, lordling?" Victor asked instead.

Draco released him. "I don't believe the bruises on his face were old enough to have been caused in his tussle with those boys," he said.

"That did not answer my question, Malfoy," Victor said harshly.

He was smarter than he looked, Draco thought. Draco lowered his gaze.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

Victor removed himself from the bench. "Perhaps when you do, I will tell you. Perhaps Harry will tell you himself."

He walked down the table, his clubfoot giving him a prominent limb. Still, Draco knew such a man was not to be trifled with unwisely. The dagger at his belt was proof enough. It must have taken a lot to gain entrance to Durmstrang, the school that shunned the deformed and infirm. His fame helped, but he could not have been flying when he was seven, the age when the school took in children.

Draco thought that it was likely that Victor Krum became the Durmstrang champion. He himself was a year too young, but he didn't think he would enter anyway. His father was pruning him to take over the Malfoy lordship. He didn't think risking his life in a measly contest would win his father's regard.

None of the Slytherins would enter. Well, none of the worthy ones. They were too intelligent to risk their lives in a game. The others would be too blinded by glory to think straight. Draco rather thought those deserved whatever misfortune they brought upon themselves.

There were a few Gryffindors he considered. They had a good chance. Even fewer Hufflepuffs and barely any Ravenclaws. They cherished knowledge over brawn. He wondered for a second what it would have been like to see Harry fight. He imagined it would be spectacular.

But Harry wasn't old enough. Apparently he wasn't even a student. It enraged him. He could see curses flying so majestically from his outstretched arm. It was crime to keep him from such beauty. It was crueler still to deny him a dagger from what Victor said.

Draco knew a fighter when he saw one. He did not doubt that Harry knew how to wield a sword, despite propriety and law. He was a survivor.

He's a survivor, Draco founded himself more hoping that believing. He didn't like the look in Victor's eyes or his refusal to say precisely what Karkaroff was going to do to him. He looked to his father, but as he knew he would, Lucius shook his head. He could not interfere without proper cause, not unfounded concern, and they were not allowed on the ship without invitation.

Draco wished Dumbledore were here. He would never have let Karkaroff leave, not when he was so mad. There would have been something. However, the headmaster was currently in a meeting with Bagman and Crouch. He couldn't be everywhere at once, Draco knew, and with the Tournament, there were so many things to do.

Draco picked at his food, feeling like he was twelve again. Completely in the dark and helpless. He hadn't played with his food since he was a child, but he could not for the life of him eat it anymore. His mind drifted to the quiet conversation at the end table, where Professor Sprout had just joined Professor Snape.

Lily and James were quiet. Lupin was always quiet, but even Sirius, who hardly ever shut up, was silent. As his father rarely spoke to any of the teachers if he could help it, the only one speaking was Sprout.

"I ran into the most wonderful boy this morning," she was saying happily. "Sad," she amended. "But wonderful."

"I suppose you are going to tell me all about it," Severus said snidely.

Popoma, well acquainted with his ire, ignored him. "He knew his English flora. I can tell you that. I was thinking of introducing him to young Neville."

"Yes, herd the brats to the greenhouse. Keep your little prodigy away from my lab."

She frowned slightly. "No need to be nasty, Severus," she admonished. "Neville's a bright boy and I'm sure this Dyre will be as well."

Suddenly, she had Snape's undivided attention. Lily, James, and Sirius perked, and Lucius was suddenly very interested in his tea. Lupin continued eating, but Draco noticed that his shoulders were tense. Draco scooted closer to the table.

"Dyre, you say," Severus said.

"Yes," she said cheerfully, almost bouncing in her seat. "Bright boy. Gave some of his blood to my little Canary Eater. So kind of him."

Severus sneered at her. "That ruddy plant had best not be attacking people."

Her lips thinned. There was one thing you didn't do with Popoma and that was insult her plants.

"It would never do such a thing," she protested. "I'd like to see you harvest your own McKenzie vines the next time you want your dang dream serum."

"Alright, alright," Severus placated her. "You'd think I killed the damn thing."

"Don't you tempt me, Severus Snape," she said, waving her fork at him. "You can't guard your goblet all the time."

Severus was properly quelled and tactfully retreated. Despite Draco's somber mood, he chuckled to see his godfather put down so thoroughly.

"You were talking about your new pet student," Severus said, pushing the conversation back on topic.

Popoma glared at him but returned to her breakfast. "It's a Durmstrang lad," she said. "Gave the creature blood all on his own. I've never seen a child so young willingly give blood to a plant." She shrugged. "But he said it was hungry. I healed him up just fine."

"Did he say anything else?" Severus asked.

Popoma eyed him. "Is there any reason you are so suddenly interested in that boy?"

"I find him curious," Severus said simply.

She hummed. "He said he knew about English plants from the Maiden. He said she used to read them to him to get him to sleep."

"That's rather odd," Severus commented.

Popoma nodded. "I got the feeling the lady was his mother or someone close to it. He seems to be a hard boy," she noted. "But there was a softness in his face when he spoke of her, very protective."

"The Maiden is an old relic," Severus said in a scholarly voice that he always reserved for old myths and dying stories. "Most scholars and texts disprove her existence. It is said that she resides in the Western tower and guards the gate to Valhalla."

"Valhalla is the Norseman's interpretation of heaven, is it not?" Popoma asked, though the entire table was now listening in. Again.

Severus nodded. "It is where the warriors who die in battle go. In order to gain entrance to Valhalla, a human must have what is considered a 'glorious death.' Shield maidens shepherd the fallen soldiers. However, Odin gave the task of guarding the gate to a mortal woman that could supposedly see the future.

"She was hidden in a Tower that reached the sky and weaved death with the Norns. Men were forbidden to speak with her. She took maidens with seer abilities to the Tower and trained them to succeed her. But it is only a myth," he said, shaking his head. "She was mentioned only in one account of a bard that glimpsed her from one of the lower windows. It is more likely that he was merely besotted and made the whole thing up to indulge some demented fantasy."

"Severus, you are a disgrace to romance," Popoma said, smacking his arm.

He sneered at her. "It is just a pointless story told to amuse toddlers who can not get to sleep."

"It's hardly pointless," Popoma said indignantly. "That was a people's culture at one time."

"A culture that has died out, replaced by reason and logic."

"You are never going to get a wife," she told him, sipping her tea.

Severus sputtered. Lucius sniggered and turned it into a convincible cough. Severus glared at him.

o.O.o

Harry wasn't seen again for two weeks. Lily saw Karkaroff daily, and it was all she could do not to rip his head off. However, she was wary of getting Harry into any more trouble. Therefore, she did the only thing she could do. Pester him for the inheritance potion.

It was a simple potion, but it would take one week to brew then another week to simmer after Harry's willing blood was given. Severus was hesitant to start it when he wasn't sure when Harry's blood would be available. It had to start on the full moon and end on the new. The timing was the only part of it that was tricky. As it were, they required Harry's presence so they could witness that it had been given willingly. It was the only hold Lily had, and she had a tight grip on the damn thing.

Karkaroff had taken to avoiding her and by association James. Lily was suffering in her classes, falling silent in the middle lectures and snapping at minor offenses. The students steered clear of her, muttering about curses and monthly cycles before Lily burned their rumps with her wand.

Sirius and Lupin could no longer abandon their positions at the Ministry and left very reluctantly. They managed to coerce James and Lily into promising several long missives in their absence, but they looked over their shoulders several times before arriving to the apparation point. Even there, they dallied as if hoping Harry would come running out of the building to see them off.

James was not faring much better than his wife. He was jittery and serving very poorly as Lucius' guard. Lucius excused his foul mood, understanding his position well. If Draco ever went missing, he'd be a rotten mess too.

They were in a meeting with the headmaster about sneaking on the Durmstrang ship when Karkaroff bowled through the door. The heavy wood cracked against the stone, making them jump. Karkaroff's face was a mess of tangled beard and angry eyes, and he almost hit his head on the doorframe.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, no doubt to ask the reason for his intrusion, when the man shoved forward the figure in his right hand. He had a hard grip on the boy's elbow, and Harry was too short to do anything other than dangle in the aggressive hold.

"You want his blood. Take it. Take it all! Bleed the whelp dry!" he shouted, catapulting the boy forward.

Lily was quick to grab him before he could hit the floor, but Harry was quickly out of her arms.

"We are not done, Headmaster!" Harry snarled.

"You…" he fumed, seeming to be incapable of further language. "You watch yourself or I'll drown you in the damn lake!" he growled, looking like he would really do it.

Harry glared at him. "Try it!" the boy dared him, his green eye shining like an exploding star. "Death be upon you if you try it, Igor Karkaroff!"

Karkaroff stalked forward, and the adults tensed, prepared to hold him back if he attacked the boy.

"You are mine, slave!" he hissed. "I will cut open your gut and feed you still screaming to the birds!"

Harry stared back boldly. "Try. It," he hissed.

They held their breaths. Karkaroff seemed ready to kill him, and Harry just stood there with a defiance that was inhuman. Lucius, Lily, James, Severus, and Dumbledore were stunned. They were trained competent wizards, but the hatred between the two seemed unstoppable. They were so close that if Igor decided to snap Harry's neck, they would be too late to stop it.

Finally, Igor hissed. "She can't protect you forever, boy."

They prayed that Harry would remain silent, and it seemed as if the boy had finally gained some common sense. His gaze was unwavering, but he let Karkaroff have the last words. He swept out of the still open door, leaving silence in his wake. The door to the foyer slammed behind him, and Harry let out a slew of Danish and Norwegian curse words, kicking a chair.

They watched him fume quietly until he finally seemed to gain control of himself. He stood alone in the middle of the room, his shoulders shaking and his fists clenched. No one else seemed able to move.

Dumbledore stood. He moved from behind the desk, and Harry's gaze turned warily to him. Dumbledore had a friendly smile on as he approached him, much like someone would approach a wild animal.

"Hello again, Dyre," Dumbledore greeted soothingly. "I do not believe I ever properly introduced myself."

Dyre/Harry nodded, his angry gaze still fixed on the door. "You are Banebringer's Defeat."

Dumbledore blinked. "I have not been called that in a long time," he said in a subdued tone. "I am Albus Dumbledore."

Harry nodded but said nothing else.

"I am surprised that one so young would recall such a thing," Dumbledore added, smiling as he tried to coax the boy into conversation.

"Durmstrang does not forget her children. Though she may forsake them." He turned his mismatched gaze on him.

Dumbledore was suddenly held by two completely different stares. One was bright and green, full of mistrust, anger, and hot power. The other was silent. Its blue-white glaze was cool and dull with blindness, but Albus couldn't help but think that Dyre could somehow see through that eye. See something different than the rest of them.

"I am slightly surprised you have not conquered the world, Master Dumbledore," he said in that swirling lilt, like he was pulling something dark from the bottom of a deep cavern.

"I am hardly wise enough to conquer the world," Dumbledore said, as if the idea amused him. "Or young enough."

Dyre tilted his head as if he could see through Dumbledore's words to the pain beneath. Dumbledore allowed him to gaze through his soul, not really knowing what the boy would find.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. "You are wise enough not to."

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Well put, my boy!"

Dyre gave him a queer look, not really sure what to do with this type of person. Dumbledore backed away a little to introduce the rest of their audience.

"As you probably know, this lovely lady is Lily Potter," he said indicating the redhead and only female of the group. "She is our Defense professor."

Dyre fully inclined his head, giving her a deep, respectful bow. Lily looked startled and gave a blushing smile.

"The man to her left is her husband, James Potter," Dumbledore continued. "He does field work for the Ministry but mostly serves as guard for Lucius Malfoy."

"Malfoy," he repeated, his head rising.

He met the stare of the blonde aristocrat. Lucius tilted his head inquiringly, curious that his name sparked a reaction. Harry held his stare for a second, giving away nothing, before dropping his gaze.

"Do you know me?" Lucius asked curiously.

Harry shook his head. "Lord Krum spoke of your son."

His formality was cheapened a little by the disrespect he showed towards his headmaster, not that it seemed unfounded.

"I hope he had good things to say," Lucius said, smiling a little as he always did when he thought of his wayward son.

Harry did not respond but to give a courteous nod.

"And the brooding gentleman on his left is Severus Snape, our Potion professor."

Snape sneered at the old man, which Dumbledore responded to with a happy twinkle. Dyre was not staring at his face though but his arm. Snape bristled. Lucius moved a little closer to him, lending him silent support, but Harry said nothing. He declined his head again, but his eyes did not leave him.

It was interesting that the stare was not hostile but curious.

It was silent again. Lily and James looked between themselves nervously, not sure how to continue. Harry sighed and began rolling up his sleeve.

"You wish for my blood, do you not?"

"Yes," Severus answered since he was the one performing the removal.

As Severus walked towards him, Harry extended his arm, palm up. Severus slipped out his wand. Harry did not flinch when Severus cut softly through his flesh, raising a vial to catch the drops. When he finished, he closed up the wound and wiped away the excess blood. Harry rolled back down his sleeve.

"What will you do if I am not he?" Harry asked suddenly, his eyes on his working hands.

"You are," James said firmly, no doubt in his mind as he gazed at the child that was once his little boy.

"Alright then, what if I am?"

They paused, and Harry looked up. "What if I am your son? My position does not change."

"We will free you," James said.

Harry stared at him, his eyes turning cold. "So you care as long as I am of your blood?"

James flinched stepping back. "That's not what I meant."

"That's what you said."

When James said nothing else, Harry looked behind him at the other people in the room. He looked down at the floor again.

"Hope that you are wrong, Master Potter. Karkaroff will not release me."

"I am a very rich man, Harry," Lucius said for James' sake. "He will part with you for a price."

"My name is Dyre," Harry said coldly. "And he will not. I have vowed to kill him when I am free," he said bluntly.

"He seems arrogant enough to believe he is invincible," Lucius said in a droll tone, completely disregarding his death threat. "What makes you think he will not brush it aside?"

Dyre frowned, debating with himself how much he wished to reveal. "I am… a bargaining chip."

"Is this part of your curse?" Lily asked, unable to hold her tongue.

Harry was silent for a second. "I see Lord Krum had spoken to you," he said, his face carefully blank.

"Not so much," Lily admitted uncomfortably.

"Yes, lady, it is part of my curse," Harry said. "I will bring him good fortune for as long as he holds my collar. When I am released, he will die by my hand, as is written. Those who use me are forbidden from heaven and hell. There shall be no rest for him, and it scares him."

Severus scoffed. "You speak of such things as if they are real."

"Magic is old, Professor. It is rooted in gods, folklore, and myth. The old prophecies still ring true."

"Do you fancy yourself a trapped god, Dyre?" Snape said contemptuously, ignoring the several glares thrown at him.

But Dyre smiled at him like they had some private joke. "Nothing so grand. I am just a tool for misfortune. Think of me as an albatross."

"An albatross?" James repeated confused.

"Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner," Severus said.

Harry's eye sparkled. "Very good, professor."

"So are you are saying you bring good luck unless you're killed," Severus said, ignoring his taunt.

"Only to the one I hate," Harry said.

"Why are you telling us this?" Lucius asked suspiciously.

"Because if I am your son, you should know what you are getting into before you decide to try to love me."

"We already love you, Harry," Lily said gently.

Harry flinched as if struck. "Do not say such things. You will bring calamity to yourself."

She snorted. "I have already welcomed calamity to me, Harry. I don't care."

"I wished you wouldn't call me that," he said with slight pain in his eyes. "It's heresy."

"I didn't think a boy like you would worry about heresy," Severus said coldly.

"I honor the old ways," he said harshly, his face grim. "Master Karkaroff tries to exist above the law, and I cannot abide by that."

"You have a god-complex," Snape mumbled, moving away from Lily who looked ready to throttle him. Not that James was much better.

"Hardly," Harry responded wryly. "It's hard to elevate yourself to god-like status when you're scrubbing latrines."

"Har – Dyre," James stumbled. "Do you believe you are our son?"

The room waited, eager for his response.

"It is not… impossible," Harry responded uneasily, trying to keep his yearning to be a part of this family apart from the facts. "It fits," he said more to himself than to him.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

To them, it seemed extremely fantastic and far-fetched. How had their son survived the attack and how had he gotten all the way to Iceland? Though they believed it, they had to admit that it didn't fit at all.

Harry was silent for a long time, his cold, scarred face calculating. "This Harry Potter," he said carefully. "When he was born, Voldemort gained power."

"Don't speak that name!" Snape yelled.

Harry stared at him before sighing. "Pardon. The Dark Lord gained power when this boy was born. When he killed him, he died as well, correct? Does that sound at all familiar?"

They exchanged dubious glances. "But you didn't die," James said, basking for a second in the euphoria of being able to say those words.

"Of course he died," Harry said. "I just came back."

"What the hell are you on about now?" Snape snapped, unable to hold him temper against these wild arguments anymore.

Harry looked at the door, seeming to judge his time. He moved towards Dumbledore's desk. Looking to the man, who had been quiet, for permission, he slipped out an old parchment and a quill. He sketched out a rough map. There were nine circles that he named in runic symbols.

"These are the nine worlds. Myth speculates that each is home to various numbers of creatures, some of which is true. The dark elves rule in Svartalfaheim, the light elves rule in Alfheimr, and Midgard is the world of humans. Two worlds were split for the gods, one world for ice, one world for fire, one world for the Jötnar, and one world for the dead. Obviously after the great flood, the worlds were merged."

He folded the sheet.

"The light elves kept to themselves. Many died, but they were able to preserve part of their world for a small number to survive. Of the dark elves, goblins and dwarves came to this world. Most of them died, but a few survived enough to continue their species, though most of their culture was forgotten. Most of the gods perished. Asgard was destroyed, and Vanaheimr, the other world of the gods, was cut off and lost. Even the Jötnar came to this world, the only one large enough to survive destruction."

He finished folding the sheet, spreading it out again. They crowded over Dumbledore's desk, trying not to jostle him. A world lied right under the one he labeled Midgard.

James pointed to it. "Which world is that?"

"Hel, the world of the dead. The worlds drifted closer. It is much easier now to access the underworld or call upon the dead. However, once you cross over, you do not come back."

"But you said you did," Lily said, staring at him.

Harry's face was sad as he gazed over his overlapping worlds. "I know one who intersects the gates to Valhalla. She denied me entrance and pulled me back."

"The Maiden," Snape said, linking the pieces even though he did not believe them.

Harry looked a little startled but nodded. "Yes, it is one of her powers, to call back those awaiting entrance to Valhalla. However, a great toll must be paid. Both she and the person she calls back must pay a price."

He brushed the long scar on the right side of his face.

"Why did she do it?" Lily asked. "There must be millions of children that cross the gate to Valhalla."

"Millions of children cross the gate to Hel, but not the gate to Valhalla. To enter Valhalla, you must be killed in battle."

"You were one." Lily's voice rose in distress. "It was hardly a battle," she said derisively, thinking of the spill of Peter's blood running down the windows.

Harry shook his head. "I can not answer your question. I do not remember. I never thought I used to be Harry Potter. I knew only that I had died once before."

"This is preposterous," Snape said, backing away from the map. "People can not return from the dead."

"Everyone has the ability to return," Harry said. "But it is against their nature. Hel is not just a place. It is a state of being. A few people can enter Hel without being dead just like a few of the deceased can exist in this world. To them it is like stepping from one room into the next without moving. They occupy the same space but everything is perceived differently."

"And do you see Hel?" Snape challenged, glaring at him.

Harry stared at him with his mismatched gaze. "You do not wish to know what I see." His voice was deadly, carrying some creature none of them could comprehend.

James believed him. Lily was scared, unable and unwilling to think that her boy could be so unfairly damned. Lucius was as skeptical as Snape, but he had been raised in a Dark family. He knew ritual and old power when he saw it, and Harry was soaked in it.

Dumbledore kept his own counsel.

"I'm not saying this to try to get you to believe that I'm some all-powerful nether worldly being. What little power I have does not belong to me, and it is not meant to be used against people like you."

"Just people like Karkaroff," Severus interjected cynically.

"The only person I'm allowed to hate is the one who binds me. He is the only one I am free to kill and only after I am released."

"Dyre," Dumbledore said after his long silence. "What you speak of is demonic ritual. I do not believe you are a demon."

"There are many names for what I am. Why can't demon be one of them?"

"First you're a god. Now you're a demon," Severus sneered. "I'm surprised you don't get yourself confused."

Harry glared at him. "I am a child of man, but I am also Other. If you wish to make me your son, then I suggest you accept it and move on. I am telling you that nothing good can come of consorting with me. Save yourself the trouble and just forget you ever saw me."

"How can you say that?" Lily asked in a low whisper, her grassy eyes shiny with tears. "We've prayed for this for so long. This has been our deepest hope. How can you ask us to give you up?"

"Lady, I do not mean to make you cry," he said gently, showing softness they had not seen. "But I am not the son you want. I cannot play with you or sing with you. I cannot make you happy."

"You don't know that," Lily argued determinedly, her nose turning stuffy. "You have no idea how little it would take. Even seeing you… It means so much just to know you are alive." She rubbed her face as James put a comforting hand on her back. "I know I cannot understand you, but you cannot understand this. You can't understand how we grieved, how awful it felt to have you torn from us.

"We were right there," she continued. "We could see your shadows through the window. We gave everything we could, and I still didn't save you. You have no idea how painful it is to see your baby die while you can only stand there."

"I'm sorry," he said, staring shamefully at the floor. "I do not pretend to understand your pain. I only wish not to cause you more. Surely you must have let me go. To you I've been dead fifteen years."

"Never," Lily said and James echoed her. "Such pain does not heal. It is only endured."

"I am truly sorry, my lady," he said, his voice thick with honesty but his face hidden.

"Dyre," Lucius said suddenly.

The boy did not acknowledge him, saying nothing.

"Dyre," he called again. "You're bleeding."

The boy looked up at this, as did everyone else in the room. Dyre reached back to feel his back. The tension in his shoulders must have torn the new flesh. He cursed softly as his fingers came away wet.

Lily, forgetting her anguish, rushed forward. Her hands ghosted over his back. "You should get this looked at."

Dyre moved away from her. "I'm fine."

"Did Igor do that to you?" Dumbledore asked, his voice hard and his gaze piercing.

Dyre smiled, his hand holding the wound on his shoulder tight. "I am sure that a servant can not say what his master does," he said wryly, confirming their suspicions. They stared at him in horror.

The grey of his uniform was turning a dull cottony red. Splotches appeared sporadically, overlapping. Dyre could feel the fabric fusing to the broken flesh and open sores, ripping up scabs.

"I must go," he announced, turning to the door and giving them the full angle of the deep saturation spreading over his tunic.

"Wait," Lily called. "We have a Mediwitch. Let her look at you," she pleaded.

Dyre turned to her at the edge of the door, only half his body still inside the room. "I would not wish for you to worry. I can mend myself just fine," he promised and slipped out of the room.

"I am going to kill that damn man," James vowed.

"I think Dyre would prefer to do it," Lucius said, his silver eyes cold and harsh with retribution.

Dumbledore stood. Without a word, he left his office. The frazzle of magic trailed him. His stony face was unyielding and enraged. They let him leave silently, knowing Karkaroff should never have let the old wizard see the boy's blood. A thoughtful silence descended, broken only by the ticking of Dumbledore's gewgaws.

Their eyes fell one by one to the glass vial. Red liquid sloshed languidly in between Severus' hand. It felt like a secret was inside that vial, something coiling quietly in the underbrush deep in slumber.

There was eleven days until the full moon, plenty of time to prepare the ingredients. They knew what it would read, but it would do little more than give Karkaroff more leverage over them and Harry.

Knowledge swirled in the glass, but they were still trapped.