Regretfully Uncaring

by RMWB

In one earth-shattering second, Harry's life changes forever as he becomes a werewolf. He must navigate new challenges, but for the first time in his life, he is surrounded by those who love him. With bolstered confidence, Harry makes many decisions, both triumphs and failures, that lead him and his friends down a very different path. AU - Original Plot - Ensemble Cast - Slow Burn.

47. Beyond the End

A/N: I think this is my best chapter yet. And I'm deeply sorry that it took so long.

---

Gellert Grindelwald watched his students from afar. Hermione Granger was sitting beside Dean Thomas, who, in turn, was focused on the library which currently housed Draco Malfoy. There was much on his mind. He didn't quite know the date, it didn't matter anymore. The world would be reborn and a new calendar would replace the old.

The past had to die.

Everything had to be changed for a true reset. A veritable second chance for all. Of course, his plans were hampered slightly by the lack of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. Both of which appeared, by all definitions of the term, dead.

Of course, there wasn't a body. Grindelwald's visions could only take him so far, and from what he understood, the pair were not here.

'Here,' meaning on this earth. Through this reality or any variant form of such. He'd given hints to those who could do something about the situation. Not that he couldn't, of course, but it was strategically irresponsible to do something so… extreme, himself.

So far, his plan had taken shape quite well. In the days following the attacks, the Wizarding World was in uproar in defense of their fallen friends and family. The casualties were quite high; higher than Grindelwald had anticipated, but that was a necessary evil. They were destined to die no matter the outcome of this looming war.

There was a pull from deep inside him to scour the remains of Hogwarts for The Stone. Albus had carried it with him upon his death, but Grindelwald had had an odd suspicion that it would come into play far, far later down the line.

Potter was the last remaining Peverell descendant. Though Tom Riddle would be keen to argue his claim to such a title, it was, quite simply, a false claim. The Gaunts had plucked that stone from the pocket of an enemy. The last Peverell who had ever held The Stone was the second brother, Cadmus.

In the end, however, Grindelwald knew that it was not his place. Power was not his goal. It hadn't been for many years. He simply wished to set the world up for success. A success he would not be a part of.

He heard a laugh from across the field, along the borders of the training camp. It came from Hermione, her head back; smile bathing in the sun. That was a witch with promise. A muggleborn with ambition, intellect, pride, and courage. She was a suitable contender for his… later plans.

He shook himself roughly and stared down into his cold tea. He hadn't had a vision in many days. Since the fires, his mind had been quite blank to the future. It was unsettling, but not entirely unfamiliar. After all, he'd gone many years without so little as a whisper of what was to come.

A part of him felt it was a sign that what he was doing was working. If he could not see the future, it meant that fate was dying with the old world. That the change he was spearheading was too much for the past to comprehend.

It's what needed to happen.

It left him off guard, however. His security was at risk, and he knew it.

There was a shudder, a minor tremor in the earth. The windowpanes rattled slightly, and his spoon clattered on its plate. It was the wards, and he knew it.

He rose to his feet and pocketed Albus's old pocket watch, a gift from another life, it seemed. Slowly, he ambled out of Alyssa's open-concept main floor. The woman was upstairs with her daughter, Charlie.

Grindelwald sighed.

He left the farmhouse and was unsurprised to find many of his young students had already risen to the occasion. Wands, sometimes swords, drawn and ready at the mouth of the forest.

"Sir, it's not an attack," said a young man in his mid-twenties. Grindelwald didn't know all their names. Only those he knew would matter.

"Then what is it?" Grindelwald asked, rhetorically.

"Could just be a renewal," the man suggested. A ward renewal happened on its own every once and a while, but it rarely made itself known.

Grindelwald shook his head. "No, I'd have known of that. Alyssa would've informed me,"

The man swallowed rather loudly and nodded, leveling his wand at the tree line.

"I believe we have a visitor!" Grindelwald shouted to the forest. "Make yourself known… slowly… and depending on your intentions, we'll leave you unharmed,"

Silence was all that answered. Grindelwald smiled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Ever since the werewolf attack, they'd upped their security measures tenfold.

"Give me an answer, or I'll level this forest and-"

"You don't fool me, Grindelwald. You know damn well that I'd have to have a connection to someone in here to enter successfully," a man's voice interrupted.

Grindelwald's smile faded. "Our numbers are many… that's a lot of possible connections,"

There was a pause, and then, "Dead man walking,"

Grindelwald was momentarily stumped. He'd heard that phrase, spoken as such, quite a few times given his rather long prison record, but there was something about the tone of this man's voice.

It was not quite a mystery to him.

"You know my name," the man said, his voice black.

"Aye, I believe I do," Grindelwald agreed slowly. "What brings you here?"

The bushes at the forest's edge rustled and out walked a rather decrepit house elf. Grindelwald didn't recognize this particular elf, but he strolled toward it nonetheless.

He saw Hermione's eyes narrow in apparent recognition, but it could have been anything. Perhaps it was mere speculation on her part, roiling deep within her brilliant mind.

Grindelwald stopped his march at roughly twenty feet from the old elf.

"Ignorant though I may be," Grindelwald began, "I know that voice comes from a wizard, not an elf,"

The ferns and shrubs were jostled once again and out stepped a man with cropped hair, fine features, and grey eyes. Age had been kind to him if kind meant non-existent.

"Dead man walking," Grindelwald retold, his lips curving into a cunning grin. "What brings you to the living future... The New World, Regulus Black,"

Regulus did not smile. Instead, he eyed all those who faced him, a good three hundred, and seemed to fidget with something in his pocket. "I'm here for my brother," his accent reeked of Scotland, which was mildly hilarious considering his upbringing.

"Ah," Grindelwald nodded and began to pace in a small circle, never taking his eyes off Regulus. "A one-man rescue operation?"

Regulus shrugged, a cocky, though forced, grin formed. "Figured it's within my abilities,"

"It isn't," Grindelwald waved dismissively. "You don't stand a chance against our weakest soldier,"

"Soldiers? Quite the progressive movement," Regulus sneered and lifted the elf onto his shoulder where it sat comfortably, glaring at all who faced his precious master. "Most of your soldiers don't know the Patronus charm," his eyes fell on Hermione, Dean, and Colin. "Most of your soldiers aren't soldiers,"

Grindelwald took a deep, calming breath. "You want your brother?"

"Aye, I do," Regulus confirmed.

"I need to keep him," Grindelwald said, reluctantly. For it wasn't an ideal situation whatsoever. He required the leverage for Potter's return. Until then, it was a waste of resources to keep Lupin, Sirius, and Dudley in his basement.

Regulus's eye twitched. "Then bring me the raven,"

Grindelwald's pacing ceased, and any pretext of joyous formality was dropped. "What raven,"

Regulus smiled then. "The raven you obey. The one everyone here is… serving, I suppose,"

"Who are they to you?" Grindelwald asked.

Regulus's eyes grew wistful for but a moment, before snapping back to reality. "She's everything to me,"

Grindelwald's eyes widened in surprise. The correct pronoun had driven a nail through his argument, and he was left entirely speechless.

"She's why I'm here. Why my body and soul can live whilst my heart has stopped. She fuels me, she created me, she loved me," Regulus clenched his jaw, and his eyes fluttered shut briefly. "And I serve her now. I serve you now."

Grindelwald held no reply. Stunned too deep to speak.

"So that leaves me with one question, and one request," Regulus continued.

"Say them," said Grindelwald after a long pause.

"My request is to see my brother. To explain myself, apologize, and repair what is broken,"

"That won't be possi-" Grindelwald was cut off.

"And if that isn't possible," Regulus cut in impatiently. "Then my question is quite simple,"

There was a long pause, many had lowered their weapons, all taken by Regulus's passion, and Grindelwald's surprise.

The wind was quite loud. The air was cool. There was a wooden groan from behind them, Grindelwald looked over his shoulder momentarily to catch Alyssa and Severus watching the scene. Severus's eyes were wide, his face pale.

Regulus let out a low breath, and Grindelwald's head snapped back to him.

"Who the hell are you sending to bring them back?"

---

Ron Weasley was cold, and his blankets did little to shield him from the early winter. His legs were covered in goose pimples, his arms wrapped around them in a fetal position as he shivered.

Still, he kept his eyes on the window of his attic bedroom, expressionless. He was neither happy nor sad. In fact, he felt very little at this moment.

His whole world had come undone in a matter of hours. So many dead. So many families with no news for days as the ruins were scoured by the Ministries that had ordered their deaths.

Protests roared in Magical London, Paris, New York, Berlin… it was everywhere. Their people, around the world, so loud and so bitter, came together to cry and sing and make sure their leaders heard their desperate pleas.

The Muggles were oblivious to the carnage. Their skies were a muddled grey as Dementors bred in the streets. Of course, they didn't know how to define the way they felt. All they knew was pain and suffering but they would never pinpoint its origin.

The Wizarding schools of the world had been vanquished overnight. Dragons' fire destroyed everything. Survivors were few, but the tales they told were all the same.

The assumption that every Ministry around the world had attacked itself, purposefully destroying their futures, would've been completely ridiculous had the existence of the ICW not silently explained it.

Because it was indeed possible for these Ministries to act as a group. For their greater good.

The speeches of The New World were not some far-off mention in a country across the Channel, but a real opportunity, growing and thriving in France. Spreading like a fungus over oceans and deep within jungles. Touching every witch and wizard who was wise enough to listen.

If the Ministries and the ICW would go to such lengths to maintain their power, what else were they capable of?

Ron wanted to join. Ron wanted to fight. He wished to run in with his wand raised above his head and curse everyone who had harmed those he'd known and loved.

But he couldn't. Because at the very front of his mind was the drawing of a clock on an unfurled bit of parchment in an impossible room. Of grey eyes, swimming in tears, asking him who had hurt her so.

Of a dead girl laying in a field of flowers. Forgotten by all within the heavy death toll.

At the front of his mind was his best friend. The boy with more weight on his shoulders than any of them could possibly understand.

At the front of his mind was the girl. The key. His partner in childhood crime. His sister.

At the front of his mind was a plan. Carefully spreading its roots throughout his consciousness.

A plan to break out of The Shattered Sky, and into the unknown.

But he needed those grey eyes.

---

Regretfully Uncaring

Chapter 47:

Beyond the End

---

Daphne hadn't spoken in two weeks. Fourteen days of complete silence. Listening to her father's muffled cries in the room adjacent to hers. She felt like she was floating on a cloud of indifference. She hadn't eaten much more than a handful of tree nuts each day. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't alive.

She was tired. A sort of exhaustion that sleep couldn't mend. No matter how bright the day or how comfortable her bed may be, she could not claw herself out of it.

Was this despair? She felt as though her reaction was rather subdued. Her chest constricted at the slightest movement. The farthest thought.

She was broken. A puzzle made of a thousand blank pieces that could never dream to form a whole image. That image no longer existed.

She was a shadow in the halls, an object in the way of the wind. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes dirty. Guilt had replaced the blood in her veins. Flowing like a fine wine the gods had requested of her.

A gentle knock beckoned her away from her empty thoughts at a ceiling with no love. "Daphne?" her father's voice drifted through the now open door. "Lunch is ready,"

Daphne nodded. She sat up mechanically and slid off her bed.

Her nights were dreamless. Untainted by the spell of curiosity long since drained from her mind.

She walked to her father. She saw his hollowed gaze; recognized and understood it.

The stairs' gradual decline felt suffocating. Like every step is another taken away from a better time.

They sat at the dining room table, only now there were two empty chairs. Daphne stared at the bowl of soup the house elves had made for them.

"How are you?" her father asked, his salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes. His hair product failed at its one and only job.

Daphne didn't nod, didn't shrug. She gave no verbal nor physical response. She just stared at the table's centerpiece. A bowl of enchanted apples, charmed to never mold.

The only part of her that moved was her fingers. Between them, a small metal pin shaped in an elaborate IQS.

The pin got caught on the skin in between her fingers. She felt the twitchy feeling of blood seeping out of the small hole.

"I'm doing better," her father announced. Like it was something to be proud of.

Moving on.

She moved her other hand to pull the pin out of her skin.

"I was thinking… I could go to work today. Are you alright here on your own?" he asked. He brushed his hair back.

Daphne swallowed. She doesn't want to be alone. Not now.

She licked her lips and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath that filled her lungs and made her arms go numb, she asked, "How could you go back there?"

Her voice was scratchy and tired. Like she'd sung to her heart's content and torn out her voice in the process.

Her father sighed and let his head fall into his hands. "Daphne-"

"No," she interrupted, her chin trembling. "No, you know what they did. You know what happened,"

Her father looked up at her, his eyes pleading for her to understand.

But what was there to understand?

"Daphne, the truth is that we don't know what happened. We don't know who-"

"Yes, we do!" Daphne shouted, her sore throat begging her to be quiet. "The Ministry's emblem was on their collars. They attacked schools… all around the world!"

"Daphne-"

"Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny,"

"Daphne,"

"Durmstrang, Uagadou,"

"Daphne, listen to me,"

She stood from the table. "Japan, India, Australia, Canada, do you not see it? Do you not read the paper?"

"DAPHNE!" her father roared, slamming his fist on the table. The empty plates and cutlery clattered from the vibration. "I read the news. I hear the stories. You must understand that we simply do not know the truth,"

Daphne gaped at him. She didn't have any more tears to spare. "You cannot change. You cannot see the truth because you don't want to!"

"I cannot see the truth because there is no definite truth. We mustn't go against everything we have made if there is but a shred of uncertainty!" he insisted, his eyes red.

Daphne pressed her lips together, her body shuddering from the effort to keep herself in control. She lifted her wand from her pocket and muttered, "Accio pouch,"

The small bag flew down from her room and into her hand. "Then take this to the Ministry. Give it to Lord Nott,"

She tossed it across the table and watched it slide on the polished oak. "What is this?"

"Theo," she coughed to relieve the lump in her throat. "Theo got it out of the castle. Said it was for his father, for the ministry,"

Her father picked up the pouch and inspected the contents that lay within it. "Merlin," he breathed, his eyes gone wide with a different form of shock.

"Don't talk to me," were Daphne's parting words.

She rushed to the top of the stairs and hesitated at her door, turning to stare down the long hallway to the shut entrance to Astoria's room. The hallway seemed to extend before her, a never-ending horror.

She looked away and entered her room, slamming the door behind her. Her arms were weak, her legs were thin, She pulled her shirt off over her head and cast it aside, inspecting her reflection absently.

Absently turned purposefully as she counted her ribs. Her collarbones shone through her skin grotesquely. She was a frightful sight.

She cursed under her breath, walking closer to the mirror and taking her hands into account now. She swore she could see her bones. It was horrifying. She was horrifying.

How had she let it get to this state? She always did. She'd always be stuck like this.

Her skin felt like it was on fire, sensitive to her clothes and the gentle breeze in the room. She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts but all she could think about was the pouch.

The pouch she'd just given to her father.

Why did she need it?

The muscles in her neck stuck out, her spine was visible.

She hated it.

She needed the pouch.

Her breasts were so small, they barely fit the cup of her bra.

Her brows furrowed and her shoulders shuddered on their own. She felt out of control, she felt wrong.

She needed the pouch - no.

The glass on her mirror shattered of its own accord.

She needed the diadem.

She wrenched her door open and ran down the stairs yet again. Horrible guilt pressed into her stomach, or what was left of it. Her hair flew behind her as she skidded into the sitting room. The flames roared green, and her father disappeared within the hearth.

"NO!" she bellowed. Half tempted to follow him.

That temptation faded, however. She stood there, quite confused at her manic state. Tears formed and slid down her face. She was going mad, surely. That must be what this is. She felt so tired.

Her chest heaved; her hair fell into her face. She crumpled to the floor; her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The ornate carvings were dizzying but... beautiful.

The diadem had made her feel beautiful.

---

Crouch paced in front of the fireplace. His shadow rested on the wall at the opposite end of the hall. His frustrations have only grown in recent weeks. The attacks on the international schools didn't matter to him, no, it was Hogwarts.

For one thing, they'd lost Umbridge. That failure paled in comparison to the outrage they now faced. The truth was that their Ministry hadn't ordered an attack on Hogwarts. The thought hadn't even crossed their minds. They'd never have committed such a crime.

Hogwarts was a valuable asset. A means to spread the truth and grow their supporters. Raise an army of people who would maintain their beliefs for generations to come.

"What's wrong Barty?" Bella's shrill voice whispered from behind him. "Caught another case of jealousy?"

Crouch sneered, his back turned to her. "I am not jealous of him. I am frustrated by my lack of control,"

"Lack of control?" she asked, he could hear her walking toward him. "I do love a man who knows his faults,"

He felt one of her long-nailed hands wrap around his shoulder, he could hear her breath and feel her air. "You've got some nerve lying to me, boy,"

Crouch made a low hum at the back of his throat. "Yes, care to discipline me?"

Bella cackled, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to face her. "You can tell me the truth, you know?"

"Why haven't you gone looking for your dear sisters?" Crouch countered; his eyebrow raised in defiance. "Andromeda the blood traitor and Narcissa the coward,"

Bella's face fell, her hooded eyelids narrowing. "Andi, well… I'm not entirely surprised," she covered her yawn with one of her hands, "Cissy, on the other hand… I don't know what to think,"

"And what about Malfoy?" Crouch asked, his voice lowering and his eyes darting to where Lucius stood, staring out one of the tall windows of the Riddle House. "Where has your precious nephew gone off to?"

"Cowards, cowards, cowards," Bella sang, running her fingers up and down Crouch's arm. "The lot of them. You, on the other hand… here you are. Wasted potential. Lying in wait for further instruction from a master you question your allegiance to, day by fickle day,"

Crouch pulled away from her. "I don't question any of my motives nor my allegiance. I question his,"

"You question the Dark Lord's goals, do you?" a new voice, Redolphus, asked, his questioning stance lit up by the fire as Bella moved away from Crouch.

Crouch stood his ground. "Yes, I do. I believe him to be far too preoccupied with the chamber girl, along with that boy,"

"Potter?" Redolphus asked, brows shooting to the top of his head. "Potter is long gone. Likely dead,"

"Don't be a fool," Lucius snapped, joining the conversation for the first time. "Potter isn't dead. Otherwise, the Dark Lord would've returned months ago. Instead, he comes, and he goes, he prepares for his ritual,"

"All of you, shut it," Crouch shouted, holding his arms out around him. "In his absence, who is in charge?"

"You, Barty," Bella confirmed with a wicked grin.

"That's right," Crouch nodded. "My opinions and doubts mean nothing. I will stay on track with our plans. The Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's loyal servants," he exhaled harshly. "If that means we have to stray from the Dark Lord's plans, then so be it. We know what we're fighting for, and if he loses sight of such a task, we'll remain to see it done. Understood?"

"Sure thing," Bella quipped, reclining in a beautiful armchair she'd all but destroyed.

"In charge, eh?" another man's voice broached. The Death Eaters standing in the room turned to the man.

Out of the gloom came Lord Greengrass. His hair unkempt, his robes a mess.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Bella shrieked, appalled by the man's appearance.

Greengrass momentarily ignored her and pressed on toward Lucius, Crouch, and Redolphus. "My daughter died, Bella. Read The Prophet for once in your life. I know you're in charge of it,"

"What brings you here?" Crouch asked, his wand drawn, though it remained pointed at the floor for now.

"Relax," Greengrass growled. "I come in neutrality, as always,"

Bella snorted, looking down at the man's exposed inner forearm. "Took the mark though, didn't you?"

Again, he ignored Bella. "You say you're in charge, yet The Dark Lord chose not you, but Lord Nott to handle an item as precious as this?" he raised a hand with a dangling silk pouch tied to his ring finger.

"What is that?" Crouch asked, pointing his wand at the pouch. "I wasn't told about any… mission,"

Greengrass looked around. Clearly revolted by Redolphus and Bella's appearance. "How about we take this somewhere… private,"

Crouch noticed his eyes lingering on Lucius. There was hatred there that brought Crouch to tighten his grip on his wand. "Whatever you have with you can be shown to me without the need for a private room,"

"Afraid I'll kill you, Barty?" Greengrass huffed. "Fine, but if The Dark Lord is disappointed with his precious little artifact being far more public than desired, you blame yourself, not me,"

He slid his fingers in the hole, and spread them apart, letting the drawstrings come up. He reached inside and withdrew a sparkling diadem. An enormous, and quite recognizable sapphire embedded as its centerpiece.

"Is that…" Crouch trailed off. He'd seen this very item thousands of times before. Every day climbing out of Ravenclaw Tower, he'd seen it.

Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.

Greengrass replaced it in the pouch and handed it to him. "Bring it to The Dark Lord. I know it's he who needs it, not the Ministry. You're lucky I caught it, by the way. Daphne would've held onto it for all I know,"

Then, with one last glance at Lucius, he left. Back into the shadows and followed by the sound of a door closing behind him.

"A tiara won't solve our disintegrating Ministry, unfortunately," Redolphus scowled, looking up at Crouch. "Why is it that The Dark Lord seeks these precious treasures when our government, our goals are falling apart at the seams,"

"Precisely my question, Redolphus," Crouch clenched his jaw and stuffed the silk pouch in his pocket. It stung through the cloth that separated them. There was something about the diadem that wasn't normal. "Do you see what I mean? He leads us into the gutter!"

"Watch your tongue! Insolent little brat," Lucius spat suddenly, his body shaking with pent-up rage. His eyelids fell and he took a deep, calming breath. "I have a solution to our little conundrum,"

"And what might that be, Lucius?" Bella asked, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him.

"Arthur Weasley," Lucius said, a smile broadening his sallow face. "The muggle-loving fool,"

"Your personal feuds have already cost The Dark Lord time and resources, or have you forgotten the creation of The Chamber Girl?"

Lucius twitched, his neck snapping. His shoulders shuddered as he failed to bring air into his lungs. "This isn't about that!"

"Then what is it about, you maddening fool?" Crouch demanded, taking a step toward the man. "Go on, use your words, Malfoy. Let's hear what brilliant plan you've come up with this time,"

Lucius shrunk back. His hatred for Crouch was palpable, but he didn't care. "That way… the attack did come from the Ministry. He loves the muggles, doesn't he? Let's say he works for our muggleborn… organization. Well, he took Ministry resources and… used them to his advantage. Attacking the school and murdering innocents to prove a point that the magical way, the pure-blooded way, has failed. That it must die,"

Crouch felt a smile begin to work its way up his face. "And if they ask why he'd attack a school occupied by his own children, well…" he laughed to himself. Old Lucius still had a few tricks up his sleeve after all. "A man driven to the brink by the death of his daughter… it works perfectly."

"Scamander's involvement can be chalked up to sheer coincidence," Redolphus offered, "It works. It actually works,"

Lucius did a little bow. "All the while dismantling the Weasley family once and for all,"

---

Dizzying, but beautiful.

Daphne couldn't sleep. Her eyes refused to close. She lay there for hours. The sun was setting when she finally caught her breath.

Her father hadn't returned.

"Good," she muttered to herself, spitefully. She held a ridiculous hope that he might return with the diadem.

Why did she care about it so much?

She'd given it away effortlessly, but now it dominated her mind.

There was something very strange about that diadem. And, either way, she didn't want him to come home.

Realizing that lying half-naked on the sitting room floor was rather inappropriate, she got to her feet and returned to her room, dawning a nightgown.

She sat on the floor, leaning her back against her bedframe. She thought of her father. Her mind was once again a great pool of negativity. The glass of her mirror had embedded itself in her feet, blood poured from her hands.

She couldn't get herself to care.

There was a loud rumble, like distant thunder, that rattled her windows and shook her to the core. Her eyes, which had been fluttering shut, burst open. She stood up, wincing at the pain in her feet, and hobbled to her great balcony windows. She shut them with great effort and tried not to collapse on the way back to her bed. She fumbled for her wand and began to extricate the shards of glass from her feet.

Her nightgown slid off her shoulders, and she again got a look at herself. This time in the reflection of her windows thanks to the difference in light from the setting sun outside, and her room.

She hated being as thin as she was. She knew it was unhealthy, but even at Hogwarts, she was practically skeletal.

Hogwarts.

Fire and death.

The rumble of thunder came again, this time it was closer.

She focused back on her feet and continued to remove the glass. She didn't cry, she didn't so much as flinch. Her breath came through as shallow rasps. Her voice was completely ruined after this morning's fight.

She never wanted to see him again. All she'd done all day was dwell on everything he'd ever done to her. Every subtle difference in treatment. Every desire of his she'd failed to meet.

She hated him.

At least, she wished she did.

Another deep rumble, followed by the creaking of a wrought iron gate.

Daphne's blood went cold, her heart caught in her chest, and she froze. Carefully, she rose to her feet and limped to the balcony doors that faced the gated entrance to the Greengrass estate.

A solitary figure was striding down the lane, towards her house. He had a flat cap shielding his face from view and a house elf on his shoulder. Then, there was a great whoosh from behind Daphne. She whirled around to face the sound and found a shining Patronus of indistinct shape.

"Daphne Greengrass. The man who approaches your home now is a friend. Your mission remains private, your dreams have been decoded. The time has come to act. Greet your friend."

Then, the whisp of magic vanished, and Daphne was left alone in the cold.

There was a knock on the door from below. It was loud and commanding, and Daphne felt fear creep up her spine. She reached for the shirt she'd discarded earlier and pulled it on.

The knock came again, harder this time.

She waited, holding her breath. They wouldn't know if she was in here, would they?

Another knock, longer and louder. It seemed to echo within the halls of the empty manor.

With her wand in a shaky hand, she tiptoed out of her room. The blood pouring from her feet left gruesome tracks on the hardwood floor.

Each step away from her bedroom felt like one closer to death. The pain in her feet combined with the fear and doubt of her mind was crippling. Her breath was silent, her vision was sharp.

The knock came yet again, and Daphne's bloody footprints tracked to the door until she was faced with the task itself.

Her palm sweated around her wand, and with a deep breath that very well could've been her last, she opened the heavy oak doors.

"Hello, Miss Greengrass," the man greeted with a welcoming smile. "May I come in?"

Daphne was much shorter than this man. She stepped aside and nodded meekly. The man strode in but didn't close the door behind him.

Daphne made to do it herself, but the man stopped her. "You'll be leaving shortly, so there really isn't much point in closing that."

"Oh," was Daphne's response. She noticed then that there was a case in the man's hand. Quite similar, in fact, to that of Newt Scamander. The savior of Hogwarts.

Daphne is not a courageous girl. She's quite reserved, and in many ways, timid. However, in this moment of uncertainty, she didn't really care. "Who's in that case?" she asked boldly.

The man smirked down at her. "You're quick," he said, bowing his head. He didn't waste much time in lowering the case to the ground and letting the clasps come undone on their own accord. "Do you not have any questions for me?" he asked.

Daphne shook her head. "You're the pawn," she crouched down and inspected the case. It wasn't opening. "Whether you're a pawn for Grindelwald or… whoever," she shot a cursory glance up at him. "You're not in charge,"

"Didn't think I'd be so obvious," the man said to the house elf on his shoulder, who chortled in turn. "I've been told that you're rather intelligent,"

"I can be,"

"And modest," the man shook his head with a small smile. "You remind me of my cousin,"

"And who's that?" Daphne asked, standing up and crossing her arms.

The man's eyebrows shot up momentarily. "Narcissa Black, of course,"

"Malfoy," Daphne corrected with a touch of anger.

"No longer, but that's…" the man waved it off. "Irrelevant. I need you to pack your things, and get in that case,"

"Why should I do that?"

The man wiped at his eyes. "Because the world as we know it is on the brink of collapse, and you're the most valuable asset in the country," he looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking about what he'd said. "Well, one of the two or three, in any case,"

Daphne gaped at him. "Who are you?"

"You won't believe me if I told you," the man said, that obnoxious smirk evident yet again.

"Try me," Daphne huffed, letting her heels fall to the floor painfully.

"Regulus Arcturus Black, at your service," he extended his hand, but Daphne did not take it.

Instead, she leaned into her hip and squinted up at him. "You're right, I don't believe you,"

Regulus gave no warning before he reached for her arm and forced her fingertips down on the pulse point of his wrist. She let out a short scream but was silenced by his look.

Where she ought to have felt a steady beating, there was nothing. In fact, his skin was quite cold.

"You're an inferius?" Daphne theorized; her body shuddered at the word.

Regulus withdrew his arm. "No, I'm afraid it's far more tragic than mere… dark magic. It's a long tale of regret and love… not something I intend to discuss with the likes of you,"

Daphne nodded curtly. "Where will you take me?"

"To my family home… there will be some people there you ought to meet," he knelt to the ground and knocked four times on the lid of the case, then one final fifth time after a short pause.

He stood tall again and waited. A small smile warmed his visage.

The lid lifted slightly and then was thrown open completely. The head and shoulders of a young man rose from within, and the relief that flooded through Daphne's hardened system was like the sun breaching through the storm.

"Ron!"

---

Arthur Weasley stared out his office window, eyeing the 'Magic is Might' monolith with disdain. Crowds stood around it. Their wands held above their heads along with great signs. The names of countless sons and daughters stared back at him through the glass.

Arthur didn't know what to think anymore. Naturally, he was aware of the Ministry's situation prior to the attacks. What he didn't understand was why. Though, he supposed that was everyone's question.

Why attack the education platform The Ministry themselves controlled? It didn't make any sense. Though, perhaps the validity of the attacks was given by the fact that it was not just Britain. It was everywhere.

Everywhere.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?"

Arthur turned to the voice and was relatively unsurprised to find his new boss, Lord Greengrass eyeing him. Greengrass wasn't all that bad, really. It bothered Arthur how difficult it was to hate the man.

"Yes," Arthur said quietly, throwing one last glance at the crowd. "How can I help you?"

Greengrass swallowed. His mouth fell open once or twice as though he was ready to speak, but after a few seconds of that, he turned and closed the door before sealing it and laying a silencing charm on the room.

"Do you know my position in this war?" he asked quietly.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and he flicked his wand at the curtains, suffocating his office of natural light. "Neutrality and Greengrass are synonymous, my Lord,"

"Don't call me that," Greengrass snapped, before taking a deep breath. "You acknowledge that we are at war?"

Arthur could've hit himself. How could he have been so stupid?

"Don't look all panicked I know who runs this Ministry," Greengrass shook his head dismissively. "And I know that you are one of many who is spearheading this… conflict,"

Arthur drew his chair and sat down, inviting Greengrass to do the same. "What are you here for, Greengrass?"

There was a long pause. The shouts from below were muffled by the silencing charm. It was an eerie quiet. Greengrass fidgeted in his lap, his eyes downcast. He again, started and stopped many times. "I had quite a troubled morning and... perhaps I'm acting rash but... before I get to that... How do you do it?"

"Sorry?"

Greengrass looked up, and his eyes were sad. "You've lost two children… how do you do it?"

Arthur was quite taken aback by this question. His mind reeled to countless memories of Charlie running through fields of grain. Climbing trees and telling tall tales of dragons he'd yet to see.

Of Ginny hiding from the wind. (It had quite bothered her.) Diaries, smiles, stories, and sneaky grins.

"I don't," Arthur confessed. He gestured to his face. "I am a hollow man, now. I'd have succumbed to my failures long ago had Molly not stuck by my side,"

Greengrass let out an actual sob, muted by his palm. Tears weld up in his eyes, but they did not fall. "All I have left is a daughter who despises me,"

"Despises?" Arthur asked, curious despite himself. "No. She could never despise you. She's angry with the world, the… the people who did this-"

"But it's I who's done it, isn't it?" Greengrass caught his breath, his nose red and his cheeks flushed. "I work in this Ministry. I… I am responsible-"

"Aren't we all?" Arthur interrupted. Greengrass gave him an odd look and Arthur was briefly reminded of how very irregular this whole interaction was. He quickly got back on track. "We, as their father… we will feel responsible for every hurt that comes to our children. To us, we are… great protectors!" Arthur scoffed at his own assessment. "To us… we are all failures. Because we're not always going to be there. Not in the same capacity as we could when they were young and untroubled. You work for the Ministry, it's true, but you didn't order catastrophe."

"It feels as though I did," Greengrass stared at his shaking hands. "There is blood on my hands, Weasley, and I cannot wash it off,"

Arthur looked at his own hands carefully. "You're right. It'll never come off. It'll stain and it'll remind you forever and ever," Arthur stood up and walked around to where Greengrass sat and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes, the very best thing you can do is be present."

Greengrass cupped his face in his hands.

"Be there now for…" Arthur racked his brains for the name, "Daphne. She needs you now more than she has in a very long time. You're her father you… you're a strong man…"Arthur cleared his throat. "A good man."

"I'm not," Greengrass said, quite confidently as he stood abruptly from his chair and faced Arthur properly. He raised his sleeve and showed Arthur the Dark Mark. It swirled and glistened in its darkness. The snake coiled around the skull sickeningly. "I am not a good man,"

Arthur stared at the mark, transfixed in its horrid beauty.

"I-I came here to warn you," Greengrass stuttered. "I overheard… the words of a man… Who I believed to be dead for a long time,"

Arthur continued to stare at the dark mark.

"Barty Crouch Junior is coming for you, Mr. Weasley,"

Arthur's head shot up. "When,"

"Now… forever… until Britain sinks below the waves. It's Malfoy's plan. They're going to frame you for the attacks on Hogwarts. From my understanding, they're going to work with other Ministries to single out an employee of each of their Ministries. They're throwing hundreds of people under the carriage, Mr. Weasley, and you're going to be the first."

Arthur's eyes grew unfocused before they straightened in on Greengrass's. "Why are you telling me this?"

Greengrass's breathing quickened. "Because there is a spark out there, Mr. Weasley. A spark that will light the fire that will burn all of this down,"

Arthur swallowed heavily.

"They cry for revolution in the streets…" Greengrass paused and there was a blaze behind his eyes. "And it's coming. So, Weasley, I come to you with information. A head start. I know you're deeply rooted within the Order of the Phoenix-"

"The Order is finished. Dumbledore's dead," Arthur interrupted solemnly. "There is no fight. Not anymore,"

Greengrass clasped hands with Arthur, shocking the latter. "Maybe not within you… but within the people… within my daughter… there is. It begins today. The Ministry will collapse, the war will begin, and You-Know-Who will fail."

He said it with such determination, with such vigor, that Arthur tightened his own hand around Greengrass's. "You have a plan, don't you?"

Greengrass's smile turned wistful. "Yes… I do," he fidgeted with something in his pocket. "Go home, Arthur. No one will be left by the end of the day."

Arthur frowned, relaxing his hand and taking a step back. The cogs turned in his head. He closed his eyes to think about all that Greengrass had said. Finally, he understood. "You're going to tear it all down."

"All of it," Greengrass confirmed. "The Department of Mysteries. The courtrooms. The cells, that bloody monolith… it's all coming down, and I'm going down with it."

Arthur took another step back, in arm's reach of his coat. He took it and wrapped it around himself, then he reached for his briefcase. "What do you need me to do?"

Greengrass locked eyes with Arthur. "Do what is right. Lie if you have to."

Arthur nodded and walked to the door. He faltered at the handle. "Don't go down with it."

"What?" Greengrass said, baffled. He faced away from Arthur, taking in the office.

"She needs you, as any child does. They'll never be ready to lose a father. Just as you'll never be ready to lose a child," Arthur was suddenly quite emotional, and he felt very old. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. "You have to be there,"

"For what?" Greengrass demanded, this sorrow in his voice was excruciating, and it drove a lump in Arthur's throat. "What will I be there for? To carry the burden of my guilt? To watch her leave and… hate me for the rest of…" he coughed and held his hair in his hands. "I can't do it, Weasley, I can't,"

"Be there for when she smiles again. Be there for her temper. Be there for her whit. Be there for her troubles. Be there to walk her down the aisle. Be there… Greengrass, so she can say you were there."

Greengrass collapsed back into his chair, his head in his hands, and cried.

Arthur swallowed and rested his hand on the handle again. "And be there for her. Not for your wife, not for Astoria… be there for Daphne,"

He turned the handle and left, closing the door behind him. He tried to look as inconspicuous as he could. Luckily, his floor had a fireplace, so he wouldn't have to weave through the crowds that were perhaps already beginning to blame him for what had happened to their children.

---

"It's beautiful," said Ron, taking in her room. The case he'd exited lay on the floor, a heap of clothes and photographs was now piled within it. Regulus was sitting on her bed, looking through a family photo album.

Daphne shrugged, never thinking much of her room. "It's fine. It isn't home though. Nowhere is."

Ron hummed, whether in agreement or understanding, she didn't know.

"We're distantly related," Regulus observed reading through the Greengrass family tree.

"That's not entirely surprising," said Ron, chuckling. "Every pureblood in England is related in some capacity,"

Daphne gave him a look, to which he responded, "What?"

It was wonderfully refreshing having Ron here. He appeared carefree though still serious. His hair was longer and his eyes sparkled with something Daphne couldn't pin.

She was tucking away a necklace that had once belonged to her mother when a sudden concern shadowed her. "How did you get through the wards?"

Regulus tossed the photo album aside and sighed. "I'm dead, therefore… I don't trip the wards."

Thunder rumbled in the distance yet again. The sun was very near the horizon, visible through the clouds by colour alone.

A bell chimed from the kitchen, and Daphne's near smile faded.

Her father was home.

"We have to go," she said, her mask of indifference set back into place.

"What is it?" Ron and Regulus asked together.

"My father," she shut the case and heaved it off the floor. Ron dutifully took it from her and carried it down the stairs. She waved her wand, conjuring wraps for her bloodied feet. She rushed to the backdoor and pulled on a pair of stylish, though practical, boots.

"Come on," she barked, striding towards the front entrance.

She wasn't quick enough. The door opened, and there stood her father. He seemed uplifted, and she hated him for it.

"Daphne!" he said, surprised by her appearance. She was wearing what she'd mentally deemed her adventure outfit. It consisted of tough materials that still made her look rather elegant. She wasn't a fool. Various belts were strapped to her back and waist. She was ready for whatever future awaited her.

"Hello," she greeted in return, coolly. Regulus and Ron stepped out of the shadows behind her. Her father took a step back.

"What's going on?" he asked, hesitantly.

"I'm leaving," she said, sighing slightly. The trepidation in her voice must've made itself known to him because he immediately dropped his bag and took a step toward her.

But Daphne was quicker. She stepped to the side and found herself closer to the door than him. Regulus and Ron followed.

"But-but why?" her father asked in complete confusion.

Daphne shook her head. "I don't owe you an explanation."

She turned to the door and swung them open, leading Regulus and Ron out onto the front step.

"Daphne, this… this is madness! Wait!" her father cried from behind her, but she kept walking.

Then, a hand wrapped around her wrist, and everything stopped. Ron and Regulus drew their wands, but Daphne gave them both a look to back down. "Go," she said. "I'll catch up."

With her wrist still clasped in her father's left hand, she turned to face him. Thunder rumbled yet again, and the light sprinkling of the beginnings of rain fell. "This is my life,"

"I know that," her father cut in.

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME!" she bellowed, her voice cracking. "I am a part of something bigger-"

"Don't be foolish, Daphne-"

"WHAT DID I SAY?"

Her father shut his mouth and waited.

"I don't need you. I haven't since mum… I haven't for a long time," she took a deep breath as the rain fell harder. Her hair grew heavy, sticking to the side of her head. "And I know for a fact, that I will never forgive… I will never forget… I will never need you again,"

Her father's face broke. His lip quivered and his jaw shook. He was on the verge of weeping. "My whole life, I have done everything in my power-"

"You've done nothing but wish for me to be someone I'm not," Daphne interrupted. "You've done nothing but shepherd me into this… this shape of a woman you lost years ago. I'm not my mother!" Daphne began to cry now. "I'm not your wife!"

Lightning struck somewhere far off, it flashed in the sky and their silence waited for its thunder.

"I'm… I'm me, and I'm sick of being so… lost and confused and-"

Her father moved his hands to her shoulders, and his eyes bored into hers. "I know, and I'm sorry, and it won't… it won't ever happen again. You're you, and that's… a beautiful thing,"

"You don't want me, though," Daphne interjected. She felt like a little girl complaining about a minor inconvenience. "You don't want who I am, you don't know who I am. Dad… I don't even know who I am,"

"Then we can… we can discover who you are… we can… together, as a family," he insisted, but Daphne shook her head.

"Our family is dead," she said, the pounding rain nearly drowned out her words. "I don't need you,"

Her father's chest heaved, and he nodded, seemingly accepting his fate. "But I need you,"

It was the way he said it. Daphne couldn't bear to look at him anymore. She stepped back, taking one step down and away from everything she'd ever been.

"One day… you'll be proud of me," he said, his voice shaking.

"I won't hold my breath," she said, and then she turned away. The rain fell, soaking her clothes and her hair. Lightning burst through the sky, guiding her path to the end of the lane, where Ron and Regulus stood together.

She reached them and wiped her eyes. "Let's go,"

Regulus offered his arm, and the two teens took hold. Turning on the spot, they vanished.

---

They arrived at the grimy, though technically clean, entrance of Grimmauld Place. Ron let go of Regulus's arm. He didn't take kindly to the man, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

Harry and Ginny were out there, and Regulus had the means to save them. At least, that's what he'd said.

Ron was pretty sure Regulus had been a Death Eater, but the dark mark wasn't anywhere on his arm, at least, not actively. So, he'd, perhaps foolishly, trusted him.

Ron looked at Daphne, who stared at the floor without feeling.

Regulus was walking away from them, and Ron was keen to follow. "Daphne?" he said, quietly. "We should follow him,"

Daphne nodded, looked up at him, and nodded again.

Side by side, they made their way down the hall. The light coming from the basement kitchen was frustratingly murky. Regulus stood in the doorway, framed by the light. "Ready?" he asked.

Ron, truthfully, wasn't. But Daphne nodded to his right, so he did the same.

Regulus gave them a knowing smile and stepped down into the kitchen. Ron physically recoiled at the sight before him.

His brother, Bill, stood solemnly in one corner. Next to him was Aberforth, Percy, Severus Snape, a woman shrouded in the corner, and Grindelwald, who sat at the head of the table.

Daphne entered the room, but Ron remained frozen on the step. Then, breaking him out of his stupor, a mass of bushy brown hair blocked his vision, and he was immediately wrapped in the tightest hug of his life.

She smelled the same. Of parchment, ink, and citrus. A rush of memories flashed before him, and he felt the emotion well up in his throat.

How he'd missed her.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "Hermione," he breathed.

He felt her tears on the side of his face, and her breath tickled his neck when she whispered his own name. Her voice was like something out of a dream.

He pulled away and took her in. She cried prettily, he realized. "You look great,"

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You look tired,"

Ron sighed and nodded; his arms still relaxed around Hermione's waist. "A lot's happened."

"Correct," Grindelwald interrupted, raising an eyebrow at Ron and Hermione. "And a lot is about to happen."

It was then that Ron noticed the woman standing in the corner was, in fact, his mother. Who smiled knowingly at him. It looked good on her. He couldn't recall the last time she'd smiled.

"Do you know why the two of you are here?" Grindelwald asked, gesturing to Ron and Daphne.

"Yes," they said together.

"Good, that makes it easier to explain to the rest," Grindelwald sighed and arched his back. "Where to begin,"

Daphne spoke over him, however. "Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are trapped within dreams. Dreams are located on a great clock, ruled over by Death. The only way to get onto this clock is to die, or to break free of your own dreams, and walk the clock itself."

Grindelwald nodded toward her, and in turn, looked to Regulus. "Regulus here has some… more information,"

Regulus stepped into the light and looked everyone over. "They're in a single dream... together. Makes things easier for us. I was with them, actually, when they entered the dream."

"When," Bill asked curtly.

"August 11th," Regulus replied. "Riddle hid his… trinket within the Peverell Chamber… Me, Ginny, and Potter went to collect it,"

"That's when Grindelwald last saw them," Percy interjected. "You must've seen Regulus,"

Grindelwald nodded.

"Why were you, Ginny, and Harry together? Did you help them escape from wherever You-Know-Who had kept them?" Molly asked.

Regulus shook his head. "They had gone looking for a cave… an old and significant spot for Riddle. It's where I had gone and… well, it's where I'd died."

"Except you aren't dead," Aberforth said suspiciously.

"I can assure you that I am," Regulus said tiredly. "I have spent the last few days convincing most of you, I'm not going to repeat myself,"

"Where's Sirius," Ron asked. A question that hadn't exactly been on his mind until then.

"That is none of your concern, Weasley," said Snape, speaking up for the first time.

Ron truly hated that man. He settled for a grim look and turned back to Regulus.

"Now, if everyone is done questioning, I will continue my tale." No one interrupted him, and with a readying breath, Regulus began.

"After speaking with Grindelwald, most of which I didn't understand, we were left with an enchanted goblet. Something rather… dark. I am an expert in such relics, so I knew how to destroy them. To say the very least, Riddle has created many of these objects, and they are keeping him alive,"

Bill straightened up at that, biting his finger.

"They must be destroyed, but they are incredibly tough. Tough and cunning. They play tricks on your mind… make you think things and… do things you wouldn't otherwise do,"

Daphne frowned then.

"We had to use the object in its intended purpose to get inside of it and… tear it apart from within. I didn't know what it would do. I had no idea. So, we filled the goblet with water, and we each drank from it,"

"That was bafflingly stupid," Aberforth grunted.

"You know, Aberforth, we don't actually need you here. There's a reason we didn't invite Alastor. If you're going to behave like him, you can leave," said Snape snidely.

Aberforth grumbled but stayed quiet.

"We drank from it, and each of us was put into an enchanted sleep. I woke on a ship floating along the rim of a great eye. Naturally, I concluded that I was dreaming. Of course, this was when Ginny jumped into the eye, and Harry followed. Even though I had made myself quite clear about the fact that they should stay on the ship. Well, maybe I was wrong because when I woke up, three months had passed, and it was snowing,"

"What about the cup? What about Harry and Ginny?" Bill asked worriedly.

"All gone. Well, not all." Regulus reached within his pocket and withdrew the crumpled remains of a golden cup. "I hadn't seen it when I first woke. I was rather panicked, see. But it was there, and it's destroyed."

Bill gestured for Regulus to hand it to him. He obeyed.

Bill ran his wand over it, muttering to himself. "It's finished," he confirmed.

"What does this mean for Harry and Ginny?" Molly asked, stepping up to the table and laying her hands down flat.

"Well," Grindelwald began, rising from the table and brushing Regulus aside. "It means they are, truly, going to die. Right now, they're stuck inside this dream but… the dream doesn't have an anchor anymore. What once lived within this cup is destroyed. Vanquished. Understand that it is not dead, either. Things like these don't get the gift of death."

Ron didn't see how this was an important distinction.

"Now, with some rather simplistic mathematics, it's easy to determine that they have… roughly… two days to be drawn from this dream. Once that goes by, they will disappear forever. Just like what once lived within this goblet, they will not die either. They will cease to be entirely."

"No afterlife? No… no nothing?" Molly asked desperately.

"Nothing. They would simply end." Grindelwald sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is important to understand is that when you dream, you have little control over how much time passes. Time will either pass slower, much faster, or just… faster. Hell, sometimes it matches the time in the waking world to a tee. The trouble is that we don't know how much time we have to rescue them. They have two days but… when you go into that dream to rescue them… you may have minutes at best."

Ron's head hurt. "I don't… I don't understand,"

Hermione and Daphne turned to Ron, and both seemed to start speaking at once. They looked at each other, pointed to the other, and muttered, "No you go," or "No really, it's okay,"

Eventually, the pair settled on Hermione to explain. "He means that we have no control, nor ability to predict how long we have to save Harry and Ginny once you're in the dream,"

"Quite correct," said Grindelwald, nodding to Hermione. "The second your feet touch Death's domain, you're on the clock, both figuratively and…" he scoffed, "literally,"

"So, we could get there and… we'd have thirty seconds?" Ron asked. He felt sick. "Hypothetically?"

"That is entirely possible. All that we can do is hope that you have more than thirty seconds," said Grindelwald consolingly.

The weight in Ron's stomach was quite heavy. The task that lay before him was beyond daunting, and he wasn't ready.

"We have to go tonight," he said, under his breath. "We can't waste any more time,"

"Ron… you don't even know how to get there!" Daphne cried. "You'd be improvising and… it won't work,"

"Right, but it could," said Ron with a confidence he didn't harbour. "It took you months to break out of the shattered sky, right?"

Daphne nodded.

"Right, well, we haven't got months. No matter when we do it, it's a gamble," Ron cracked his knuckles. "I'm ready to go now,"

Grindelwald beamed. "Excellent,"

"No!" Molly shouted. "He isn't ready! None of them are! Can't anyone else do it?"

"Well, I could," said Grindelwald, his eyebrows rising. "But I'm not exactly popular with death. Besides, Daphne here has a far greater affinity with the whole ordeal,"

It was Daphne's turn to recoil in disbelief. "You're the one who visited me in my dreams… who put visions in Ron's mind… you're stronger with it,"

"Stronger, yes," Grindelwald conceded. "But with time you'll outshine me, it's in the stars, Miss Greengrass. Your future is in your hands now,"

Daphne frowned, biting down on her cheeks.

"So why don't you do something with it," Grindelwald finished with a sparkle in his eye.

There was a long pause, and everyone stared at Daphne. "Tonight," she muttered, finally. "We'll go tonight,"

Grindelwald's smile was genuine as he stepped away from Ron, Hermione, and Daphne. "And there you have it, our three… saviors,"

"Three?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you'll be going," Grindelwald confirmed, sitting back in his chair.

Hermione seemed ready to dispute, but she remained silent. Nodding silently and breathing deeply.

Snape stepped forward and from within his cloak, drew three shining vials of blue potion.

"These aren't poison, are they?" Ron asked, half-joking.

Snape smirked. "Drink it and we should find out rather quickly."

Ron took the three vials, wishing desperately to tell his old professor to fuck right off, and brought them over to Hermione and Daphne.

"Okay, hang on," said Ron, turning to face the rest of the adults in the room. "Why are you sending three inexperienced witches and wizards into the void to face death alone and rescue two people far more powerful than the three of us could ever dream to become?"

"I reckon he thinks it's funny," said a voice.

"Or he just wants to get rid of you nice and easy. Get the stench out the room, you know?" said another.

"It's not that he smells, Fred, it's his frightful haircut," said the first voice sadly. "A sight for sore eyes, if I do say so myself,"

"No haircut can fix that shade of red though, can it?" said the other.

"You've got a point there, Fred. You've got a point there,"

"Where have you two been?" Molly asked, her face flushing red.

"Out and about," said George, striding into the room with a smile and a curious glance at Snape.

"Out and about? What could possibly be more important than this?" Molly huffed.

"Maths, mum. Maths," said Fred, his face uncharacteristically grave. "Your math is wrong,"

Snape squinted down at the twins. "How so?"

"The amount of time passed in the dream versus how much time has passed in the waking world. I'm telling you… Harry and Ginny don't have two days," George explained.

"Then how much time do they have?" Ron asked.

"Five hours," Fred announced to a silent room. "And it's running faster for them,"

---

Arthur sat down on the rickety stool he'd been sitting on for the better part of thirty years. He'd moved it to this... remote location upon returning from work. His eyes were set on the Wizarding Wireless in front of him. In fact, this was more than your average wireless. It was a pensive radio. A cunning invention that had taken off all around the world. Luckily, it broadcasted to all wireless radios, no matter the model. Everyone would hear his broadcast.

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur was not a bad wizard. He'd been one of the many who had helped develop the modern wizarding wireless network. Few had wanted to work with muggle-related crafts. He hadn't been paid for any of his work, of course. Even though, in retrospect, he should've been rewarded highly for all that he did.

He sighed, pushing those ill sentiments out and away from his mind. Bitterness was not what he needed right now. At least, not yet.

As he'd practically developed the system these signals ran on, he knew how to break them. He knew how to broadcast a message to every wireless on the planet. Unfortunately, he didn't have the magic, nor eklectricity to power such a broadcast. He could reach continental Europe, the rest of the U.K., Ireland, and North America. Beyond that was a rather fruitless endeavor, unfortunately.

He groaned as the pain in his back spiked yet again. Merlin he'd had a long life, yet it wasn't nearly enough. He was well aware that what he was about to do may very well kill him. So long as his family stayed away, he felt safe in his self-assurance. The sun was touching the horizon now.

He looked down at the script he'd written, and bit down on his pipe. Something he hadn't done in quite some time. He let out a small puff, fidgeting with the end of the thing before finally, he reached forward, and turned on the two broadcasting stations.

---

Hermione sat with her back to Ron and Daphne, who paced furiously in front of the three beds that had been set up. She played with the cork on the potion vial nervously. Ron came over and sat beside her.

"What have you been up to?" he asked. She could tell that he was nervous too, which comforted her slightly. It was times like these that she really missed Harry. His determination and courage.

She shrugged at Ron's question. "Training with Grindelwald… Snape… Alyssa as well,"

Hermione noticed Ron's brows knit together, but he didn't say anything.

"You should come," she offered, quietly. "You, Daphne… Harry and Ginny if we succeed,"

"When," Ron corrected, forcefully. "When we succeed."

Hermione nodded morosely. "It's really nice in Paris and… everyone is very kind and talented and… I really believe in what we're doing,"

"I'm glad," said Ron, he didn't seem to be listening. Or maybe he was and he was just thinking about what she'd said. "Is everyone else there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," he gestured vaguely. "Colin, Dean.. you know,"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, they're… all there. They're happy. We're all happy… you should come,"

Ron straightened up. "I'll think about it," he looked down at this watch. If Fred and George were to be believed, (Which Ron felt they were), Harry and Ginny had four hours left. "It's time,"

He rose from the bed, and Hermione followed suit. Its springs groaned in their absence.

"Daphne?" Ron asked, and he walked toward her. Hermione watched the way they acted around each other. It was distracting to her, and she couldn't explain why. There was just this silent understanding between the two. As far as she knew, Ron and Daphne hadn't talked once since the attacks on Hogwarts, yet they had fallen right back into stride.

Hermione felt like there was a barrier between her and Ron. It made things rather uncomfortable and, truth be told, it upset Hermione very much.

Ron's hand rested on Daphne's shoulder as they whispered to each other. Daphne's eyes shone with unshed tears, but Ron made her smile. Her laugh was cute, and her hair was blonde and altogether it was just… well, upsetting.

She couldn't help but think of her and Ron's last interaction while watching him talk to Daphne.

He'd kissed her. He'd initiated it. She'd thought of it so much since the summer.

Now it felt tainted somehow.

She looked away from the pair and tried to find something else to occupy her mind. Fingering the potion cork was all that came to mind.

"Alright," said Ron, bringing Hermione's attention back to the task at hand. "Are we actually going to use these beds or…"

"Please do," said Mrs. Weasley, bustling into the room. "Ron your mattress is a little firmer, it's the middle one. I know how you like your sleep so, you know,"

"Mum," Ron sighed. Hermione shared a look with Daphne, who seemed to struggle at hiding her enjoyment of Ron's embarrassment.

The three of them dutifully got into bed, Ron taking his place on the middle, firmer bed.

"You all know how to do this, right?" Daphne asked for the hundredth time in the last hour.

"Go over it again, please," said Hermione, because she knew she'd feel more comfortable with just one more explanation.

"You have to know you're in a dream, and then you have to acknowledge it. You can't follow where the dream is going. You essentially have to wake up without waking up. Luckily, Snape's potion already makes sure we're lucid. So, all you have to do is fight the dream's pull and then keep telling yourself you're dreaming all through the shattered sky. You'll know where, when, and how to break free from there. It should be like a giant… crack in your surroundings. A rift, so to speak. Go through it and then… well, we can try and find each other."

There was a knock on the door, and they all turned to find Regulus had come in. "I think I found something that'll help you find your friends," he came to them and withdrew a long silver chain. On the end of the chain was a locket with an ornate 'S' formed out of emeralds. "Wherever they are will feel like this," he dropped the locket into Ron's hand first. He shuddered at the contact.

Ron turned it over in his hands and then handed it to Hermione, who spent a little more time with it.

She knew immediately that it was cursed with something vile. It made her feel incredibly… stupid. She had never doubted herself more than in those few seconds holding that locket.

She tossed it to Daphne, who caught it awkwardly and seemed to memorize the sensation just as Hermione had.

Regulus offered his hand in silent request, and Daphne handed the locket back to him. "The dream they're trapped in should feel very similar to that. Do you understand?"

"We understand," they said together.

"Good," Regulus tucked the locket back into his pocket. "I wish you luck, and…" he looked at the door and leaned in. "A lot of people are counting on you. Ginny and Harry are very important to… everything. But I ask this of you three," his eyes lingered on Hermione. "Fight for them, not for Grindelwald or… or your mother," he pointed to Ron. "I want you to save them because they're your friends. Because you love them, and you know they'd do the same for you,"

Ron nodded mutely, as did Hermione and Daphne after a short while.

"Good," said Regulus again. "See you in four hours,"

"Guess so," said Ron worriedly. "Anything else we should know?"

Regulus halted at the door; Mrs. Weasley stood just outside it. He spoke over his shoulder and said, "If you stay there too long, you'll end too,"

And then he left.

"Real comforting," said Ron sarcastically, but the blood had drained from his face. He popped the cork from his vial, and Hermione almost asked why he was rushing.

She came to the conclusion that that was an incredibly pointless question.

"Bottoms up," he said, and he and Daphne both downed the potion in one go. They both fell asleep immediately.

Hermione took the cork off her vial and let out a long breath. Then, she took it, letting the warm liquid slip down her throat uncomfortably.

Then, everything went dark.

---

"YOU'RE NOTHING."

Ron's eyes snapped open. He was lying in a field, but he was awake. At least, he felt as though he was. He slowly stood up and realized that the grassy patch he found himself in was surrounded by snow. Across the field he could see someone standing, waving with winter gear on the ground around them. The person had black hair and glasses. Ron's heart leapt and he began to make his way toward to man.

It was Harry. Surely it was Harry! He was roughly the right height. His hair was shorter, but that was to be expected. Plenty of time had gone by, and it was entirely possible that he'd had a haircut since then.

Wasn't he supposed to fight the dream? A voice at the back of Ron's head told him. He faltered in the snow and stood still for a moment.

But what if it really was Harry? They looked the same. They waved the same. It must've been him.

But this was supposed to be a dream.

And besides, Harry didn't wear glasses anymore.

Ron took a deep breath, at least, he thought he did, and closed his eyes.

"I'm dreaming," he said to himself. "I'm dreaming, and I know it,"

"ARE YOU?" a deep voice shouted from behind him. Ron jumped, nearly screamed like a little girl, and fell to the ground, snow covering his exposed forearms. It was bitterly cold, but he didn't care. Behind him – now in front of him – was a large figure built up of used items. Pans, old floorboards. Curtains and glass panes. The creature towered over him.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF MAGIC. NEARLY A SQUIB, SO I'M TOLD." The thing bellowed. "WHY ISN'T IT TIME WE GOT RID OF YOUNG, PATHETIC, RONALD WEASLEY."

Ron let out a whimper, crawling further backward.

"LEAST LOVED BY YOUR MOTHER WHO CRAVED A DAUGHTER. THE BOY WHO COULDN'T. THE BOY WHO WANTED SO DESPERATELY TO BE FAMOUS. RICH. POWERFUL." The hodgepodge leaned forward, its giant hand patting Ron's head mockingly. "BUT IN REALITY, YOU'RE NOTHING."

The thing backed off, letting out a colossal roar. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK? I THINK YOU'RE DOING THIS FOR YOUR MOTHER. TO IMPRESS HER. TO IMPRESS YOUR FATHER, AND YOUR FRIENDS. YOU WANT HARRY TO OWE YOU. DON'T YOU?"

"Shut up," said Ron. His voice was so quiet. He couldn't shout. He could barely speak. What was happening to him?

"ADMIT IT. YOU'RE ONLY DOING THIS FOR YOURSELF. YOU SELFISH, INCONSIDERATE, INSUFFERABLE, INSECURE CHILD! YOU HAVE NO WORTH. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME, YOU ARE NOTHING TO YOURSELF, YOU ARE NOTHING TO YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY! YOU HAVE NO ONE, YOU HAVE NOTHING, AND YOU WILL FOREVER CHASE SOMETHING, BUT NOTHING GETS NOTHING. YOU ARE NOTHING, RONALD WEASLEY."

"SHUT UP!" Ron roared. There were no tears in his eyes now. No meek whimpers. He was angry. "You don't know me. You're just… a manifestation of… who I could've been… maybe. Used rubbish… you're… You're nothing."

The thing sneered; its teeth made of chairs chattered.

"You're a figment of my imagination. I OWN YOU!" said Ron proudly.

"YET YOU FEAR ME!" the thing shouted, and it dove for Ron.

But Ron didn't run. "I do," he whispered. He stood his ground, and the thing passed right through him, and along with it, the entire snowy glade. Ron was left enveloped in darkness.

Ron got to his feet. He could see himself just fine, illuminated by a light source that failed to make itself known.

Then, faint whispers shot around his head. Little lights, like stars, swirled around his ears. They drew upon nostalgia, it was odd. He couldn't quite remember the things being said, or the brief memories he received, but he knew they belonged to him.

"A vast expanse of distant thoughts and forgotten memories," Daphne had said.

"The shattered sky," he uttered aloud. "I'm dreaming," he said yet again. His heart rate quickened, and he began to walk forward.

"I'm dreaming, and I know what this is. I'm dreaming, and I know who I am," he repeated over and over. The mantra magnified his understanding of the memories presenting themselves to him.

He was five, playing with Ginny. She'd cut her hand on a rock.

He was eleven, and he and Harry were doing homework.

He was seven, and he wondered how planes flew if they were indeed made of metal.

As he walked, he gained a greater understanding of himself, his past, his fears, his regrets, his ambition, and his joy. Each step was a new experience.

"I know I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming, and I know who I am," he paused, "Better than ever,"

He didn't like who he was, but that wasn't because of him but rather how he thought others saw him. He cared so much about what others thought of him that it ended up impacting his own self-image. He was smart, just not Hermione smart. He was powerful, just not Ginny or Harry powerful. But why was he comparing himself in the first place? He was smart. He was powerful. He was clever. He was funny. He was brave. He was loyal.

It was strange, knowing all of this yet never accepting it.

He may not love himself, but it would come with time. As the years would pass by, he would grow. He would change. In the last four months alone, he'd changed so much that he barely recognized the man who now looked at him in the mirror.

He was strong, physically and magically. Why would he feel unwanted when his friends cared about him as much as they did?

He was a good man.

But he could always be better, and there was nothing wrong with that.

But he wasn't here for himself. He was here for his best friend. He was here for his sister.

He was dreaming.

The sound of water rushing through a great canyon made him turn around. There, in the inky blackness yet still somehow bursting colour of the shattered sky, was a large white tear. Light shone through it, and Ron made a run for it. He practically shouted his mantra.

"I'm dreaming, and I know what this is. I'm dreaming, and I know who I am," over and over it went, each step became harder than the last, but he'd do anything to make it there.

Then, gravity seemed to give way, and he went careening into the fissure in space. The air on the other side was far colder, though somehow, more comforting than the shattered sky. He landed hard on a rocky surface and wheezed for a moment.

He could hear water pouring nearby. It echoed wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it made him feel very… odd.

Warm hands wrapped around his shoulders and rolled him over.

He scrambled to his feet and out of reach of the other hands. He blinked blearily at the person in question and was relieved to see Daphne.

"Merlin's balls," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was… very hard,"

Daphne nodded slowly.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked worriedly.

Daphne shook her head, a strange smile sat there. "It was just… easier this time,"

Ron smiled in return. "Good… that's… that's good."

"What's your favourite colour?" she asked suddenly.

Ron looked at her confusedly. "Why?"

"Security question,"

"I don't think I've ever told you, so how would that work?"

Daphne huffed. "Because if you were Death disguised as Ron, you would be able to read my mind so… tell me something I haven't heard and if it stays consistent throughout this… quest, then there we have it. It's the best I can do."

"It's orange, then. But now death knows that too. Doesn't she? I've told you,"

Daphne shrugged. "Right, but I have a sneaking suspicion that because while we're here, we're technically dead, our memories stop collecting once we're out of the shattered sky. So, everything you tell me from here on out doesn't exist in my mind yet. Not until I wake up, of course,"

Ron smiled at her. "That's really smart,"

Daphne shrugged again. "Any idea where Hermione is?"

"No. How did you find me?" Ron asked, realizing again that he hadn't a clue how any of this worked.

"You just popped out near me, so… I suppose that's that," Daphne rubbed the side of her forehead, wincing at the pain.

"Are you okay?" Ron took a step closer and ran a concerned look over her.

She stepped away from him and shook her head. "I'm fine,"

It was strange behaviour, even from such a strange girl. "Alright,"

Ron stood there for many moments. To be quite honest, he didn't know how to explain the way time felt here. It wasn't really there, yet he was aware it was passing. Another odd thing was how he couldn't breathe. Of course, he didn't have to breathe either. It was all rather surreal.

Time passed, however, and eventually, Ron couldn't fight the urge. He turned on the spot to face what awaited them.

A great clock made up of rocks, waterfalls, and trees lay before him. All woven together like a beautiful floating tapestry in a sky of strange, unfamiliar stars.

The sky was beyond comprehension. They were not stars, but instead, a crude imitation of them. For wherever they were was not within the realm to which stars belonged.

Perhaps Death had made it so as an aesthetic choice.

The clock was a gaping pit of bright lights and unknown colours. Hundreds of millions of balls of light sat at the bottom, slowly accumulating.

Right before him, however, was a long bridge. Ron, of course, knew it was actually a hand. It could move at any time. The clock's hand led to a great pillar of darkness. The opening of the spire was triangular. Ron's uninformed speculation had been correct. At least partially.

There was a heavy sound. Nothing in the waking world could match it. It was the sound of enormous metal gears grinding up against each other. Of clockwork happening before their very eyes. Then, quite suddenly. The bridge, or clock hand, moved. Its entire length dragged along the rock, knocking some pieces off, and creating a dizzying array of sparks. It filled Ron with dread as he watched time physically slip away from them. The hand continued to move quite a ways before it finally, and rather abruptly, ground to a halt.

Ron and Daphne didn't know what to do. They stood and waited until suddenly, near where the hand had stopped, the air rippled and out dropped Hermione. Her colossal mass of hair fell with her. Ron and Daphne ran towards her, their shoes echoing on the stone.

Ron didn't like how loud everything was.

They got to Hermione and helped her to her feet. "How long have you been here?" she asked worriedly.

Ron was ready to say that he didn't know, but Daphne spoke first. "Too long,"

Hermione nodded urgently and eyed the surroundings. "This is spectacular,"

Ron found her open-mouthed curiosity rather intoxicating and watched her rake her eyes over everything visible to the naked eye.

"I find it grim," said Daphne, shutting Hermione down and bringing Ron back to reality. Or, wherever they were. "And I'm pretty sure we've already lost an hour," she pointed at the clock hand.

"You think that's what it means?" Hermione's eyes were wide.

Daphne nodded. "Let's go,"

"Go where?" Ron asked, frustration bubbling up to replace any hope he'd been holding onto.

Daphne shook her head and took a step onto the clock hand. She tested her weight before taking another step.

"You're insane," Ron muttered, more to himself than anything.

"I'm brilliant," she replied, straight-faced and determined as she walked toward the spire at the center of the clock.

Hermione and Ron followed. The clock hand was wide enough to make sure that Ron didn't have to rely too heavily on his balancing capabilities. He kept his eyes fixed on Hermione's back, making sure to never look down. If he did, he feared he'd fall. Drawn in by the colours and wanderings of other souls. Were they the dead? Or were they the dreaming?

Perhaps they were both.

Perhaps they weren't so different.

It took forever. At least, that's what it felt like, but finally, Daphne touched solid ground, as did Hermione, with Ron bringing up the rear. The crossing was complete, now, what lay before them was a complete mystery.

They stepped through the large triangular gateway that had shifted alongside the clock's hand. It was unbearably bright, but once their eyes adjusted, they took in a large center console. That was Ron's assumption, in any case.

It was a large ring. It pulsated and shuddered occasionally, but for the most part, it seemed stable. The trio walked towards it warily, their wands were nowhere on their person.

They had no power here.

Daphne came to a stop, holding her arms out to slow Ron and Hermione. "I think we need to make something very clear," she said, turning to face them. "We don't have much time, and we can't go around wasting it making decisions. We can't think, just do, okay?"

Ron nodded, but Hermione had a bit more trouble agreeing to the terms. "We're in a place few, if any, have ever visited, much less understand. We can't go about making mistakes because I hate to break it to you, but that'll end up killing them too,"

Ron shook his head, and held up his arms between the two girls, preventing any oncoming argument. "Hermione, you said it yourself. No one understands this place. What good is thinking about stuff we don't understand?"

Hermione swallowed, her brown eyes wreaked of doubt, but she nodded. "Fine, but please don't end up dead,"

"Can't die if you're already dead, can you?" said Ron, lifting Hermione's fingers to her own pressure point to feel the total lack of a pulse.

Hermione frowned. "That's odd,"

"Everything here is odd," said Ron disgruntledly. He turned to the pulsing ring and reached to touch it, but Daphne stopped him.

"Not you," she said firmly. "There's a reason there are three of us. Harry and Ginny don't know me. They need to see you and Hermione. They'll trust you,"

Ron turned to Hermione for confirmation, and she seemed to be on the same page as Daphne. "It makes sense, Ron."

Ron nodded, stepping away from the ring. Daphne approached it in his place, her arms shook as she reached for it. Finally, she wrapped her hands around either side of the ring firmly, like driving a muggle car.

Immediately, her body began to shake. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, and her hair lifted above her head. Had Ron not known any better, he'd have assumed she was standing on the ceiling upside down.

"Daphne?" Ron shouted, panic overriding his body. "Daphne, can you hear me?"

Her lips quivered but, with an insane amount of effort, she said, "Yes,"

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, relief flooding through him to join his panic.

Daphne nodded very slowly; her eyes still wide.

Then, the room shook. The tremors left Ron on his knees, he could feel the room turning, and the clock hand along with it. "Shit!" he cried, horrified at how fast time seemed to be evading them.

"I… was… right…" Daphne said, struggling with every word. "It's… hours… disappearing…"

"No," Ron breathed. That meant that they only had one more hour left. They were already wasting it. "Daphne! How do we find them? How do we find Harry and Ginny?"

Hermione was rising from the floor, panic evident in her features as well.

Daphne was breathing very heavily now. "The… Dead… are in… pit… Harry… Ginevra… part… of the… stars…"

"The stars!" Ron cried, feigning understanding as he ran toward the exit in search of a view of the false sky.

"Call… Them…" Daphne finished before her eyes rolled up to the back of her head.

Ron's instinct was to help her, but he had to find Harry and Ginny.

Time is ticking.

"Come on Hermione! Go! Go!" Ron cried, running out of the spire and onto the clock hand. He didn't have anything to draw his attention now, and his eyes went straight down.

The glowing pit of the clock; full of dead souls.

Charlie would be in there, as would his uncles, and so many others.

Ron shook his head, nearly losing his balance in the process. Why couldn't he run faster? He couldn't get tired here, he was just an idea here.

Pushing himself like never before, he pounded his legs down onto the clock hand, his eyes firmly set on its tip.

Finally, he made it, slamming to the ground in an effort to stop him from falling off the edge of the clock. Hermione did the same a few moments after him.

"How do we call them?" Hermione asked anxiously as she tied her hair up behind her.

Ron patted himself off. "I don't know."

He didn't have time to not know. He had to come up with something fast.

"Harry! Ginny!" he shouted into the sky.

Nothing happened.

"Harry James Potter, Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Hermione tried, her voice cracking from the effort of her wails. "Can you hear us?"

The lack of answers was crushing. Ron felt tears pressing against the back of his eyes, and his vision blurred. "No, not now," he cried, slapping the side of his face roughly.

"I know I judged you too harshly, I know I wasn't fair," Hermione began, her voice unsteady as she too fought with a crippling sense of failure. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'll always be sorry,"

Ron shook his head in disbelief. This wasn't happening. He hadn't come this far, lost so much, for nothing.

The sound of gears once again broke the silence, and Ron let the tears fall. "Wait!" he cried to any that could hear him. "Wait. Please wait. Just give me time,"

The clock didn't hear him. The gears worked their way up from the depths of the pit, up toward the spire.

"PLEASE WAIT!" he wailed; his bottom lip held between his teeth.

The gears finally struck the spire, and the clock hand began to move.

A sudden thought came to him then. A song from so long ago that he'd forgotten its meaning until he'd run through his shattered sky.

The clock hand ground against the rocks. It all seemed to slow down then.

"My spark, my fire, you are all I see," Ron sang, quietly. Tears beaded down his cheeks. "I watch as you run, oh to be so free,"

He could see her then, hiding behind Bill, shielding herself from the wind.

"Come and play, Ginny!" Ron shouts excitedly

"It's too windy," she complains rubbing her eyes.

"Though you may be young, I know you'll travel farther than me," Ron whimpered, as the grinding of the clock grew nearer.

"Do you know what you are?" Ginny asks with a wobbly chin.

"What?" Ron teases.

"You're a bad brother. You don't care about me,"

"My spark, my fire, you are all I see," he finished the lullaby and looked up pleadingly at the sky.

Down from the heavens, like a gift, a star fell towards them, and all seemed to go quiet.

All that mattered was that star, and what shone from within it.

It came down before Ron and Hermione. He couldn't hear her, and he couldn't hear himself.

Within the bright light, he could see them. Ginny was lying in Harry's arms, they were both crying. They were talking to each other, and Ron just needed them to know he was there.

He'd come, but he was too late. He had done everything.

He pounded on the invisible wall between him and the dream. He screamed and cried even though he could hear none of it. He tore his throat raw and could barely see through the tears. He shouted their names and pounded on that barrier with everything he was made of. He could feel it giving way, but was there enough time?

He could still feel the rumbling of the clock's hand as it approached. He didn't care. He could escape time, he could escape death, he could do anything for his family.

For his friends.

A distant bell chimed. It boomed through all that wasn't, but Ron felt only the vibrations.

He screamed for Harry, of their adventures and their laughter. He screamed for Ginny with all the guilt and regret in the world. He wanted her to know how very much he cared for her.

He needed her to know.

And perhaps that was what finally broke the barrier.

---

Tom forced his eyes open, his body convulsing, and faced her. Ginny pressed her lips together, and just as she put the force in to crush his soul in between her fingers, Tom smirked. "Potter's still here!"

Then, he was gone. blown to a thousand sparks. Ginny felt her world turn upside down as she was forced out of his mind and back into his dream.

She rasped for breath, struggling to understand his final message.

The door to the sitting room she'd occupied burst open and there he stood. The boy she'd wished to never see again.

"Ginny!" Harry cried, sliding to the floor and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

Ginny looked up at him, horror-struck. "What are you doing here," she whispered. "You're supposed to be gone. You're supposed to be awake."

Harry frowned down at her. "Why would I leave?"

"I told you not to wait," Ginny wailed. The crushing weight of what she'd just done slammed into her. "The dream is collapsing. Our souls will die with it."

Harry brought his right hand to support her mid-back. "What do you mean?"

The room around them dissolved into dust. Harry and Ginny floated down to the ground. The earth trembled and the air around them began to heat up.

"We're going to die here, Harry," Ginny said mournfully. "I destroyed the Horcrux. I took out the foundations of the dream."

She felt weak, her body couldn't support itself and Harry adjusted her in his arms to keep her eyes on his.

Harry wiped a few stray strands of hair out of her face and gave a lopsided, rueful smile. "Why… why would you do that? Hey? Why would you do that?" his voice cracked in his questions.

Ginny blinked up at him. "Why would I want to wake up?"

Harry swallowed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Because you're worth it, Ginny," he shifted her weight and lifted her slightly, bowing his head down to press against her forehead. "You're worth fighting for."

A colossal crash, like a tower being demolished, echoed through the collapsing dream. Ginny blinked, letting more tears fall. She felt Harry's mix with hers as he too began to cry.

"You would have died here… alone," Harry whispered. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

Ginny shrugged. She had no answer to give him. There was nothing she could say to Harry that would correctly portray how she felt.

A dazzling light burst into existence on the horizon. It grew and grew as it engulfed the world around them.

"There's a lot I would have liked to tell you," Harry croaked, his breath coming in uneasy gasps. "Waking up only to find you dead beside me."

Ginny let out a dry sob. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wouldn't have-"

Harry shook his head against hers. "No. Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for telling you to push it away and get over it in the cellar of the Riddle House. I'm sorry for not listening. I'm sorry for not checking on you. For not asking how you were doing,"

Ginny cried through Harry's apology. Great, shoulder-heaving sobs. The air was scorching hot now.

"I'm sorry for not noticing you with that damn diary… All of it, Ginny. I'm sorry."

There was a long pause filled with nothing but the impending white noise of catastrophe. Trees falling. Lands collapsing. The sky itself seemed to crack along the star patterns. Great chunks of it fell to the disappearing landscape.

"Can you hold my hand?" Ginny asked. There was a great sadness in her voice that she tried to cover as a plea. "Like you did in the Chamber after the second task. Where your fingers go in between mine,"

Harry didn't respond. Instead, he slid his hand down to meet hers, doing exactly as she'd described. His scarred calloused fingers met hers. His hands dwarfed hers. In any other context, it might have made her laugh.

Here, however, as the world around them came apart at the seams, she relished in the warmth of his touch. Basking in the thoughts of what could have been.

She shut her eyes to avoid the sight of a hundred thousand thoughts and memories collapsing in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said again. She felt it was important to emphasize her regret. "You weren't supposed to be here. I made sure you wouldn't be here."

Harry hummed. "No," he sighed. "I'm glad I'm here. You let me keep my promise."

Ginny opened her eyes in confusion, turning to Harry in a silent plea for an answer.

He looked down at her with a wan smile. "Until the end."

The explosive horizon came ever closer. The sky fell into a million pieces. The air was superheated.

And yet Ginny finally felt at peace. She shut her eyes again, enjoying Harry's comforting arms, and sighed. It would have been nice to kiss him. See what a true connection could feel like. To be able to love someone without feeling forced into it.

That would have been lovely.

But as many before her had come to realize, you sometimes cannot live with each and every desire. Sometimes, there are sacrifices that must be made.

"Thank you, Harry," Ginny whispered. Her nose brushed against his. She didn't need to elaborate. It was a thank you of many layers. For the Chamber. For the dance on the roof. For his friendship. For his attention. For his care. For his smile. For his voice. For him.

"You're welcome," he replied. And in that moment, she knew he understood. Without any mental bond or teenage hormones. Harry knew.

Ginny used whatever strength she had remaining to lift her left arm up and wrap it around Harry. That he wasn't alone in giving comfort. He could feel her touch, her appreciation, her care as much as she did his.

The roar of the collapsing nightmare shattered Ginny's eardrums until she couldn't hear anything but a dull ringing. She opened her eyes one last time to meet Harry's. Everything around them was purely white thanks to how bright the death of the world was.

Ginny knew that even though hers and Harry's souls would be destroyed forever, the fight would continue in the waking world. Regulus would return to Sirius. The war would be won. And Voldemort would finally be defeated.

She'd played her part.

Then, everything stopped.

The light, the sound, everything.

She could hear Harry's ragged breathing in her ear and feel his arms around her, their noses pressed together, but she could not see him.

The silence was shattered by the ringing of a bell chiming from beyond.

Then, as consciousness escaped her, she heard a dull ticking sound, followed by the rushing of footsteps...

But consciousness stayed a little longer. She felt Harry's weight get dragged off her, and soon there were cold hands around her ankles, pulling her out of the darkness.

She wanted Harry. She wanted to feel him on top of her. His weight was the most comforting feeling in the world. His presence was like cool water on a hot summer's day. At that moment he was everything, and she was very much nothing.

Why was she being moved? Why was the light so bright? Her head bumped against a rocky surface, and the air changed, though she couldn't breathe. This drew her out of her haze, and her eyes opened fully. There was a loud grinding sound, like metal on metal, but it stopped just as she'd noticed it, creating an odd sort of tremor.

Her ears were still ringing, and all she could see was a strange sky. She found that her initial worry over oxygen wasn't as dire as she'd thought.

She didn't need to breathe.

Maybe this was what death was like. A world without worry.

She felt stronger here, though she knew she was still weak. Everything was just easier.

She propped herself up on her elbows and felt a great sorrow overcome her.

Her savior was none other than Ron, who was looking at her as though she was the only person left in the world.

"Don't tell me you're dead too," she said, tears returning in full force.

Ron shook his head. She'd never seen him smile so brightly. "No, Ginny. I'm alive," he crawled over to sit beside her. "And so are you,"

Maybe this was supposed to make her feel better. Maybe this was his great gift to her.

It was her birthday, after all.

But it was just another failure. Another mistake in a long line of mistakes at her hand.

She couldn't even go through with ending it.

She couldn't do anything.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. He smelled sweaty and dirty and exactly as Ron had always smelled.

It was overwhelmingly familiar and joyous and alive, and all Ginny could do was take in the smell.

It was that of childhood, of innocence.

Of love and play.

Slowly, she raised her arms to return the gesture. To bask in the innocence of it all and hold her brother close.

It was wonderfully freeing.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his chest.

Ron shook his head atop hers. "No, Ginny…" he trailed off, but she understood. Eventually, he said, "Happy birthday,"

Ginny laughed then. For the first time in what felt like decades. She laughed. It was short, and it was quickly replaced by more tears, but it lifted her heart ever-so-slightly.

She broke free of Ron's embrace and wiped at her eyes. He stood up and stepped over to the other crumpled body.

"Harry," Ginny breathed, and she, as quickly as she could, crawled over to him.

She realized he was talking, quiet though he may be, to Hermione, who Ginny just then recognized.

"Hermione! Don't tell me you-"

"I'm alive and well, Ginny," Hermione beamed. "Do you know where you are?"

Ginny shook her head, taking in her surroundings. A great colourful pit lay to her left, along with a large metal bridge to a great spire at the center of the pit. "The hell is this?"

Ron laughed, still staring at her and Harry in awe. "It's… a very long story,"

"Save it then," Harry grunted from the ground, and Ginny smiled through her tears at the sound of his voice.

"Ron," said Hermione, her face falling. "Daphne,"

Ginny didn't understand what they were talking about but judging by Ron's reaction. It was serious. "What's… Daphne?"

"Greengrass?" Harry chuckled from the ground. "Ron don't tell me that while I've been gone you've-"

"Shut it," Ron snapped, worriedly. Though it didn't seem to concern Harry's teasing. "Can you two stand?"

"No," "Yes," Ginny and Harry said respectively.

Harry carefully got to his feet and stretched; his expression was light but there was a sorrow in his eyes that Ginny picked up on immediately. He crouched down to Ginny's kneeling height and looked directly into her eyes.

"We're not out just yet, okay?" he said, and Ginny nodded, knowing that he understood the storm that swirled within her mind. "But I won't let you fall,"

The lump in Ginny's throat pressed hard, but she nodded all the same.

"How would you like me to carry you?" he asked with a small smile.

Ginny thought for a moment, she made a really big deal out of it too. Bringing her index to her chin and closing her eyes to really think. Harry laughed at her antics, even though she didn't feel very funny in the moment. Finally, she replied, "Bridal style,"

Harry let out a short chuckle and placed one arm under her bent legs, and one wrapped around her chest. She brought her arms around his neck to finish the look and sunk into his body, letting him carry her. "Are you okay with this?" she asked, carefully.

"More than okay," Harry answered, blushing slightly. He did not look at her but instead marched after Ron and Hermione, who were impatiently waiting for them at the end of the metal bridge.

The walk to the spire was lost to Ginny. Her eyes were staring up at the endless stars. It was beautiful if not a little insincere. She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was wrong.

They arrived in a very bright room, and Ginny finally turned to pay attention to her brother and Hermione.

There was a very pretty girl holding onto a pulsing magical ring. Ron rushed up to her.

"Daphne!" he called. "Can you hear me?"

Daphne's eyes had rolled to the top of her head, but they seemed to come back down at the sound of Ron's voice.

"Yes…" she said, her voice was worn.

"I need you to take your hands off the ring," Ron instructed, he was softer with her, Ginny noticed. It wasn't the way he acted around anyone, really.

"I'm… Trying…"

"Why can't you let go?" Ron asked.

"I… don't… want… to…"

"You have to, though," Ron condemned kindly.

Daphne seemed to struggle to shake her head.

"Please," said Ron, so quietly that Ginny almost didn't hear it.

"Okay…" Daphne agreed after a very long pause. The muscles and tendons in her forearms seized and her hands ever so slightly loosened their grip on the magical ring. This continued until finally, her hands no longer touched the ring, and she took a step back, nearly collapsing had Ron not caught her.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked sincerely. For some reason, such a silly question didn't seem so immature.

Daphne shook her head, then nodded. "It's difficult to explain," she seemed to try and wiggle out of Ron's grasp, but she was far too tired. At least, that was Ginny's impression.

Ron nodded in understanding and pointed to where Harry stood with Ginny in his arms. "Look what you did,"

Daphne raised her head with great effort to see them. Her eyes first fell on Harry, but they lingered on Ginny.

"Do you see that, Ron?" said Daphne weakly. "I helped a sister,"

Ron swallowed hard, and he bit his lip painfully. "You did, yeah… you saved her,"

Ginny didn't know how it had happened. She didn't understand any of the context behind it, but she could see it in Daphne's eyes.

Pain.

"Daphne, I have one last thing to ask of you," Ron murmured. "How do we get out?"

Daphne laughed quietly. "You walk back to the start, and you go through the portal."

"What portal?" Ron asked.

"The one that comes when you think of home," Daphne explained, as though it were quite obvious.

So, with Hermione's help, Ron led Daphne out of the spire, and Harry followed them.

They walked across the seemingly endless bridge, but this time Ginny looked down.

It was tempting, really. The pool of colour and memory. She didn't know what it was but it was familiar and comfortable and… grounding, in a sense.

But the sky was so full of opportunity, it seemed. Like lives and loves and new could be found there.

It was frightening, in a sense; the endless opportunity of the sky, but it was beautiful too.

They reached the rocky edge of the pit yet again, and Ron closed his eyes.

"Harry, can you put me down?" Ginny requested.

Harry did so but helped her stand upright.

She still felt weak, but it was more out of exhaustion than pain, now. Before Ron, Daphne, and Hermione, a great golden ring began to form.

A portal.

Ron opened his eyes and smiled back at them. "You'll go through first, I don't want…" but he trailed off. His eyes had gone wide, and they were focused on something behind her and Harry.

All of them turned to see the object of his interest.

It was no object, but a person. A woman, by Ginny's guess.

"Ginny," Ron whispered. "Do you see him?"

Ginny was pretty sure it was a woman, but she nodded all the same.

"It's Charlie,"

The figure stepped into the light, and Ginny was now quite certain it was a woman. A woman she knew.

"I don't see Charlie… I see my family," said Daphne, warily.

"So do I," Hermione chimed in.

"What do you see, Harry?" Ginny asked, taking her eyes away from the girl she saw.

"It's Mum," he said with such sadness that Ginny had to look away from him.

Ginny didn't see any of those things.

"Who is it really, then?"

Daphne swallowed loudly. "It's Death. I was wondering when she'd come,"

"What do we do?" Ron asked.

Ginny didn't feel any fear staring at Death. She felt only regret. She could see Harry felt similarly, though perhaps it wasn't regret bringing the tears out of his eyes.

Maybe it was loss.

"We do nothing," said Harry, clearing his throat. "She's only there as a temptation."

Harry appeared to be right, because Death bowed, and promptly vanished into the stars.

Ron let out a long breath. "I think it's time to go,"

Despite what Ron had said originally, he stepped through the portal, alongside Hermione and Daphne.

The portal closed, and Harry and Ginny were left alone.

"What did you see?" Harry asked. There was no panic in his voice, no fear. Just fatigue.

Ginny laughed, looking down at her feet and back up at Harry. He was quite a bit taller than her. She thought for a moment, taking in his eyes. A sea of green kindness. "I saw something… that reminded me that I never want to… that I…"

"That you never want to put anything off, ever again?" Harry filled in hopefully.

He wanted to know if he was right.

The terrible truth was that he was.

He was spot on.

Ginny would look back and wonder what exactly she was thinking as she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She'd wonder if there was a single thought running through her mind other than, "Don't waste a minute of it,"

Because she kissed him then, and it was like letting go of a terrible secret. Like dropping her school bag after a long day and collapsing into her bed.

His lips were soft, and he returned each of her motions. It was probably awkward, and sloppy, but it was perfect to her, really.

Because for the first time, in a very long time, she felt alive.

His hand on her back. Her fists in his hair. His breath on her face. Her nose against his cheek.

And when they broke apart, it wasn't weird. It was just… over too soon.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence before she felt an untameable smile break through the façade. He laughed like a little kid, shaking his head and taking her in. He stepped forward and brought her in for another kiss, this one was harder, more passionate.

She couldn't explain it properly, it was her first real kiss.

Her first meaningful one, at the very least.

They broke apart again and they laughed… again.

Ginny shook her head, her hair flying about wildly, and turned to where Ron, Daphne, and Hermione had left.

"They're probably missing us," she said, mournfully. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist. And guided her toward where they'd vanished.

"It's okay, they can wait a little longer," Harry swallowed and Ginny wiped her lips. "Hey, Ginny?"

She looked up at him.

"Children marked by Voldemort… they stick together," he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to finish what had become a sort of ritual between the two.

"Until the end," Ginny completed, smiling despite herself.

"No," Ginny looked up, curious at Harry's denial.

"We stick together… Always," he said unwaveringly.

Ginny cocked her head to the side in silent question.

Harry closed his eyes and smiled to himself. What he thought of, she'd likely never truly know, but the golden portal appeared again, and he turned to face it, then looked back at her. "Always… because now we know that there is so much more beyond the end."

Ginny felt the heat rise in her face, but she didn't care. "Hold my hand?"

Harry, again, didn't answer. He wove his fingers between hers, and led her through the portal, and away to home, wherever that may be.

---

A/N: Hope you liked that.

Why is Regulus so much more open about his situation now? Because he doesn't have to be all hidey about everything. He and Grindelwald are better acquainted than he'd led Harry and Ginny to believe.

I could go very very deep into my personal life over the past five months, but I'm not going to. Y'all are great, and I know it's dumb but like PLEASE leave a review or a comment. I gotta know what you guys thought.

What's happened with Arthur? Find out in the next chapter. I reckon it'll be out sooner than expected. If it isn't. I'm sorry. Shit really goes down though. The war is starting, and we have some fun reveals.

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It's frustrating because, although today (August tenth from 11:30 to 10:43) I had a creative rush that I rode all day, I haven't had one of those in literal months. Maybe that'll continue, but now I doubt my abilities and it's stressful and I'm sorry.

Oh, and yeah, I wrote this entire chapter with a few minor portions from stuff I wrote back in February, in one day. Roughly 22k words, edited down to the current 19.5k ish.

That's kind of impressive, right?

As for my other story, A short life full of long years, it isn't abandoned lmao. Please stop leaving passive-aggressive reviews about "Huh is this abandoned?" I'm glad you care about it, I love that I've hooked you on my story, but seriously, I'm going through my own shit and even if I WANT to write, I can't always do that. So please, stop making me feel like shit.

I hope you all have a wonderful day, and Happy Birthday Ginny Weasley.

Goodnight, Good Morning, and Good afternoon my friends. I'm sorry.