Nothing is mine.

Finally, after all this time, Neville's moment of triumph has come! xD

Dawn

Harry's shadow danced upon the bare stone stalactites as the small tongue of orange fire flickered above his palm; it clung deepest to the rough tally of gouges carved into the pale stalagmite opposite the door.

Twenty three. He reached out and ran his fingers along the marks one by one in time to the echoes of dripping water. Or thereabouts; it's hard to tell. Twenty three meals, if nothing else.

The little orange flame danced on.

Harry tilted his hand, tipping the tiny fire from his left to his right and cupping its faint warmth close to his chest. A little more of this, then I'll warm my feet. He wiggled his numb toes. There's nothing else to do. There's no way out but the door and I could spend eternity trying to get through that without a wand.

'I guess I could try to make a wand.' His voice came in a hoarse rasp. 'Somehow.'

But there's nothing left to escape to. Harry drew his knees into his chest and hugged his legs close. And if she sees me die, she'll feel safe again, she'll be happy; they both will.

'And maybe—' he lowered his voice to the softest whisper '—maybe she's wrong. Maybe, somehow, when Mithras dies, Harry will come back.'

Don't hope. He crushed a searing stab of need down into the dark. You ruined everything. You deserve to disappear. If you came back, you'd only turn their dreams to dust too. That's all you do.

Distant footsteps broke the silence, echoing down through the gloom.

Aurors. Neville, maybe. Or my sisters.

Harry took a deep breath and blew out the light, dragging himself up on cold numb legs.

The footsteps tramped closer; they drummed loud as thunder in his ears, drowning out the dripping, and the iron door screeched, slamming into the rock wall with a deafening bang.

Bright white light poured in, stabbing at Harry's eyes. He squeezed them shut and reopened them.

'You have a trial to attend, Harry. The ICW are ready.' Neville stood in the door, garbed in the tight red jacket of British aurors. 'Follow us. If you try to run…'

The ICW. Maybe I should warn them that the sun is rising. It's better if they're prepared; there're going to be a lot of muggleborns soon.

'I'll at least wait to escape until I'm out of here.' Harry squinted into the light pouring past Neville's shoulders. 'Did you bring your whole squad again?'

'Better safe where you're concerned. I know what you're capable of.' Neville reached behind him. 'Megan, those shackles please.'

A red-jacketed hand poked past Neville's side, dangling a pair of iron manacles.

Neville tossed them to the floor at Harry's feet. 'Put them on.'

'What if I don't want to?' Harry asked. 'They look cold.'

'If you don't put them on yourself, I'll pin you down and put them on you.'

'You're much braver now I don't have a wand—' he sighed and plucked the shackles from the floor '—this is entirely pointless, you know.'

'I was told you had to wear them.'

Harry snapped the cold iron closed over his wrists. 'Happy? You know these don't even stop me using a wand.'

'Out,' Neville ordered. 'Everyone stand back, don't get close to him, and hold your wands tight; he can summon things wandlessly.'

'I can conjure fire too.' Harry coaxed the little tongue of orange flame into being between his hands. 'See? Took a few days of practice, but it's cold down here, so I had good motivation.'

Neville pointed his wand at the door. 'Walk, keep walking; if you stop before the end of the corridor, I'll stun you.'

He wandered out, bouncing the small fire above his palm.

'Er…' Alicia eyed the conjured flame. 'Is he allowed to do that?'

'It's not worth the fuss,' Neville said. 'That's not even a candle.'

Harry stretched his cold stiff legs, striding along the smooth damp stone toward flickering green flames. 'It's more fire than you can summon without a wand, Neville. But then again, you are pretty useless. You just like to appear at the end when it's all safe and throw around your condemnations for those who kept you safe and whose families you got killed.'

'Better that than a mass-murdering monster,' Alicia snapped. 'Katie loved—'

'Harry.' He blew out his flame, smothering the stab of guilt. 'But I'm not just Harry anymore.'

'Insane is what you are,' one of them muttered.

'Insane?' Harry shrugged, drifting to a stop at the end of the passage before the green flames. 'How is fighting for what I dream of insane? You all do it. Why aren't I allowed to?'

'We don't believe in genocidal massacres,' Alicia snapped.

He snorted. 'That's not what Amelia Bones and the Resplendent Sun thought. I saw the graves on Azkaban, Alicia; I wiped that whole place away, dementors and all. What did you do? Watch? Pretend it wasn't happening? I stopped Voldemort. I stopped Grindelwald. I found a better way to save our world. And now you've been saved, you'd rather I just disappeared. You never change.'

But you'd be right to want it, if you weren't so wrong in why you wished for it.

Neville brushed past Harry. 'Don't talk to him,' he ordered. 'He can be very persuasive, but somewhere in what he says, you'll find there's a step from what's right to what's wrong. Don't let him trick you through it.'

'Right and wrong. Good and evil.' Harry shook his head. 'There's only power and the intent with which it is wielded. You were all happy to let me die to save everyone. Why is it so evil for me to fight to save everyone?'

'Slaughtering muggles isn't fighting.' Neville drew a slim wooden baton from his pocket. 'Alicia and Megan, through the floo. I'll send Harry after you, so be alert.'

They stepped through the emerald fire.

'Now you,' Neville ordered.

Harry placed one foot in the green flames and the cold, stone corridor whirled into the circular red-brick room with its alcoves and mosaic floor.

Alicia and Megan levelled their wands at him from the far side of it.

'Relax,' he said, making room for the others. 'I'm not going anywhere. I need to speak to the ICW; it'll make things easier for everyone.'

And there's nowhere left to go.

Neville stepped through behind him. 'I'll take him by portkey. You go back. The ICW has its own aurors securing die Waldkrone.'

'We're going somewhere in the Germanic Confederation?' Harry blinked. 'They fought for Grindelwald…'

'Die Waldkrone is one of the strongest warded, suitable places in Europe within portkey distance of Château d'Acier.' Neville grabbed Harry's arm. 'Yellow Fish.'

The alcoves lurched and Harry stumbled forward across smooth, worn stone steps.

They wound down a steep, rocky slope into a sea of dark trees.

'We're going up.' Neville released Harry's arm. 'The wards are strong and they added a new layer for you, so you won't be able to apparate out.'

I could fly out. He stared across the forest toward the sun shining among the blue. I could fly home. But then I'd only ruin their dream too.

'Don't even think about it,' Neville snapped. 'I will stun you and drag you up those steps to face justice if I have to.'

'I'm not going anywhere, Neville.' Harry sighed and turned away from the view. 'It's better this way.'

Neville's jaw twitched. 'You're scheming something.'

The narrow, steep stone stair snaked up to a slim slit in the crumbling crown of an old mountain. Above the narrow shadow of the door, the highest spur of the peak burnt, its cap of ice and snow shrouded in a rippling veil of flame.

Harry trudged toward the blazing summit, squinting at the fire.

It's the sun. The sun reflecting off the snow in the wind.

Neville plodded after him, breathing hard as they scaled the steepest part at the peak and neared the narrow doorway cut into the mountain peak.

Two bronze-skinned aurors in flowing white robes stepped from the shadows and seized Harry's arms, marching him through the gloom of the passage and out into the heart of the peak.

Ravens flocked among the gnarled ancient oaks clinging to the crumbling rock beside the steps, their thick roots twisting down past weathered stone benches to a small clear lake beside a rusted iron throne. Great standing stones floated above the water, carven with countless faded faces, circling each other like hawks climbing on the wind.

I could change now. Escape among the ravens. Harry let them lead him down and push him onto the seat before the crowd of wizards and witches. But there's no place for me in the world to come.

One of the aurors growled under their breath and drew a thin short knife, jabbing the tip onto the back of Harry's hand and smearing a streak of crimson on the throne's arm.

Ice cold needles prickled across Harry's skin, sliding down his spine; they gnawed at his magic like rats.

'Mithras.' A tall Indian witch stood, raising a twisted iron-bound horn. 'My name is Triya Shah, I am the current Voice of the International Cabal of Wychfolke. You will speak only when I ask you a question, and the chair upon which you sit will compel you to answer truthfully.' She pointed the horn at Harry. 'Do you understand?'

The cold needles ate every thought but the truth. 'I do,' Harry said.

'This is your trial. You are accused of so many crimes against the magical world it would take all our time today to list them, but they include multiple counts of murder, the destruction of of sites of cultural importance, attempts to break the Statute of Secrecy, attempted genocide against the muggle world and more.' Triya Shah waved a hand at the rows of wizards and witches behind her. 'For the last twenty days, the representatives of the ICW have heard every shred of evidence presented against you; you will now have your chance to defend yourself. Is this also understood?'

'It is.' Harry scanned the faces.

Chasca. Susan Bones. That American witch I talked to in New Amsterdam. The Tsarina. Nadia Dubrovksy. Desrosiers. How many of them are Grindelwald's allies? By oath or otherwise.

Three pairs of grey eyes stared down at him, soft and dark as rain clouds.

Bonsoir, mes sœurs. A small pang tore through Harry's chest. Je suis désolé.

'We will begin, for the benefit of Mithras and those guests here today for the first time, Captain Longbottom, with your account.'

Neville shuffled his feet on the steps. 'His real name is Harry Potter, as you have heard from me many times and can now see is true for yourselves. Once, four or five years ago while we were still at school, I considered him my friend. Every year, he'd get into some trouble, breaking the rules to try and do the right thing. He knew Voldemort was still alive, he knew Voldemort was going to try and kill him, and he dedicated himself to getting stronger. When Voldemort returned, the British Ministry at the time refused to act, and Harry was forced to take desperate measures. He broke laws instead of school rules and murdered Voldemort's supporters, hunted down some artefacts that Voldemort valued, and, eventually, defeated him at Hogwarts, faking his own death to escape the pressure of being seen as the saviour of Britain.' Neville took a deep breath. 'I knew he hadn't died, but I was unable to convince others or find a way to confront him myself. I hoped him returning as a hero would prevent Amelia Bones from doing what she did…'

Triya Shah cleared her throat. 'The facts pertinent to the trial only, please, Captain Longbottom. I believe there is still a lack of clarity over what comes next.'

'There is no lack of clarity,' Neville retorted. 'After his family in France was attacked, he sought revenge and fought for Britain under the moniker Lemon Sorbet while seeking those responsible. But he was not satisfied with revenge against the Resplendent Sun, so he joined Grindelwald with some great magical ritual in mind, something that led the treacherous Unspeakable, Daphne Greengrass, to try and strike a deal with me to be rid of him on Grindelwald's behalf.'

'For the benefit of our guests and the sake of clarity,' Triya Shah said, 'Harry Potter's identity as Lemon Sorbet has been confirmed. Captain Longbottom and various of his associates we have now heard from created the cover identity Thomas Gaunt for Harry Potter so he might help Britain and thus end the war ongoing at the time. An iron ring confirmed to belong to the Unspeakables was found in his possession upon his capture at Nurmengard; these cannot be forcibly removed and all others are accounted for. Would you, however, Captain Longbottom, please elucidate your other allegations; they are… as of yet unproven.'

'Harry Potter was also the member of Les Inconnus known as Violette,' Neville said.

Présidente Desrosiers stiffened. 'Non, impossible.'

Neville strode down the steps. 'I suspected it for a long time, but when captured, I found the ring bearing a purple spiral on his person.'

Isobel leapt to her feet. 'Non. This is wrong!'

No, it's right. It's all right. Why defend me?

'Sister,' Celine hissed, grabbing her arm.

The three of them exchanged a swift glance.

'This is wrong,' Colette said. 'Violette's name was Henri Dufort. He was our brother.'

'Henri Dufort was just a temporary cover for Harry Potter.' Neville clenched his jaw. 'I found the ring on him.'

'Our brother disappeared fighting Grindelwald along with the rest of Les Inconnus.' Isobel's grey eyes grew stormy. 'That ring may have simply been taken.'

'The rings cannot be taken.'

'They cannot be worn by another,' Desrosiers said. 'They can be taken.'

Neville ground his teeth. 'There is no Henri Dufort. I don't even know why you're lying. He doesn't exist until, out of nowhere, Henri Decolmar marries Fleur Delacour and takes her surname. Fleur Delacour, who strangely came to Britain to work at Gringotts in the middle of a war because she was his lover.'

Celine shook her head. 'Henri Dufort was born on the twelfth of December, twenty one years ago, the child of a married wizard we will not name and our own mother. She did not survive the birth, too afraid of the shame to get the help she needed, but he did. He was raised in secret to avoid ruining the life of his father, taught at home, and then joined Les Inconnus at the personal recommendation of…' She glanced at Présidente Desrosiers.

'At the personal recommendation of Simon Aguillard, known as Grise—' Desrosiers rose to her feet '—whom I trusted implicitly with such things and who selected Henri Dufort as his successor. In the brief time I knew him, I observed an undoubted closeness between Henri Dufort and his sisters as well as their very similar appearance. I trust the evidence of my eyes over a circumstantial ring.'

Harry avoided his sisters' gaze. They planned this. Why?

'No it's a lie,' Neville insisted. 'Why would Harry take the ring and then not use it?!'

Triya Shah cleared her throat. 'Harry Potter was found in possession of three rings, none of which he wore; it would not be a great stretch of the mind to assume he simply collected them.'

'He was Violette. When Lemon Sorbet was ill, Violette was fighting, and when Violette was injured, Lemon Sorbet reappeared. Fleur Delacour was Harry's lover and married Henri Decolmar out of nowhere not long after Harry was pronounced dead by the goblins and left everything he owned to her. It is clearly connected.'

'Fleur Delacour worked for Les Inconnus, maybe that was why she was in Britain and became friends with Harry Potter, but she met Henri at her work and married him. They had a daughter not quite a year afterward.' Isobel's grey eyes flashed. 'You will not drag them into this and leave them bearing a burden of hatred for the crimes of another.'

Harry's heart lurched. Mes sœurs, je vous aime. He swallowed the hot lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut to smother the prickle of tears. Merci.

Neville stared at her, twisting his heel into the ground. 'And the goblins?'

'The goblins' records do show an Henri Decolmar, who we assume to be Henri Dufort's alias, visited, under the alias, but also was unable to get into Harry Potter's vault,' Triya Shah said. 'We went through their meticulous records eight days ago; surely if Henri Dufort or Henri Decolmar was Harry Potter, he would have been able to access them.'

'This is a lie.' Neville shook his head. 'Fleur Delacour is complicit. He did everything for her. She would have known. She would have helped.'

'Harry Potter did what he did,' Isobel snapped. 'Our brother might still be alive. His wife and child might still be alive. We have told you the truth.'

Neville's jaw clenched and he pointed his finger at Harry. 'Are you Henri Dufort?

The cold teeth gnawed away every thought but the truth; he let them take it all.

'I am Mithras,' Harry said.

He growled. 'He is lying.'

'You know he cannot lie upon the seat. But none of the actions of Lemon Sorbet or Violette are the subject of this trial; they were performed at the behest of others for nations at war and fall just about within the accepted bounds of conflict.' Triya Shah raised the iron-bound horn, her dark brown eyes flicking to Harry's sisters. 'I suggest a motion. All those in favour of ruling the actions of Violette, known as Henri Dufort and Henri Decolmar, irrelevant to proceedings and striking them from the record of this trial?'

Harry's sisters' hands shot into the air.

She shook her head. 'I'm afraid only those members of the ICW can vote.'

Just let me disappear. He held his breath. Let them have their sunset.

Arms went up, one by one, until most of the crowded benches held their hands aloft.

Harry smothered a small smile and rush of relief.

'A clear majority.' Triya Shah nodded. 'No further mention of Violette, Captain Longbottom. Continue from what we have a factual basis for, please.'

Neville balled his fists. 'Fine. After Lemon Sorbet appeared to die when the Greengrass sisters betrayed and murdered the last British Unspeakables, I was uneasy. I knew Harry had faked his death before and I knew his vengeance and reason for aiding Britain was over with. When Mithras surfaced not long after, I knew it had to be him. When Daphne Greengrass offered me a deal to eliminate him, I had no choice but to accept. We were losing. Badly.'

'You kept a record of what you learnt from Daphne Greengrass,' Triya Shah said. 'That record was shown to us seventeen days ago. It is part of the basis, along with testimony from Tsarina Bugrov, Nadia Dubrovsky, Zoë de Medici, various citizens of Constantinople, and students and teachers of Beauxbatons for the accusations of multiple counts of murder, the razing of magical wonders and cultural sites of great value, attempted genocide in service of Grindelwald, and whatever forbidden magic this ritual you were going to attempt was. Do you deny any of these accusations or have any statement to make, Harry Potter?'

'Only one.'

'Which accusation do you deny?' Triya Shah demanded. 'Know that before you answer, irrefutable evidence of all of your crimes, from murder to the destruction of magical wonders, has been presented to us.'

'I did not attempt a ritual,' Harry replied. 'I carried one out.'

A murmur of horror rippled through the ICW delegates.

'That's a lie,' Neville said. 'Greengrass chose the time of the ambush specifically to be before it. When we arrived, you had only just killed Grindelwald and were clearly severely injured doing so. No ritual was carried out.'

'He cannot lie,' Triya Shah said. 'Not in that seat. It feasts on magic and accepts only the truth.'

'There's nothing left to fear,' Harry promised. 'You were all sacrificing so many of your dreams, so I made sure that sacrifice wasn't for nothing. Soon, the sun will rise on a world with no more secrets.'

'The Statute,' Triya Shah breathed. 'You meant to reveal us to the muggles and force us into a confrontation with an absolute, genocidal outcome…'

'No.' A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. 'I didn't want to take any more dreams away. I wanted to grant wishes, to give them a chance to wish, to give them… magic. The firstborn child of every muggle family that aren't too closely blood-related will be born with it. Two souls cannot exist in conflict; they must merge in purpose, or one must be swallowed by the other. It's the same with our two worlds.'

'How do we stop it?' Neville demanded. 'How do we undo what you did?'

'I didn't do it. One person can't change the world alone. We did it. Every spell you cast. Every sacrifice you made. This isn't just what I wished for, this is what you were all wishing for. All I did was make it come true.' Harry leant his head back against the ancient metal throne. 'And it can't be stopped.'

'What will it do? How does it work?' Triya Shah demanded.

'I told you.' Harry let the ice cold pins gnaw away everything but the truth. 'The eldest child of every family of muggles not too closely related by blood will be born with magic. We bleed to keep the muggle world in ignorant bliss, some of us more than others, and suffering is the chrysalis of monsters. It has to end. And the only way it can end is if there is no more them and us and instead there is just us.'

'The sheer number of muggleborns will destroy our world!' Someone shouted from the crowd. 'We can barely cope as it is!'

Triya Shah raised the iron-bound horn and the benches fell quiet. 'You have no right to force such things on us, Harry Potter. How dare you?'

Wry bitter humour tugged at the corner of his mouth. 'Would you have preferred Grindelwald's solution?'

Her dark brown eyes flashed with fury. 'We didn't need any mad solution!'

The ravens cawed in the silence hanging over the small lake and the ancient oaks.

The grey-haired man sitting beside Chasca stood. 'Everyone here knows we needed a solution before the inevitable happened. There are many among us who expected to have Grindelwald standing before us in triumph instead; this is, I think, the much more preferable alternative.'

'Are you proposing a motion, President Sousa?' Triya Shah snapped.

'I am.' He pointed his finger down at Harry. 'I suggest we strike the charge of attempted genocide. It is quite clear that this wizard, having killed Grindelwald to enact this ritual, did not intend to commit the same crime.'

'He is a monster,' Neville growled. 'You haven't seen what he's capable of.'

'I think we are all going to see it whether we want to or not,' President Sousa said. 'But if any of you had stood up here a year ago — when many of the nations represented here were more set on tearing each other apart than acknowledging or acting on the problems we face — and offered me the magic just described to us now, I would have taken it. Many among us would have. It will be hard to manage the tide of muggleborns, but it is not impossible; together, we will find a way. And by the time I am an old man, or maybe, when my daughter, Chasca, is old, we will find ourselves untroubled by the greatest challenges of today.'

Triya Shah scowled and raised her horn. 'All in favour of striking the charge of genocide?'

President Sousa raised his arm.

As if it matters. Harry watched the Triya Shah count the hands. It's already done. That's the important thing.

'The charge of attempted genocide will be struck from the record.' Triya Shah paced before the lowest bench. 'The rest remain and you are found guilty of each and all of them.' She twisted on her heel and pointed the horn at Neville. 'Thank you, Captain Longbottom. That will be all for now.'

Neville's jaw twitched, but he stepped back onto the stairs.

'This body has already come to a proposed sentence for your crimes, Harry Potter. We will not repeat the mistake with Grindelwald a third time.' Triya Shah set the horn down. 'You will be sentenced to death, and, in the light of your previous survival of the Killing Curse, we will do so in a manner that will ensure your body is utterly destroyed. Do you understand this? And if you have any last words for our ears, you may say them now.'

Just like Fleur said they would. He took a deep breath. There's nothing left to fear. Even if she's right and I don't come back, I kept my promises. A small smile crept across his lips. They'll still have their sunset.

'I understand.' Harry rested his shackled hands in his lap and leant forward from the ancient iron throne. 'Don't ruin my dawn. It cost me and many others everything we had.' He fixed Neville with a long flat stare. 'Those of you who prefer this endless state of suffering over the Statute of Secrecy continues, because it is not your blood being spilt or you who ends up sacrificing to keep it, don't forget… it cannot be stopped. I have given them all magic; the chance to wish, the chance to make their lives just perfect enough. And one day—' the corner of Harry's mouth curved up '—one day you'll realise that regardless of everything else I'm guilty of, I was right about this, and you just weren't brave enough to make a hard choice yourself.'

'You're not a hero, Harry.' Neville glowered at him. 'You are a monster.'

'I am,' Harry murmured. 'I was made into one bit by bit, by my own hand and by the hands of all of you. But I couldn't change what had already been done, so I changed what made that happen. I will be the last monster forged from this crucible.' He conjured a small orange flame, cupping it in his hands. 'And none of you have ever deserved a hero, Neville, so don't stand there and speak as if you did.'

AN: Follow the linktree to get to Discord for a chapter or two more and reliable alert notifications, or support me to read all the rough drafts and my original works!

linktr . ee / mjbradley