Hydrus and Dumbledore were back at Hogwarts in the Study Hall. The ancient headmaster was waving his wand over the ring they retrieved while the younger man yet again had to snatch his basilisk to stop it from trying to sneak up on a bemused Fawkes. The phoenix never took his eyes off the snake, but he managed to do a subtle enough job of it that the younger creature kept thinking it was finally time for his ambush. Hydrus almost wished he could speak to birds too, if only to tell the immortal being to quit humouring his new, juvenile familiar.

"Come on, father," the basilisk said. "While he's distracted."

"He's not distracted," Hydrus shot back. "He's luring you in. This is why you're not ready to take on Slytherin's basilisk."

"What's her name?" The basilisk turned to look at him, head cocked to one side. "The familiar of such a great and powerful wizard must have a name, right?"

Hydrus snorted at the 'subtle' hint. "Be direct with me, child, if you want a name then ask for one."

The basilisk hissed at him. "I ask for nothing, I take what is mine."

"Fine." He flicked the basilisk's nose and it reeled back. "No name for you then."

"Wait."

He laughed and Dumbledore looked up from his work. "I'm glad to see the two of you getting along so well."

"He wants a name." Harry reached out his hand as a peace offering to the snake and it allowed him to run his fingers over its feathers. "And is trying and failing to play coy about it."

"A name is a powerful thing," Dumbledore said before looking back down at the ring. "I don't blame him for wanting one."

"Hmmm…" Hydrus stared deep into the basilisk's eyes. The ocular scales kept it from being a lethal endeavour but it was still a touch nerve wracking, though he'd never let it show. Names fluttered through his mind.

"Apophis." He finally settled on. "Your name shall be Apophis."

The magical bond between them grew, and the snake flicked its tongue in delight. "A strong name."

Dumbledore hummed. "The Greek name for an Egyptian god of death and chaos." He looked up from the stone and above his glasses, eyes twinkling. "A touch melodramatic."

"Its a snake god, and also the name of an asteroid." Had that rock even been charted yet in this time? "Besides, he seems to enjoy a touch of drama."

"Yes, yes of course," Dumbledore mused. "I'm sure 'Apophis' certainly does."

Hydrus glared at the older man for trying to ascribe teenage delusions of grandeur to him, but he supposed it was hard to blame the senior. Had they been in each other's shoes, it probably would've been hard to take himself seriously with this diminutive frame. Fully grown, back when he was Harry Potter, he certainly wasn't the tallest man on the battlefield but he was a far cry from the shortest. Hopefully Sirius's genes weren't too badly damaged by what he'd done to his body with unavoidable starvation.

"So far I haven't found anything to suggest its still cursed," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "I really wish you'd just let me test it first."

"Sorry, sir," Hydrus said. "I'm far too melodramatic to let you off easy."

Dumbledore snorted and Hydrus allowed himself to laugh again. It was nice being in his friend and mentor's company once more. He'd lost the man far too early in the war, and even beyond the losses in life and manpower it had cost him, it was the guidance and companionship he had missed most, even if that were an awful, selfish thing to feel.

No matter how dark things got, no matter how much weight the world pressed down upon his shoulders, the headmaster had been one of the few people to look at Harry with no more expectations than a particularly proud grandfather would have for his grandson. Whenever the burden was too much for the teen to carry, Dumbledore was there to pick up the slack. He had been a pillar upon which what little of Harry's adolescence remained was able to rest, a burden he shared with Sirius, and to a lesser degree folk like the Weasleys, Remus, and some of the other Hogwarts professors.

Harry would give anything to have them, any of them, here with him.

It felt like he was reliving it each and every time he thought back to the night he made his fourth and, hopefully, final bargain with Magic. The last sacrifice he made. The last sacrifice all those who still had hope and faith in him made.

Their lives, willingly given, for a second chance.

"Hydrus?" Dumbledore's voice was worried. "Hydrus, are you alright?"

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes. He supposed that now, in the privacy of his study hall with no one around but his headmaster, was a fine enough place for a break down.

"No."

He blamed the reforged friendship he was making with the old man. He blamed the strange nostalgia his new familiar filled him with. He blamed the way Dumbledore had practically leapt across his makeshift desk to embrace him. He blamed stupid fucking teenage hormones. He blamed Voldemort for ruining his life and forcing him down this path of sacrifice. He blamed everything and anything, not the least of which was himself, for the sobs that suddenly wracked and uncontrollably wracked him.

It wasn't his first rodeo with a breakdown, and certainly not the first one that the headmaster had been there to witness, but it was the first since coming back to this neutered timeline.

What had been the point of it all? The struggling, the fighting, the starving. The deaths, the torture, the pain. Why did he, along with all of his family and friends, his companions and allies, have to go through it all? If it had all felt pointless when he was still on the run and in charge, now that he was left with nothing but his dick in his hand and nothing to do, everything he'd ever dreamed of, what was he supposed to do? Why couldn't his first life have been like this? Why couldn't he have lived like this world's Harry Potter, with a mother, a father, siblings, a godfather, and all the love he could ever ask for?

"It's alright, Hydrus," Dumbledore said. "It's—"

"My name isn't Hydrus."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Harry, Harry Potter." His whole body was shaking and he couldn't stop himself from rocking back and forth. "I was born in 1980, a year before my parents were murdered, and thirty-some-odd years before everyone I had left killed themselves to give me a chance to stop the Dark Lord Voldemort."

He just didn't care anymore. Just once more, just one last time, he needed Albus Dumbledore to help carry some of his burden. Even if it would break the man's heart.

"He was a student here, back in the forties, he… He…"

Harry didn't even know where to go from there. How was he supposed to explain what he and the rest of the rebellion had gone through? What could he possibly do to prove he wasn't just having a breakd-, well, he was having one of those, but prove he hadn't gone crazy. Crazier. Just the thought of it all made him laugh. Great, now the ancient wizard would know for certain just how far off the deep end the 'perfect pureblood scion' had gone. The Black madness was beginning to swallow him whole, he couldn't stop the laughter from pouring out of him in peals of shrieks and coughs. Some strange, clinical part of his brain noted that this would be as good a test as any for the Study Hall, at least. His magic was spinning around, dark and visible, and the headmaster along with their familiars were just lucky to be in the eye of the storm. Blood had begun to trickle from his nose, he could taste the drops falling into his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself. Not now, perhaps never again.

Memories and emotions rampaged throughout his mind, leaving him gasping with every bit of remembrance. Dumbledore had taken Fawkes into his arms, he was shouting something but Harry couldn't hear him. Apophis, his name-giving already felt like a lifetime ago, was wrapped around Harry's leg with most of its tail flapping about in the chaotic energies pouring out of him. He stared down at his hand and saw the skin peeling off of it as magic poured out, causing him to laugh all the harder.

"Enough." Hydrus gasped at the familiar voice. "Rest, my child."


Bang.

Harry shot up from his sleep, but he managed to not wake up whomever was in bed with him at the sudden jolt. He breathed a sigh of relief and slid out from underneath the threadbare blanket, careful not to disturb the faceless stranger any further, and managed to get dressed silently. He made it a few steps out of their room before rumbling in the earth sent the walls shaking and shedding dust. With a sigh, he continued on until he was out in the 'open'.

Nobody else seemed bothered by the noise, so he assumed things were safe. A few people stopped to bow or nod in his direction, and he did his best to greet them all in turn. The air smelled stale as always, nearly two hundred people all living in an artificial environment whose airflow was limited at the best of times tended to do that, but it was as familiar to him as anything else. There was the slightest hint of ozone there, which meant it was raining on the outside, but it meant little down here in the bunker.

"Harry." He took the parchment Ron handed him and began to read it over. "Tonks and Remus made it back on time, but we're still waiting on Flitwick and Seamus."

Harry handed back the list of supplies the scouts had retrieved. "Got it. If they're not back by sundown, send Hagrid."

"Right."

Ron fell in line beside him and the two made their way to the command room. Hermione was already there, a massive sheet of runes laid out in front of her. The woman was splitting her time between working on a way to make the air in and above the bunker cleaner, a magical long-distance communication tool that couldn't be spied on or accidentally explode thanks to magical interference, and, as always, a way to detect horcruxes.

"What's on your plate today?" Harry asked, bemused at the way she hadn't even looked up from her work. "The air freshener?"

Ron flinched, but Hermione answered without half as much concern. "Luna pointed out that if we could find a way to speak to the trees, we could have an interconnected network with which to receive early warnings for attacks." Harry winced. "Obviously that's all hogwash, but maybe there's something there regarding trees and their ability to communicate with one another."

It was one of his best friend's bad days, it seemed. He'd never go so far as to say she was 'mad' per se, he'd seen the face of madness in many a foe and friend alike, but certainly she wasn't all there. Not the way she used to be. She would go off on crazy ideas like this, things far outside the scope of what she should be working on, but every once in a while the 'crazy' ideas worked out in their favour. At least, they did so often enough that it was easy to give her a pass for the distance she now seemed to keep from everyone.

They all handled things in their own way.

"Right." He looked back to Ron. "Where are we at with the Mongolians?"

They'd managed to pick up a few of that country's finest young wizards and witches during a recent visit, 'finest' on account of the fact they'd agreed to come with them at any rate, and they'd been training the kids for a few weeks now.

"Well as any." Ron shrugged. "Bilguun is the best of the bunch, but he still can't do much besides push his magical weight around." The red-head sucked his teeth before continuing. "We need a new wandmaker."

"You find one and I'll suck his cock if it'll get him to join on." He ran a hand through his hair. "You know I'd kill for one."

"Then take one," Ron pressed. "You know there's some out there, ones that aren't on with Voldemort, take them."

Harry rubbed at his forehead. It was getting harder and harder to push back against his best friend's logic. The kids they managed to nab and train were practically sitting ducks without wands that suited them, and although it had initially been a relief to lose out on Ollivander's constant 'bill' regarding materials when the man had died, it hadn't taken them long to run low and then out of his stockpile of wands. Most all of the 'second generation' had second-hand wands now, and rarely did they work as perfect matches. The teens practically traded them like cards between battles, the survivors anyways, and every fight seemed to leave the rebellion with less of the sticks than they started with. No matter how many Hydrus took in his flurry of expelliarmuses.

Wait, 'Hydrus'?

Before he could think on that further, Ron spoke up again.

"Lucius Alexandrite," he said. "Turkish wand maker, and he's even got the same name as that Malfoy bastard, so you won't have to feel bad about forcing him to teach another how to make wands. Not keep him prisoner forever, just teach someone else how to do it. I'm sure Luna or, I don't know, Lavender would love to learn."

Harry sighed. Yet another concession on the ever growing list. "Fine, who should we send?"

"Neville." The answer came fast, and it didn't surprise Harry; the man was one of their best. "Tonks deserves a break after scavenging, we need Remus at home, and Snape is… Well, he's Snape." Harry snorted. Their old potions master rarely did anything besides stare over his cauldrons since losing the arm his dark mark had once been branded on. He seriously needed to get over it. "If Flitwick and Seamus make it back before tonight, we can have Hagrid back him up. If not, I'll go myself."

"Sounds good." Harry turned the stone that had once been set into Slytherin's ring over in his hand, feeling its crack and making sure not to accidentally activate it. "What else?"

Now that he'd given into one request he'd previously rejected, it was time for his second-in-command to push for something else he'd said no to.

"Morale isn't looking good." His voice was quiet, and Harry knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next. "Voldemorts still dealing with Leorex, maybe we could… Maybe we could try again for Castle LeStrange."

It was an oft-repeated request, and one that broke Harry's heart every time he had to reject it. Ron's 'official' reasons for wanting to siege the castle weren't wrong, the place was a horrific monument to the rebellion's countless failures, but they also stemmed from a place of deep and intense selfishness. Some of his family members were strung up along that castle's walls, long since dead and unburied.

The LeStranges were some of Voldemort's most devoted and demented followers. Bellatrix had laughed at the sight of Voldemort murdering her cousin, and it had only been because of Harry's internal devastation that he hadn't killed her then. He'd pushed his thirst for her suffering off for so long, why couldn't Ron do the same?

Another rumble brought on a new layer of annoyance from within Hydrus.

"Can't you two feel that?" he snapped. "What's going on?"

"Please, Harry," Ron said. "I just want to bury them."

"Fine." Harry stood, and his friend's eyes widened. Even Hermione looked up from her work, but he was too annoyed by the shaking and constant whining. "Neville's in charge if I die, tell shhhhh I loved her too."

Before either could stop him, he'd apparated away. They were hoisted upon Hermione's petard, the greatest witch of perhaps any generation had come up with an anti-apparition-detection ward that allowed them to escape at a moment's notice without fear of Death Eaters tracking them down based on the trails. Since Harry was the only one who actually knew where Castle LeStrange was, having been locked up there for several months before being dragged out in front of the Ministry for his execution where his followers staged an attack to rescue him, they had no idea where he'd gone.

Castle LeStrange was exactly as he remembered; old, crumbling, and as rotten as its inhabitants. Corpses were 'crucified' into the stone battlements, crows and vultures alike nested atop each tower and flew about the place like its guardians, and the putrid stench of death and decay filled the air. Harry took a breath, then announced his arrival by stabbing his wand forward.

"Confringo!"

His Potter family magic fanned the explosion and destroyed nearly a fifth of the castle's entire front wall. If his friend wanted to bury his family, Harry would turn this whole castle into their cairn. Immediately the carrion birds began to plunge at him; it seemed that their custodial duties were more literal than appeared. He effortlessly destroyed them as soon as they came too close, and with a non-verbal wave of his wand slammed his magic into the castle's wards, performing an invisible recreation of his more literal attack on the walls.

"Potter!"

He deflected the silent rib-reversing curse Rabastan sent his way, and threw back a litany of bone destroying, ripping, twisting, and melting curses of his own.

'Remember, Harry,' Albus's words echoed. 'You must always remain in control, even when you're not.'

He moved towards the Death Eater who stumbled back under the barrage. The less distance that remained between the two, the higher the odds that the bastard would slip up. Harry's wand became almost more of a hindrance than a help considering the speed he wanted to launch the spells at.

'How are they to know if you're on your last legs unless you tell them?'

He dodged out of the way of the other man's killing curse, but to the Death Eater's surprise he used his free hand to redirect the bolt of green energy right back at him like an asteroid caught in a planet's gravitational pull. Rabastan managed to avoid it, but was caught by Harry's follow up limb-shredder. The man was sputtering out curses, both magical and otherwise, but with his recent knock on death's door they were as impotent as, well, a limbless man.

Harry pointed his wand at him. "Avada kedavra."

The spell ended yet another life, and the only warning Harry had to throw up a shield was the twin pops of the man's brother and sister-in-law apparating in. His shield caught all of Bellatrix's creative works but he had to leap to the side to avoid Rodolphus's killing curses. Now exposed, he lifted up a chunk of earth to block the next spells.

'Move only when necessary,' Dumbledore's voice chided him. 'You may be a powerful wizard, but you must make them think you a god.'

"I know!" Hydrus snapped aloud. Who was Hydrus? The castle and earth around him shook as the rumbling began again, but he ignored it in favour of piercing jinx that left a hole the size of his fist in Rodolphus's lungs. "Shut up!"

Bellatrix seemed to take that as a challenge and shrieked in anger. The insane woman was wearing a tattered wedding dress along with a brown sunhat, and began to unleash her full arsenal of spells. Once more Harry was reminded of just what made his godfather such a powerful ally, and it was almost nostalgic to be dealing with the Black family magic that the man had taught him to counter. A spell that would've turned his stomach inside-out, spilling acid onto his other organs and causing a slow and painful death, went sailing past his head less than a finger's breadth from his ear, and he replied by vanishing the earth beneath Bellatrix.

To his horror, the woman didn't even seem to notice as she kept up her onslaught without need for solid ground to stand on. It seemed Voldemort and his followers had come up with some new tricks.

'You must never be afraid.' He batted the next curse aside with his free hand as he worked his way through the complicated wand-work required for his own next spell. 'Fear is the mind-killer. You are Harry Potter. Heir to James and Lily Potter.' Finally the spell finished with his call of 'Caro torquentia!' and the contorted and chaotic bolt of seemingly undodgeable and certainly unshieldable yellow magic began to hunt for the last remaining Death Eater in his way. 'Heir to Sirius Black. Heir to Albus Dumbledore.' Bellatrix did what he would've called an admirable job of avoiding it for anyone else, but eventually it was upon her. 'Heir to the Peverell line, and thus Death himself.' The curse shredded her flesh like a spiralizing bit of deli equipment, leaving her quickly dying and pouring blood. 'You need not be afraid.'

Harry approached her and squatted over her trembling body. He pushed her hair aside to stare into her one remaining eye, the other having been lost to the rending. She made to say something but blood was all that came from between her lips.

"Rot in Hell," he said before reaching a finger into one of the gaps of flesh on her throat. She seized up at the last bit of torture, her eyes going wide then dull. "You psychotic fucking bitch."

With three more Death Eaters dead, and old hands at that, he set about his real work. His wand was like a mallet for his magic to work through. The castle walls came crashing down bit by bit, and before long the entire property was just a pile of flesh and stone. He reached into his pocket and fished out the makeshift broom Hermione had designed, regrowing it and hopping on to float up for a bird's eye view. The actual birds that once infested the area had long since abandoned their charge, and once he was up high enough, he drew his wand.

"Sanct Obliteratus!"

The spell would drain almost all of what was left of his magic, but it was worth it for the massive 'tilling' of the site to make it into a proper burial ground. There would be no individual graves, and although it was a shame the LeStranges were going to be mixed up in it all, he could easily leave that part out. He'd just tell the few remaining Weasleys and anyone else that asked that he disposed of them separately. Once he was certain that all the bodies that had been decorating the walls were hidden beneath countless layers of soil, he settled back down onto the ground.

"Rest in Peace," he muttered half-heartedly. "Rejoin with Magic, and enjoy the greatest journey of them all."

With that Harry apparated back to the command room. He was ambushed by the elderly Madam Pomfrey and, despite thinking he was fine, came to find that he was missing a significant chunk of his leg. He really did have to give it to the mediwitch, she was a cornerstone of the rebellion that he wasn't sure what he'd do without. The rumbling continued, but that was easily ignored in favour of smiling at Ron when the redhead arrived with an even paler face than normal. His brother Charlie was in tow, and they both looked far more concerned than Harry felt.

"Charlie, here to report about our wannabe dark lord?" he said as Pomfrey frantically shoved a potion into his mouth. He swallowed the contents as quick as he could in order to continue. "Castle LeStrange is no more. Your family, along with all the others tormented by its existence, can rest easy now."

Ron shuddered. "Harry—"

"You can take all three of the LeStranges off the list." He winced as Pomfrey cast some sort of spell on the wound. "Dead and gone."

"Harry your leg!"

He glanced down to see the wound had begun to rot. Where had he seen that before? The first thing that came to mind was Dumbledore's hand, a slow-acting curse manipulated by Voldemort into keeping its victims alive long enough for him to know who'd touched his horcrux, but something else bubbled up within him. Another arm, a far faster curse, blood spilling everywhere as he removed his arm—

Bang.

"Harry?"

He blinked. He was sitting at a table with a woman. The trees that surrounded the camp were giving them enough shade from the sun that it was more common to take meals outside rather than in the comfort of their tents, and his 'lover' particularly preferred it that way. He shook his head and took a long sip of water.

"Sorry," he said when he was finished. "Just got lost in thought."

She snorted. "And here I thought you were finally falling for me."

"Someday," he said as he gently pressed his feet against hers. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

The rumbling returned, sending a cascade of leaves falling around them, and Hydrus leapt to his feet. "What is that?"

"What is what?"

Harry… He was Harry right? He sat back down. "I… I don't know. Maybe it was nothing."

"Are you alright?" The woman reached a hand out and placed it over his own trembling one. "Should we go to Snape?"

"No." The last thing he needed was that git rooting about in his mind to make sure he was still sane for the thousandth time. "I'm fine, I just—"

The rumbling sent their plates dancing to the floor.

"Harry, are you—"

Bang.

"Alright?" Kaltuf said. "Promise me, Harry, promise me."

"I promise," Harry grunted. "Now shut up and trot."

The centaur was using him as a crutch, his palm pressing down so hard on Harry's shoulder that his collarbone felt like it was about to snap. They were trudging through a forest, trying to make their escape from the Death Eaters' ambush. The wizards themselves hadn't been much of an issue, but some kind of serpent had been lurking in their midst and had bit a chunk of flesh from Kaltuf's torso. Harry had done his best to stop the bleeding, but the damage...

"You must find the symbol of your soul," Kaltuf murmured. "That which has most meaning to you."

"I get it!"

In another life, in another body, the centaur could've been a televangelist. Always going on about magic this, magic that. Every morning and night the creature would hold these ridiculous rituals where he burned part of his already limited share of rations, carve his stupid 'soul symbol' somewhere, and shout to his nonsensical goddess for protection. Well where the hell was she now when he actually—

"Ah—!"

Harry gasped as the world began to shake, and the centaur stumbled and fell onto his off-side flank, nearly pulling the human down with him. As the creature fell, so to did Harry's hopes for his friend's survival. The look Kaltuf gave him said that the centaur knew it too. Harry knelt down beside him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I tried..."

"Do it now." The centaur reached out and grabbed Harry's collar. "Before it's too late, while I'm still alive."

Harry wanted to just leave, but he'd never be able to forgive himself if he passed on the rare opportunity to actually grant one of his follower's their dying wish. He took the knife Sirius had given him so many years ago from his pocket, unfolded it, and took a breath.

"So I just..."

"State what you're giving," Kaltuf said, gasping for breaths of air. "And who it is for. Draw the symbol. Pray, pray for us all, Harry Potter."

"Goodbye, Kaltuf." He took a long breath. "I take your life, and give it to magic."

With that he slit the centaur's throat. The light faded quickly from his eyes, and tears formed in Harry's. He sat the knife aside and like a child playing with finger paints, dipped his fingers in the blood pooling along the forest floor. Numbness was all he felt. There was no thought put into what he drew, just the first thing that came to mind. The Deathly Hallows.

When he was done with the shoddily drawn representation, he sighed. "I... I guess I pray for protection. Please, if anyone's listening, pro—"

"My poor child." His blood froze over. "Gone far too soon. He was never supposed to be here."

A woman had appeared. She had hair so long that it drug behind her like a wedding train, glowing an iridescent shade of prismatic pearl that he couldn't begin comprehend. Her skin was flawless, and completely uncovered. She was beautiful, but what caught him like a rowboat in a whirlpool were her twin, sapphire-like eyes that glowed with power and left a trail as she moved over to kneel beside him, beside the body of his friend. The woman reached out and ran her fingers through the centaur's hair, and everywhere her fingers touch seemed to glow in a pale, golden light.

She turned to him. "But I suppose you weren't supposed to be here either, were you, Harry?"

"What do you mean?" He demanded. "Who are you?"

"I am Magic, my child." She stood. "What would you ask of me, for this tragic gift?"

It took a moment for Harry to find his voice. "Protect my people."

"You'll need to be more specific," Magic said, reaching out. "A deal must be made with specificity."

"I don't know." Harry tried to pull away from her touch, but her arm seemed to stretch to graze his cheek, just like she'd done to Kaltuf. "I..."

"I can give back what was lost," she offered. "Give you the power to make sure this never happens again."

Harry stared up at her. Power was what he needed most. There was never enough to go around, never enough to save his people, never enough to—

"You have agreed, then."

Magic cupped his face, and for the briefest of moments he thought she was going to kiss him. She leaned in, her perfectly shaped and sized lips pursing slightly, but instead she simply blew into his open mouth. It felt cold and warm all at once, like cinnamon and mint blended together, and it practically coiled around his tongue. He gasped as she finally pulled away.

"The serpents shall no longer be able to hide in your shadow, my child," she said. "Once more the gift of their tongue is yours."

"Wait," Hydrus nearly cried as the goddess began to fade. "Don't go, what are you, how is this—"

Bang.

"...possible." He was in a booth at a muggle restaurant, Ron and Hermione on either side of him with Remus opposite. "We have to do this tonight."

"Right, that's—"

Bang.

"Fine." She got out of bed, bringing the blankets along with her to wrap around her naked body. "I'll leave then."

"Wait." He jumped up. "I'm sorry, please don't leave—"

Bang.

"Me." Hydrus buried his face in his hands at Ron's words. "It has to be me, Harry. They'll never believe you would let me risk my life in such a—"

Bang.

"Way." The muggle shoved a disguised Harry out of his way. "Before I knock your fucking jaw lose you—"

Bang.

"Bugger." Hermione looked up at him from the spot she'd fallen too, blood already beginning to pool around her throat and head. The cut she'd made hadn't been clean, hadn't been 'proper' for such a ritual. "I'm sorry, Harry, I promise I… I…"

Harry watched the light fade from her eyes, just like all the others. He picked the knife up from where it rested in her open palm and brought it to his own chest. Slowly, carefully, he began to carve the sign of his faith into his chest. A straight line, a circle perfectly wrapped around its ends, and a triangle between it all. He'd probably gone too deep with the initial 'wand' pattern, but it would hardly matter. Success or failure. It was all or nothing now.

"Magic." He lifted his arms up in expectation and worship. "Hear my call. I need you. One last time."

Three bargains had been struck thus far, three more, perhaps, than anyone before him. Three was a proper number, a magical number, and he was pushing beyond that limit here. They all were. They'd sacrificed themselves for what he was about to attempt.

"Magic, please, I—"

"My child." Hydrus's voice caught in his throat. "My poor, pitiful child."

"Please," he begged. "Please. Send me back. To before this awful war began, give me one more chance at this war. I promise not to fail you this time."

"You have never failed me, Harry." He couldn't see her for some reason. Couldn't see anything. "Why have you done this?"

"I didn't have any other choice," he almost sobbed. "Please, I'm sorry, just one time. Please."

"Why must you push yourself, my child?" she asked. "You deserve your rest."

"No." It was as firm as he could manage. "I can't. I won't. I have to save them."

"You killed them, Harry." He wept. "They're dead because of you."

"I'm sorry," he whispered and whined. "I"m sorry, I"m sorry, I'm sorryI'msorryimsorryimsorryimsorry—"

"Rest, my child."

The pain. The grief. The guilt over his friends slitting their own throats in an attempt to bring the goddess before him once more.

"Rest. The price has been paid."

"The graves are filled," he whispered. "The graves are filled."

"Not these graves, child." His heart sank deeper than he thought it could ever go. "I'm sor—"

Bang.

"Hydrus!"

Harry, no, Hydrus's eyes snapped open. He glanced around and saw he was in the medical wing of Hogwarts. The smell of herbs, poultices, and antiseptics hit his nose like a beater's bat. He sat up and rubbed at his forehead, guilt and shame alike filling him at the weakness he'd shown.

"Hydrus, are you alright?" He looked over to see Dumbledore towering over his bed. "I tried to save you as fast as I could."

"I'm fine." He made to throw off the covers but was momentarily stunned by the lack of hand to do so. 'Right, down to just the one.'

"Rest," Dumbledore commanded. "It's a miracle you're even conscious already."

"I said that I'm fine," Hydrus argued. "I just want to go home."

"You are home, Harry." If the hospital wing had been an assault on his senses, those words were a murder. "I promise. You're safe. Rest."

Not wanting or willing to argue any further, he settled back into the bed. He was far too old to be comforted by Dumbledore running his hand through his hair. He was far too old to be crying over just a little bit of repressed trauma bubbling back up. He was far too old to still be wishing his father, Sirius, was there. He was far too old to still be this damn emotional over what he had no control over.

But people, no matter how 'too old' they were, loved to sleep, so that's what he decided to do.


Albus continued to watch his charge, his apprentice, sleep. The boy, no, the man had nearly killed himself as well as the ancient wizard along with their familiars with his outburst. Apophis was coiled atop Hydrus's chest, and although Dumbledore was a far cry from a parselmouth, he didn't need to be one in order to feel the agitation and fear rolling off the snake. Fawkes was resting back in the headmaster's office, and although Albus's weary body and exhausted magic wished to join the phoenix, the rest of him couldn't possibly be anywhere aside from the side of the young man who'd revealed a new world to him.

He wasn't a particularly talented legilimens, not compared to what one might expect from a wizard like him, so it had taken some time to knock down the fortifications that Hydr—, Harry, had erected in his mind. Behind each one he found more memories that now swam through his mind like sharks.

At first it had just been what he'd expected, moments of leadership with other students and 'secret' romantic encounters with Bellatrix Black. Next came some time on the streets, but those memories had ended far quicker than he'd expected, and next thing he knew he was witnessing scenes that very well could've come from his own time on the battlefields when he had finally set forth against Gellert. Faces he recognized but were far older, far more drawn out, appeared in every scene.

He'd seen it all, or at least the highlights and moments that stood out to his charge, and he didn't know what to do.

It was rare for the 'Greatest Wizard since Merlin Himself' to be dumbfounded, but that was certainly the least of what he felt now. Harry Potter, the Harry he knew, was a fine enough young wizard. Did exceptionally well in some classes, lagged behind in some others. Albus had the boy pinned for a successful quidditch career, perhaps even talented enough to play in the World Cup some day, but beyond that he'd just been another talented young student in his halls.

The Harry he saw in Hydrus's memories? That boy was something that left him awed and ashamed in equal measures. How could he have let the child fall so far, rise so high? Even in the boy's first year at Hogwarts he'd had to contend against this dark lord that put his Gellert to shame in terms of cruelty, vileness, and power. The man… The monster that Harry had gone on to become…

Who was he to judge though?

The scene that stood strongest in his mind was watching the remainder of the 'rebellion' kill themselves in a hare-brained attempt to summon this deity that Harry had contracted with. Albus doubted it was actually the living embodiment of magic, such a thing was preposterous, but whatever it was the being was certainly powerful. Four sacrifices had been made by the boy, and he had received four 'blessings' in return.

Harry's first sacrifice had been a simple one, at least compared to the others. He'd euthanized a dying centaur, the one who'd told him about this supposed goddess in the first place, and offered the already fading life to her. In exchange, he'd been given back the ability to speak to serpents. A valuable tool in the war he was waging with what seemed to be the reincarnation of Salazar Slytherin.

If things had ended there, Dumbledore wouldn't have given it a second thought. But it hadn't.

His second blessing had been complete and total control over the ancient magic known simply as The Trace. He could detect children whose magical talents weren't yet fully developed, allowing him to replenish his forces. With that skill he was able to recruit child soldiers into his war. In exchange, he'd sacrificed love. His love for his first 'wife', whomever that was, along with all memories of her that involved the emotion were wiped away from him. Later on he'd developed a relationship with someone else, but that love too had apparently been erased when the woman killed herself during the fourth ritual.

Third. He'd given up all love and memory for someone else. He wasn't sure who it was since Harry didn't have any memories of them left whatsoever, but the loss had nearly killed him, and Albus suspected that it was what drove him to almost immediately to make the third sacrifice along with the next. In exchange for whoever it was, he turned himself into a juvenile amalgamation of primarily Sirius Black, small amounts of Albus himself and Voldemort, and just the slightest touch of his original form, with all the magical power that entailed.

His fourth sacrifice was not his to make. His followers, what few remained, killed themselves in a ritualistic suicide in order to send him back in time.

Albus stared down at the ring that seemed so inconsequential now. The mark of the Deathly Hallows, the crest of House Peverell, stared back at him as inanimately as possible. How could Hydrus have piled so much faith into just a symbol? The irony of it wasn't lost on the ancient wizard, he knew damned well that thousands had died because of Gellert's, and thus also his own, ridiculous ambitions and dreams. He knew just what all the pair had sacrificed in order to try and find the hallowed objects, and even if his love had taken it far beyond what any sane man should've been able to stomach, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps some twisted part of his own dreams had been passed down to Harry in their time together.

Harry's time with the other Albus had been awful. The child, for that was all he could be in front of the man whom he clearly thought of as a grandfather, had sat at his feet and learned all that the powerful figure had to offer. Albus still couldn't believe what he'd seen himself say to the boy; strategies for manipulating people into doing what you want, ways to bury away guilt over what you were responsible for, the 'mystic' aura you had to give off in order to inspire others into believing in your goals. So much of what the boy did now suddenly became cast in a new light, and the headmaster recognized that his 'grandson' was putting every lesson the other Albus drilled into his head to use.

"I raised him to become that monster." There was no one around to hear him, he'd sent Pomfrey home for the weekend, and it felt good to speak his thoughts aloud. "It's my fault."

Just what was that missing war like? He'd lived through the war in the forties, the one led by Gellert, and he witnessed nearly every pivotal moment of the second war against Voldemort through Harry's eyes, but what had happened during the first war against this 'Tom Riddle' figure? Just what had happened in that period to turn Albus into that… That thing that manipulated others to his will and taught Harry to do the same?

Hydrus's eyes started to flutter open, but Dumbledore waved his hand over the teenage body and it settled back down. He couldn't handle the conversation they would no doubt have, not yet.

"Merlin…" he breathed out. "I just did it again, didn't I?"

Using magic to get what you wanted without a care for what others thought or wanted was a cornerstone of the 'future' Albus and Harry's actions. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. A man as old as him was supposed to have all the answers by now. He'd lived for well over a hundred years and yet it felt like the further he went the more confusing things got.

'From the tapestry his pathway burns,

Thus the new lord arrives and returns.

Pieces of the warrior fall in time

Crushed under the weight of what he must climb

Twice dead, thrice born, no grave to call his own

Behold, behold, king of an empty throne.'

The old prophecy came unbidden to his mind once more.

'From the tapestry his pathway burns.' The first line. Hydrus managing to fling himself back in time would certainly fit that, especially considering the state Harry left his own world in.

'The new lord arrives and returns.' The second perfect match. Although not even Albus could call Harry a Dark Lord, the boy certainly couldn't be called anything but a Lord, and he had arrived in this new world, returning back in time.

'Pieces of the warrior fall in time.' Both Harry and Hydrus, both the man he'd left behind and the teen he was, were warriors, but he hoped that meant the boy would slowly shed the dregs and hangups that war had left him with, and that the line wasn't just a reference to the boy's hand and perhaps future injuries.

'Crushed under the weight of what he must climb.' Merlin, please let that be a sign of what had already passed. Let the 'crushing' be a reference to what he had already suffered as leader of the last true bastion of hope against that evil Voldemort fellow. Let it not be a sign of what this world's future still had to throw against the young 'Black'.

'Twice dead, thrice born, no grave to call his own.' Twice dead and thrice born was another perfect fit for Hydrus, and thus the last piece of why Albus was now certain the prophecy referred to his 'grandson'. He'd been born, killed at the end of his fourth year, 'reborn' when the killing curse only destroyed the horcrux of Voldemort, killed in his own time as he moved on to this time, and given a new life here. But what did 'no grave to call his own' possibly mean?

'Behold, behold, king of an empty throne.' An easily dismissed section of the prophecy. Hydrus was still a leader, but now he led nothing.

Albus sat in silence for quite some time. Memories, both his own and Hydrus's, flowing through his mind. He'd initially been disgusted at this version of Harry. The future quidditch-star had grown up to become a man who knowingly sent people to their death in order to attack points left vulnerable by the others' sacrifices. He trained and used child soldiers who were ill-equipped for the danger he thrust them into. There were a few friends he considered valuable, and thus he protected, but even those were considered fodder in the grander scheme of things to the man.

And it was exactly the sort of person Albus had reared him to become.

It all weighed far too heavy upon his shoulders, and at the very least, a shining beacon towards his grandson's character was the fact that he'd decided to try and keep it from him for so long. The boy had told no one of who, or what, he was. Not Bellatrix, not Sirius, and it had only been after things exploded inside his mind that he finally confessed to the man responsible for it all.

'I'm boiling frogs here!'

Albus snorted, thinking back to how apropos the metaphor was for Hydrus's own situation. The child just kept burying things away, refusing to deal with or acknowledge them, until it was too late and it all came boiling over, too late for him to escape. He reached out a hand and once more brushed aside the boy's hair. Hydrus might've lived for over three decades, but considering what that time had entailed, he could hardly see him as an adult.

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, chairman of the IWC as Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, and Grand Sorcerer, was the one responsible for stealing that boy's childhood from him. Voldemort might've been the one to kill his parents, the one to directly start the wars that had dominated young Harry's life, but it was Albus who had failed to step up and take the burden himself.

"Just like you did with Gellert," he reminded himself. "Waited for someone else to take all the responsibility."

Hydrus's insistence regarding the Resurrection Stone made all the more sense to him now. Albus had accidentally killed himself thanks to the thing, thus completely abandoning the boy. His grandson might not acknowledge it, turning his head away from the thoughts in denial, but it didn't change the fact that the failures of his future could all be traced back to Dumbledore. The boy only blamed the headmaster's own death on the man, but Albus saw the failures for what they were.

"Enough."

He had spent long enough dwelling on his failures. It was time to devise a solution to the problem that Hydrus now presented him with. The boy wanted to be Minister of Magic and whatever else, but that certainly wouldn't do. Not only would it be impossible for Albus to feel comfortable with the demented figure leading their section of magical society, it wasn't what Hydrus desired, truly desired.

"I promise," Albus started. "I will do everything in my power to give you what you want. What you need." He took up Hydrus's one good hand and gave it a squeeze. "I promise Harry, I promise Hydrus, for all the failures I've made until now, I will make it up to you."

One last thought came to him unbidden.

'Did Voldemort simply manipulate an existing curse on the ring to cause the effect on my hand in that timeline?' he wondered. 'Or did he cast it himself from scratch? That couldn't be possible, not since the ring still cursed Hydrus, could it?'


BBaRtS


There's chapter 15 done. Tbh I'm not sure I like this chapter. But after two rewrites and constant internal bickering with myself I knew I just needed to get it out there so I can keep going. As I said forever ago, I've gone this long without flashbacks and proper infodumping, I think at the very least I've 'earned' the moment now. Or at least, y'all would know that these won't be common if y'all don't like it either. I do like the first portion with Apophis, and got a lot of positive feedback about our new serpentine friend, so that's good. I got a DM asking me if I would upload on other sites, so I went ahead and put it up on Watpad and should have an account to upload it to AO3 after tomorrow, in case anyone would prefer reading it on those sites instead. Not sure if there's any others I should add it to.

There really wasn't too much to respond to in the reviews this go around, everyone was very kind and it was a pleasure to read. The only concern brought up was me mentioning changing some plans because of one dumb review, but I promise it wouldn't change any major plans with the story. The pairing is still Harry/Hydrus x Bellatrix as the main pairing. I just might turn that scene from 'example number 1 of Hydrus beginning to collect favours' to 'subplot number 38' lol.

Like I said, lots of people loved the newly-dubbed Apophis, he's definitely going to be sticking around.

Thanks for all the kind reviews, and all the favorites/follows. The view counter is broken on the site atm, the price for my hubristic celebration in the other chapter, but that's fine. Here's to another chapter, see y'all next Saturday, lessthanthree