Harry spat out a curse as he found himself again in a dream. There were no immediate clues from the world around him, but he felt young, and he was at the Dursley residence. He threw himself out of bed.

"I've gone back again."

He could not, as any time before, remember what he had been doing before going to sleep, but he could be fairly certain that he would have been done with some kind of planning meeting; there was something important going down and he would be damned if he missed it- he could not afford to keep leaving everything to his friends, not even if they were as competent as he was in most things, if not more so in certain areas. Whether it was the prophecy, whether it was the piece of Voldemort's soul living inside of him, or whether it was just as Ron and Hermione suspected a long time ago and he just had something different about him that qualified him to lead the fight- it was his responsibility, so he had to be there himself, or at least see it through.

It did not take long to determine that he had none of his old supplies. Without a wand, he knew that apparating would be difficult, but what was even harder was trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do. The Time Turner was locked up somewhere; he could be reasonably certain there was no way to steal it, and it would probably be a while before Quirrell went and got himself possessed. Sneaking downstairs and peering at a calendar confirmed his suspicions. It was the year before he started at Hogwarts. Perhaps, had he the luxury of another year of attendance, his dreams could have taken him back then, but it seemed that he had no such luck. If anything, it seemed like it was going further and further back, but it was not exactly consistent. What could possibly determine when he went back?

Stealing a small amount of gold from Arabella Figg's house, guessing that she used it for some kind of magical product, he called for the Night Bus and asked to go to Diagon Alley. It was annoying that he was set so far back by such a simple thing, but there was no faster way to get to what he wanted. He could apparate across entire countries, but for that he needed a wand. When he got off the bus, he tossed a brick through Ollivander's window. It was painful to steal things, but waiting would cost him time, and it seemed like neither of his victims so far had been suspecting- in all the years the wandmaker had been in business, it was doubtful he had ever had one theft. Harry knew just where to find the one he needed, though, cutting down on the time he needed to get out of there just as he was hearing the cracks of apparation.

He had one idea. That was it. It was not a terribly good idea, but technically it had to work, and it would have to close off the chance that he would ever get sent back to his pre-Hogwarts days again; there would be no point in repeating the same procedure. Whether or not his soul was being damaged from how he was treating figments of his own imagination, he could be reasonably certain he would not need to use the same trick twice. If there was any point to what he was doing at all, he was not going to go back there.

Apparating to Albania took hours. He had seen a map of Europe, of course, but getting across it was another matter. Though it was so close, he had never once been to the continent, and from there he had to apparate as far as he could see ahead of him, over and over, without stopping, and even though he could get it down to about a second, he was traveling far too slowly for his liking. When he arrived, he remembered that according to Ron, there was some kind of plant fiber on the diadem itself, and according to Neville it was a bit of bark from a Norway Spruce, and the only area in the country where any of those could be found was Valbona Valley, in the Albanian Alps. When they looked into it, the native magical community considered it a cursed, haunted forest, and avoided the area.

"Accio phoenix feather wand." Nothing happened, and he silently shrugged. It had only been a guess that Wormtail had a wand with which to present his master because he found it in that very forest, or that had been the manner in which he had found him, and in his experience, it was better not to get too attached to guesses. He cast diagnostic spells, but quickly found that there was no point. It was not that there was no response; it was that the response was overwhelming. The forest was saturated with dark magic; there was no clear place to start. The only thing he could think of doing was relaxing his own Occlumency.

"He's weak in this state. He could only take control of Quirrell because he had permission... my mother's protection would still be in effect, though, so he wouldn't be able to get close to me... he would probably know before getting close to me that there's no way in." Still, it was probably his best bet for finding his mortal enemy. He lowered his mental shields and almost immediately heard the words in his mind.

"Harry Potter... come to die, ten years later. This is... unexpected."

"What is this place?" he asked, looking around. "Is this where ghosts go when there's nowhere else to put them?"

"I am far less than a ghost, if you must know- and yet, I still live. I can't help but be curious about my first visitor. What brought you here?"

"It's complicated. I need to know what you are now."

"Your shielding has returned. I would have thought it impossible for a child- even I, at your age, remember being limited. As a shade I cannot take physical form, not without a willing host. It seems that you would not serve."

"That's correct," he said after a moment. "I'm sure you know why."

"There is, of course, no need to apologize. If you are indeed the kind of young wizard that I had hoped upon detecting your presence, then you trust no one. You must want something to have come here, and there would be no point if you were to lose your autonomy in the process. What is it you want, then?"

"I knew that I would have to consult you if I were to learn how to reverse death," he lied. "I would think it was pointless, though, if you couldn't come back from this forest."

"I would not say that it is pointless. As long as you have some tie to life, you still have a chance. I know of a way to come back that involves you, actually."

"Interesting," he said. "If you're talking about the Pair Dadeni, I've looked into it, and I would think that I would have to be your mortal enemy for that to work." He frowned. "Even then, though, you would need some kind of physical form in order to interact with the brew in the cauldron."

"Of course, but there are simple solutions to that. There are all manners of magical creatures who live longer and in worse conditions and come back from meaner states. I know not how much I should ask without belittling the incredible progress you have made so far. Are you skilled in the Confundus, or the Imperius?"

"I have cast the Confundus Charm before."

"In that case, the fastest way of solving the problem would be to summon a snake, confund it, and convince it to allow me to possess it. I can speak to snakes-"

"As can I. Accio snake."

If Voldemort had any idea of what was truly going on, he gave no sign, and it seemed he was so desirous for an opportunity to escape his decade-long imprisonment, that he could figure out any other details later. The snake was some local species; he had no idea what it was and did not care. It was hard to estimate how much time he had spent relative to all the other dreams, especially because there were moments where time itself seemed to be moving more quickly or slowly, but either way it was getting to be too much- he had to get back to the others.

The requirement of a willing host was not sensitive to how informed the host was, and it was probably easier to confund it than it was to confuse it using the Imperius Curse. The enemy probably had no idea what to think about his abilities, but had every reason to suspect that he would not have a problem with using dark magic. Most likely, though he had no idea about the soul fragment, the shade believed that the event had some kind of effect on him. Either way, though, he possessed the snake without a problem. Picking the snake up, Harry found himself moderately surprised that it did not immediately suffer. Did his mother's protection only apply to humans, or to those who were completely in concert with Lord Voldemort, and not merely being used as a squatting location?

"My abilities are limited in this state, but as you see, a physical form at least affords me the chance to leave this forest, and for that I am grateful. The Dark Lord has always rewarded even mere servants, and the treatment of partners has been incomparable."

In the cocktail of emotions that Harry felt, the only one he could identify, and only after a moment of thought, was sadness. He was sure that on some level, the statement about reward for dutiful service was true; someone like Yaxley or Malfoy would have been more richly compensated for his services than a peon. At the same time, it was completely up in the air if he even understood a genuine concept of justice, or friendship. It was the kind of thing that he would find himself ashamed to say, because he would never want someone to think that his idea of either concept was based on his personal benefit.

"Diffindo."

The severing charm took off the snake's head in seconds, and with that he woke up. In the time he was willing to budget to the dream, he could think of nothing more that he could have done to oppose the shade of Voldemort, probably sending it reeling for a while, but aware there was no way he had killed it. He looked around and found he had been left behind, throwing himself out of bed. There was only one other person in the makeshift hospital.

"Daphne- where is everyone?"

"It's a pleasure to find out you're all right too, Harry; why don't you ask where-"

"I don't have time for this. Where are the others?"

"Against her better judgement, Hermione accompanied them on the mission to the Auror recruiting office."

At least only a few hours had passed. They had been planning to scout the place out. Most likely, it was a sting against a few disaffected youths. The Ministry needed an explanation for the attacks, and it would need to have one arranged in advance of the public finding out. The recruits reported several disturbing recruitment advertisements in Knockturn Alley, each promising the chance to use dark magic. It was a bit of a reach, but some kind of recruiter had to have been involved if the culprit knew all the necessary tricks, and even with their own recruits having been sent, as if unsuspecting, to the arranged location, they needed to be a step ahead- and it seemed like they were, in more ways than one. Neville appeared right in front of him right as he was about to leave for the disapparation point, a hole in their own defenses that was safe as long as the enemy did not know where exactly it was.

"Can you help me get her to bed?" he asked. "I know she trusts me, but it's procedure in a non-emergency to-"

"I know- Mobilicorpus."

The sleeping figure of his friend seemed to watch them as they moved her inside, as was the protocol for dealing with anyone unconscious; there was nothing in place for someone who was not likely to wake up any time soon. His other friend looked nervous, but that was normal. He seemed lost in thought, if anything.

"If it's not an emergency, I take it things are going well?"

"Right. Right, we got Ron and Susan into the place without a problem. Blaise is close and Ginny's got your invisibility cloak- sorry about that. Hermione was just there to confirm that they didn't see us coming, and she passed out just after that to be on the safe side. Her mental therapy approach is working; she's up about two hours a day now."

"That's good, I suppose," he said after a moment. If any of the recruits had a problem with minors having higher ranks, he could only imagine how many would quit upon hearing that one of them was barely ever walking on her own two feet. Already, there had been complaints about having no apparent endgame for the conflict, and some had said that they had not signed up to be the permanent sacrificial servant on standby, waiting around to either die or get arrested. Switching to using DA members for more of the dangerous missions had practically been forced upon them, even if they could dress it up with anything they liked.

"It doesn't look like we'll be able to stop anyone from getting arrested. The Ministry tricked us; they said that the meeting would be at the witching hour and they were referring to a time on the Celtic-"

"I get it," he muttered. "That's how they were planning on pitching it, that they caught a bunch of prospective dark wizards. Three days of torture and they'll all be saying that they learned it from us, or at Hogwarts."

"Does the Ministry torture people?" Neville asked as they got Hermione inside.

"Not with the Cruciatus," he said, holding up his hand, which was still scarred. "My guess is that they'll tell the few they've managed to arrest that a lot is going to start mysteriously going wrong for their friends and family. A court document might go missing, delaying a settlement for months. The letter approving an accreditation might have the wrong filing. I've said over and over that loads of people can't even cast a shield charm, and there's plenty who are worse than that."

"I think I get it," he said, shaking his head. "You know, Harry, I don't think that we can really make independent citizens out of certain people. It feels bad to say that, but I can't help but think it's true."

"It's mostly by choice," he muttered to himself. "A squib has a better chance of being an independent citizen by acting like one than someone with a wand who doesn't use it, or doesn't know how- or even someone who does, and lacks courage, concern for the truth, responsibility, care for others, or all of them at once. It's our choices that make us who we are."

"What difference does it make?" Daphne asked, yawning. The two of them looked back around, nearly butting heads in the process. "I mean, sure, one might have earned a small amount of respect, but other than that..."

"A squib can make a difference," he said. "You don't need to regularly cast spells to write for the Quibbler. There are a few charms that would make things easier for office work, but you could honestly serve in a public office."

"You've been making speeches," she said, referencing his somewhat less casual way of speaking. "I approve, for the record. You should have a response for everything, even if someone says 'you have a response for everything'. That's not that good of an argument."

"I gathered that, thank you," Neville said. It was genuinely hard to tell if he was sincere or not. "I was talking about people we can reach and get to help us," he continued after a moment. "Someone who has expressed a contrary view to our own is not simply beyond help. There are probably no massive intellectual disabilities among people holding down jobs and taking care of themselves that preclude them from understanding our position."

"Well, that brings me to my point. What difference does it make if someone refuses to join us for lack of ability or just by choice?"

"None at all," Harry said. "I was only reassuring him that out of everyone we didn't get, we weren't missing anyone in the best of cases. There are no plans to punish those who refuse to join us now, but they'll have to live with their choices, if we even win. No one will have any excuse."

"I suppose not," she said after a moment. "It won't make any difference to us, though, not now. It wouldn't be the first time that you've told everyone that we're no one special... except you, apparently."

"There were many who have been chosen for service," he said, referencing some line in the Phoenix Script. "Whether or not you show up for it is up to you, as I understand it."

"Then I suppose I should be grateful that I was chosen, so I didn't show up in vain."

"I don't believe it would have been in vain," Neville said after a moment. "I don't remember where, but the text says that no one who did evil will ever get away with it. It might not be right away, but they'll all suffer. Similarly, no one who did good will fail to be rewarded for it." He frowned a bit. "That's not to say that we're going to get rewarded unless we're forgiven for everything that we've done wrong already. That's the part I don't understand yet. With how flawed we all are, how could we ever get everyone together and have everyone forgive everyone else?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I guess we're lucky that we're not the ones who have to figure that out, then." He was right, at least about how only those wronged had the right to forgive the wrong doers. The only character that seemed to be around long enough to witness everything coming to pass was the phoenix itself, and it was crazy to think that he had seen that very bird in the office of the headmaster of his school, regarding it with the same unquestioning wonder that he had for everything else in those days. "Why didn't Voldemort ever think of the phoenix?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," his friend said. It looked like the witch was back to sleep already. She could be his friend too. "Maybe he didn't think that method of immortality would work for him, being a human... but then, it's a different kind of immortality. Basically, the phoenix accompanies you and helps you, and you serve his purposes, so I don't think, even if he were chosen for that kind of thing, that it would work for him. I think he'd chose something else, and I think he did."

"That at least makes sense," he said after a moment. "I just would have thought that if he tried to take advantage of unicorn blood, he might think of some other magical creature that lives forever. I don't know what exactly he would have done, but I can't believe he never looked into it."

"He might have. If he did, though, he wouldn't have said anything if he found out that it wouldn't work for him," Neville said, thinking on it. "I think he's more likely to subscribe to the belief that a person is basically the continuity of his or her memory, and that the soul is simply a tool for preserving that, or a representation of that phenomenon. I think he's skeptical about a lot of things that people have found out about magic and the soul. I don't think anyone would split it up otherwise."

Neither of them said anything after that. There was other work to be done, and they had not been able to do anything with other conclusions they had drawn, at least not right then.