Harry slammed the door to the Defense classroom closed behind him, not caring about the portraits he disturbed or if it pissed Umbridge off. The corridor was dark aside from the flickering torches that cast strange shadows. He glared down at his hand, not needing light to see it with how brightly the skin and the blood glowed red. He clenched it into a fist, not caring about the pain it caused, and hit it against the door at his back in anger and frustration. He pushed away from the wall after a few moments and headed down the corridor. He knew he should go back to Gryffindor Tower, but he could hardly handle being there anymore. Nothing had been the same since Christmas.

He made his way up to the Astronomy Tower’s observation platform and sat heavily at the edge against one of the pillars. He stretched one leg and bent the other, draping his still bleeding hand over his knee, and gazed out onto the dark grounds. As it often did those days, his mind wandered to the Christmas holidays.

He’d had a dream—a vision—of Mr. Weasley being attacked at the Ministry prior to the start of break. Hysterical, he, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had grabbed various members of the DA and flown to London, desperate to save Mr. Weasley. It had, naturally, been a trap, a way for the Death Eaters to try and get their hands on both Harry and the prophecy. They very nearly succeeded, having managed to get him cornered in the Department of Mysteries in the Hall of Prophecies, but then the Order showed up. Spectacular battles erupted throughout the Ministry until the Death Eaters fled, save one, leaving behind innumerable injuries amongst the Order and students.

Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Tonks, Lupin, Hermione, Seamus, Neville, and McGonagall had ended up hospitalized in varying critical conditions. Luckily, no one had died, unless Pettigrew counted as he’d been captured and turned over to the Ministry, exonerating Sirius at last. Additionally, all had healed by mid-January with no severe long-term effects to speak of.

Once the adrenaline had passed, the blame came out. Harry was blamed for those injured, his own near capture, and the near discovery of the prophecy by the Death Eaters. Despite the fact that Ron and Ginny wouldn’t hear a word about getting adult help and Dumbledore refusing to answer their pleas for entry to his office, Harry was the one blamed for being foolish, reckless, and endangering his fellow students.

“You nearly cost us everything we have been working towards,” Dumbledore had said, his blue eyes lacking their usual sparkle as they gazed at him with deep disappointment.

“You’re supposed to know what’s real and what’s a trap! Why couldn’t you have just tried harder at Occlumency?” Ron had shouted, ignoring the fact that he’d known how hard Harry had been trying and spectacularly failing at the magical practice.

“You need to think before you act, Harry. You need to learn the things you do have consequences,” Sirius had said. Harry thought the sentiment pretty rich coming from the man that had failed to think a single thing through Halloween night and had been sent to Azkaban for his lack of thought.

“Maybe you should have just let them take you. You’re the one they want, not us,” Ginny had hissed, a hatred in her eyes he hadn’t ever thought he’d see in the Weasley family and especially not directed at him.

Even now, remembering, Harry winced at their vitriol, their anger, their disappointment. He’d been virtually alone since then. He still had the support of Dean, Luna, and the twins, and even Seamus and Neville despite them ending up in the hospital, but he couldn’t help but miss the others. He felt betrayed that it was so easy for them to blame and hate him for something they’d also been involved in, and had even had a larger leading role in than him. He felt abandoned as Sirius also turned his back, never once mentioning a desire to finally act as Harry’s guardian now he was officially free and able to do so.

Thus, he’d been left on his own to shoulder their blame, the prophecy, and the fate of their world.

And, honestly, he was tired.

“Potter.”

Harry sighed at the voice and let his head fall back against the stone pillar. His eyes closed for a moment before rolling his head to look at the professor. Things had been…better between them, in spite of the horrible Occlumency lessons, which he found funny considering the rest of his relationships seemed to be falling apart. They’d been forced into Occlumency lessons in October and had come to learn a lot about each other, finally allowing their hatred to settle.

Snape knew about his life with the Dursleys, knew about his nightmares and past self-harm. He knew the guilt and shame and anger Harry felt towards everything he’d been pushed into each year. He knew Harry’s darkest secrets, knew him in a way no one else did or ever would.

On the flip side, Harry knew about Snape’s own horrible childhood, the bullying of the Marauders, and his loss of Lily. He knew all that had pushed Snape into joining the Death Eaters and the man’s manipulated actions with the prophecy that would ultimately lead to Snape virtually selling his soul to Voldemort and Dumbledore. He knew the man's feelings of worthlessness and loneliness, feelings that so clearly mirrored his own. He knew what made Snape the way he was and was likely the only person that understood the professor so completely.

Strong respect had been fostered between them and maybe even a semblance of care.

“What has you out after curfew?” Snape asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Detention,” Harry said simply. “And didn’t want to be around them all.”

Snape nodded, knowing all of what he meant, and dug in a pocket on his robe. He tossed something at Harry who caught it easily, recognizing the jar of paste.

“You are supposed to come to me after detentions with her,” Snape said as Harry unscrewed the jar.

“I knew you’d find me,” Harry said, applying the paste to the carved words, ignoring how it mixed with his blood.

“I have better things to do than chase you around the castle,” Snape griped and Harry grinned at the tone, tossing the jar back to the man who caught it just as easily as he had, only one-handed.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be here,” Harry said, bending his other leg and wrapping his arms around his knees, gripping his own wrist. His grin widened as Snape rolled his eyes, but didn’t dispute Harry’s comment. “Anything going on I should know about?”

Snape had become his solitary source of information, being the only one willing to actually tell him anything. The professor recognized his central role as well as his maturity, but still managed to treat him his age. It was refreshing. Everyone else either treated him like a child that couldn’t be trusted to know anything or as a full-blown adult and soldier that didn’t need anyone. Snape had somehow found the perfect balance and Harry appreciated him for it.

“No, quiet on all fronts,” Snape said and Harry nodded, looking back out at the grounds. “Back to your tower now. It’s late and cold.”

“Mm, not that bad,” Harry said, but still pushed to his feet and walked past Snape to leave the platform. “Good night, Professor.”

“Good night, Potter, and,” Harry turned around, “ten points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew.”

Harry rolled his eyes. They got along far better, but the man was still a bastard and had a reputation to uphold. “Yes, sir.”

Glad to have one decent thing in his life, regardless of the bastard tendencies or maybe even in spite of them, he returned to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry gazed at the Shrieking Shack, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he hunched in on himself on the bench to protect himself from the biting wind. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard voices and watched a group of students scurry along the road to pass the Shack as quickly as possible. He quirked a smile of amusement at them and turned back to the broken-down building, his smile fading as he remembered.

He’d found so much that night in third year, only to now have it gone not even two years later. So much family he should have had. Now, he had even less than before.

He sighed again and burrowed his face into his scarf as the wind ripped around him again.

“You could go inside any number of establishments to keep warm.”

Harry grinned into his scarf, moving his head just enough to look up at Snape now standing beside him. The man looked extraordinarily unimpressed.

“So can you, yet here you are,” Harry said, noting how deep into his pockets Snape’s hands were.

“I am required to stop moronic students from freezing to death,” Snape said and Harry chuckled lightly. “Might my advice tempt you to vacate?”

Harry looked at him with a raised eyebrow and smirk. “Cold, Professor?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he shifted uncharacteristically as wind picked up again, throwing snow around them.

Harry laughed and stood. “Fine, let’s go.”

He fell into step beside the professor and kept his head bowed, both to protect from the wind and to make it look like he was in trouble in case any Death Eater prodigies were watching. They were quiet as they walked, content in each other’s company, which made it doubly shocking when Snape suddenly threw an arm in front of him and slashed his wand through the air, blocking some kind of curse that would have hit Harry.

Harry’s head flew up and he moved to pull his wand, aware of Snape’s arm still across his chest. He joined Snape in gazing around, looking for their attackers. He was about to turn around to look behind them when he felt something press against his back and he felt himself get pulled away.

Portkey, he thought as his world spun.

He grunted as he hit a wooden floor a few moments later, knocking the wind out of him. He felt Snape appear beside him, but his focus was pulled to the foot that stomped on his wrist. He cried out as he felt something crack and he automatically released his wand, watching through watery eyes as someone snatched it away from him. He heard a hiss next to him and figured something similar had been done to the professor.

He growled and struggled as hands grabbed him, manhandling him to his knees. To keep him still, his hair was yanked painfully and his hands bound behind his back. He looked out the corner of his eye and found Snape being held in the same position next to him.

“Ah, finally.”

Harry looked straight ahead and glowered at Voldemort lounging in an obnoxious throne-like chair on a raised platform. He struggled for a moment only to have his hair pulled roughly, making him hiss with the pain. He glared back at Voldemort.

“Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Severus Snape, my not so loyal spy,” Voldemort drawled and Harry felt his stomach drop at Snape’s apparent discovery. “Yes, I know of your true loyalties, Severus. You see, you were seen at the Ministry, arriving and fighting with the Order, with Potter.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second in dread, knowing exactly the mistakes that had been made. They’d tried to conceal Snape’s identity while he helped Harry in the Hall of Prophecies, using smoke charms and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from the twins and exploding shelves of prophecies. They’d even had Snape curse Harry a few times to make it seem he was attacking Harry instead of defending him. Obviously, it still hadn’t been enough and now, Snape would die because of him.

This was his fault.

He opened his eyes and watched as Voldemort got to his feet, drifting towards them with his red eyes flashing. He tracked the madman as he approached, doing his best to ignore the excruciating pain trying to tear his skull apart at Voldemort’s proximity. He couldn’t help his disgust and fury as Voldemort ran a long, skeletal finger down Snape’s cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” Harry spat, reminded of Cedric and the graveyard as the red eyes turned to him. His head was pulled hard again and he gritted his teeth in response, feeling his hair wanting to rip from his scalp.

“Is this concern I hear, for our dear Potions Master?” Voldemort said. “Do you know the things he’s done? The kind of man he is?”

“Actually, I do, and he’s better than every single other bastard in this room,” Harry said. “In spite of everything you’ve done to him.”

“My, my, how…fascinating,” Voldemort hissed, eyes flicking between Harry and Snape. He moved suddenly, gripping Harry’s chin tightly and Harry had to fight not to scream as his skull felt like it was splintering. “This is what you have betrayed me for, Severus? A boy.”

“The same boy that has defied you for fifteen years,” Snape said. “Quite the boy, isn’t he?”

Voldemort growled and released Harry roughly. Harry sagged slightly as the pain diminished just a touch. Voldemort swept back to his chair.

“Take them,” he ordered. “Anticipation will make it all the sweeter for all of us.”

Harry cast the monster a final glare before he was wrestled to his feet and forced to walk. He refused to make it easy for whichever Death Eater had been charged with his transport, though, and fought, pulling at his bonds, digging in his heels, and trying to shoulder-check his holder. The Death Eater was grunting and grumbling with the effort to contain him, making him smirk in satisfaction. The feeling, however, was, unfortunately, quickly erased when he was shoved down a short flight of stone steps. He tumbled down to the landing, groaning as his head smacked a jagged, rocky wall. Dazed, he was grabbed by the throat and his back shoved against the wall, crushing his hands—one already with a broken wrist—between his body and the wall.

Through spotty vision, he glowered at the masked face in front of him.

“Behave yourself, Potter,” the Death Eater said. “Not time for fun just yet.”

The hand at his throat moved to his hair again and he was forced forward, down the steps. It grew darker and colder the further down they went until they were walking through what seemed to be a damp underground cave repurposed into a dungeon, complete with barred cells.

He was pushed towards one, but, instead of being thrown inside, he was first shoved face-first into the wall beside it. Head turned to the left, he saw Snape manhandled in the same way next to him. He winced and clenched his jaw as they were pinned to the wall while their outer clothes were torn from them and the ropes binding their hands removed. Left in his long-sleeved red shirt and jeans and Snape in his white button-up shirt and black trousers, they were shoved into the cell, the barred door slamming and locking behind them. Harry turned to glare at the Death Eaters through the bars.

“Get comfortable,” one of them said. “Gonna be here a while.”

The Death Eaters left then, leaving Harry and Snape alone in their new prison. Harry sighed and looked around. Besides the wall and door of bars, the rest of the cell was made of wet, sharp rock. There was no source of light except a single torch outside their cell and water dripped from the ceiling, creating puddles on the floor. He looked at Snape then and watched as the man moved to the back of the cell, sitting down with his back against the wall and arms draped over his bent knees. Harry walked over and sat as well, joining the professor.

“Did you know he knew?” Harry asked, mirroring the man’s position.

“I suspected,” Snape said. “I was getting called less and he seemed to not be sharing as much.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked, bringing his hand to the back of his head when he realized it was throbbing. He winced at the blood on his fingertips. He allowed it when Snape pushed his head forward, moving his hair to see the injury for himself.

“What would it have mattered if you knew?” Snape said. “There is nothing you could have done to change it.”

“I guess,” Harry said, lifting his head back up when Snape removed his hands. “So, how screwed are we?”

“Fairly,” Snape said and Harry sighed again.

“Wonderful.”

Despite his pain and exhaustion, Harry growled and struggled as he was slammed to the floor, chains snaking up to bind his wrists to the floor, keeping him on his hands and knees. He looked up and watched as Snape was bound to the wall a few meters to his right. His turn to be on display and for Snape to watch. He glared up at Voldemort, sitting so casually in his ridiculously ostentatious throne and twirling his bone wand in his fingers. He wasn’t sure what day they were on; four, maybe five, possibly even six. It had all begun to blend together quite a while ago. All he knew was being the one on the floor was bad and he’d come to enjoy—as much as he could enjoy anything—the time spent with Snape in their cell after a torture session.

He wanted to hang his head in pure exhaustion, but refused to look away from Voldemort. He watched with hard eyes as Voldemort rose and slowly approached him.

“I admire your strength, Harry,” Voldemort drawled, very slowly circling Harry. “Such bravery you have shown, such…tenacity. Not to mention, of course, the loyalty that you and Severus clearly possess for each other. Such admirable traits.”

Harry glanced at Snape, tensing when Voldemort stopped behind him, completely out of sight. He met the dark eyes for a moment before his closed unintentionally at the agony ripping through his spine. His fingers curled on the floor, already destroyed fingernails unable to cause any damage to the wood. The wand tip at the base of his spine left and the pain stopped. He inadvertently gasped for breath only to have it taken away as Voldemort moved the tattered remains of his shirt sleeve aside and ran his wand down Harry’s arm, a trail of bubbling flesh left in its wake. Automatically, he tried to pull away, but the chains held him in place. He bit back a whimper. They’d only just begun; he had to hold out longer than that.

The wand left again, but the searing pain of the burn remained. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, instantly finding Snape’s again. They were filled with their own pain and exhaustion, but also something else. Harry was fairly certain it was worry and he only saw it directed at him. Snape was worried about him. It made his stomach clench.

He was distracted from the professor as he was suddenly hit in about a dozen places with deep Slicing Curses. They were quickly followed up with a strong Cruciatus and then a Gouging Curse which took a chunk of flesh from his right hip. Here he gasped out in pain and shook, feeling blood pour down his leg and pool under his knee. Another Cruciatus ravaged him and then, finally, he screamed as a Bone-Breaking Curse snapped a rib. He wanted to collapse, but he forced himself to stay on his hands and knees.

It continued for he didn’t know how long. He never knew. The cuts, the burns, the Cruciatus. He found himself grateful that Voldemort didn’t seem to be in the mood for the Lashing Curse that day, but he was officially forced from his hands and knees at the curse that acted like a razor wire, wrapping around his arms and legs and squeezing, slicing the skin open as they tightened. He collapsed, small whimpers brushing through his lips.

He was given little reprieve as fingers suddenly gripped his hair and yanked his head up and back, pulling him up so his chained arms were stretched as far as possible. He bit his tongue as knives carved into his skull at Voldemort’s touch and the sheer agony of the chains pulling at his shattered wrist.

“I want to hear you beg for your life,” Voldemort whispered into his ear.

“Not gonna happen,” Harry snapped, somewhat breathlessly but as hatefully as possible.

“Oh, I think it will,” Voldemort said. “Or maybe you’ll beg for his.”

Harry’s head was forced to turn and look at Snape. Their eyes met again and narrowed at each other. Somehow, Voldemort had gotten it right. They wouldn’t beg for themselves, but, if it got to that point, they would beg for each other. It was why Voldemort had them watch each other be tortured. It was just another form, mental and emotional rather than physical.

His hair was released and his body thrown back to the floor, forcing him to catch himself on his broken wrist, a break that was steadily getting worse. He could feel himself shaking and he could hardly think through the fresh pain that just compounded with the pain he’d already been in for the last however many days.

A third Cruciatus tore through him and nothing could stop him from screaming and whimpering. It seemed never-ending and he fell off his knees again, landing on his gouged hip. He screamed again as, while reeling from that pain, the wand ran down his right calf, effectively skinning the area. Tears poured down his face and his throat was hoarse, hardly able to produce anymore cries as the last Cruciatus set him on fire.

“Such resolve,” Voldemort drawled. “Do not fret. You will both break before long. Take them.”

Harry’s awareness was fading in and out as his chains were removed and he was dragged between two Death Eaters down to their cell. He was thrown in and he whimpered as every injury was jostled by his impact with the floor, unable to break his fall in any way. He heard the cell door clang shut and then there were gentle hands on him.

“Come on, Potter,” Snape said quietly, and helped get him to the back of the cell where he sat and pulled Harry’s head onto his thigh, laying him on his back. The tears on his back were still agonizing, but they were a day or two old and pressure on them was better than anything he’d just received. He settled the best he could, focusing on the hand sitting lightly on his head.

“Is it hard for you to watch?” Harry asked quietly after a long and comfortable—well, not physically comfortable—silence. It was a stupid question, but it was hard to think.

“Extremely,” Snape said, just as quietly.

“Do you know how long we’ve been here?” Harry asked.

“I believe we are going into day seven,” Snape said, his hand beginning to move through Harry’s hair.

“We’re not getting out, are we?” Harry asked and, when the hand stilled in his hair, he opened his eyes. He was taken aback by the raw pain in the dark eyes above him.

“No,” Snape said so quietly Harry barely heard it. The long fingers resumed their movement.

“What do you think will happen? When we’re gone?” Harry asked.

“I have to have faith in the Order,” Snape said, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Professor?”

“Rest, Potter,” Snape said gently, but firmly, and Harry obeyed, closing his eyes and drifting off to gentle fingers.

Harry looked down at the long pinky resting on his, ignoring the blood pooling around their hands. It was the only contact they could manage unless, of course, they just collapsed against each other. They weren’t there quite yet, though, so a pinky had to be sufficient comfort. He squeezed his eyes shut as Snape screamed beside him. They refused to beg, but they’d given up on holding back screams. He didn’t know what was being done, never moving his eyes from the pinky that had come to rest on his the moment they were chained down. They both knew this was it. Today would be their last and that pinky was a promise that he wasn’t alone at the end.

“What a fitting end, to have a traitor die on his knees.”

Harry looked up finally, glaring at Voldemort who stood over them, twirling his wand again.

“A far better reason than the last twenty years,” Snape said and Harry smirked at the man’s everlasting snark.

“A position you once relished,” Voldemort said.

“Before I knew worth,” Snape said.

Voldemort sneered. “Is he your worth, Severus?” he said, pointing at Harry with his wand.

“Every bit of it,” Snape said and Harry’s heart pounded at the declaration.

“And what is he worth? Your life?” Voldemort drawled.

“Everything,” Snape said and, unbidden, tears rolled down Harry’s cheeks. Why did he always find someone to care just in time to lose them?

“What a shame,” Voldemort said. “Harry Potter, destined to have no one.”

Harry glared through his tears, feeling the pinky try to curl around his as though to dispute Voldemort’s words. “Sounds a lot like you.”

Voldemort snarled and a deep cut appeared on Harry’s cheek. He hardly felt it amongst his other injuries and pain.

“Enough of this. I am through,” Voldemort said and Harry tensed at the flash in the red eyes. “Say goodbye, Harry, to your dear Severus. I will take everyone from you.”

Harry finally turned his head to look at Snape, the dark eyes already locked on him. There was pain there, and exhaustion and resignation, but there was something else.

Affection.

Harry’s stomach clenched, his heart pounded, and his eyes stung. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t say goodbye to someone else. He wanted this and, damn it, he deserved it! He refused to let this be the end.

“You will always be my biggest regret, Severus,” Voldemort said, raising his wand.

Harry turned to Voldemort and his eyes blazed. Heat built in his entire body. “I will end you,” he promised.

Voldemort sneered at him before shouting, “Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Harry screamed as he watched the familiar green light leave the bone wand and head for Snape. He felt the heat inside him explode outwards at his scream and felt a strange rush of power encompass him. A white light burst before his eyes, blinding him and forcing them shut. The power around him continued to build and air rushed all around, whipping his hair and tattered clothing. He was vaguely aware of the floor disappearing from beneath him and an odd feeling of both falling and not. Then, it stopped and he hit the ground as though dropped from a very short height.

The power disappeared and the rushing air stopped. He was dazed and in agony, his focus waning quickly, but then his senses began to kick in. Beneath him was no longer a hard, wooden floor slick with their blood, but cool, smooth grass and rough dirt. The air was no longer stale, indoor air heavy with their blood, sweat, and tears, but, instead, a fresh warm breeze. A light heat hit his skin, indicating sunlight. Rustling leaves, trickling water, and chirping birds were a far cry from their screams and the dripping water in their cell.

He forced his eyes open, blinking at the brightness of the sun he’d already felt. He frowned as he realized he was staring at deep green blades of grass, his cheek pressed to the ground. He slowly raised his head and pushed up slightly onto his forearms. He gazed around, becoming steadily more shocked and confused as he took in his surroundings.

Grass was everywhere, flowers breaking up the green with various colours. To his right, several meters away, was a massive oak tree, similar to the one at Hogwarts. In front of him was what appeared to be wheel tracks as though made by a wagon running alongside a sparkling river. Far down the river, but still in sight was a water wheel, set up to gather the river water for some purpose he couldn’t see. To his left, beyond the meadow he appeared in, was a line of trees, the start to a dense forest. Also to his left was Snape who was staring around with just as much shock and confusion, and very much alive.

“Professor?” he said, bringing the dark eyes to him. “Where the bloody hell are we?”

“Can you stand, Potter?” Snape asked, struggling to his own feet and shuffling over to Harry.

Mindful of his very broken wrist, Harry nodded and slowly pushed to his knees. He was grateful to take Snape’s offered hand and be helped to his unsteady feet. Snape kept hold of him and he couldn’t help but lean into the man slightly.

“To the river,” Snape said quietly. “Try and clean ourselves up.”

Harry nodded again and they slowly stumbled across the meadow and makeshift road to the river. Their feet dragged, kicking up dirt and uprooting flowers. At the edge of the river, Snape helped Harry sink back down to the ground while crouching beside him. Harry watched the professor examine himself, frowning likely at the sheer amount of blood covering him, before taking the bottom of his torn shirt and ripping off a large, semi-clean chunk. Snape dunked the fabric in the river, soaking it, and then rung it out before turning back to Harry. He just accepted the light hold on his chin and the swiping of the rag across his face. He could imagine what he looked like, if he looked anything like Snape.

Skin stained red with blood, hair matted with it. Inflamed cuts and burns everywhere. Chunks of flesh and skin missing. Black, blue, and purple bruises covering any skin not already red. Tremours wracking their bodies and exhaustion clouding their eyes. Besides his wrist and rib, though, neither of them had broken bones.

He followed the gentle prodding and stretched out on his side, providing access to his mutilated hip and calf. He jerked and hissed as water was poured over the injuries in an attempt to clean them. The rag wiped around the edges, clearing away any dirt, blood, and other weeping fluids. He clenched his hand into a fist in response to the pain, but made little sound. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the last however long. He stayed in the same position as Snape moved behind him, pushing aside his ruined shirt to get to the lash marks on his back. He shuddered as water was, once again, poured over them and as the rag passed over as well.

Snape let the remains of his shirt fall back into place and Harry watched the man return to his side. The rag, now completely red, was dunked into the river and shaken vigorously, trying to get it slightly cleaner. Removing it from the water showed little change and Snape huffed, chucking it aside. Harry pushed himself up so he was sitting just as Snape pulled his entire once-white shirt off and submerged it like he had the little piece. He watched the man wipe at his own injury-laden arms, chest, legs, and face, hardly reacting to the pain Harry knew he was feeling. The professor was dabbing at a particularly large and deep section of missing flesh on his side when Harry spotted just the edges of lashes on Snape’s back that he knew mirrored his own.

“Let me do your back,” he said, the first words spoken in many minutes.

Snape looked at him and Harry was sure the man wanted to refuse, but something made him decide not to. The shirt-turned-rag was soaked back in the river and rung out before being handed silently to Harry. He shifted so he was sitting up more, but leaning heavily on his left side to avoid his injured hip and leg. Snape moved closer so Harry didn’t have to strain to reach. He tried to copy Snape’s gentle touch, wiping away the blood and grime and trying to let the cool, fresh water soothe. He could see and feel the skin twitch under his touch, truly the only indication of Snape’s discomfort.

When he finished, he handed the bunched-up shirt back to Snape who moved it aggressively through the water, hoping to get at least some of the blood out. When it was rung out, it did seem to be slightly less red. It was draped over Snape’s shoulder as the man stood.

“Come on,” Snape said, holding out his hands.

Harry took one with his left hand and he was pulled carefully to his feet. They retraced their steps, returning to the meadow, but headed to the huge tree. Harry was lowered to the ground again and he leaned against the tree as Snape sat beside him, their arms brushing. Harry stretched his legs out, turning his right so his skinned calf wasn’t pressed to the ground and leaned more on his left hip again. Snape’s legs stretched alongside his, crossing at the ankle. Harry gazed out at the landscape, watching the distant water wheel turn slowly.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked.

“Short-term? In this moment, we rest,” Snape said. “We can do nothing until we’ve recovered more. Once I am more recovered, I will search for supplies to help with the healing process.”

“And long-term?”

“We find out where we are, either by someone coming by or by going to find something, and contact the Order,” Snape said.

“Are we even in the U.K. anymore? It’s like summer here, but it’s just gone on February,” Harry said.

“I do not know,” Snape said with a small sigh.

“Do you know what happened?” Harry asked. “Did you Apparate us?”

“No, Apparation is not possible in the Dark Lord’s residence, nor was I in any condition to do so,” Snape said. “I have no idea what happened.”

Harry blew out a breath. “We don’t have our wands.”

“No, we do not,” Snape said.

“Can you do wandless magic?”

“Yes, though I’d rather not in case it draws enemies to us.”

Harry nodded, understanding. Between the pain, the prior exhaustion, his waning adrenaline, and the warm sun, he found his eyes growing heavy. Not caring to think about anything, he let his head fall to the side, resting on Snape’s shoulder.

“Professor?” he said, feeling the man shift under him to allow him to settle more comfortably against the professor. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

There was a moment of quiet and Harry felt something rest against the top of his head.

“As am I, Potter,” Snape said quietly. “Rest now. Try to get some sleep.”

And Harry did.

When Harry woke, it was to a slightly darker world. The sun, while still up, was setting, bathing them in soft orange rays and growing shadows. He was still tucked into Snape’s side, his head on the man’s shoulder. A bird chirped here and there above them, and a cricket sounded out every now and then to join in the sounds of nature.

“How are you feeling?” came Snape’s voice above him.

“Pretty awful, but I think I’ll live,” Harry said and his lips twitched at the huff he knew was a concealed laugh. “You?”

“Likewise.”

Harry didn’t bother moving. Snape had given no indication he wanted Harry to move, so he stayed, enjoying the slightly comfortable position he’d managed to find.

“How long were we there?” he eventually asked.

“Nine days,” Snape said and Harry was startled. He hadn’t realized it had been that long. It had felt both shorter and infinitely longer. “Are you thirsty?”

The question made Harry realize he hadn’t even thought about such bodily needs and, now he was, the needs hit hard. “Yes, sir.”

“Stay here.”

Harry lifted his head and shifted to allow Snape to get to his feet. He realized as the man walked somewhat shakily to the river that Snape was still shirtless and he spotted the man’s shirt spread out on the grass on the other side of where Snape had been sitting. Obviously, Snape had been hoping for the sun to dry it out. He looked up as the professor returned and sat beside him again, holding out a simple silver goblet. He took it, giving Snape a questioning look as he took a long drink.

“Transfigured a stone,” Snape said in simple explanation. “It shouldn’t have drawn any unwanted attention if there is any to draw.”

Harry nodded, still drinking deeply. He started coughing when he gulped a bit too much and felt a hand gently hitting his back, avoiding the lashes as much as possible.

“Easy, Potter,” Snape said. “Surely you don’t want to survive what we did only to choke to death.”

Harry chuckled as his coughing eased. “Something I would do, for sure.”

He felt Snape rub his back before removing his hand and taking the goblet from Harry. He watched the man down the remaining water and drop the goblet beside the shirt which he snatched up and pulled back on, ignoring the damp spots, blood, and rips. They settled back against the tree, watching the land grow dark around them as the sun sank away.

“Unfortunately, I can do nothing about food right now,” Snape said.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I can manage,” Harry said, thinking of the long days without food courtesy of the Dursleys.

Snape just hummed as he usually did in response to any reference to his life with the Dursleys. Harry knew their treatment of him infuriated Snape; the man just wouldn’t say so. Harry shifted around and leaned against Snape again, still just as tired as he was. He looked out through the dark, spotting what seemed to be a couple of torches around the water wheel, but nothing else to indicate civilization. Fireflies darted around and crickets sang around them, and he was sure he heard an owl hoot somewhere.

A breeze picked up, but it wasn’t warm like before; now it had a slight chill. He brought his arms up across his chest, being careful of his wrist.

“Cold?” Snape asked.

“A little,” Harry said.

He was jostled as Snape rearranged them to allow his arm to settle around Harry’s shoulders while keeping Harry tucked against him. He heard a mutter and a rush of warmth heated him from the inside.

“Warming Charm,” Snape said. “It won’t last long, but it should help.”

Harry just nodded, relaxing the best he could into Snape’s arm and chest. He fought the fluttering of his eyelids, not wanting to sleep again already. He wanted to talk to Snape, to figure out their next steps, and to just be with the man he’d been through so much with. It was a battle he was quickly losing, however.

“Sleep, Potter,” Snape said softly. “I will be here.”

Harry could do nothing but obey once again.

Severus let out a deep sigh as he felt Potter slump against him in sleep. He tightened his arm around the boy’s shoulders and rubbed Potter’s upper arm when a breeze picked up again and the boy shivered slightly. It wasn’t necessarily cold, but through their malnourishment and blood loss, they weren’t exactly up for fighting the elements. They really weren’t in shape for anything. His numerous injuries burned and stung and pulsed as though he needed a reminder of his own present condition.

He leaned his head back against the tree and let his eyes close for a moment. It had been a long nine days filled with nothing but pain. He’d been through Voldemort’s torture before, maybe not for such an extended period, but he’d endured it before. His own torture had been fairly inconsequential. Being forced to watch Potter’s, however, had provided a level of agony never before experienced. Watching the mutilation of the boy, the trembling of the small body, and hearing the sounds the child had been unable to hold back had been like nothing else. Then, to know he would die before the boy, that Potter would be left alone and alone with Voldemort, it had forced him to acknowledge how things had changed between them since October. The child meant more to him than anyone ever had in his life, even more than Lily. He’d needed Lily; Potter needed him.

He opened his eyes and looked around again. He remembered those last moments in Voldemort’s headquarters, the white light that had surrounded them and virtually dissolved the green Killing Curse that had been coming his way, the rushing, warm air, and the strange feeling of moving through space. He had no idea what had happened nor where they were. It seemed like they were still somewhere in the U.K., but it didn’t make sense. It was clearly summertime where they were, but, as Potter had said, they were only in February.

He wasn’t completely sure what they should do. They needed help, but he was hesitant to seek anyone out without their wands. They had no way of knowing what they could walk into. Enemies could be anywhere and now they’d escaped, Death Eaters and Voldemort would be relentless in their hunt for them. They needed to find safety and try to connect with the Order.

He sighed again and looked down at the messy hair pressed against his chest when he felt the boy shift. He frowned at the lines of pain and discomfort in the boy’s face, unable to escape it even in sleep. He examined the visible injuries, glad none of them seemed to be infected while acknowledging infection was far more possible now they were outside. He needed to find plants and herbs so he could at least attempt holistic healing methods. He didn’t want to leave Potter in such pain.

He looked up, resting against the tree, and watched the fireflies dance through the darkness. He could hear the water of the river, the crickets that filled the meadow, and the leaves that rustled above them. The nature sounds were calming and he realized that, despite his anxiety about not knowing where they were, he felt…free. His job was over. He was no longer trapped between Voldemort and Dumbledore. He was alive and could take his life back for the first time in nearly twenty years. They just needed to destroy Voldemort and he would be completely free.

This moment, in an unknown meadow, covered in painful injuries, and with a sleeping fifteen-year-old Potter in his arms was the most peaceful moment of his entire life. The realization allowed him to drift off into a surprisingly pleasant sleep.

Harry groaned, dropping his forehead to rest on his forearm in the grass as the homemade paste was dabbed into the gouge on his hip. He wanted to pull away, but a heavy, yet gentle hand held onto his thigh, keeping him still. He had never wished for Snape’s horrible, disgusting potions so badly. It had been three days of homemade pastes and boiled leaves in water with the semi-medicinal plants Snape had scavenged from the forest. Although, despite the pain, he had to admit they seemed to be working, albeit infinitely slower than normal potions and balms.

The fingers applying the paste disappeared, but the hand holding his leg remained, a comforting weight that continued holding him still. He rolled his head on his arm and looked at Snape. The man was looking down at the transfigured bowls—the only wandless magic besides lighting small fires Snape was willing to perform—that held the various pastes and liquids he had created, and Harry wondered if the man was aware that he had begun to move his thumb on Harry’s thigh in gentle strokes. He said nothing about it, enjoying the comfort. He watched the professor pick up his no longer remotely white or even pink shirt, dampened in the river, and knew it was time to wipe the paste from his wound.

Harry let his eyes close again and sighed in preparation, automatically tensing before the fabric even touched him. He groaned again as the shirt was swept over his hip, removing the paste, and then water was poured over it, cleaning it out. He squeezed his eyes tighter, not even caring about the couple of tears that leaked out.

The treatment ended and he tried to breathe deeply, focusing on the thumb that was still moving over his leg. He turned his head slightly again and opened his eyes, just able to see the professor. The man’s other hand reached out and pushed his hair aside, out of his eyes.

“Alright?” Snape asked quietly.

“M’okay,” Harry mumbled.

They sat for a moment longer as Harry recovered, the pain in his hip receding to more manageable levels. Snape never removed the hand on his leg and brushed his hair back a couple more times. Harry reveled in the care he’d been deprived for fourteen years.

“I’m good now,” Harry said eventually and started pushing himself up with his left hand.

Snape helped him up and helped him settle against the tree again. Harry let out a breath at the exertion, sighing in frustration at still feeling so weak. Snape had been just as injured as him, but seemed to be farther along in his healing than Harry, though, he supposed, Snape had likely been through such a thing before having been a Death Eater and spy for nearly twenty years.

“Eat something,” Snape said, and Harry took the bowl of berries and raw, non-poisonous mushrooms. It wasn’t much and was all they’d been surviving on for the last three days. Snape wasn’t willing to use wandless magic to get them any animals in case his power was detected by potential enemies.

Harry popped a couple of elderberries in his mouth and chewed slowly, gazing out at the landscape before them. Three days since they’d appeared in the meadow. Twelve days since they’d gone missing from Hogsmeade. He could tell Snape was getting more and more anxious over being stuck in the meadow without knowing where they really were. They hadn’t seen anyone or even anything to indicate civilization may be remotely nearby. Harry knew they couldn’t stay where they were forever, they needed help and information, but Harry also didn’t want to leave.

Despite the pain, slow healing, and lack of supplies, he was glad to be away from, well, everything, and was relishing the closeness that was continuing to grow between him and Snape. Except when Snape left him to explore the forest, they hadn’t been away from each other in twelve days. They sat together constantly, talking about almost anything, having little else to do. They slept tucked against each other for warmth and comfort. Snape’s tactile gestures increased by the day, providing Harry comfort through pain, nightmares, and lingering loneliness.

The thought made Harry suddenly realize something and he turned to Snape with a frown. “My scar doesn’t hurt.”

Snape looked at him with his own frown. “Excuse me?”

“My scar doesn’t hurt,” Harry repeated. “There’s nothing. No stinging or burning or tingling.”

Snape put his own bowl of berries down and reached up, pushing Harry’s hair away from his forehead. A long finger traced where he knew the lightning bolt to be.

“It looks no different,” Snape said, dropping his hand. “You are sure it feels different?”

Harry nodded. “It doesn’t feel like anything, like it’s not even there.”

“Is this sudden or since we’ve been here?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know. I just realized it now, but I’ve been focused on other pain the last few days and I’m so used to it hurting that I didn’t notice anything different,” Harry said. “It could be since we got here.”

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed and he picked up his forgotten berries again.

“Should I be worried?” Harry asked, chewing on a mushroom.

“I am unsure,” Snape said and then he sighed. “I am unsure of many things since we’ve arrived.”

Harry was surprised at the admission. Snape was always sure about everything. He looked around, though, and was able to understand the uncertainty. He nibbled on another mushroom while staring absently at the river, watching as the surface sparkled under the sunlight. He let his mind wander, wondering what was happening back at Hogwarts and with the Order in the wake of their disappearance. He wondered who cared they were gone, if anyone. He was sure Dean, Seamus, Neville, Luna, and the twins would be worried about him, but who would be worried about Snape? It stung to think no one would be particularly concerned for Snape, just for his role as spy.

He was about to eat another few elderberries and let his mind continue to drift when a new distant sound interrupted his thoughts. His hand hovered in the air as he strained to hear, frowning at what sounded like creaking wood and crunching gravel.

He looked at Snape who had also tensed beside him, listening. “Professor?” he said quietly.

Snape made a motion to stay quiet and Harry nodded, focusing back on the sounds that seemed to be growing louder, closer. Soon, voices seemed to join the other sounds and Harry looked at Snape again, alarmed. What could they do? There was nowhere to hide and they didn’t have their wands. They had no way to fight and were still mostly incapable with their injuries.

They turned their heads to the left and watched with wide eyes as a horse-drawn wagon occupied by three people emerged from the forest. It followed the wheel tracks and was heading in their direction. As the wagon drew closer, Harry found Snape stretching an arm across him, hand curling around his outer thigh, in a gesture of protection. They could do nothing but watch as the horse, wagon, and its occupants came to a stop in front of them.

“’Lo there,” one of them said, a young, muscular man with long brown hair pulled back at his neck and full facial hair buzzed close to the skin. His voice was deep, but could clearly boom if he wanted, his brown eyes alight with kindness.

“Oh my, our Lady was correct. You are in quite the state,” the only woman of the three said from where she sat in the wagon. Her features were slender and soft, long brown hair falling past her shoulders and framing her oval face with soft waves. Her blue eyes flashed with something as she looked at them.

“Apologies for our delay,” the second man, sitting next to the first and holding the horse’s reins, said in a light, kind voice. “We had to come from the northern court and it is quite the journey.” He seemed slightly slenderer than the first man with short, light brown hair curling around his ears and no facial hair. His face was more angular than the man beside him.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the strange clothing the three wore. Both men wore what seemed to be tunics with embroidered designs and a belt around their waist, cinching the tunic at their narrowest point. Dark brown trousers that looked more like riding trousers were held up with a belt around their hips, items seeming to dangle from the belt. Their feet were covered with boots that seemed to be made of leather and went a little way above the ankle, secured with straps wrapping around their legs. Around their necks, fastened at the shoulder with unique brooches and falling down their backs were long, light cloaks, hoods attached in case of rain.

The woman wore a long, tailored gown with a lower, curved neckline of some light, but layered material. It had long sleeves with the ends slightly flared, embroidered in a similar way to the men’s tunics. She also had a belt cinching her narrow waist and a pouch dangling into her lap. She wore what looked like simple flat, slip-on shoes made of a similar leather to the men’s boots. She also wore a cloak like the men, her own brooch fastening it at her right shoulder.

It was strange clothing, nothing like what he’d ever seen in either the Muggle or wizarding world. As he stared, the woman and the man with the long hair climbed down from the wagon and moved to approach them. Harry tensed and automatically gripped Snape’s arm still across his body, feeling how tightly the man was holding himself.

“Come no closer,” Snape ordered and the two stopped. “Who are you?”

“Oh, of course,” the woman said. “My name is Helena. Pleasure.”

“I’m Erec,” the man said and then gestured at the man still in the wagon, holding the reins. “That, there, is Felix.”

The man lifted one hand and inclined his head in greeting.

“Why are you here?” Snape asked.

“To help you,” Helena said. “We were told of your arrival and told to bring you home with us.”

Harry looked at Snape, seeing his own confusion mirrored in the man’s guarded face.

“Do not fret, friends. We are not going to harm you,” Erec said. “If you would permit it, Helena is a wonderful Healer and can ensure you are fit to travel.”

Harry looked back at them. “You’re wizards?”

Snape squeezed his leg in warning.

“Indeed, we are,” Erec said.

“I have potions,” Helena said, digging in the pouch hanging from her waist. She held up a few vials, filled with different coloured liquids.

Snape was clearly suspicious, eyes narrowed at the vials and the people. Harry tapped the man’s arm with a finger to get his attention. The man’s head tilted ever so slightly towards him, showing Snape was listening.

“You can check the potions, make sure they’re safe,” Harry whispered, unable to deny possible relief.

Snape said nothing, eyes hard and trained on the three young adults in front of them. After many long minutes, Snape raised his other hand in a clear demand to be given the potions. Helena stepped close enough to give him the three vials before returning to stand next to Erec. Harry watched as Snape popped corks, sniffing the potions after visual examinations.

“Murtlap and dittany?” Snape said, holding up a vial with a green liquid.

Helena nodded.

Snape held up another of whiteish liquid with blue flecks. “General Healing Potion?”

Helena nodded again.

Snape held up the final potion, a yellow one. “Wound Cleaning Potion?”

Helena smiled. “Impressive. You must be a Potions Master.”

Snape didn’t respond, just turned to Harry with a questioning look.

“Are they safe?” Harry asked.

“There seems to be something different in the Healing Potion, but I do not detect anything dangerous,” Snape said, dipping his finger into the white potion and licking the liquid off to test it.

“You said we needed help,” Harry said, eyes flicking to the three waiting patiently. “They seem okay.”

“You are too trusting,” Snape said, considering the potions.

“You know how to read people,” Harry said, looking at him pointedly. He watched as Snape looked at the three again and he wondered if the man was trying Legilimency. After another couple of long minutes, Snape turned back to him, squeezed his leg, and held out the Healing Potion.

“Just half,” Snape said and Harry nodded, taking the potion.

Swallowing, he handed the vial back. He’d had Healing Potions before and agreed with Snape that something seemed different. He felt some effects, some of his smaller injuries healing and his exhaustion eased. He felt things happen in his wrist, too, easing an ache he’d hardly been aware of.

“Very well,” Snape said, looking at the three. “Who are you taking us to?”

“Our parents and a few others,” Erec said. “All very safe and able to help.”

Snape nodded and got to his feet, helping Harry up. The professor wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders and guided him to the back of the wagon. Harry frowned at the height.

“I’ll lift you,” Snape said quietly and Harry nodded, not bothering to be embarrassed about being picked up. He accepted the arm that wrapped around his back under his arms and the arm that curled under his left thigh. He was lifted just enough that he could sit on the wagon’s edge. The bottom of the wagon had thin blankets covering it, protecting from splinters and providing minor cushioning.

“Slide back,” Snape instructed, climbing up himself.

Harry watched the man move to the back of the wagon, settling in the back-left corner with his back against the barrier between the wagon and the ‘driver’ seat. Harry shuffled around, sliding slowly backwards until he was beside the professor. Their rescues clearly settled, Erec climbed up beside Felix again and Helena joined them in the wagon, sitting closer to the end to clearly give them space.

“Everyone ready?” Felix asked.

“Onward,” Erec said and, with a whistle and snap of the reins from Felix, they began moving.

“Lay down,” Snape said and Harry did so, stretching on his left side, back to the professor. He felt Snape move what was left of his right pant leg—which wasn’t much—for access to his hip and calf. He started when he felt a cold liquid drip into his open hip and groaned when it burned slightly. The same thing was done to his calf and his fingers clenched in the thin wool blanket beneath him. A hand squeezed his shoulder in comfort and he smiled at the gesture.

“This will feel better,” Snape said and Harry nodded against the rocking wagon.

More cool liquid poured into the wound and, while there was a strange prickling, the pain was soothed, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in nearly two weeks. His calf received the same treatment before he was gently pulled so his back was pressed along Snape’s leg, the man’s hand resting on his side just above his healing hip.

“How long is the journey?” Snape asked and Harry moved his head so he could see Helena.

“About a day,” Helena said. “We will be there around midday tomorrow.”

“Try to rest, Potter,” Snape told him, his thumb moving across Harry’s side just like earlier on his thigh.

Harry didn’t want to sleep, desperate for information, but he found himself drifting. Between the decrease in pain, the comfort of Snape at his back, and the rocking of the wagon, he was powerless to keep his eyes from closing.

Severus was relieved when Potter relaxed into sleep against him. He knew the boy wanted to stay awake, but he knew the boy desperately needed sleep. He needed sleep, too, but he refused to let his guard down with these people. He didn’t sense anything sinister, but he was still filled with anxious confusion. There were many odd things about the three young people, from their dress to the horse-drawn wagon to the potions being slightly different to what he knew. He was hesitant about his decision to go with them, but they truly needed help, especially Potter.

“I will be able to treat you both fully upon our return,” Helena said. “My mother will be able to help as well. We were told you were seriously injured, but we were told nothing specific.”

“How did you know about us?” Severus asked.

“It is complicated,” Helena said and Severus frowned. “We know a powerful enchantress who foresaw your arrival.”

Severus’ frown deepened. That had provided no clarity.

“May I ask what happened to the two of you?” Erec asked from behind Severus.

Severus looked down at Potter, wondering what he should tell them, if anything. He didn’t want to risk putting them in danger by revealing the wrong information to the wrong people. He couldn’t harm Potter in that way. He looked up at Helena who was looking at him with a soft smile.

“We were captured by a dark wizard we are both in opposition to,” Severus said, keeping the details vague.

“So young and targeted by such darkness?” Helena said, gesturing to Potter with a look of concern erasing her smile.

“He has been a target since he was a baby,” Severus said, gazing down at the sleeping boy again.

“Have you been at war for so long?” Felix asked.

“There was a stall for thirteen years, but the threat returned last year,” Severus said, realizing they must not be in the U.K. anymore if these people were unaware of Voldemort. Though, it did make their dress and accents all the more curious as they screamed U.K., if very dated.

“We, too, have been at war for many years,” Erec said. “A dark sorceress threatens these lands.”

“But, do not worry,” Helena said quickly. “You will be safe in our home. We have many powerful witches and wizards capable of protecting you until you are well.”

Severus nodded, hoping what she said was true. They already had one madman after them, they didn’t need another. He took the lull in the conversation to gaze around, taking in the expansive green fields and hills, the far-off forests, and the river that continued to flow alongside them. Breaking up the green every now and then were small, hut-like buildings with thatched roofs, though he never saw any inhabitants, human or otherwise. He wanted to ask where they were and where they were going, but he didn’t trust the three to tell the truth. He would be better off making his own deductions.

“We need to contact our people,” Severus said, returning his attention to Helena who had also been watching the scenery.

“Certainly,” Helena said. “We have post owls you are welcome to use.”

Severus inclined his head in thanks.

“Might we know your names, friend?” Erec asked, glancing over his shoulder at them.

Severus hesitated. Their names were well-known and he didn’t want to send up any alerts about their whereabouts. Not to mention, just because these three claimed they were fighting a dark witch themselves, it didn’t mean they would be on the Light side against Voldemort. Yet, there was a small part of him willing to put trust into these people. He blamed Potter for the chipping away of his normally rock-solid distrust and paranoia. Cursing the sleeping boy half-heartedly, he answered.

“Severus,” he said and then nodded down at Potter, “and this is Harry.”

“Lovely to meet the two of you,” Helena said with a smile. “How do you know each other? Are you his father? You clearly care for him very much.”

“A recent development,” Severus said. “He is my student.”

“And you are fighting a war together?” Helena said, sounding slightly surprised.

“As I said, we are both key targets,” Severus said.

“Quite the relationship for a teacher and student,” Felix said.

“We’ve not had the…easiest relationship, but we’ve come to know each other the last few months,” Severus said.

“His parents?” Erec asked.

“Dead,” Severus said bluntly. “Murdered when he was one by the same wizard we are fighting.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Helena said. “He seems to have been through a lot for one so young.”

“Indeed,” Severus said quietly, dropping his eyes to the child again. “And you? How do you know each other?”

“Friends since childhood,” Helena said, smiling over at the backs of Erec and Felix.

“Practically raised together since birth,” Erec said and bumped his shoulder into Felix.

“Sometimes regretfully,” Felix grumbled good-naturedly.

Severus hummed, feeling overwhelming exhaustion begin to creep over him as the sun began to sink. He hadn’t realized they’d been travelling for several hours already. He let his head fall back against the barrier between them and Erec and Felix. He was struggling to remember the last time he’d truly slept. Certainly not in the last twelve days.

“I understand your worry, but I do not want you to fret,” Helena said. “You will come to no harm. You can sleep.”

Somehow the woman’s gentle permission was all he needed and he spent the next many hours drifting in and out of sleep. Each time he woke, he heard the quiet voices of Helena, Erec, and Felix. The wagon was constantly rocking and Potter remained a solid, warm presence beside him. Despite the frequent moments of wakefulness, the rocking of the wagon, and the lingering pain he’d forced himself to ignore for the last several days to focus on Potter, the sleep was quite restful, a feeling he couldn’t even remember having last.

When he finally woke fully, it was to Potter’s voice with Helena’s, Erec’s, and Felix’s, and the boy pressed against his side rather than his leg. He blinked at the sunlight that had replaced the growing darkness he’d fallen asleep to.

“Professor, you’re awake,” Potter said and he turned his head to look at the child. The green eyes were no longer clouded with pain and the relief he felt at that fact was no longer as startling as it had once been. “Professor, look.”

Potter shifted around until he was leaning just enough to show his injured hip, calf, and side. The injuries were still there and needed more treatment, but they appeared less inflamed and the skin had begun to stitch back together. His side, which had been a horrible black and purple from the constantly shifting broken rib, had settled more into a light greyish-blue.

“Not nearly as good as yours, but the potions worked,” Potter said. “I don’t feel the rib moving and my wrist feels a bit better. The burn on my arm is better too.”

“You feel alright?” Severus asked quietly, threading his fingers through the messy hair to both comfort and feel for the gash that had been on the back of the boy’s head.

Potter needed. “Better than the last while at least.”

“I apologize we cannot fully heal your broken bones,” Helena said and they looked at her. “Felix’s sister, Penelope, is an inventor of spells and potions. My mother and I have been working with her to try and develop a potion that can heal the bones, but we have had little success.”

“You don’t use Skele-Gro?” Potter said and Severus frowned at the look of confusion that crossed the young woman’s face.

“Is that a potion?” Helena asked.

Potter also began to frown. “Um, yeah, it heals broken bones and can even regrow vanished bones.”

“Fascinating,” Helena said. “Is it a creation of yours?”

“No, it has been around for centuries,” Severus said, alarms going off in his instincts that something was very strange and very wrong. “It was invented by Linfred of Stitchcombe in fifteen twenty-six.”

Helena’s face lost its confusion and gained a realization Severus wished she would share.

“From quite far, aren’t they?” Felix said.

“It would seem so,” Helena said. “My dears, we are in the year twelve thirty-five.”

Severus froze as his brain tried to process what Helena had just said. It made no sense. It couldn’t be possible.

“Ah, here we are,” Felix said with a happy sigh. “Home at last.”

Severus moved to look behind them, Potter doing the same. There in the not-so-far distance was a relatively large, spread-out village—for it certainly couldn’t be considered a town—made up of small wooden homes with distinct designs and shingled or thatched roofs. Other buildings were scattered around and a windmill sat near a lake the river they’d followed flowed into. He could see people milling about, could hear various animals, and he swore there were flashes of light that could only be spells.

“Professor, look,” Potter said, pointing to a wooden sign on the side of their path. It had been painted, a circle of twelve swords with their points touching in the center. Over the center was a capital ‘C’ in fancy script. He knew that image, but it couldn’t be. It was impossible!

“Welcome, friends,” Erec said joyfully, spreading his arms, “to Camelot.”

Harry didn’t bother complaining as he was placed onto a stretcher and levitated into a building that was obviously the hospital, or what acted like a hospital in medieval Britain. He was settled on a small bed—more of a cot—with Snape next to him and he took some time to gaze around as Helena, Erec, and Felix whispered amongst themselves.

The building was similar to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, only smaller and clearly made of different materials. There was only enough space for six of the cots, each with a small round table holding candles that currently sat unlit. Windows lined the wooden walls above the cots, providing natural light though it was tinged yellow and blue by the coloured glass, the windows stained glass versions of the Camelot crest. The ceiling was low and the supporting beams visible, with the shingling of the roof visible through that. The floor was wooden planks. At the back of the building was a long section that was cut off with white curtains and, beside that, a small wooden cabinet.

“Very well, I will get Father and Adeline,” Felix said and Harry watched him leave.

“Mum!” Helena suddenly called and the curtain at the back of the infirmary was thrown aside.

“No need to shout, darling, I knew you were here,” the woman who stepped out said as she walked up to all of them.

Harry couldn’t help but gape. He knew this woman, though he was used to seeing older pictures, but there was no doubt it was the same person. She was tall and slender, her features soft and kind and compassionate. Her blue eyes sparkled and her long, honey-blonde hair was in a thick braid, slung over her shoulder and dangling down the side of her body, nearly reaching her waist. She was dressed similarly to Helena, only more elegant and regal. Around her neck sat a necklace made of blue-dyed leather with a glittering silver eagle pendant, a sapphire standing as its eye.

“Harry, Severus, please meet my mother,” Helena said, “Madam Rowena Ravenclaw. She is Camelot’s master of Healing Magic and she will be helping me take care of you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, dear travelers,” Rowena said with a smile that just oozed comfort.

Harry shot a look at Snape, seeing shock in the professor’s face as well.

It was true! They had gone back in time!

“Oh, Adeline, perfect timing,” Rowena said and Harry’s head whipped around to the entrance.

Felix had returned, followed by two others, a young woman that seemed close to Felix’s age and an older man. Like with Rowena, Harry instantly knew who the man was. His straight black hair was shiny in the sun, giving it almost a tinge of blue, and was as long as Lucius Malfoy’s hair, pulled back with a ribbon of green silk. The green eyes were deep in colour and sharp as they gazed around, not too different from how Snape looked. He wore a more tailored, formal version of what Felix and Erec wore, his tunic going to his knees and lacking the dangling ties. He wore stockings over his trousers that reached his knees and the embroidery was far more detailed, the materials more expensive, like silk. He wore no cloak, but a brooch still sat on his left shoulder, a shining silver snake with emerald eyes.

The young woman, Adeline, had many similar features to Felix and Salazar Slytherin, telling Harry she must be part of the Slytherin family. She had a similar face shape to Felix, but her features were striking like Salazar’s, giving her shocking beauty. Unlike her brother and father, she had blue eyes and long, strawberry blonde hair that fell around her in soft beach waves. She could be the picture of nobility, especially with her deep, emerald green gown that seemed to belong to a royal instead of a girl from Camelot.

“Alright, let’s get the two of you fixed up,” Helena said, stepping up to Harry’s side while Rowena went to Snape and Adeline went to the cabinet at the back of the infirmary.

“Salazar, if you could examine for Black Magic that may interfere with Healing Magic?” Rowena requested.

Salazar inclined his head to her. “But, of course, Ro.”

Harry looked at Rowena in question, Snape doing the same as Salazar approached him.

“There are some forms of magic that are resistant to my Healing Magic,” Rowena explained. “The nature of dualities, of White and Black Magic.”

Harry saw Snape give a sharp nod, obviously understanding the explanation. Harry wished he did. He had never heard of White or Black Magic. Were they the same as Light and Dark Magic?

He watched Salazar hover his hands over Snape and move them slowly from head to toe, a dark blue light emanating from his palms and lighting up random spots on Snape’s body. After a few minutes, he ended his examination.

“Much physical harm, Dark Magic, but nothing that will not heal,” Salazar said. “I sense some Black Magic in his mind, left forearm, and heart, but it will not affect your magic.”

“Thank you, darling,” Rowena said, moving closer to Snape.

Harry watched as she banished the man’s shirt and trousers, and began examining his various and numerous injuries. Adeline had joined her at Snape’s side, a silver tray filled with vials and jars floating behind her. Here and there, Rowena would hover her hands over a wound, a white light coming from her palms like the blue light from Salazar. She would make a comment to Adeline who would respond, gesturing to something on the tray, and Snape would cut in, likely questioning every potion suggestion.

Harry’s attention was pulled from the professor as Salazar and Helena stepped up to either side of his bed. He couldn’t help his flinch at their approach and Salazar raising his hands, an unfortunate side effect from the nine days of torture and a lifetime of vicious abuse. Helena gave him a gentle smile of encouragement while Salazar’s face softened as his eyes narrowed knowingly. He continued his actions, hovering his hands over Harry the same way he had with Snape. Harry felt tingles here and there, realizing Salazar was finding his physical injuries caused by magic. There was a sharp tug in his forehead, throat, and heart, and he frowned.

“Also no Black Magic that will interfere. Only Dark Magic and some Black Magic in his head, throat, and heart,” Salazar said to Helena who nodded before turning his eyes back to Harry, a kind smile on his face. “A very strong man to survive what you have.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, but the professor helped a lot,” Harry said, gesturing at Snape who seemed deep in conversation with Adeline over a specific potion. “I couldn’t have made it without him.”

“A fascinating bond the two of you have,” Salazar said and turned back to Helena. “If you have no further need of me?”

Helena waved him off with a smile. “No, thank you, Uncle.”

Salazar gave a mock bow, making Helena laugh, and left the infirmary with Felix and Erec. Harry looked at Helena, surprised at the title she’d used.

“Honourary,” Helena said. “Our families have been friends forever and we’ve known each other since birth.”

Harry nodded, understanding. He watched and listened as she began working on his injuries. She explained her every action and each potion, balm, and paste she used, deferring to Adeline on occasion. He recognized many of the potions, but some were noticeably different or ones he’d never heard of before. He also noticed that most of the magic Helena was using didn’t include incantations or even a wand. When she treated his broken wrist, he was given another Healing Potion, but then it was wrapped tightly in white bandages and he remembered Skele-Gro didn’t exist yet. Once wrapped, Helena waved her hand around his wrist and he looked at it curiously when it tingled.

“I have immobilized the bones so they will not move out of place and be able to heal,” Helena explained. “It will feel strange, almost numb, but you can still use your hand for non-strenuous tasks.”

Harry nodded again and found the same thing was done to his broken rib. Once she had dealt with his bones, it didn’t take long to treat the rest and he was left with mostly healed cuts and bruises. It was just his hip that received bandaging by the end, the worst of the other injuries needing more treatment the next day.

“There,” Helena said with a smile. “You should be feeling better now.”

“I am,” Harry said, nodding. “Thank you, Madam.”

“Such a lovely boy, you are,” she said and patted Harry’s cheek. “Just Helena is fine.”

Bemused, Harry just nodded. Helena smiled at him again before beginning to clean up and Harry turned his attention to the professor. Snape seemed to be done with his treatment as well, bandages just around his abdomen where Harry knew a Gouging Curse had been used, and was quietly talking with Rowena. Adeline had left and was rummaging through the cabinet at the back again.

“Alright, now that the both of you are in a much better state,” Rowena said. “You will need to stay here for tonight, but then, tomorrow, we can figure everything out. I am sure you are overwhelmed, but everything can be explained.”

“You mean you know what happened? How we got here?” Harry said.

“Yes,” Rowena said. “If you are both up to it tomorrow, we will bring you to the one who can explain.”

“Please, try to relax,” Helena said. “You are in no danger here, I promise.”

Harry could see the skepticism in Snape’s face, but also resignation. They couldn’t exactly do anything if Helena was lying.

“Get some rest now,” Rowena said.

“If you need relief, here is a Pain Reliever,” Adeline said, placing a small vial on both Harry’s and Snape’s bedside table. “A personal creation of mine, so you can trust it, I promise.”

Harry looked at her, surprised. The Pain Reliever was invented by the daughter of Salazar Slytherin?

“I will be on my way now,” Adeline said to Helena and Rowena.

“Of course, darling,” Rowena said. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Anything for you, Auntie Ro,” Adeline said and she left the infirmary with a smile and wave at Helena.

“Rest now,” Helena said. “We will be back with some food. I imagine you have had little.”

“You are correct,” Snape said.

“I will return shortly then,” Helena said and she left with Rowena, leaving Harry and Snape alone.

They sat in a heavy, confounded silence for a few minutes until Snape began to move. Harry watched the professor leave his bed and take the few steps between them, sitting on the edge of Harry’s.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked quietly, carefully examining each of Harry’s remaining injuries.

“What? You don’t trust the healing abilities of Rowena Ravenclaw and her daughter?” Harry said, earning himself a raised eyebrow and he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I trust them fine,” Snape said. “What I do not trust is your ability to tell the truth about how you are feeling.”

Harry scowled. “I’m fine. I feel better aside from the fact that we are in bloody Camelot with the bloody Founders.”

“Language,” Snape said, examining Harry’s once skinned calf.

“You’re joking,” Harry said. “I don’t think my language is a core problem right now.”

Snape sighed, finishing his exam and looking up at Harry. “No, but your wellbeing is, so calm down. We have many problems, most of which I cannot immediately solve, but I can ensure your health and safety which is taking priority.”

“I’m not the priority,” Harry said, slightly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Perhaps not to you, but you are to me,” Snape said and Harry repressed a smile at the warmth he felt. He had never been anyone’s priority. “Now, tell me honestly, how are you feeling?”

Harry sighed and sunk back on his pillow. “Better, honestly. Their potions aren’t as good as yours, but they’re still pretty good. I can move, I can think. I’m tired and hungry and confused, but I promise I’m okay. Are you?”

Snape nodded. “I agree their potions are acceptable.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, gaining a questioning look. “You called the potions from Rowena Ravenclaw, her daughter, and a daughter of Salazar Slytherin ‘acceptable’.”

Snape rolled his eyes, making Harry laugh again before sobering after a few minutes.

“Professor?” Harry said. “Are we going to be okay?”

Snape reached out and placed a hand on Harry’s leg. “I believe we will be, yes, but we will find out what’s happened and figure out what to do. I truly do not believe we are in any danger in this village.”

“Guess it’s better than what the alternative nearly was,” Harry said and Snape gave him a small smirk. “I’m glad you’re okay, Professor and here.”

Snape squeezed his leg. “Get some rest, Potter. I believe we’ve earned it by now.”

Harry nodded and watched Snape return to his own bed before settling further in his. Exhaustion and pain relief won him over quickly and he slept deeply, not even waking when Helena returned with food.

When Harry woke the next morning, it was to Rowena waiting to give him a final examination and Helena with a plate of eggs, old-style toast with fig jam, and bacon. He ate with fervor, having survived on only berries and mushrooms, and only after nine days of nothing. Helena gave him a Healing Potion as he ate for his residual small injuries; the rest would take time, she said.

Erec came into the infirmary just as Harry finished eating, coming over to him and Snape with what seemed to be clothes in his hands. He dropped the small piles onto each of their beds.

“For you, Severus, some of Uncle Sal’s. He seems to be closest to your size,” Erec said, getting a nod from the professor. “Harry, these are from Cyrus, a boy in the village around your age. They might be a bit large, but Aunt Helga could do any Altering Charms necessary.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, looking at the clothes he could tell were similar to what they’d seen Erec and Felix wearing.

“Well, if you are both feeling up to it, I see no reason to keep you here any longer,” Helena said. “As long as you take it easy, of course.”

“Anything to get the hell out of this bed,” Harry said. “Bloody hate hospitals.”

“Potter, language!” Snape snapped at him.

Harry flushed. “Sorry, sir.”

Rowena laughed lightly. “Not to worry, darlings. Not too different from Godric and his boys or the twins.”

“Aunt Ro, please,” Erec said, mock offense in his voice. “I am a perfect gentleman.”

Rowena pat him on his cheek with a very clearly patronizing smile. “Whatever you say, darling.”

While the exchange was amusing, Harry couldn’t help the sharp pain that hit his chest at the reference to ‘the twins’. It immediately made him think of Fred and George, and he was distracted by the sadness he felt from how much he missed them.

“Go get dressed and we will bring you around the village,” Helena said. “There are some people you should meet if you wish to learn what’s occurred to bring you here.”

Harry looked at her and then Snape who nodded at him. He was pointed to the curtain at the back and he stripped off the hospital clothes. He’d been given a simple blue, short-sleeved tunic with short drawstrings and an embroidered line around the neck and sleeves, and a pair of brown trousers and leather ankle boots. It was significantly different to anything he’d ever worn before, but it was at least light and comfortable. When Snape came out wearing much the same thing just with detail on his green, three-quarter-sleeved tunic creating a leaf and diamond pattern around the neck, shoulders, cuffs, and bottom, a belt, and knee-high boots, Harry couldn’t keep from staring. It wasn’t an outfit he ever would have expected to see on the man.

“Not a word, Potter,” Snape muttered as he came up beside Harry.

The warning was ignored.

“Should we ask for black, sir?” Harry said, trying to hold back a smirk. He yelped and laughed when a hand came up and swatted the back of his head.

“Brat,” Snape said, his hand falling, briefly, on Harry’s neck to seemingly push him forward towards Helena, Rowena, and Erec. The touch was light and clearly also meant to be a comfort, and Harry’s snickering settled into a small smile.

“Excellent,” Erec said with a wide grin.

“You are both still healing, so do take it easy,” Rowena said, and both Harry and Snape nodded.

“Come on then,” Erec said and he led the way out of the infirmary.

With a hand to his back, Harry followed with Snape close behind. Stepping outside, he found the village had come alive. Now that he wasn’t stuck in the back of a wagon, Harry was able to see the entire village. It reached out in each direction by a few kilometers, made up of various homes, buildings, and other structures. People were milling about and walking around, completing chores and work and speaking with friends and neighbours. Children of all ages were running around or, if old enough, helping with chores. Magic could be felt and seen all over the village. Some animals roamed freely while others were in pens around the area, some next to homes and others on their own. To the east, Harry could see a large clearing filled with galloping and grazing horses. Owls and ravens flew overhead, coming to and from a small tower just north on top of a small hill.

The infirmary was part of the village’s main square. Roads from wagons and footpaths set up the village’s layout. The main square was in a rough circle with roads breaking it up to connect to the rest of the village, footpaths leading to where wagons couldn’t or didn’t need to go. Along with the infirmary, the main square was made up of a blacksmith, a saddler, a weapon maker, a parchment maker, a butcher, a wandmaker, an apothecary, and a large, long building Erec called the great hall.

It was everything he’d always read and pictured made up a medieval village, only the majority of the work was being completed using magic. Erec explained the great hall as being the place where village events and meetings were held, as well as a general gathering place. It was, apparently, a daily occurrence for villagers to have meals in the hall rather than at home simply for the companionship and socialization.

Despite everything, Harry couldn’t help but relax just a bit at the friendly, lively village.

His examination of the village was interrupted by the horse-drawn wagon coming to a stop in front of them. Sitting up front were two women. One of them was curvy with honey-coloured eyes and light caramel brown hair that reached nearly to her waist. The other woman was holding the reins and dressed differently than the other women Harry had seen so far. She was honestly gorgeous, her features stern in a way that commanded attention, but soft in her fairness and indicative of deep emotion. Her hair was long, a couple of thick braids on either side of her head pulled back to wrap around the tie keeping the rest of her hair in a low ponytail. Her hair was a shiny auburn and her eyes a chestnut brown. She was wearing what seemed to be a mix between the male and female dress he’d seen so far. Her purple top was only thigh-length in the front like some of the tunics he’d seen, but seemed to be rounded and longer in the back. It was also styled more like Helena’s dress, bell elbow-length sleeves, and embroidery and beading around the hooped neck. She wore dark brown trousers like the men as well as knee-high boots. She wore a long silver chain that hung on her chest, a pendant of the Camelot symbol dangling at the end.

“Harry, Severus, this is Isabella and Guinevere,” Erec said, gesturing to both women respectively.

Harry looked at the second woman again. “Guinevere? As in Lady Guinevere and King Arthur?”

Guinevere’s mouth curled into a bemused smile. “Well, I do like the sound of that. However, right now, I am simply Guinevere and he Arthur, a Knight of Camelot. Though, yes, we are betrothed.”

“You are not ‘just’ anything, Guinevere,” Erec said almost in chastisement. “Or what would you call being Camelot’s battle strategist and master duelist?”

Harry looked at Erec and then Snape with wide eyes. That had certainly never come up in any of the histories about Camelot.

“A necessity,” Guinevere said, making Erec roll his eyes. “Now, are we ready, gentlemen?”

“Where are we going?” Snape asked, hand brushing Harry’s back again in a way Harry knew was meant to tell him to stay put until they had some answers. Harry understood. The professor may have said he didn’t think they were in danger, but Harry knew they couldn’t be sure just yet. They truly didn’t know anything about what was going on. Not to even mention the pure insanity at their predicament in general.

“We told you we had an enchantress that told us the two of you were coming and would be in that meadow,” Erec said. “We are taking you to her so she can explain everything.”

“Very well,” Snape said after a pause.

“Onward then, my good ladies,” Erec said, clapping his hands and making Isabella and Guinevere laugh lightly. He gestured for Harry and Snape to climb into the wagon, following them as they settled.

The wagon ride wasn’t long, only about fifteen minutes up a winding northern path over the hill towards the forest. They all left the wagon at the edge of the forest, following Isabella and Guinevere. It was like walking through the Forbidden Forest, dense with no clear paths and dark despite being midday. There were a couple of differences, namely the lighter air and the little orbs of blue and white light that floated around, showing them the way. They didn’t walk for long either, less than ten minutes certainly, before they came upon an unexpected sight.

The forest itself really hadn’t changed, still dim and dense with oak, pine, larch, and spruce trees. However, amongst those regular trees were two huge silver willow trees. Their branches twisted and braided together, creating an archway between the two trees. Leafy, silvery vines cascaded down from the archway, acting like a cover to a pathway. A soft blueish-white glow could be seen through the gently swaying vines.

When Erec stood off to the side while Isabella and Guinevere approached the archway, Harry looked at him curiously.

“Only a select few are allowed in her presence,” Erec said.

Harry wasn’t sure what to think about that, and, apparently, neither did Snape as the man’s hand brushed his back again. It had happened a few times, a clear request for Harry to stay close and alert. The professor didn’t have to worry, Harry had no intention of going anywhere. While his natural curiosity had reared up, he also found a strange—and embarrassing—clinginess had built up stronger than the curiosity. Being with the professor non-stop and through torture had made Harry wary of being too far away from the man; a secret he would most certainly keep to himself. He was fifteen, after all, and Snape was nothing more than his professor.

He was pushed lightly when Isabella and Guinevere walked through the vines, and Harry followed. Passing through, it almost felt like the air wavered and rippled around them. Powerful magic lay over the area. Stepping out the other side of the vines, Harry couldn’t help but gape.

The same silver willow trees that created the archway also created the large circle in which they now stood. Their branches weaved together to create a canopy overhead and vines hung all over, abloom with white flowers that seemed to sparkle and glow. Filling the circular area was a huge clear blue lake, its crystal surface glittering in the light of the flowers and in general, as though it couldn’t help but do so. The grass surrounding the lake was lush and green though it seemed to shimmer with a blue glow, making the grass seem almost teal every few seconds. The air crackled with magic, but still gently enough to feel like a welcome caress across his skin.

As Harry stared at the lake, ripple circles began to leave the center outwards across the surface. His eyes widened as a figure slowly broke the surface, more and more of her being revealed as she walked towards them. She stopped about a meter from the lake’s edge and gazed at them as she stood on the water, the surface returning to its crystal-like state under her feet.

Her iridescent and bright glow made her almost blinding to look at while simultaneously impossible to look away from. She was completely silvery-white, from her skin to the detail in her dress. She was tall and slender, her features strong but angelic and delicate at the same time. Her hair flowed down around her, reaching her waist, white with a silver undertone and straight, brushed by the forest air to drift lightly around her. Her eyes were one of the only things not white; rather, they were a gentle, yet piercing purple, the colour sharp against her white complexion.

She wore a long, shiny white dress, its bottom around her feet in the water. A thigh-high slit, nearly reaching her hip, in its skirt revealed her leg where she was barefoot, but with silvery leaves and vines wrapped around her feet and lower legs up to the knee. The top of the dress was heavily embroidered with leaves, vines, and flowers, covering the entire bodice to the waist and the long, tight sleeves that ended in points on the back of her hands. Over the sleeves from the elbow, were wide, flowing half-bell sleeves, creating sort of waves of white falling from her arms. The dress at off her shoulders and low on her chest in a wide ‘V’ neckline, lined in an iridescent blue.

Around her neck was silver chain holding a relatively large pendant sitting on her white chest. It stood out as all the stones were different, beautiful, opalescent shades of blue. It was primarily a large oval gem made of an oddly reflective light blue material. Below, on either side was a crescent moon made of silver, a small oval made of a teal-coloured gem, an oblong gem made of a night-sky blue gem, and then, in the center, was a teardrop made of opal with a tinge of blue. Finally, on her forehead sat a band with a pendant also made of shades of glimmering blue. The pendant was circular with two interlocking circles inside. Down the center of the circles was a line with the top shaped as a heart and the bottom a lyre. Around the side of the circles, filling the space, were vines, leaves, and flowers, just like her dress.

There was no other word for her except ethereal.

She raised her arms just to the side of her, palms up, as if in greeting.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice melodic and echoing beautifully. “I have been waiting for you.”

Harry frowned, glancing up at Snape who seemed just as confused.

“I am Nimue, Lady of the Lake, Protector of Avalon, and Enchantress of Camelot,” she said, making Harry’s eyes widen again. “We need your help.”

Harry wasn’t sure how much more he could take, how much more he could force his brain to understand. It was all too far out of the realm of possible, even for him.

Camelot, Founders, Guinevere, now the Lady of the Lake?

“A great evil threatens these lands and our world,” Nimue said. “The Dark Sorceress brings death to our people and destruction to our future.”

“Dark Sorceress?” Harry repeated in recognition. “You mean…”

“Morgan le Fay,” Nimue said with an inclination of her head. “We have been at war for many long years. We have come to the end of our own resources and strength, and so I found you.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Morgan seeks powerful items in our world, items she must never possess,” Nimue said. “Some of these items are a set and can only be found by those who will one day wield them.”

“What are these items?” Snape asked, making Harry glance at the man. The professor was very clearly on guard, but not aggressively so, allowing Harry to feel just slightly less anxious. However, he also appeared confused which did not make Harry feel better.

“There are three and together they form the Deathly Hallows,” Guinevere said, pulling their attention briefly to her from Nimue.

“The Tale of the Three Brothers?” Snape said and Harry’s frown deepened, completely lost in the conversation.

“A story not yet written for the brothers still live,” Nimue said.

“What does any of this have to do with us?” Harry asked, looking back at Nimue.

“Those who possess the Hallows become the Masters of Death, for it is not one, but three,” Nimue said. “The current Masters must be found and protected, and their power used to fight.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Harry said, glancing between Nimue, Guinevere, and Isabella. “Can’t you just find them then?”

“Only those fated to one day be can find those who are,” Nimue said and Harry found himself hating riddles, puzzles, and vagueness more by the minute.

“Our Lady and I searched through time and found the two of you,” Isabella said. “You are fated Masters with the essence of all Magic within.”

“Why us? In all time, there was no one else?” Harry said, hating the idea of being tied to another fate. One prophecy was enough for his lifetime.

“None that so fully embody all Morgan seeks to destroy,” Isabella said. “None as worthy.”

Harry looked at Snape again, knowing how unworthy the man had felt all his life from their Occlumency lessons. He chewed the inside of his lip at the tension in the professor’s face at Isabella’s sentiment.

“I was able to reach through time and connect to your magical output,” Nimue said, gesturing to Harry, making him think of those final moments in front of Voldemort. Magic had overwhelmed him in his desperation to not lose Snape. “I have brought you here so we might request your assistance in our plight.”

Harry had no idea how to respond as his mind raced, thoughts fuzzy as he tried to make sense of anything. He’d been brought to the past to help fight Morgan le Fay because he was supposed to be a Master of Death one day? Individually, the words made sense; together, they might as well have been a different language. He honestly didn’t know what to do or think. He just couldn’t understand.

“This is nothing more than a request,” Guinevere said. “We cannot demand anything of you, particularly not to risk your lives by fighting in this war. I cannot demand such a thing of strangers, of innocents…of a child.”

Harry couldn’t help but compare the sentiment to Dumbledore’s insistence that their war be placed on him. The brush of fingers across his back told him Snape had thought of the same thing.

“Should you be unable to fulfill this request, I will return you to your time and home,” Nimue said.

Harry was overwhelmed and unconsciously took a step back as though it would distance him from what had just been proposed, from what was happening. The movement had him nearly pressed against Snape’s chest and he was going to move away, embarrassed, but the man’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, holding him gently in place.

“I understand this is a lot,” Guinevere said. “We will give you some time.”

“Should you wish to return home, return to me with Isabella,” Nimue said. “I give you my thanks and my faith.”

She smiled at them before turning and walking back across the lake, sinking beneath the water as she went.

“Come, we’ll find you a place to stay,” Isabella said.

They were given an upstairs loft in a cottage belonging to Galen and Griffin Nye, twins and the Flying instructors at Hogwarts. They were quite similar to Fred and George, both in appearance and mannerisms, giving Harry a bittersweet feeling upon meeting them. There were some differences, namely that Galen and Griffin were in their twenties, tanned with no noticeable freckles, and longer hair that was more auburn than bright orange.

The cottage had a stone foundation with the rest of it built of solid wood, planks used to create a panelled design on the outside. Each room had a small window aside from the common area which was fairly open to allow in natural light and air. Lanterns were hung on the walls and candles sat unlit on tables. Wool rugs covered most of the stone floors.

They had offered he and Snape separate rooms, but, to Harry’s secret relief, Snape had declined. The twins had easily accepted their decision and led them through the common area with the hearth and dining set up. They turned left inside the door and passed through a large, wide entranceway that led to a few different rooms. They passed one large bedroom and were pointed to a doorway adjacent to the bedroom. It was a single doorway, but led to two separate rooms. One was another bedroom while the other, the one they were led into, was a storeroom with an open back wall, providing access to a small paddock where Harry spotted a couple of horses grazing. In the back-right corner, there was a tilted ladder creating a set of stairs to the second level.

Harry climbed up the ladder first, finding a long, open room that spanned the length of the cottage. At the far end on the front of the cottage was a single, fairly large circular window, similar to what one might see on the front of a church, but without the stained glass. It provided a perfect view of the field he’d seen earlier in which various animals grazed and frolicked.

There wasn’t much to the loft itself, just a couple of beds made of low-sitting wooden frames and mattresses likely stuffed with wool or straw. Each had fairly fluffy-looking pillows and simple woven wool blankets. They sat across from each other, against the walls on either side of the window. Not too far from the ladder against the left wall was a wooden wardrobe and, on the right, a simple square table and chairs. It was quite cozy and Harry liked it, enjoying the fact that they would still get their own space, even while sharing a home with others.

“We’ll leave you to settle in and have some time,” Galen said. Harry had managed to spot a small difference between the two just as he had with Fred and George, allowing him to tell which twin was which. Galen had a small gold fleck in his left iris that Griffin didn’t have.

“If you are feeling up to it, you are welcome to have dinner in the great hall,” Griffin said. “You’ll be able to have your questions answered should you have any.”

“Thank you,” Snape said, and then he and Harry were left alone in the loft.

Harry crossed the loft and peered out the window. He watched a couple of horses gallop around the field before his eyes were drawn to a few startlingly white horses with sparkling horns. It took him a moment to realize they were unicorns. He watched, fascinated, as the unicorns and horses mingled together seamlessly, grazing and nuzzling and running. He moved his gaze after several minutes and found he could also see a small part of the village edge. A tailor shop was just in view and another home where two small boys were running around while a girl that seemed around Harry’s age completed some laundry, clothes floating around her waiting to be dried and folded. Clearly there was no age restriction on magic use in this time. He was also intrigued at the fact that the girl was not using a wand that he could see.

Harry turned away from the window and moved to sit on the bed on the left side of the room. He perched on the edge and looked over at Snape as the professor sat at the table, clearly deep in thought.

“Professor?” Harry said and Snape looked up at him. “What was she talking about? The Deathly Hallows?”

“It is a story, a wizarding fairy tale,” Snape said. “Three brothers cross a river using magic to create a bridge, a place where people normally die. As a reward, Death gave each of them a gift. One asked for the most powerful wand in the world, one asked for the means to resurrect their lost love, and one asked for the ability to move unseen. A wand, a stone, and a cloak. Together, they create the Deathly Hallows and, legend says, whoever possesses all of them becomes the Master of Death. Though, what that entails has never been clear.”

“A story based on real people?” Harry asked.

“Apparently,” Snape said, his gaze becoming far away again.

Harry still didn’t know what any of it really meant or how it involved them, but a part of him was intrigued. It was clearly important if they had been brought through time to help. He sighed and looked at the professor again.

“So, what do we do?” Harry asked and Snape frowned at him.

“We go home, Potter,” Snape said as though it were obvious.

Harry frowned back at the man. “Shouldn’t we help? They brought us here because they need help.”

“We cannot stay here,” Snape said.

“Why not?” Harry argued.

“Because we do not belong here,” Snape said, a small snap in his tone.

“Well, I don’t belong anywhere so it doesn’t make much difference to me.”

They were both silent in the face of Harry’s mini outburst and they stared at each other for a long while before Harry looked away. There was a pain in his chest at the truth of his words. He had no place, nowhere he truly felt wanted or accepted or even understood, and he had no one. He mattered very little to anyone and it hurt to admit out loud.

“Potter…” Snape said quietly, clearly wanting to say something, but not knowing what.

Harry looked back at the man, sighing. “Don’t bother trying to say it’s not true. You know it is. It’s fine, I’m used to it by now.”

Not completely true, but he was getting closer to believing it. Someday it could actually be true.

He watched as Snape stood from the table and walked over to him, sitting next to him on the bed. Harry shuffled around, sliding back on the bed so he could sit against the wall with his legs stretched across beside Snape.

“You are not alone,” Snape said eventually, still quietly.

Harry didn’t respond. He just crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at Snape’s back.

“Potter, I understand you want to help, but we really cannot stay here,” Snape said.

“We can’t just leave them to fight alone when they’ve asked for help,” Harry said.

“We have our own war to fight,” Snape said pointedly.

“We can’t do anything about our war,” Harry snapped.

Snape turned to him and he sighed.

“We go back, you die, and I probably do too. We don’t know how to defeat Voldemort because Dumbledore won’t tell us which means we die,” Harry said. “We can do something here.”

“You don’t know that,” Snape argued.

“Then we find out,” Harry said. “We get more information.”

“We can easily die here, especially if we join another war,” Snape pointed out.

“At least then we’d die doing something,” Harry said.

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Professor, let’s at least find out what we could do,” Harry said, a hint of pleading entering his voice.

“You would exchange one war for another?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

“If we can actually help and make a difference, yeah, I would,” Harry said, nodding.

Snape sighed again, more of a huff this time, and scowled at Harry. “We really need to remove this hero complex of yours.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, everyone needs to stop putting me in situations where I’m asked or expected to save people.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

Harry laughed again.

They fell into a comfortable, but thoughtful silence after that, each musing. They didn’t really speak, though Snape did eventually ask to examine Harry’s hip to ensure their forest excursion had not undone his healing. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the professor remained sat on the bed with him rather than moving to the other or back to the table. It made him wonder if Snape had noticed Harry’s clinginess or also wanted to keep Harry close himself.

Harry could understand the professor’s apprehension at staying; he did have reservations as well. They were centuries in the past, pulled into the middle of another conflict with another dark wizard or witch, in this case. If they stayed, what did that mean for their time? If they stayed, they were effectively abandoning the fight with Voldemort and leaving it to everyone else. How could they do anything in this time when they didn’t know the world, the people, or the magic? In the day they had been in Camelot Village, multiple things relating to magic had been mentioned that Harry had never heard of before.

Yet, Harry couldn’t just walk away. He felt they could really help, something he hadn’t felt at all in regards to the war with Voldemort. He also couldn’t help but feel like he had little to go back to. He had some friends, sure, but that was all. He had no family, no home, no clear future. It felt like there was nothing there for him except control and loneliness.

Eventually, they were pulled from their thoughts by one of the twins calling up to them, asking if they wanted to accompany the twins to the great hall for dinner. Snape turned to Harry, silently asking his opinion.

“We can get information,” Harry said, “and I am hungry.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of information or the fact that he had admitted to being hungry, which he rarely did, that caused the flash of unknown emotion in the professor’s eyes. Whichever it was, Snape replied to the twin in the affirmative, and he and Harry joined the twins on their walk to the great hall.

It was large, especially compared to everything else which, while built in the same style, was still quite modest. This great hall was roughly half the size of Hogwarts’, perhaps approaching three-quarters the size. The bottom half of the foundation was made of stone and the top half wood. It was a white wood with dark brown wood strips that lined the edges and criss-crossed to create panels over the white walls. Several large, square, paneled windows allowed loads of natural light into the building. The roof was shingled with a reddish-brown wood and a stone chimney that had smoke twirling out into the sky. The doors, in the center of the long building, were double and also made of a dark brown wood. Their handles were carved into vines and leaves. The doors also had intricate designs on them, leaves and vines surrounding large ‘C’s in the same style as the village’s sign.

Griffin and Galen held the doors open, waving them in dramatically in similar fashion to Fred and George. Harry couldn’t help but smile at them for their antics as Snape guided him into the hall. It honestly felt similar to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There were two long tables with chairs for at least twenty people, a few that sat eight, and a few that sat four. Lanterns hung on the walls while candles also floated above the tables with some set on trays in the table centers. From the ceiling hung banners with the Camelot crest.

There weren’t too many people in the hall and Harry had a feeling the villagers had been told to stay away to avoid overwhelming him and Snape.

They were called over to one of the long tables where several people were gathered, some they’d met and some they hadn’t. Harry spotted Rowena, Salazar, Erec, Felix, Isabella, and Guinevere. Two he immediately knew were Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor from pictures despite not having met them yet. Then there were three—two younger men and one older woman—that were complete strangers. He was guided to sit next to Erec, across from one of the unknown men, while Snape sat on his other side with Salazar beside and Isabella across.

Food appeared on their silver plates—from where, Harry had no idea—and a pitcher floated down the table to pour some water into their silver goblets. Harry felt his stomach rumble at the sight and smell of the roasted pheasant, roasted carrots and beets, and the rustic dinner roll with butter. He quickly picked up a silver fork and dug in.

“So glad you joined us, darlings,” Rowena said from further down the table where she sat between Helga and Felix.

“We thank you for the invitation,” Snape said politely. “You have been very hospitable.”

“The least we could do since we are the reason you are here,” Erec said.

“We appreciate it all the same,” Snape said.

“I believe there are some faces you do not yet know,” Rowena said and gestured to Helga beside her. “This is Helga Hufflepuff. She is Isabella’s mother. And here we have Godric Gryffindor and Artemus, his son and Erec’s brother.”

Harry gazed down the table at each of them, now seeing the similarities between Helga and Isabella, and Erec and Godric.

Isabella clearly got her hair and eyes from her mother, though Helga’s hair was shoulder-length and much curlier. Even sitting, it was obvious Helga was shorter and slightly heavier-set. She was dressed similar to Rowena, but in a golden yellow with a badger hanging on a chain around her neck, its eyes of obsidian and gold. She reminded Harry a bit of Mrs. Weasley with her motherly feel.

Godric and Artemus could almost be twins, though the height, muscular nature, and thick facial hair was shared with Erec as well. However, where Erec had brown hair, Godric and Artemus both had bold red hair, slightly less vibrant than the Weasley hair. Godric kept his hair short while his sons had theirs longer, and he had brown eyes like Erec while Artemus had hazel eyes. Harry could see a large gold ring on Godric’s right index finger and could make out the lion design, its eye a gleaming ruby. Artemus was dressed a bit differently, seeming to be in a templar knight or crusader tunic. It was long sleeved with a high neckline and slits up the sides near the hips. The sleeves were black while the torso was azure with yellow edging. In the center of the chest was Camelot’s crest, embroidered in black. Over the back of his chair was draped a black cloak with an azure lining.

“Artemus has just returned from Winchester with Arthur,” Godric said. “A Round Table meeting had been held.”

“Round Table?” Harry said. “Arthur?”

“That’s me,” the man across from him said. “We are Knights of Camelot. The Round Table meets at least once a month to remain updated on the conflict.”

“King Arthur?” Harry said, staring at the man dumbly.

He smiled. “Guinevere told me the role I seem to have in your legends.”

Arthur seemed to be the quintessential knight in shining armour in appearance. He had broad shoulders and a built chest. He was fair with perfectly flowing blonde hair and bright blue eyes. A blonde, short beard covered his strong jaw, accompanied by sharp cheekbones. Despite his chiseled appearance, his features were still kind. He wore the same outfit as Artemus. There was a quiet, moral strength in Arthur that Harry had read about in all the King Arthur legends.

“And this is my wife, Cecilia,” Salazar said, gesturing to the woman sitting across from him.

Cecilia Slytherin was just as beautiful as her daughter, Adeline. They shared the long, blonde hair and sharp features. Cecilia had the same brown eyes as Felix and the same soft gentleness as him.

“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Snape said and Harry nodded his agreement to the sentiment.

“I sense introductions and pheasant is not what you are truly after,” Guinevere said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“You would be correct,” Snape said with a nod.

“Can you tell us more?” Harry said, glancing at all of them. “About your war? About the Deathly Hallows?”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “Twelve years ago, it was discovered that someone had been pursuing forbidden branches of Black Magic: Necromancy and Mind Magic.”

“Mind Magic is forbidden?” Snape said and Harry looked at him, thinking of the man’s skill with Legilimency and Occlumency. They were difficult, certainly, but they weren’t bad or evil in Harry’s mind.

“When used the way it has been, yes,” Arthur said seriously. “We learned it was Morgan, my sister. Our mentor, Merlin, gave her the chance to cease her studies, but she refused, so he severed her as an apprentice.”

“She was furious and fled,” Guinevere said. “We believed that was it, but then, a year later, Morgan attacked us at Tintagel Castle. She had increased her power and thought Merlin would take her back. When he didn’t, she vowed to prove that Black Magic is the strongest of all magic and the future, and that she would become the most powerful sorceress of all time.”

“She disappeared for another year,” Godric said. “Followers began to appear, though, and there was a small battle between them and the Knights of Camelot.”

“I killed one named Accolon,” Arthur said. “Once he’d been a Knight, but he defected for Morgan. My killing of him became yet another betrayal to her, for taking her love.”

“She attacked Winchester not long after,” Guinevere said. “This time, she came with her army. Her skills in Necromancy had increased exponentially.”

“Inferi?” Harry said.

“Similar,” Salazar said. “However, hers can be controlled through her Mind Magic and they have magical abilities. They are the worst that Black Magic can create, a horrible representation of the darkest parts of Black Magic. She has disgraced Black Magic and magic in general.”

Harry wanted to ask what the difference was between Black Magic and Dark Magic, for they seemed to be different here, but he didn’t want to interrupt the story.

“She swore vengeance on all of us for our betrayals,” Arthur said. “She has also vowed to take control of magic, at least in Camelot, and become to strongest witch in the world.”

“How?” Harry said.

“The Deathly Hallows,” Isabella said.

“And Excalibur,” Guinevere said.

“The sword?” Harry said and they nodded.

“We have been fighting her for ten years now,” Arthur said. “Lady Nimue has Excalibur protected on Avalon though Morgan has not stopped trying and, as her magic grows, Lady Nimue’s protections grow weaker. We’ve been trying to find the Hallows to keep them from her, but we’ve had no luck.”

“We fight any battles she wages,” Artemus said. “Many have occurred over the years with many losses.”

“Lady Nimue suggested getting help,” Isabella said. “She said we didn’t have what or who we needed. So, she searched through time and I looked through fate. Together, we found you.”

“Why us?” Snape asked.

“As Lady Nimue said, you are both fated to be Masters of Death in your time,” Isabella said. “You are connected to the Deathly Hallows. You can find and use them.”

“Aren’t they dangerous?” Harry said. “Isn’t that why Morgan wants them?”

“They are only dangerous in the hands of those that wish pain, darkness, and control,” Isabella said.

“I’m confused,” Harry admitted. “Nothing ever mentioned any of this or us when I’ve read about this war.”

“Because, in your time, this is not how it happened,” Isabella said. “This has happened for you, but not like this because you did not exist to be a part of it, thus it had to go a different path. Yours is simply one version of time. Nothing you do here will impact your time because it has already happened. This is your past, but it is our present.”

Harry felt a dull ache form behind his eyes. “Okay, but couldn’t you have just got the us from your future then?”

“Yes, but they are not you,” Isabella said. “Our future Harry Potter and Severus Snape are not fated to be Masters of Death. No one in this time is except those that are currently alive. The you of your time are the only ones fated to be Masters of Death with the power we need, not to mention sense of morality.”

“And what is it you believe we can do?” Snape asked.

“Help us fight,” Arthur said.

“And restore balance to our world,” Isabella said.

“We beg of you, please, consider our plea,” Guinevere said. “We may be lost without you.”

There was a long pause that hung heavy over the table, almost creating a ringing as it settled. Harry fought to comprehend what he was hearing and learning, and, looking at Snape, the professor was struggling just as much as he was.

“If Morgan has such skill and control over Necromancy and Mind Magic, why does she want the Hallows and Excalibur?” Snape asked eventually, breaking the deafening silence.

“They are some of the most powerful items in our world,” Godric said.

“Morgan would be unstoppable if she got them,” Artemus said. “Even more powerful than Merlin, a Mage.”

Harry frowned. “Why? What do they do?”

“Excalibur does many things,” Guinevere said. “For those considered worthy, it increases strength, slices through enchantments, destroys Dark objects and creatures, and can enhance protection magic.”

“Could Morgan even use it then?” Harry said. “Would she be considered worthy?”

“She would be unable to utilize all its power, but enough to be more dangerous,” Guinevere said.

“And the Hallows?” Snape asked.

“They each have individual power, but become even more when united,” Arthur said.

“The Elder Wand, for example is the most powerful wand in the world,” Erec said. “With it, one’s magical ability is amplified tenfold and they can perform any magic, no matter the complexity. Additionally, any spell cast becomes unbreakable or irreversible except by the Elder Wand.”

“The Resurrection Stone brings back the dead or so it’s believed,” Isabella said. “In reality, it brings back a shadow…a shell. However, what it can do is provide control over the dead, physical and metaphysical.”

“And then the Cloak of Invisibility,” Rowena said. “It provides the wearer with complete invisibility as well as invulnerability to most magical attacks. Additionally, it increases the wearer’s protection magic, such as Shielding Spells.”

“Together, as you’ve been told, they make the owners Masters of Death. It gives them total control over Black Magic and all its branches,” Salazar said. “It is also said, though this is only rumour, that the Masters of Death have control over and the ability to communicate with Death himself.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, stunned.

“You understand why Morgan must not get these items,” Guinevere said. “Between Excalibur and the Hallows, she would be the most powerful being in the world and with control over all magic.”

Harry dropped his eyes to his mostly empty plate, fiddling with his fork. He was overwhelmed with just how powerful Morgan was and how dangerous the war was with items like the Deathly Hallows in play. The magic in this time seemed far beyond anything from their time. How could they possibly be of any help?

“If, as you say, we are to be these Masters of Death, does that mean the Hallows exist in our time?” Snape asked and Harry looked up again, curious and apprehensive.

“Indeed, they do,” Isabella said. “Each are currently in the possession of someone, though two of them are in the incorrect hands.”

Harry frowned, unsettled at the idea of the Hallows being in their time and fated to end up in their hands. Yet another destiny to control his life and steal his future. He sighed, dropping his fork and sitting back heavily in his seat. He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“I appreciate your willingness to answer our questions and provide us with information,” Snape said. “However, I’m afraid we still need time to make our decision.”

“We understand, truly,” Arthur said.

“We appreciate your willingness to consider our request at all,” Guinevere said.

“Please, do not hesitate to speak to any of us or anyone else in the village,” Helga said.

“And explore Camelot Village as you wish,” Godric said.

“Thank you,” Snape said. “I think we will retire for the evening and get some rest. Come on, Potter.”

Harry nodded and, with a quiet ‘thanks’ and ‘good night’ to all the others, he followed Snape out of the great hall and back to the Nye cottage.

Harry watched the activity of the village with a slight frown. Galen and Griffin were in the field with the horses and unicorns. A group of kids were running around, conjuring little creatures made of glittery magic to chase their friends, conjured without wands. Erec and Felix were at the blacksmith where magic, again wandless, was being used to create what seemed to be arrows. Godric and Guinevere were talking as they slowly meandered down the road before being approached by a few kids around Harry’s age. They seemed to ask something and cheered when Godric and Guinevere nodded with smiles. Salazar was at the building he’d learned was a goldsmith with a young woman he’d learned was Salazar’s and Cecilia’s third child, and Felix’s twin, Penelope.

Penelope had a striking resemblance to Felix despite being fraternal twins. They shared the same slender frame, shorter stature, brown eyes, light brown hair though hers was kept in two long braids, and the soft kindness that was evident in Cecilia’s features. She also had the same beauty that seemed to run through the entire Slytherin line. A main difference he could see was the excitable nature that lay beneath Penelope’s surface while Felix had a much calmer aura. Penelope’s nature was one he could see in Salazar though his was more an intense passion, not too different from Snape. He assumed Penelope’s excitement likely came out in her work as a Crafter of magic and potions for the Wizards’ Council, what he’d learned was the precursor to the Ministry of Magic.

He sighed as he watched the village exist around him, feeling lost in this world. He supposed it wasn’t too different to how he felt back in their time and had felt his entire life.

“You have been awfully quiet the last few days.”

Harry looked up, finding Snape standing next to where he sat on the front step, leaning against the wooden railing.

“Sorry,” Harry said, a little dully.

“An apology is not necessary,” Snape said and Harry watched the man lower himself to sit next to Harry on the step. “However, I would like to know what is on your mind.”

Harry looked back out at the village, chewing his lip. It had been three days since they’d learned all about Morgan le Fay, the Deathly Hallows, and the ongoing war. He hadn’t known what to think about it all, still didn’t despite running it through his mind over and over. He no longer knew what he wanted to do despite having been so adamant about staying just days earlier. A part of him did want to stay and help, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of help he could even be. This world was turning out to be vastly different than the one from which they came. He also wasn’t sure he was willing or able to give up his life to yet another fate.

“Potter?” Snape pressed.

“When do I get to be me and live the way I want?” Harry said. “I’m sick of fate telling me and everyone who I am. It’s never who I am.”

“And who are you?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged, looking down at his boots. “I’m not sure I know, really.”

“Shall I tell you what I see?” Snape asked lightly.

“Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Harry said and Snape smirked.

“I see a reckless child with far too much bravery and heart for his own good,” Snape said and Harry rolled his eyes. “We get to decide who we are, Mr. Potter, no matter what fate may say.”

Harry sighed and gazed out at the village again. “Maybe.”

“Do you still wish for us to stay?” Snape asked.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said.

“Really?” Snape said and Harry turned to him. “Were you not fighting to convince me to stay just a few days ago?”

Harry heard the amusement, but it was shadowed by his own inner conflict. “Yeah, but that was before I remembered I’m useless.”

“Is that so?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow and making Harry furrow his at the tone. “Well, it must have been a different Harry Potter that got through obstacles created by full-grown wizards and fought Voldemort at eleven.”

“I mean, yeah, but Ron and Hermione helped,” Harry argued slightly.

“And the Basilisk in the secret chamber sealed with Parseltongue?” Snape said.

“Fawkes,” Harry pointed out.

“Being capable of a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, and a Disarming Charm powerful enough to knock me out and not just disarm me?” Snape said, his tone and look unmistakably both amused and slightly unimpressed.

“Hey, I apologized for that,” Harry said defensively, wincing at the reminder of what he had done to the professor in the Shrieking Shack.

“And the Patronus?” Snape said and Harry sighed.

“I guess,” Harry said.

“I also recall you performing a powerful Summoning Charm, not to mention everything else you managed last year,” Snape said and Harry cringed at the reminder of the entire tournament, fighting not to think of Cedric for at least a moment.

“It took me weeks to learn that spell and I barely survived the tournament,” Harry argued.

“And, finally, your little Defense group and your dueling skills at the Ministry,” Snape said. “I must have been imagining these last four and a half years.”

Harry huffed slightly, trying to stomp down the flush he could feel rising in his cheeks. “Fine, all of that is true, but I hardly managed most of that. I always had help from somewhere,” he said. “How am I supposed to learn everything here and be good enough to help? Everything here is completely different and I haven’t understood half of the things that have been talked about.”

“School tends to be a place one learns and improves,” Snape said.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Hogwarts, Potter,” Snape said. “I will not allow you to abandon your education and there is much you can learn here. As you said, it is very different.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” Harry said, trying to figure out what the professor was getting at.

Snape gave him a withering stare. “Don’t be obtuse, brat.”

It clicked then and Harry’s eyes widened. “We’re staying?”

Snape’s lips twitched. “It would seem your argument a few days ago changed my mind.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised he’d managed to convince the man of anything.

“Yes, however, there are a few conditions,” Snape said. “First, there will be no more just sliding through school. I expect you to put in your best effort here. Second, if we are to help in this war, you will not do anything reckless or without thought. There will be no foolishness or impulsive heroism. Understand?”

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly at the firm threat he could see in the dark eyes.

“Finally, in order to enroll, I am required to act as your guardian.”

Harry felt his cheeks warm again. “Kind of already seemed like you were,” he admitted quietly, eyes dropping to his boots once again. “No one else has bothered with me much lately.”

There was a moment of silence following his admission and he fought down his embarrassment. Snape was just his professor, no matter what the man had done for him or what had changed between them since October, and here he was basically admitting he saw the man as a guardian, someone to take care of him. He had no illusions that Snape would ever see him as more than a student he now tolerated, let alone as a child he could care for.

“I am sure it is unappealing to have to settle for someone like me to rely on, but I promise you can,” Snape said and Harry frowned at the man’s subtle self-deprecation, looking back up at the professor.

“That has never been in question, Professor, not even before the Ministry,” Harry said. “What has been a question is your willingness to stick around when no one else has or I’ve gotten them killed.”

“We have talked about this, Potter,” Snape said firmly.

Harry sighed and gave a small smile, nodding. Snape had been working hard to make Harry understand Cedric’s death had not been his fault. The man had been doing quite well, honestly, Harry finally nearly convinced of his innocence in the entire tragedy.

“Additionally, it is not such a hardship to protect you,” Snape said. “I have had extensive practice.”

Harry scowled half-heartedly, hiding his amusement and rise in emotion. Snape may have used the word ‘protect’, but Harry was certain he heard underlying meaning and he was touched, knowing someone did care for him.

“Are you amenable to these conditions of our stay?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said with another nod. “I’m not sure how well I can do, though. Everything here is done wandlessly and I’ve never done wandless magic. I can hardly do wanded magic.” He gazed around at the magic he could see being performed.

“That is not a word,” Snape said and Harry rolled his eyes. “You will learn. It is the point of returning to Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know any wandless magic or anything in this world,” Harry said again. “I’m not like you.”

“Ah, yes, because I am an expert at ancient magic that does not exist in our time,” Snape said dryly.

“You make me roll me eyes anymore and I’m going to go blind,” Harry said and Snape smirked. “You know what I mean. You’re powerful and a bloody genius and can do anything.”

“Shall I refer you back to your last four years again?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

Harry huffed, frustrated that he wasn’t being allowed his self-pity.

“Come on, Potter,” Snape said suddenly, Harry looking up as the man rose to his feet. “The best way to quell doubt is to ask questions.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry said bitterly. “I don’t tend to get answers when I ask questions.”

Snape was the one to roll his eyes this time as he gestured for Harry to stand. “Up, Potter, let’s go.”

Curious, Harry stood alongside the professor and allowed himself to be guided away from the Nye cottage. They passed through the village, some nodding and greeting Snape as they went.

“Is this what you’ve been doing the last few days, talking to people?” Harry asked, giving his own nod to Erec and Felix at the blacksmith.

“I couldn’t very well consent to the both of us remaining here without more information or making arrangements,” Snape said. “We need to know who we are to live and fight alongside of.”

Harry silently conceded the notion, continuing to allow Snape to guide him along. His curiosity increased as they approached the goldsmith where Salazar and Penelope still stood, speaking to each other and the wizard behind the open stand-like front.

“Severus, Harry,” Salazar said, turning away from the goldsmith. “I hope you are both well today.”

“We are, thank you,” Snape said. “Might we occupy a bit of your time? There are some things we would like to know.”

Harry was grateful that the professor made it sound like they both wanted answers rather than it was just Harry being ignorant.

“Have you decided to stay then?” Penelope asked, also turning from the goldsmith, obviously done with their consultation.

“We have, though, there are some concerns we would like to address,” Snape said and Harry flushed at the knowing look he received from Salazar.

“Of course, and I am happy to answer any questions you might have,” Salazar said before turning to Penelope. “Find Arthur, and consult on the design and application. Speak with your uncle, if necessary.”

“I will, Papa,” Penelope said, and she smiled at Harry and Snape before she walked away.

Harry looked between her retreating back and Salazar, puzzled and curious.

“Penelope is working on creating a protective barrier charm that can be applied to an amulet to provide triggered protection for the wearer,” Salazar explained. “Due to the increasing threat from Morgan, the Council is requesting further protection for the Knights.”

“That’s possible?” Harry asked, surprised, having never heard of protective charms being attached to objects and made to activate with triggers.

“She is finding out,” Salazar said with a smile. “Now, how might I help you?”

“We would like to know more about the magic of your world,” Snape said. “It is quite different from our own.”

Salazar gave Harry another knowing glance, telling him the man knew Harry was the one with the magic concerns.

“Come, we’ll speak in the great hall,” Salazar said and led the way to the large building. Inside, there were a few villagers scattered around the tables and Salazar, Snape, and Harry sat at one of the small tables for four people. Glasses of water and a platter of scones with butter, marmalade, and jam on the side appeared on the table.

“Eat,” Snape said to Harry, gesturing to the plate. “You’ve had little the last couple days.”

Embarrassed at being called out for his eating habits in front of Salazar while simultaneously warmed that Snape apparently cared about something as simple as Harry eating, he grabbed a scone with tilted lips that wanted to be both a smile and a scowl.

“What would you like to know?” Salazar asked, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs.

“Potter,” Snape said.

Harry swallowed thickly at being put on the spot. Embarrassed again, this time at having his ineptitude put on display, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I…I guess I’ve been confused about the whole Black Magic and Dark Magic thing. I’ve only ever heard of Light and Dark Magic in our world.”

“The concepts of Black and White Magic are mentioned in obscure texts, but they have not existed in practice in centuries,” Snape added, providing Salazar with more context.

“That is unfortunate,” Salazar said. “Losing such distinctions would make classification quite difficult and vague.”

“So, it’s not different types of magic, it’s just labels?” Harry asked.

“Yes and no,” Salazar said. “Magic has branches based on intent, use, result, origin, and the like. In this way, all magic is different.”

“What’s the difference between Black and Dark Magic?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Would I be correct to assume your world applies the binaries of good and evil to your Light and Dark Magic?” Salazar asked.

“Yes, that is correct,” Snape said while Harry nodded.

“A common way to approach magic, but you must understand, magic is complicated and such concepts do not exist naturally,” Salazar said. “Rather, distinguishing magic depends on intent and result, as well as the user. White and Black Magic, while individual types of magic themselves, are also the ‘areas’ that encompass other branches that are of similar nature to White and Black Magic.”

“So, magic like Necromancy or Mind Magic?” Harry said, thinking of how Morgan used such magic and was called the ‘Dark Sorceress’.

“Both are branches of Black Magic as they share similar characteristics,” Salazar said. “Black Magic is any magic with elements of control, manipulation, or forced change. It is not meant to help or hurt, but simply exists as magic that can impact the world in a way that would not occur naturally.”

“So, what’s Dark Magic then?” Harry asked, trying to keep the information straight and make sense of it.

“Dark Magic is magic whose intent and result is to cause harm,” Salazar said.

“And White Magic is the opposite then?” Harry asked.

“To an extent,” Salazar said and Harry tilted his head in curiosity. “White Magic is selfless magic that is to help, protect, and teach. It does encompass any magic in direct contrast to Black Magic, but is not necessarily its opposite.”

Harry nodded slowly, adding the information to his growing understanding.

“And, as I assume you will ask, Light Magic, a branch of White Magic, is magic based in and requiring positive emotion,” Salazar said with a knowing smile.

“Like the Patronus Charm,” Harry said and Salazar nodded approvingly.

“If Black Magic is not considered ‘evil’, why are some branches forbidden, such as Necromancy?” Snape asked.

“Necromancy is the only branch truly forbidden, though Dark Magic is frowned upon due to it being magic whose intent is to cause harm,” Salazar said. “Necromancy, however, is forbidden due to its desecration of the dead, and manipulation of the natural balance between life and death. If you want to learn more, you can take the Magical Theory class at Hogwarts,” he added to Harry.

“How do you know I’d be going to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, glancing at Snape.

“I told you arrangements had to be made if we are to stay and you are continuing your education,” Snape said. “This is not negotiable.”

“But, how am I supposed to do any magic? There are no wands here,” Harry said, doing his best to hide his fear of being a failure in another world in front of his world’s role models.

Salazar gave Snape a questioning look.

“Wands are how magic is used in our world,” Snape explained. “Everyone gets one at eleven. Wandless magic is not taught and is quite rare.”

“Fascinating,” Salazar said. “We do have wands, but only for those that require a conduit. The majority of people use wandless and it is how magic is taught. Magic flows naturally in the world and it is far easier to use when it is treated as such.”

“I’ve never used wandless magic though,” Harry said. “Only really powerful wizards can do wandless magic.”

“It is not as difficult as it may seem,” Salazar said. “It would seem only powerful wizards can do wandless magic when you have only ever performed magic with a wand. A wand directs magic very specifically and restricts it to provide control. Wandless magic uses the natural flow of magic’s existence, and simply needs focus and intent.”

Harry was still skeptical, but found himself interested to give it a try, to do magic he’d never thought he’d be capable of. The conviction in Salazar that he could easily pick up on the magic of their world was also inspiring in a way he hadn’t expected.

“If it is something you are concerned about, we can ensure you are caught up to your peers before the school year begins. We and the professors here in Camelot would be more than happy to help you,” Salazar said. “In fact, Godric and Guinevere frequently duel with the students that live here in the village as Godric is Hogwarts’ Defensive Magic professor and runs the Duelling Club, and Guinevere, of course, is Camelot’s master of duelling. You are more than welcome to join.”

Harry couldn’t help the widening of his eyes at the idea of learning to duel from Godric Gryffindor and Lady Guinevere, who he was still trying to wrap his head around being a genius at battle strategy and duelling.

“Now, if you do wish to attend Hogwarts, there are some logistics we would have to discuss,” Salazar said. “Classes and your House, for instance. And, Severus, have you given thought to our proposal?”

Harry looked at Snape questioningly.

“If Mr. Potter agrees to attend, then, yes, I will accept the position,” Snape said and Harry frowned.

“You’re making decisions based on me?” Harry said, confused by anyone bringing him into their considerations. Decisions weren’t made to include or accommodate him; he was just dragged along and expected to obey.

“Well, I’m not about to leave you to your own devices in an entirely different time,” Snape said. “I can hardly do that in our time.”

“Hey!” Harry said, affronted, and he scowled at the man’s smirk and Salazar’s smile of amusement.

“That being said, should you agree to return to Hogwarts, I will as well,” Snape said.

“He would co-teach Potions alongside Adeline,” Salazar said. “She is new to the position, and Severus has both experience and an impressive mastery. He would teach the upper years.”

“You hate teaching,” Harry said, even more confused why Snape would agree to teach again.

“I hate teaching the younger years,” Snape clarified. “It is irrelevant in any case. I refuse to leave you on your own.”

Harry frowned down at his scone, utterly confounded by the professor’s choices and how much they included Harry.

“Given your explanations of the magic here, I am curious about when we first arrived and you said you found Black Magic in the both of us,” Snape said and Harry looked back at the Slytherin Founder, remembering that first day in Camelot.

“Due to the nature of Black Magic, it can manifest in all forms,” Salazar said. “A deeper examination would be required to identify what exists within you that is Black Magic, but, in a more general sense, I simply identified areas to which a form of Black Magic is attached, whether natural or imposed. If it is imposed magic and impacting you negatively, it is possible it could be removed.”

Harry noticed the way Snape’s left arm twitched and he realized the Dark Mark must be one of the Black Magic spots Salazar had identified. Harry thought of the spots Salazar had found in him and began to wonder just what his scar really was.

“Harry Potter, destined to have no one…I will take everyone from you…”

Voldemort’s voice floated around him, taunting, as the green light filled the room. Harry was nearly blinded, but he forced himself to see through it; he had to see Snape once more. He found the dark eyes just as the light hit the man and Harry screamed, pulling against unseen bonds. He swore he was tearing his throat as he continued screaming, watching Snape fall lifeless to the ground.

“I will take everyone…”

He could hear Voldemort cackling around him, could feel the way they’d joined at the Ministry. He felt the excruciating burn he’d felt then during the possession as Voldemort tried to extinguish his life. Yet, it was the pain piercing his heart that threatened to break him. Tears poured down his cheeks as he stared at Snape’s lifeless body, his heart shattering to jagged pieces that sliced him over and over.

He pulled free from his bonds and ran to the professor, dropping to the floor next to him. He reached out to grasp the man’s tattered robes, not bothering to question why Snape was in his robes or why his own hands were covered in blood. He stared into the now blank eyes and felt the realization that Snape was dead engulf him.

He screamed brokenly again.

“Please, come back! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone!”

“I’m here, Potter!”

Harry shook his head violently as his mind conjured the professor’s voice. He could hardly believe how badly it hurt to lose Snape. He hadn’t realized how much the man had come to mean to him.

Until now, now that it was too late.

“I will take everyone…”

“Don’t leave me!” Harry cried desperately and dropped his head onto Snape’s chest.

“I am not leaving you. Potter, wake up!”

“I can’t,” Harry whispered. “I can’t be alone anymore.”

“Harry!”

His eyes popped open, then, still filled with tears, and he flew up in bed. He was still disoriented for a few seconds, the near-darkness of the room keeping him trapped in the near-darkness in which Snape had died. The despair over losing the man and the fear of being all alone once again was suffocating, constricting his chest painfully.

“Look at me, child.”

The gentle request was erased by a candle coming to life nearby and Harry’s mind first turning it lime green. He let out a choked sob as he fought to see Snape’s body, held back by invisible restraints again. He drew gasping breaths, each crushing his heart.

“Breathe,” came another gentle instruction and Harry began to slowly regain awareness.

As his eyes darted around, his mind began to settle and recognize things as they were. The candle turned back to a gently flickering orange, the darkness was broken just slightly by small, soft trickles of moonlight, and the room was no stone cell or blood-soaked throne room, but the cozy loft in Galen and Griffin’s cottage. There was no spell or ropes or shackles keeping him restrained, but kind, warm hands on his arms. Snape’s body wasn’t still on the floor, but sat next to Harry on the edge of his bed. He looked up and the dark eyes weren’t empty, but meeting his with concern.

He wasn’t alone.

He let out a shuddering breath as he came to the realization and, without thinking, wrapped himself around the professor’s waist. His head came to rest over the man’s heart and he let the beating calm him. He wasn’t sure how he expected Snape to react, but was pleasantly surprised when, after just a moment, the man’s hands came to rest on his back.

“He killed you,” Harry whispered after a long silence.

“Not this time,” Snape said just as quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, realizing this was the fourth night he’d woken Snape with the same nightmare.

“No need to apologize,” Snape said. “Nightmares are out of our control and to be expected, given all you’ve been through.”

Harry sighed and pulled back from Snape, slightly embarrassed by his display. He shuffled back to lean against the wall and turned his head to look out the window, seeing torches from his sideview of the village.

“Why are they happening now?” Harry asked, annoyed with his own psyche.

“You have actually been having nightmares since we arrived, but they were not extreme enough to remember or wake you,” Snape said. “We are no longer in imminent danger, so your mind is settling. It needs to work through what you have experienced now it is not focused solely on survival.”

“Why am I dreaming that you died? I know you didn’t,” Harry said, turning to look at the man again.

“Our nightmares are often where we see the things we fear most,” Snape said. “Additionally, I nearly died and, for at least a few seconds, you had to accept that I was going to die.”

Harry dropped his gaze to his blanket-clad legs. His nightmare replayed as did those final moments in Voldemort’s headquarters. He remembered the fear of losing someone else, of never having someone who could care for him, who could be the family he’d never had. He didn’t know if Snape could or would be that person, but, at least in Harry’s mind, it’s the role the man had acquired and he couldn’t fathom losing the man. He would be lost.

“You called me Harry,” he said, remembering the shout that had finally pulled him from the nightmare. 

Snape just hummed in response and Harry looked out the window again.

“Everything feels different here,” Harry said. “Is it wrong that I’m not sure I want to go back?”

“No,” Snape said. “It is a world in which you have been hurt time and again.”

Harry nodded. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve got anything to go back to. I hate who I am there. I’m alone there.”

“As you said, it is different here,” Snape said. “You do not have the same expectations or threats.”

Harry looked back at the professor. “Neither do you.”

Snape inclined his head. “It is different for the both of us.”

“Is it?”

“I called you ‘Harry’, did I not?” Snape said, his tone lifting.

Harry’s lips twitched. “Does that mean I can call you ‘Severus’? I mean, if we’re going to be different and you’re going to be my guardian, I can’t keep calling you ‘professor’.”

Snape raised an eyebrow and the atmosphere lightened.

“Except in class, of course,” Harry added.

Snape released a put-upon sigh that made Harry grin. “Very well. Back to sleep now.”

Harry nodded and laid back down as Snape stood. Before the man could return to his bed, though, a thought occurred to Harry.

“Professor?” He’d work on the name thing tomorrow. Snape turned to him. “I know we have to go back eventually. When we do, what happens?”

“I am uncertain, but you can be assured you will not return or be alone again,” Snape said and Harry blinked at the slight burn that came to his eyes. “Sleep now, child.”

A few days later, Harry was leaning on the half-door that separated the cottage’s storeroom from the attached pen in which two horses grazed. He watched them, very aware of the village kids he could see just beyond the pen playing, laughing, and performing magic. He knew he needed to get to know the village and those he would be at Hogwarts with in just three weeks, but the mere idea made him anxious. Anytime he was out in the village and passed any kids, he saw the strange looks they gave him and it just reminded him of his entire life all over again. No matter where he went, he got odd looks and wide berths.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the horses with a small frown.

One had its head to the ground as it grazed on the grass and the other was calmly walking and looking around. The grazing horse was quite large and muscled though it had an elegance about it. Its coat was a dark bay, nearly black, with a long, thick mane and tail, and feather on its lower legs around the hooves. The other was a bit smaller though with more chiseled and graceful muscles. It was sleek and slender with a flowing tail and mane. It was predominately white, but had a few large black spots in various places.

“Good morning, lad.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Galen and Griffin in the doorway. They crossed the room and joined him at the pen door.

“We’ve had these two since they were foals,” Galen said. “Aspen, the black and white one—tobiano—was abandoned by his breeder for being tobiano. Pure white is the colour everyone wants.”

“I got Willow in a trade,” Griffin said, gesturing to the large brown horse. “Owners needed a fully grown draught and didn’t have time to wait for a foal to grow.”

“So, they’re not magical?” Harry asked.

“No, just regular horses for riding,” Griffin said. “We often use them for teaching the village kids how to ride before they go to Hogwarts since they are the calmest and gentlest horses we have.”

Harry looked at him curiously. “There’s horse riding at Hogwarts?”

“Riding in general,” Galen said. “In fact, Severus tells us you’re quite the flier back home.”

“He did?” Harry said, surprised, and the twins nodded. “I’m a fair flier, I suppose.”

“Youngest Seeker in a century and best flier in twenty years?” Griffin said with a smile.

“Better than fair, I’d say,” Galen said. “Have you ever ridden?”

“A hippogriff once,” Harry said.

“Come on,” Griffin said, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Let’s see if we can’t find you a mount.”

“Brooms aren’t the only way to fly here,” Galen said, grinning, and they led Harry from the cottage.

They turned left and headed up the road to the glade that held horses and unicorns. As they drew closer, Harry saw that there were at least a dozen horses of different sizes, types, and colours, and at least a dozen unicorns as well. However, entering the field, Harry found there were also hippogriffs and Thestrals, all living with the horses and unicorns harmoniously. As surprised as he was by the hippogriffs and Thestrals, it was nothing compared to what he spotted further in the distance along the forest edge.

“Is that a griffin?” Harry said, shocked.

“Sure is,” Griffin said with a grin to match Galen’s.

“We’ve actually got four,” Galen said. “They tend to keep to themselves. We usually have to go to them.”

“Wicked,” Harry muttered, watching the griffin wander for a couple minutes. “So, students learn flying and riding?”

Galen nodded. “There are several ways to travel if you know how to do so. You, of course, learn of these creatures in other classes, but we specifically teach how to care for them as transportation as well as pets or familiars.”

“We often share lessons with Filippa,” Griffin said and Harry looked at him questioningly. “Filippa Tait, the Creature Studies professor.”

“You are enrolling at Hogwarts for this autumn, correct?” Galen asked.

“Yeah, it’s why Severus has been basically gone the last couple days,” Harry said with a small sigh. “He’s working it out with the Foun…er, the headmasters and mistresses.”

“Well, let’s see how you do riding and we’ll know what mount you may want to focus on at Hogwarts,” Galen said.

“They are all comfortable with people, so just go meet them,” Griffin said, gesturing to the animals. “One may stand out to you or come to you.”

Harry nodded and walked into the field as the twins did the same in a different direction, heading directly for a few Thestrals that were grazing together. Harry wandered through, looking at each horse, unicorn, Thestral, and hippogriff he passed, each making him think of his past experiences. He gently stroked a few horses and a couple of brave unicorns, smiling at the hippogriffs who looked at him calmly as they wandered by. 

He was stroking a lovely grey horse who seemed to be adoring the attention when it suddenly whinnied loudly and reared up slightly, quickly trotting away as it shook its head. Harry frowned at the apparent fear and looked around, trying to find what could have spooked the animal. He spotted movement on the ground near his feet and realized a snake was slithering through the grass towards the grey horse and others.

He crouched down and immediately began talking to the snake. It was simply searching for food and had followed some prey out of the forest. 

“Whoa, are you a Parselmouth?” Griffin asked and Harry stood, sending the snake away into the forest and away from the horses.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, somewhat hesitant as he remembered his second year and how people had reacted when they first discovered his ability.

“Come with us,” Galen said quickly and, feeling clueless, Harry followed the twins from the glade. They walked through the village, taking a road that cut between the mason and the tanner, following it to a cottage that looked nearly identical to all the others if slightly larger. He followed them to the front door where Griffin knocked and pushed the door open before waiting for a response. Inside, they found Salazar and Severus sitting at the table in the common area, parchments spread across the table. Both looked up questioningly.

“Apologies if we are interrupting,” Griffin said.

“Not at all,” Salazar said. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not wrong,” Griffin said.

“We discovered something about Harry we thought you would be interested in,” Galen said and gestured for Harry to step forward. 

Harry did so, coming to stand next to Severus who looked at him curiously. “Um, I’m a Parselmouth.”

Salazar’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Harry nodded.

“Sit, please,” Salazar said, gesturing to the chair beside Severus. “Thank you, boys.”

Galen and Griffin inclined their heads and left.

“Tell me about your abilities,” Salazar said, clearly interested.

“Uh, I don’t really know much, honestly,” Harry said. “I talked to a snake once when I was eleven, but I didn’t know what had really happened. I didn’t know I was a wizard yet. I didn’t know anything about Parseltongue until I was twelve.”

“I understand you lost your parents very young, but were either of them Parselmouths?” Salazar asked.

Harry looked at Severus, his limited knowledge of his parents leaving him without an answer.

Severus shook his head. “His mother was Muggleborn and having such a rare gift is not something his father would have kept secret.”

“A talent associated with evil Slytherins?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose you have a point,” Severus conceded. “However, no, Parseltongue is not known to run in the Potter line.”

“It commonly skips generations,” Salazar said. “Sometimes several. Any idea who may have had the gift in your family?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head. “Dumbledore said Voldemort gave it to me.”

“I’m sorry?” Salazar said, confused.

“When I was a year old, a dark wizard killed my parents and tried to kill me, only I survived with my scar while he was destroyed,” Harry said. “My headmaster told me the dark wizard transferred some of his powers to me when he gave me the scar and that’s why I can speak Parseltongue.” He saw Salazar’s eyes flicker to his forehead and mouth twist into a small frown.

“Parseltongue cannot be transferred in that manner,” Salazar said. “It can only be passed genetically.”

Harry glanced at Severus, puzzled.

“You said you received this scar when this wizard attempted to kill you?” Salazar said.

Harry nodded. “Killing Curse rebounded somehow, destroyed him instead.”

Salazar’s expression was one of deep thought. “Is it a regular scar?”

Harry glanced at Severus again, growing anxious. “Um, not really. It hurts, especially when I’m near him or he touches me. He’s made me see things and he possessed me a couple months ago.”

Alarm flashed in Salazar’s eyes, increasing Harry’s anxiety. “Would you consent to a deep scan so I can identify the Black Magic I noted before?”

“Is something wrong?” Severus asked.

“Not wrong as there is little ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ about magic, but something serious resides in Harry, I think,” Salazar said and Harry tensed.

Severus’ hand came to rest on his leg. “Dangerous?”

“If I am right, not while you are here,” Salazar said, “and it could be something we could take care of.”

Harry suddenly felt very afraid of what Voldemort had done to him, what Dumbledore had kept from him. Somehow, he knew whatever his scar was, was extraordinarily disturbing. He didn’t realize he’d begun shaking as Halloween night all those years ago, what he could remember of it, flashed before his eyes, followed by Voldemort’s resurrection. He wasn’t sure how long he was trapped in the memories, but he eventually saw past them just enough to see Severus leaning close to him and trying to get his attention. A hand came up to rest on the side of his neck, the touch grounding him more.

“Could you give us a minute, Salazar?” he heard Severus ask.

“Of course,” Salazar said and Harry heard the man leave, everything looking and sounding far away as his memories continued at the edges.

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry thought he did, but he must have been off as Severus took his chin and tilted his head a certain way, ensuring his eyes met Severus’ dark ones. His memories slipped further out of his field of vision, letting him see Severus more and notice his own trembling.

“Just breathe and focus on me,” Severus said and Harry did his best to listen. He took a few deep breaths, Severus’ hand dropping from his chin as he calmed. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“What am I?” Harry whispered fearfully.

Severus’ eyebrows furrowed just slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You heard Salazar! There is something inside me, something from Voldemort!” Harry said frantically. “What kind of thing could cause the visions and the possession and the pain? What did he make me?”

“Calm down, child,” Severus said, placing his hands on Harry’s knees.

“But—”

“Listen to me,” Severus said firmly. “Regardless of what Salazar finds, you are nothing but you: Harry Potter, the boy who lives to consistently turn my life upside down and drive me mad.”

Harry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Gee, thanks.”

Severus gave him a look of fond yet exasperated amusement. “You know what I mean, brat.”

Harry gave a lopsided grin though it faded moments later. “What if it’s something awful?”

“Then we deal with it, and we trust Salazar and any others to help us,” Severus said.

“But you don’t trust anyone,” Harry said, laughing when Severus brought his hand up to swat him upside the head.

“Salazar,” Severus called and the man returned to them, retaking his seat.

“I apologize for frightening you,” Salazar said to Harry. “I do not want you to worry. I will do everything in my power to help with anything I find.”

Harry swallowed through a tight throat, nodding. He tensed as the man stood and walked around the table to stand next to him. He turned to face Salazar at the man’s gesture.

“I want you to try and relax,” Salazar said. “There should be no pain, but there could be discomfort. Just remain still and calm.”

Harry nodded stiffly again and breathed deeply, willing himself to calm down. He tried to focus on Severus, trying to utilize the professor’s always calm and steady presence.

“If it helps with comfort, you may close your eyes,” Salazar added. “I am going to begin.”

Harry let his eyes close as he felt his skin tingle, magic flowing gently over him. It was nice and he could feel himself begin to relax under its touch only for there to suddenly be a sharp tug in his chest. His eyes snapped open as it began to feel like something was being pulled from inside him and found wispy dark strands stretching from his chest to Salazar’s hand where they were forming a swirling ball. He looked between it and Salazar, alarmed.

“Calm yourself,” Salazar said gently. “I am taking a small portion of the Black Magic entities to examine. It is the only way I can identify them. You are in no danger.”

Harry nodded, moving his eyes back to the magic. It stopped seconds later and Salazar left the swirling ball hovering in the air over the table. The same thing began to happen to Harry’s throat, a sharp tug that made his eyes shut with the discomfort, and then the feeling of something being pulled from his throat. Once the process finished in his throat, it was repeated in his head where he knew his scar lay. Finally, it was all over and there were three orbs of swirling, dark threads levitating over the table. Salazar returned to his seat as Severus touched Harry’s knee again, looking at him questioningly.

“I’m okay,” Harry said quietly and Severus nodded, turning back to Salazar who was already looking at the spheres, his hands cupped around one without actually touching it.

“So, these are the three Black Magics attached to you in some capacity,” Salazar said. “This one is your Parseltongue. The gold mixed in indicates that it is a natural magic within you as it is intertwined with your own magic.”

“I don’t understand how it’s natural,” Harry said. “No one in my family were Parselmouths.”

“Someone in your ancestry was,” Salazar said. “We can speak with Isabella.”

Harry nodded, struggling to understand the lies told and secrets kept in his life. He watched Salazar move onto the second sphere, this one still dark, nearly black, but with both tiny gold and green hair-width strings mixed in.

“Now, this…” Salazar said, guiding some threads to twist through his fingers before returning them to the orb. “This is manifestation. You have been through much trauma and the way it has affected you at a magical level has resulted in a manifested affinity for certain Black Magic branches.”

Harry shifted at the mention of trauma, immediately thinking of his life with the Dursleys.

“Unsurprisingly, given your Parseltongue gift, you have an affinity for Parsel Magic,” Salazar said, sending him a smile.

“That’s a thing?” Harry said.

Salazar chuckled. “Indeed, it is. We can discuss it more,” he said and moved onto the final orb, the magic pulled from Harry’s scar.

Harry became anxious as Salazar’s face turned into a frown, eyebrows furrowing. The third orb was black and seemed to be tighter than the others, the threads not twisting together as lightly or calmly. There were also deep red threads tangled within, looking like small rivers of blood. Like he had with the previous sphere, Salazar guided the magic to wrap around his fingers, his frown deepening.

“You said this dark wizard was destroyed when he tried to kill you?” Salazar asked, still interacting with the magic.

Harry nodded. “He came back though, last June.”

“How?” Salazar asked.

“Some kind of resurrection ritual,” Harry said, fighting not to get lost in the graveyard. “He used my blood as part of it.”

Salazar hummed, nodding almost absently as he continued examining the magic. Harry began to chew his lip with anxiety as Salazar’s examination took longer and longer, and the man’s face tightened more and more. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, Salazar dropped his hands from the orb and the threads returned to their tight ball. He looked across the table at Harry and Severus, Harry feeling a pit settle in his stomach.

Salazar clasped his hands on the table, looking at them seriously. “What do you know about horcruxes?”

Harry looked between Severus and Salazar, waiting for one of them to speak and explain whatever Salazar had just said. Salazar's face was grim and Severus had stiffened next to Harry, only serving to make his anxiety worse. If Severus was responding in such a way, it couldn't be anything good. Hardly anything put the man on such edge.

"A living being cannot be a horcrux," Severus said eventually, his voice tight.

Harry frowned, confused at the comment.

"It is rare, but not impossible," Salazar told him.

When Severus paled uncharacteristically, Harry found he couldn't wait for the men to explain on their own. "What are you talking about? What the hell is a horcrux?"

Salazar sighed and looked at him. "A horcrux is the product of a branch of magic called Soul Magic. It is both White and Black Magic, called Grey Magic, dependent on what is done. In this case, it is closer to a branch of Black Magic," he explained. "A horcrux is a vessel infused with a piece of one's soul."

Harry felt something icy settle in his body as his heart began to race. "What...what does that mean?"

The glance Severus and Salazar sent each other before looking back at him decidedly did not make him feel any better.

"It is possible to split one's soul and place a piece into objects or, as Salazar has discovered, living things," Severus told him.

"I...I don't...I don't understand." Not exactly a truthful statement. Harry was sure he did understand, but he was also certain he didn't want to understand.

"The soul can be split. It is difficult and dangerous, but it has its benefits when done morally," Salazar explained. "It is a common belief that the act of murder is required to create a horcrux, but that is not so. In truth, only two spells, albeit complex spells, and a receptacle are needed. However, there is one other way to create a horcrux though this alternative is typically unintentional. This is what I believe has occurred."

"How so?" Severus asked while Harry fought to hear through the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears.

"You said this wizard tried to kill you with the Killing Curse, but it rebounded on him," Salazar clarified and Harry nodded jerkily. "Given the curse did not kill him, it is likely he had another horcrux prior to this event. As a result, the curse did the next thing it could; it forcibly tore his soul. When not removed and infused into an object with the proper spells, a soul fragment cannot survive independent of its source soul except in one situation: there is another living soul to attach to that is equivalent or greater in power."

Harry tried to hide his hitching chest as his breathing quickened, his spinning thoughts becoming dizzying. He swore his vision was beginning to tunnel as he stared at Salazar. He dropped his head into his hands as his head grew light and his vision blurred.

"It is my theory that, having this soul fragment within you for so many years, has created a Soul Bond. Do not fret. It is nothing so scandalous as a destined romantic entanglement," Salazar assured when Harry's eyes flew to him, wide and wild. "It simply means your souls' inherent magic has become accustomed to one another and compatible. This explains the pain you encounter upon his presence and touch. Once fractured, a soul cannot be restored, but the fragment wants to reunite. It tries to remove itself from you which strains your soul as it is similar to your own soul trying to split."

"It could rip my soul apart?" Harry whispered, unable to speak any louder in the face of the revelations. 

"Without proper removal, yes," Salazar admitted and Harry's head dropped into his hands again.

"What about the other things he has experienced?" Severus asked. "Visions, possession?"

"That, I believe, is the result of his choice of resurrection ritual combined with the Soul Bond," Salazar replied. "Using your blood created a Blood Bond. The physical link between this wizard and his soul fragment has been restored and, as his soul fragment is a part of you, this physical link extends to you. This allows him to connect with you in the ways he has."

The world was spinning out of control around Harry. The ground had disappeared and he was free-falling. Water or wind was rushing in his ears, deafening him. His fingers clenched in his hair and he suddenly became aware of a pulsing in his head, a heartbeat he'd never noticed before. The continued discussion between Severus and Salazar was muted, muffled by his rapid downward spiral. The hand that landed on his back, though gentle, was jarring and tore him aggressively back to the table though his spiral never ceased.

Jumping to his feet, he mumbled, "Excuse me," and hurried from the house without looking up and ignoring the calls of his name. he ran with no clear direction, both not having enough wherewithal to notice and still not knowing the entire village just yet. He just ran, barely registering the people he passed, but feeling their stares sink right into him as though they knew, as though they could see. It was like they all knew what was inside him, what it made him despite not knowing that himself. So, he ran until there were no more villagers, until there were no more eyes to see.

When he finally stopped, it was to realize he'd climbed well above the village, taking the northern road to the owl and raven tower, and bypassing it. There was a single large silver willow tree with a large piece of flat stone carved into a crescent with white threads crossing the surface. Behind the stone crescent's curve were two floating torches, their bases made of what seemed to be iron with leafy designs to look like oak branches were holding the blue flames. It was all arranged to overlook Camelot Village and provide a clear view of the sky above.

Harry moved to sit on the crescent and stared at the grass below him, his mind repeating what Salazar had revealed again and again. The more he thought about it, the sicker it made him feel.

He had a piece of Voldemort inside of him and had all this time.

What did that mean for him? Maybe it meant his uncle and aunt were right all along; he was a freak and everything was his fault. Everything that had happened to him since that Halloween, it was because of him and he deserved it all.

He barked a short, broken, humourless laugh.

Who would have though Vernon Dursley would have actually gotten something right?

He pulled his glasses off and dropped his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his burning eyes. What was he supposed to do now? How could he live knowing what he was keeping alive within him?

"Harry?"

Harry looked up at the deep, gruff voice that was similar to Moody's, and, replacing his glasses, found Godric standing a few meters away, watching him.

"Everything alright, lad?"

Harry scoffed and looked back over the village, watching the distant figures wandering about with absolutely no idea of what now existed among them.

"I'm great," Harry said sarcastically. "Just got a chunk of evil inside me is all."

"Ah, I see. Yes, that could be distressing," Godric said, taking a few steps towards Harry. "Got a bit of that myself."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Harry snapped.

Godric hummed. "Do you know what this place is?"

Harry looked up at the man with a frown. "What?"

Godric just gestured to the space they were in with the tree and torches and stone crescent.

"Oh, uh, no."

"It is for our Ladies of Magic and a place for us to feel that connection, to remember where we came from, and even to speak with our Ladies," Godric told him.

"Ladies?" Harry repeated, confused.

Godric nodded. "The goddesses Hecate and Selene, the givers of magic."

Harry gazed at him in surprise. History of Magic was sorely lacking, he was discovering.

"May I?" Godric asked, gesturing to the stone. Harry nodded and shifted to give the man space to sit. "Let me ask you something. What are the two most basic concepts that have created the world?"

Harry thought, glancing around as he did. His gaze fell on the light, flickering shadows they were casting from the torches behind them. "Light and dark," he offered. "They exist together."

Godric nodded with a smile. "And so it is with magic. You see, Lady Hecate and Lady Selene are both and neither light and dark, and that is how they created magic. Lady Hecate is largely representative of the world's darkness, yet she holds the world's light." He pointed to the torches behind them. "Lady Selene is associated with light and purity, yet she is the personification of the moon, of the time when the world is dark. When they created magic, they put their lightness and darkness into it because one cannot exist without the other, because they understood the balance that makes the world function. So, you see, we are all light and we are all dark. It is not ‘good' and ‘evil', it is the world's balance and magic's balance. What we do with that balance determines who we are, not the magic itself for magic cannot be one or the other, and magic cannot be ‘evil'."

"You don't consider Morgan evil?" Harry asked as he considered Godric's explanation.

Godric shook his head. "Simply consumed with the dark side of the balance and unable or unwilling to see the light that exists."

Harry tried to apply the offered logic to Voldemort. "What if you don't know what you are?"

Godric gave him a thoughtful look. "Would you come with me? I would like to show you something."

Looking back curiously, Harry agreed and left the open sanctuary with Godric. They didn't speak as they walked, descending towards the village whose activity, Harry could tell, had changed as the day grew later, nearing dinnertime. They didn't return to the village, however, turning to take the path that led to the forest where they'd gone to see Nimue. Godric guided him in and led him through the trees in a different direction from the enchantress.

Harry gazed around as he stepped over roots and rocks, watching the blue and white orbs that danced gently on the air. It wasn't long before they came to a small clearing that glowed an ethereal blueish-white. There wasn't much to the area, just a jagged boulder of white with an odd blue sheen that seemed to float beneath its surface, creating an interesting ghost-like reflection despite no sun or moonlight shining. A vague part of his memory remembered learning some geology in Year Five in primary school and reading ahead about this type of light pattern because he'd been so interested, but the actual term was escaping him. Large chunks and small pebbles from the boulder spotted the grassy ground.

"Do you know what this is?" Godric asked.

"It kind of looks like moonstone," Harry replied, "but it's not exactly the same as what I've used in Potions."

Godric couched down to pick up a cylindrical piece, turning to Harry. "It likely looks different because this is pure moonstone. It is considered the purest and most magical gem in our world, and, because of this, it only accepts the purest magic." He handed the moonstone shard to Harry who took it somewhat hesitantly, unsure he should touch something so special. "Pure magic does not mean just White or Light Magic; it is any magic cast with pure intention, light or dark."

Harry turned the moonstone over in his hands, watching the blueish-white glow.

"Keep that and if you still feel ‘evil', see what it will accept," Godric told him.

Harry looked up at Godric who was considering him with a kind expression and he nodded, mouth curving into a half-smile. Godric walked him from the forest and back to the empty Nye cottage where Harry climbed up into the loft. He sat on his bed, leaning on his knees and continuing to rotate the moonstone as he went over both Salazar's revelation and Godric's explanations.

It all seemed in conflict with each other and he couldn't stop feeling like he had no idea who or what he was. He couldn't stop feeling like everything had been his fault because he'd kept Voldemort alive, because he was Voldemort to some degree. He couldn't stop feeling like everyone had been right all along and he deserved everything. He couldn't stop feeling what he'd felt so many times before: he should have died that night.

"Harry?"

He looked up at Severus' voice and the footsteps on the ladder. Severus appeared and, the moment the dark eyes found him, he hurried across the loft, kneeling in front of Harry.

"Where the hell have you been?" Severus demanded. "You promised no running off."

Harry blinked, somewhat taken aback by the man's reaction. He knew Severus cared for him to some extent-knew it likely wasn't the same extent as his own for the man-but this reaction felt a little more in Harry's realm, felt a little more...parental. He wasn't sure what to think, not wanting to jump a line Severus' didn't want crossed.

"Harry," Severus stressed and Harry's hands around the moonstone were shaken earnestly by Severus'.

"I...sorry," Harry said, still a bit off-kilter. "I...I didn't leave the village. I was just up past the post tower."

Severus gave him a hard stare. "That is not the point and you know it."

"I..." Harry let out a quiet sigh, giving up any argument he thought he had. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't stay and listen anymore. I mean, come on. I have a piece of Voldemort in my bloody head!"

Severus gave him a sympathetic look. Harry looked down at his hands with a frown.

"Do you think Dumbledore knew?" he asked quietly, finally admitting to the one other fear he'd had since Salazar's reveal.

"I don't know," Severus said honestly.

"I bet he knew and it's why he let everything happen. He knew I was evil and I deserved it."

"Deserved what?"

"The Dursleys," Harry whispered only to have a hand curl around his chin and push his head up until he was meeting Severus' eyes.

"Absolutely not," Severus said firmly. "You did not deserve what those people did to you. you were a child. You are a child."

"But it's my fault!" Harry argued, pulling from the man's grasp. "I'm the reason Voldemort lived! It's my fault the Dursleys hate me! It's my fault he came back! It's my fault Cedric died! It's my fault we're here! It's my fault everything's happened because I'm evil because he's inside me and he wants me, wants his soul! I should have died! I was supposed to die! Everyone's right and I should just die!"

Severus gripped Harry's chin again. "Listen to me. Terrible things have happened to you, not because of you. As for Voldemort, you heard Salazar. He had another horcrux already and would have survived regardless of if this had occurred or not. He would have returned with or without you." He released Harry's chin and lifted his hand to brush Harry's fringe aside, tracing the seemingly innocuous scar. "You were not meant to die because you are meant to bring so much good to the world. You are certainly not evil, child."

Seeing the sincerity in the man's face, Harry leaned forward and hugged Severus around the neck. The professor's arms immediately wrapped around him and Harry could almost convince himself Severus cared for him in the same capacity he cared for the Potions Masters. After a few moments, he pulled back and Severus left the floor, easily summoning one of the chairs to sit on instead. Harry frowned briefly at the casual display of wandless magic.

"Can it be removed?" Harry asked eventually, hesitantly.

Severus sighed lightly. "Salazar isn't sure. He is going to speak with a few others. He is concerned about how entwined it has become with your own soul and magic."

Harry shuddered at the idea.

"It would seem coming here is one of the best things that could have happened in this regard," Severus said and Harry looked at him curiously. "Voldemort does not exist here, so his soul in you has gone dormant."

Harry blinked. "So, no more visions or pain?"

Severus shook his head with a small smile.

Despite knowing what resided in him, the news that he wouldn't have to worry about the awful visions and constant pain was relieving. He glanced at Severus' arm where the Dark Mark was just peeking out from the tunic sleeve.

"Your Mark will be dormant, too, then," Harry replied and Severus copied him, looking at his arm. He saw the spark of realization, the man clearly more focused on Harry than himself.

"Yes, I suppose that is true." There was a hint of wonder in the man's voice.

Harry couldn't help but notice a minute, but instant change in Severus: relief, a sense of freedom. Harry gave his own tiny smile for the professor and lowered his head to look at the moonstone he still held.

"What is that you have?" Severus asked casually and Harry held the stone out.

"Pure moonstone," Harry told him. "Godric gave it to me. He found me up the hill and we...talked. Did you know magic was created by Hecate and Selene?"

"Yes, I did," Severus replied, handing the stone back. "That is quite remarkable. Pure moonstone is extraordinarily rare in our time."

Harry nodded, turning the moonstone over.

"What is it the two of you talked about?" Severus asked.

"Magic," Harry said simply. "He said magic is balance and because of how Hecate and Selene made magic, it can't really be evil. He doesn't consider Morgan evil. I tried to think about Voldemort the same way, but...I don't know."

"Considering everything that has happened, it is a difficult concept to apply," Severus told him.

"What about you?" Harry asked, looking at him. "Do you consider Voldemort evil?"

"If I do, I have to consider myself evil as well," Severus said, nodding down at his Mark. "One has to be evil to follow evil."

"No, you're not," Harry denied quickly. "You didn't think you had any other way or choice. No one else gave you a chance."

"Perhaps," Severus mused. "There is something I must ask regarding our return to Hogwarts. I have mostly finalized the plans and paperwork with Salazar, but there are a couple things that need your input."

Harry just looked at the man, waiting.

"The first is your House," Severus told him. "You have the opportunity to be resorted, if you would like."

Harry thought back to his Sorting, the way the hat was torn between Gryffindor and Slytherin, seeming to only choose Gryffindor because he begged. He'd wondered since then if the hat had made the right choice...if he'd made the right choice. Now, he had the opportunity to make the opposite choice. Did he want to?

"I think I'll stay in Gryffindor," he finally decided. "The hat thought I belonged in Slytherin, but I think Gryffindor is where I'm supposed to be."

"If the last four and a half years are any indication," Severus muttered good-naturedly and Harry laughed. "The other question is living quarters. You, of course, stay with your House, but other quarters can be arranged."

"What kind of quarters?" 

Severus hesitated, appearing slightly uncomfortable. "Family quarters. I can request a set of family quarters in the event there is a need or desire for you to stay outside Gryffindor Tower."

Harry stared at the man, stunned at what was being offered and suggested. "I...I could stay with you?"

Severus nodded.

"Would you want that?"

"Would I want to have you nearby in a strange time as we help fight another war instead of having to chase you around and wonder if you're safe?" Severus said dryly and Harry had to hold back a grin. 

"Okay, I get it," Harry said, amused. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'd like that."

Severus inclined his head, Harry recognizing the apparent relief that the man tried to hide. "I am going to return to Salazar and finalize things with these choices. Will you stay here?"

"I promise."

"I will return shortly."

Harry watched him leave the loft and glanced out the window to watch him walk up the road. When Severus was out of view, Harry looked back at the moonstone he held.

"If you still feel ‘evil', see what it will accept," Godric had said.

Harry stared at the stone as he thought back to moments with Severus, moments he'd been protected and cared for, moments in which Severus had worked to dismantle his negative opinions of himself. Warmth filled him and he grasped at it, imagining it filling the stone. His eyes widened and he smiled to himself when the stone glowed a bright, shimmering white, powered by a magic he knew couldn't be diminished by the soul he hosted next to his own.

"Harry! Harry, let's go!"

Harry looked up at the shout from outside and grinned. He shoved his last rasher in his mouth and grabbed his buttered bread before hurrying out the front door, finding Cyrus waiting.

Cyrus Hurst was a village boy Harry's age and the son of Hogwarts' Herbology professor, Elric Hurst. He was similar to Harry in height and build, both thin with subtle muscle, Harry's from a life of forced labour with the Dursleys and Cyrus' apparently from a life of strenuous gardening with his father. Cyrus was more sun kissed than Harry, getting far more time outside. His oval face was framed with long, chopped, honey blonde hair, fluffy bangs parted on his forehead and tucked behind his ears over the long sections that hung down the sides of his face. The rest was pulled into a ponytail that sat on his neck. His sea green eyes were slightly square in shape and he had thin, pink lips.

He had met Cyrus-and a few others-a week earlier when he'd been, once again, watching the village kids while wishing he was one of them. Severus had convinced him to try and make friends, reminding him no one knew who he was in Camelot the way they did back in their time. He'd resisted only for the man to all but physically drag him to the kids; there had been a relatively insistent and aggressive shove though. He'd joined the village kids, quite awkwardly, but, after a few ‘you're the time kid, yeah?' comments, he'd been pulled right in. He and Cyrus had been particularly drawn to each other, Cyrus' kind boisterousness acting like a flame for Harry's quiet moth. He didn't know what it was that caused him to become friends with people so much different than him, but he found he really liked Cyrus. Not to mention they would be dormmates come their return to Hogwarts in just under a week.

"Come on, we're gonna be late," Cyrus told him impatiently.

"Harry?"

Harry turned at the voice stopping him before he and Cyrus could take off. Griffin had come down the side of the cottage while Galen was still at the paddock, brushing Aspen, though he was looking towards them.

"Does Severus know where you're going?" Griffin asked, brushing his hands together to remove an accumulation of dirt.

"I'll tell him on the way, promise," Harry replied quickly. "We have to go. Bye!"

He and Cyrus dashed away before Griffin could say anything else. They ran down the road, skidding around corners, and past the goldsmith and mason into the village square. They weaved through villagers, laughing as Breone, the village's English Spaniel, bounded after them, barking her clueless excitement. They were about to head up the north road between the apothecary and the weapon maker when Harry found an arm shooting out and a hand wrapping gently, but firmly around his upper arm, pulling him to a stop. He turned to Severus who had clearly just exited the apothecary with Adeline who was standing behind him.

"Oh, come on, were going to miss it," Harry said with a bit of a whine.

An arched eyebrow at the uncharacteristic attitude was the immediate response he received.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Severus asked, glancing at Cyrus who was a few steps ahead up the road, waiting anxiously.

"The field," Harry told him. "Guinevere and Godric are finally going to duel today like they promised."

"You remember we have a commitment this afternoon?" Severus gave him a pointed look.

"Yeah, I know, Tintagel Castle," Harry said shortly. "Can we go now?"

"You know where to meet, yes?"

"Here in the square." Harry nodded. "Please, can we go?"

Severus gave him an exasperated smile while Adeline chuckled lightly behind the man. Severus ran his fingers through Harry's hair in a new, unexpected, but becoming common form of affection. "Go, brat. Do not be late later."

"I won't!" Harry called as he caught up to Cyrus and they continued running, taking the first left rather than continuing up towards the post tower.

"You're going to see Merlin?" Cyrus asked and Harry nodded. "Wicked!"

Harry laughed and they soon reached the huge field on the riverbank at the bottom of the waterfall. Nearly every child from the village was there, circled around Guinevere and Godric who had, thankfully, not begun their duel yet. They hurried over, finding Gillian Brewster and David de Erley, another two Harry had found becoming his friends.

Around the same time he'd starting meeting the village kids, he'd also gone around learning wandless magic to be ready for Hogwarts. He'd joined the duelling sessions held by Guinevere and Godric, had worked with Salazar and Helga, and had even gotten a few introductory lessons on swords and archery from Erec and Felix, and done a small duel with Artemus. Salazar had been right and wandless magic was extraordinarily natural to use, allowing him to catch up quickly.

"Do they do this often?" Harry asked, gesturing to Guinevere and Godric who were talking to each other quietly.

"Not at all," Gillian replied, shaking her head. "We beg, but Guinevere isn't usually here this much so they don't usually have the time."

"Where is she normally?" Harry wondered.

"Either Winchester or Tintagel Castle," Gillian told him. "She and Arthur are still apprenticing with Merlin, after all."

Harry nodded and looked back at the two duelling masters of Camelot as they moved away from each other. The conversations settled down even as everyone continued vibrating with excitement. A shimmering blue dome appeared around Guinevere and Godric, separating them from their young audience, before becoming invisible aside from the occasional shimmery ripple across the barrier's surface. When the two bowed to each other, Harry was first reminded of the pitiful duelling club in second year and Severus and Lockhart which made him grin, but then remembered the graveyard and Voldemort forcing him to bow before torturing him. He winced at the memory and shifted uncomfortably, pushing the memories aside to focus on the duel about to happen.

And happen it did and it was spectacular to watch. Harry understood the need for the barrier almost immediately. Magic moved differently in this world. It was often wide and flowing and encompassing rather than the linear nature he was used to with wands. As such, dodged, deflected, and missed magic exploded away from the duellers and crashed into the barrier, causing rapid, glittering ripples to tear across the dome. With every hit of magic against the barrier, the young audience gasped with shock and awe. Guinevere and Godric never slowed or faltered, their duel far more like a dance as they moved and circled their self-imposed arena. No words were spoken; incantations were rare, Harry had learned. They both moved smoothly, confidently, hands flying through the air as they cast spell after spell-intention after intention-in such quick succession that the arena was filled with colourful, glittery magic and its results. Magic didn't dissipate in the same way Harry was used to; here, however magic was used remained until its purpose naturally ended or was ended by one of the two duellers.

It was the most impressive and remarkable thing he'd ever witnessed. He'd seen Severus fight and, once the distraction of fighting for his own life had passed, he'd been impressed at the man's skill and power. Guinevere and Godric, however, were something else altogether, a whole other level Harry hadn't even known could exist. He could feel the way the natural magic of the world reacted and responded to being used. It moved swiftly and washed over them in waves from the sheer power being expelled by Guinevere and Godric. It electrified the air around them, touching each of them as though wondering if anyone else would begin to utilize the available power and magic. The magic wanted to be used which is what Harry found made it so easy to use, even without a wand.

The duel lasted for nearly an hour, with neither Guinevere or Godric showing any signs of exhaustion. Harry could see why they were considered Camelot's duelling masters. They both seemed to have innate instincts about responses and their opponent and the magic that continued to affect them and exist around them. They had reactions ready before Harry could even recognize the coming attack. They saw things in each other Harry didn't, little tells and acts that told them what was coming.

When it finally ended, there was no clear winner. Both were ruffled, both were injured, both were breathing hard. They bowed to each other with smiles as the village kids erupted into cheers and applause.

"I expect to see new members in the Duelling Club come October!" Godric said, making everyone laugh.

After another twenty minutes of excited conversation, Guinevere and Godric finally dispersed the crowd. Harry was still talking with Cyrus, Gillian, and David when the two adults approached, all healed and put together as though nothing had happened. The only indication that an intense battle had happened was the slight charge that still remained in the atmosphere.

"I believe we have a trip to take," Godric said and Harry nodded.

"Come on, we'll find the others," Guinevere told him.

Harry bid ‘goodbye' to his friends and followed the two back down to the village square. The wagon and horses were already waiting with Arthur, Salazar, Severus, and Rowena. Tintagel Castle-Merlin's home-was far to the north and heavily protected, preventing anyone from getting inside without knowing how. Harry had learned Portkeys were not yet a form of transportation-he was not complaining much to Severus' amusement despite understanding Harry's aversion-and Apparation wasn't possible, both because of the distance and Severus not knowing Camelot. There was a portal they were to use instead that would get them to just outside Merlin's wards, wards only Arthur and Guinevere could get through.

Harry hurried over to Severus who turned from his conversation with Arthur. "See? Told you I wouldn't be late," he said cheekily, dodging the swat aimed at his head with a laugh.

"Brat," Severus grumbled half-heartedly. "How was the big event?"

"Bloody brilliant!" Harry gushed and launched into a fast, rambling description of the duel, hardly registering the fond amusement that crossed Severus' face and the looks he shared with the others. He didn't know how long Severus allowed him to go on, but eventually the man held up a hand and he came to a quick stop, blinking owlishly.

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself and I am sure they appreciate your enthusiastic praise, but it is time to go," Severus told him.

Harry flushed, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"No apologies, child," Severus said with a smile and put a hand on his back. "Into the wagon now."

Harry climbed up, settling at the front behind where Arthur and Guinevere were sat. He was joined by the others, Severus next to him and Godric, Salazar, and Rowena settling around the rest of the space.

The trip wasn't long, only about a half hour to the north. They had come to a stop amongst rounded, soft, sloping green hills, their path disappearing into them in the distance. They had left the path, crossing the open land to a large rock outcrop emerging on a nearby slope. As they got close, Harry felt a brush of magic and looked at the others curiously.

"Concealment Charms," Arthur explained. "To hide the wagon as it would be suspicious to leave it on the road."

Understanding, Harry disembarked with everyone else. He followed as they were led to the rocky formation and watched as Guinevere pressed her palm to the white and grey stone. He didn't see anything happen, but his eyes widened as she stepped though, disappearing into the seemingly solid stone. He couldn't help but gape as Salazar and Rowena followed despite it being just like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross.

When he was ushered forward to do the same, he took a moment to hesitantly touch the curious rock. His hand sunk into the stone, making him stare in fascination until he received a gentle push from Severus and he walked through. Just like with Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, it didn't feel like anything except a light rush of warm magic and then he was on the other side where he found himself in a large underground chamber.

He gazed around the space in awe. It was a tall, domed cave made entirely of some ultramarine-coloured stone with ribbons of pure moonstone and what Harry was certain were pockets of sparkling diamonds. In the very center where Guinevere was were four round stones arranged in a circle around another stone panel with some kind of design carved into its surface. Intrigued, he approached as the others passed through the stone behind him, Arthur joining Guinevere in the center while the others waited off to the side, conversing quietly. He examined the stones curiously.

He didn't recognize the symbols made of moonstone on the stone plates. They were all different, but still in the same rounded, swirling style. He thought they looked similar to Celtic symbols, but they weren't quite the same. On the center panel, however, he did recognize the design, though he'd never seen this particular creature used. It was an ouroboros, but, instead of a snake, it was a dragon consuming its own tail.

His examination was interrupted by the symbols beginning to glow brightly and he watched glittery threads leave each, reaching up into the air and tangling together. Within the magic, he could see something materializing and, when the flowing magic finally disappeared, it left behind an amazing archway with a silvery film filling its opening. The archway seemed to be made of twisted vines and branches, a leg emerging from each of the four stones and coming together at the top in a complex braid. The silvery film that filled the center spaced encompassed the ouroboros panel and created a curtain impression between the arch legs. It reminded Harry of the strange veil in the Department of Mysteries through which Sirius had almost fallen, but without the whispery, unintelligible voices.

"Come along," Guinevere told them with a smile and proceeded to walk into the archway with Arthur, the silvery film fluttering as they disappeared.

Harry blinked owlishly only to be guided forward by Severus. Walking through the archway, Harry felt more than passing through the stone. This time, it was truly like walking through the lightest curtain, feeling the way it whispered across his skin. The sensation lasted only a few seconds as they were through the portal almost immediately.

Stepping out ended the fluttery feel of magic to be replaced by a cool, damp, coastal air. Harry gazed around, finding a far-off forest at the edge of the huge open land. Turning, he found they were right on the coastline, the land turning to rock and sloping down steeply. Turning a little more, he laid eyes on Tintagel Castle. To him, it seemed less like a castle and more like a military fortification. Made of grey and white stone, it had the towers of a castle and the ramparts, but it was mostly long, tall walls that concealed whatever lay inside. By the lack of anything, Harry had to assume it was mostly open space beyond the walls.

"In order to enter, Merlin's magic must recognize safety and purity in you," Arthur told them. 

"The path there is unwarded," Guinevere warned. "It wouldn't do to have just anyone use the portal and get inside the castle."

Harry just looked at the open land they had to cross to get to the bridge that crossed the river that surrounded the castle, falling over the cliffside. It appeared to be a couple kilometers' walk.

"Morgan as never returned here since Merlin sent her out after her one attack attempt," Arthur assured and Harry looked at Severus, seeing the light shadow of concern in the man's face. "We have never been threatened here."

Harry didn't get to see or hear a response as he was surrounded by the strangest feeling. He was chilled and everything grew dark despite it being midday, and it felt like something slick had wrapped around him. There was the oddest pull and then it all fell away, leaving him a small distance from the others.

"My, my, look what you found."

Harry's eyes widened and he spun around at the voice.

"Morgan!" he heard Arthur yell.

Morgan was both enthrallingly intimidating and beautiful. She was tall and slender with sharp yet gorgeous features. Her hair was long and black, flowing down to her waist. It complemented her pale complexion, ruby red lips, and brilliant emerald green eyes. Everything about her was completely opposite to Arthur except their beauty which they shared.

She wore a long, fitted dress in a deep wine red. It was a corset top, sitting low on her chest in a sweetheart neckline. The sleeves were off-shoulder and tight to her wrists with a light, translucent, shimmery material attached at the elbows, draping down to the ground dramatically and elegantly. The front of the corset was laced in a crisscross pattern down the center, a wide band wrapping around her body just under her bust. The skirt of the dress flowed to the ground, spreading across the grass.

A thin headband wrapped around the crown of her head, strings with sparkling gems hanging down into her dark hair, making their colours stand out: emeralds, rubies, deep sapphires, deep purple amethyst. A shining, delicate silver chain was wrapped around her neck a couple of times and hung low on her chest, its black pendant just in view. It was a simple design, looking like an extremely simplified outline of a human head and shoulders, or like the top of a keyhole.

Harry stopped examining her and met her eyes, so much like his, as she gazed intently at him.

"What a fascinating little thing you are." Morgan's voice was honeyed, but threatening at the same time, keeping Harry tense as he remained in her vicinity.

"You were never to return here," Arthur called from behind.

"I couldn't possibly miss the opportunity to meet Camelot's newest visitors." Morgan's eyes flickered over Harry to Severus, he assumed, and Harry frowned. How had she known they were in Camelot?

"Did you believe I wouldn't know what you'd discovered?" Morgan said, straightening and turning Harry around so he was facing Severus and the others once again. He could see the worry in the professor's face and the anger in everyone else's. Severus had clearly started to come for him, but was stopped, evident by Rowena's hand on his arm. "Did you believe I wouldn't know about them, that you had found other Masters? So naïve, dear brother."

Harry saw Arthur's jaw clench.

"They are nothing to you," Guinevere replied.

"Not yet, but they will be, especially this one."

Harry had to fight not to flinch or pull away when Morgan stroked a long fingernail down his cheek and hooked it under his chin, making him turn his head to look at her again.

"Yes, there is something wonderfully special in you, isn't there?" she murmured, sounding fascinated by something as her eyes flicked between him and Severus. "So much like me. You know the loving touch of the Dark, both of you. How deliciously wonderful."

"Morgan."

Harry whipped his head around when Morgan's hand fell away from him at the new voice and his eyes popped open at the sight of Merlin.

"Leave here," Merlin ordered. "You will not threaten any children of mine, not in this place."

"Don't you remember, Master?" Morgan sneered. "I once was one of your children."

"You turned your back on us."

"You turned your back on me!" Morgan snapped.

Harry stared at Merlin, his heart pounding at Morgan's anger and the way the air thickened around them. 

"Leave," Merlin said simply. "You are not welcome."

There was a long silence.

"As you wish."

When a finger hooked under his chin again and turned his head, he jumped and met Morgan's eyes fearfully.

"Until we meet again, darlings," she said, her voice taking on a low, smoky tone.

Harry watched as she turned and walked away, a black mist encompassing her as she did until she disappeared. He stared at where she had disappeared, taut with the tension she'd caused within him. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder, but relaxed when he found it was Severus, he and the others having hurried over to him upon Morgan's exit. He let out a deep breath and allowed himself to lean into Severus' side, the man's arm coming around him.

"I do so apologize."

Harry lifted his head from Severus' chest to look at Merlin, the wizard having approached them. Merlin greatly resembled Dumbledore with the white hair, long white beard, and sharp blue eyes. Merlin was shorter, however, and his face was sterner. Where Dumbledore tended to emulate a kind, elderly grandfather-whether the persona was truthful or not-Merlin had a strength and sternness in how he held himself. Yet, there was a kindness underneath, hardly detectable, but Harry could see it, could feel it. Merlin had a morality Harry didn't see in Dumbledore, but he did see it in one other person...

He glanced up at Severus, but quickly returned his attention to Merlin when the mage-he'd have to find out what the distinction was-spoke again.

"Do come with me. We have some Soul Magic to tackle, yes?" Merlin gave them all a twinkling look, eyes landing on Harry as he smiled. "What great luck that Soul Magic is my personal specialty. Come, come."

A little taken aback by the sudden youthfulness, Harry followed all the others, still held to Severus' side, into Tintagel Castle.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked quietly as they walked through the gate into Tintagel Castle.

"I'm okay. She didn't do anything," Harry replied. His mouth curved into a small smile when Severus squeezed him lightly.

Walking through the castle gate had them inside one of the large towers, a staircase built into the wall and winding around to upper levels. They walked through the archway opposite the gated bridge entrance and entered a large, mostly open area. The rampart walls continued along the coast, but separating the entrance area from the rest was one of the tall towers visible from outside the castle and a huge, long building not unlike the village's great hall, all made of the same white-grey stone aside from the hall's dark wood roof. A wide path sat to the right of the buildings, connecting to another unseen area of the castle.

"Through there is the training area for apprentices and Knights," Arthur told them, pointing to the pathway.

"Knights train here with Merlin?" Harry wondered and Arthur nodded.

"It's the safest place in all of Camelot, and Merlin is both a master of magic and a battle strategist. No better place to train and no one better to learn from."

Harry couldn't help but think of the praise heaped upon Hogwarts and Dumbledore, similar to Arthur's of Merlin and Tintagel Castle, but still different. The praise for Hogwarts and Dumbledore, to him, was unfounded. He loved Hogwarts, truly, but he had been no safer within its walls than if he'd been anywhere else and Dumbledore had done little to prevent such threats, had even facilitated some of them. The faith and loyalty people had to Dumbledore was blind, and he used that against so many to manipulate them. 

He glanced at Severus with the thought.

He was sure Dumbledore cared about them all, but not in the way they needed.

Hearing Arthur speak of Merlin and Tintagel Castle, it was so similar, but there was an air of true affection in the words that he didn't hear when people spoke of Dumbledore. They cared for their mentor instead of being blindly loyal. They saw the greatness in Merlin, but also saw him as a person; Dumbledore was seen as nothing but great, keeping him out of reach of the human he truly was. Merlin was fallible; Dumbledore wasn't.

He pushed his musing aside as they approached a large fountain tucked in a large, rounded alcove-like section of the exterior wall. The base of the fountain was made of white marble and filled with water, streams shooting up to the sky around the back half. In the center was a statue of rose quartz, carved into a beautiful woman. She was tall and thin with delicate features, her eyes lidded and lips parted. Her wavy hair fell around her shoulders and down her back like a curtain, a couple strands dancing across her face. She was turned to the side, her head turned towards them with one hand cradling her cheek lightly and her other outstretched to them as though waiting for it to be taken. Her dress was flowy, wrapping around her as though dancing in a breeze. It was a halter-neck with thin strands that hung down her back and looped under her arms to attach to the sides of the dress. Intricate, tiny details had been carved into the dress.

Harry stared at her, watching curiously as Merlin approached her and raised his hand to press his palm to her outstretched one. It was a tender touch and he looked into her gentle face again.

"Who is she?" Harry wondered quietly.

"His great love," Salazar replied softly. "Calypso."

Harry looked at him sharply, stunned.

"A story for another time, darling," Rowena interrupted as the water spraying around Calypso stopped and disappeared from the fountain's base. Behind her, the fountain floor sank, turning into a staircase descending underground.

Harry blinked in surprise. "What's down there?"

"My sanctuary and connection to our Ladies of Magic," Merlin replied and Harry looked at him questioningly. "Much power is required to work with Soul Magic with as little risk as possible and, given our Ladies infused the natural world with their gift of magic to us, there is no better place to find that pure power than within the earth."

He smiled and proceeded to descend down the staircase, followed one by one by the others. Harry ended up in the very middle, between Arthur and Salazar, Severus next to him. For a few minutes, it remained a tightly spiraled, enclosed staircase, lit only by ribbons of some glowing material in the stone walls.

Then, it changed. The spiral of their stairs widened and the area around them opened. Harry gaped at the extraordinary cavern they were descending into. It was as though a whole other world existed beneath Tintagel Castle.

Their stairs were free-standing now, continuing down and around towards a huge rocky formation. It created a circle that didn't quite close, one side left open for the massive waterfall pouring down the side from the water pool that filled the top of the structure, stone pillars and archways around its perimeter. Their staircase wrapped around the huge rocky column, taking them under the waterfall which seemed to be charmed not to flow over them, hitting an invisible battier. Around and below the column were more stone builds; bridges, paths, statues, natural boulders and rock formations. A large wooden dock with small boats sat in the water that filled the bottom of the cavern, flowing in from the huge opening that obviously went out to the sea. Trees and lush, deep greenery covered the walls and ceiling and builds, providing a gentle freshness. Stone bowls and candles held by statues were lit with fire, providing flickering light to the area. As they descended further and further, a damp breeze blew around and Harry could feel the magic that filled the area, felt it brush across him and flow around him.

Eventually, their staircase reached the bottom and they followed Merlin along paths and down more stairs to leave the column's rocky base and head for a bridge that took them across the water. Along the bridge and branching paths on the other side of the bridge were statues of two different women, both with gentle smiles, downcast eyes, and flowing robes with a raised hood. One of them held candles while the other held orbs of moonstone.

Across the bridge, they climbed one more short set of stairs directly in front of the bridge. Atop the stairs sat an open, circular area that resembled the village's sanctuary, complete with a large silver willow tree, a stone crescent seat, other simple round stone seats, a grassy ground despite the stone, and more of the women statues. Merlin gestured for them all to sit as he stood in the semi-circle space in the crescent moon bench.

"So, you have a forced horcrux which has developed into a Soul Bond and an accompanying Blood Bond?" Merlin asked, looking at Harry who nodded. "It is a complicated situation. There is a risk to your soul and magical core. As well, we have no way of knowing what the horcrux has blocked all these years, if anything."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked.

"If there are any other bonds, connections, or powers Harry was meant to have, the horcrux could have been blocking them," Merlin explained. "There is a risk of overload, mental and magical, depending on what is released."

"How big of a risk is it to remove it?" Severus asked.

"It is a very risky thing," Merlin admitted and Harry's stomach clenched anxiously, "but it is a bigger risk to leave it, I think. When you return to your time, the horcrux could be used to kill Harry or worse."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Worse?"

Merlin gave him a tight look. "Your soul could be consumed, leaving you nothing more than a vessel for the horcrux and at its control."

Harry's sight grew distant, soaring past Merlin as fear filled him. His heart sped up and his stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising up. He could feel himself nearly vibrating with a need to take off, to escape from yet another horrific reality facing him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers in his hair as he tried to control his breathing and nausea.

"It is, of course, your choice," Merlin added.

Harry heard a very quiet, "Excuse us," and a hand pushed gently on his back, encouraging him to his feet and guiding him a few meters to the side away from the others. Hands cradled his face and tilted his head to look at Severus who was bent slightly to be at his eye level.

"Breathe," Severus instructed gently. "Feel me, look at me, and breathe."

Harry raised his hands to grasp the man's wrists, releasing a stuttering breath. He tried to focus on Severus' touch, on the cavern air around him, and tried to let the safety he felt with Severus and the people of Camelot chase away his fear and despair. He tried to channel the calm he'd felt since coming to Camelot, an odd calm considering all the unknowns and threat of Morgan, but a calm he'd never felt before. His eyes drifted shut briefly as he finally slowed his breathing, opening them again moments later.

"Have you always been prone to panic attacks or are these new?" Severus asked, making to move his hands, but Harry unconsciously tightened his grip, embarrassingly needing the contact.

"I, uh, I've had them since I was...eight? I think," Harry said, focusing on Severus' caring touch to clear his mind which had muddled during the attack. "They've been worse and more common since first year. No one knows about them though. I just...I hide them, keep them to myself."

"Deal with them yourself."

Harry nodded.

"Why?"

"I'm the Boy Who Lived," Harry recited easily. "What kind of hero has panic attacks?"

Severus sighed and Harry saw the regret in the dark eyes, knowing the man was likely thinking of all his comments from the last four years. While Severus looked on the verge of apologizing, Harry couldn't help but smile, garnering a questioning look. He finally released the man's arms only to move forward and wrap himself around Severus' torso, head resting against the broad chest. The arms immediately wrapped around him in response, but Harry could still feel the curious confusion.

"Thank you for never treating me like a hero," he muttered.

"You're welcome, though, I do apologize for my methods," Severus replied, sounding bemused.

"I know, it's okay," Harry said, turning his head so he was looking at the others who were quietly talking as they waited. "What do I do?"

"It is your decision," Severus told him.

"I'd rather you told me what to do."

"Liar. You hate being told what to do, particularly by me."

Harry chuckled lightly, smiling at the hand rubbing his back.

"Guess I'd rather risk tearing my soul than losing it."

"I, too, would prefer to have you rather than another's soul controlling you," Severus agreed. "We will deal with anything that happens."

Harry nodded, holding on long enough for a hand to brush down the back of his head before letting go and heading back to the others.

"I want it removed," Harry told Merlin.

Merlin inclined his head. "I will do what I can to minimize the risks. It is why Salazar and Rowena are here. Rowena is our Mind Magic master and will protect your mind, placing you in your unconscious as the horcrux is removed. Salazar will disentangle your magic from it while I disentangle your soul and remove the horcrux."

"The risks?" Severus asked.

"His soul could tear. His core could crack. He could become trapped in his mind if other bonds overwhelm him. The horcrux could consume him if his magic, soul, and blood get confused and reactivate the horcrux," Merlin explained.

Harry fought down the nerves that threatened to overtake him again, turning to Severus when the man's hand settled on his back again.

"You are certain?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Come up here, my child," Merlin said and Harry walked up to him. He was instructed to lay across the crescent bench while Merlin, Salazar, and Rowena knelt around him. "You will see something during this. You're not quite unconscious and will go to the place in your subconscious where your mind, magic, and soul intertwine."

"What will I see?"

"There is no way to know," Merlin admitted. "You will see what you need to see."

Harry rolled his head to glance at Severus who was sitting with Godric and watching him steadily. He took a deep breath and returned to gazing up at the rocky, grassy ceiling past Merlin's face.

"Are you ready?" Merlin asked.

Harry nodded stiffly, curling his hands into fists repeatedly until Rowena took his hand with a gentle smile.

"Just relax, darling," she reassured.

Her other hand came up, fingertips resting against his temple. Merlin laid a hand over his heart and Salazar hovered his hands over his sternum. All three gave him encouraging smiles.

"Just let the magic carry you," Merlin told him quietly and, before Harry could respond, his eyes closed and he was pulled away.

When everything came back into focus and awareness, he was in a never-ending white space with ropes of wispy magic that seemed to come from nowhere to meet in the same place. There were ropes of gold, green, silver, blue, and purple and, where they all came together, was at a dense black ball of sharp magic with thin rivers of red running through. Its threads weren't light and dancing the way the others were; these were tightly wound, sharp like static and pulling at the other ropes. The gold, blue, green, and purple threads were connected to the black ball, but had tangled with it, the colours mixing with the black as strands left the ball to crawl up the coloured ropes, holding tight. The silver thread, however, was different. It was still connected to the black and red ball, but it disappeared within it, becoming completely consumed by the darkness.

Harry frowned as he stared at the cumulation of his mind, magic, and soul. The red rivers in the black ball pulsed every few seconds and, each time it happened, the black strands wrapped around his coloured ones seemed to try and pull back as though releasing him reluctantly. The black ball was fighting to hold on, though, only inching away and wrapping back around him any chance it could and appearing to grow even darker and heavier each time. The horcrux-Voldemort's soul-was not going to let him go easily, desperate to survive and thrive.

When a grey mist suddenly floated around, filling the area and bringing a dimness to the white space, he looked around sharply, trying to find what was happening.

 "Harry Potter."

The deep, smooth voice came from nowhere and, for a time, he couldn't see its source. After spinning in fearful circles for a few seconds, a figure finally came into view within the thickening mist, darkness swirling around it.

There was no face or real body shape. It was a cloak, a black, tattered cloak with an oversized hood and edges that looked like the mist surrounding them. The only distinguishing features visible outside the cloak were the white, skeletal hands of literal bone and the chain that hung down the front with a simple pendant made of a circle, triangle, and vertical line. The air seemed to chill and the very atmosphere around the figure seemed to darken, mist flowing from its robe perpetually and swirling around its feet. Despite having no face-visible, at least-Harry could tell it was looking at him.

"Or should I say ‘Master'?"

Harry cringed. "Bloody hell, absolutely not."

"I have been waiting a long time for you."

Harry arched an eyebrow, suddenly feeling any nervousness disappear, leaving him comfortable as though they were old friends and this was completely natural.

"Sorry," he quipped. "Was I supposed to die?"

The grey mist around them changed, wisps of yellow dancing along.

"Technically, yes, several times," Death replied lightly and Harry rolled his eyes at the very obvious amusement.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "So, why aren't I then? Dead?"

"You've had many guardians protecting you."

"Couldn't you have just taken me anyway? You are Death," Harry pointed out.

"There are some things more powerful than even me."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, confused what Death was implying.

"Alright, so, you're what I'm supposed to see?" Harry said, bringing Death's faceless attention back to him. "Why?"

"You are a Master of Death," Death said as though it were obvious. "We have always been connected and should have been able to grow our bond all this time."

"I was meant to have Death as an imaginary friend?" Harry questioned, deadpanned. "No offence, but, given my life, I'm not exactly broken up over missing out on that bond. Feel like seeing Death and having a conversation with you at five years old would have been terrifying."

"We would not have interacted until you were eleven," Death pointed out and Harry huffed.

"That would not have made it better."

More yellow twirled through the grey mist before disappearing, leaving behind only grey.

"You have to find them, the Hallows," Death said, returning to seriousness. "Here and in your time."

"How? I don't know who or what I'm looking for," Harry replied.

"You do and you will," Death told him and suddenly raised one bony hand. 

Harry watched as strands from the black and red ball travelled across the air and to Death's hand, Harry's coloured threads forcibly following. He watched curiously as the strands began to form a ball, a tiny coloured strand breaking away every few seconds and taking off away from the black balls holding them hostage. Every coloured strand that escaped tangled together with their like colour and with the others, beginning to create a brand new ball beside the black one, this one light and glittery and colourful.

"With this removed, your bonds will be restored and your magic regained."

"Magic regained?" Harry repeated, looking back at Death who continued to manipulate the horcrux and Harry.

"You do not know the power you are meant to have," Death told him. "With this removed, you will become all you are meant to be. With the Hallows, you will come to feel them and hear them and see them."

"How?"

"Masters are connected to their Hallow as well as other Masters. This is how you will find them," Death explained. "You have to see and you have to listen."

Harry frowned at the being. "You know I hate riddles, right?"

Yellow danced through the mist again as more coloured threads gained their freedom from Voldemort.

"You know what you are looking for," Death said.

"I'm not sure I do. I don't know anything about the Deathly Hallows or the Masters that could exist here," Harry argued.

"You do not know them, no, but you are connected in many ways. You will know them," Death told him. "As for your Hallow, you already possess it."

"Excuse me?"

"In your time."

Harry thought through the items he'd been told about, blinking at Death in realization. "My cloak?"

Death's hooded head seemed to tilt to the side as he looked at Harry. "You didn't think yours was any mere Cloak of Invisibility, did you?"

Harry gave Death a withering stare. "I hadn't realized there were enough of them to have the distinction of being ‘mere' or a gift from Death," he drawled.

Yellow washed through the grey again and Harry finally realized it was a representation of Death's amusement.

"How did my father have it then if he wasn't a Master?" Harry asked.

"It passed where it needed to go to get to you," Death said vaguely and Harry had to hold back a huff of frustration at more riddles. He glanced at the horcrux, seeing it had shrunk exponentially and the new colourful ball was taking its places, a mix of blue, gold, green, silver, and purple glittery happily together. "Trust in yourself, Master."

"Don't call me that," Harry sniped lightly and sighed, turning back to Death. "What if Morgan finds them first?"

"I'm Death, not Fate," Death answered. "When you find them, you will know what to do."

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to know what to do."

"The Masters here are to be the last," Death said. "One Master in your time is not to last. You will know what needs to be done."

Harry frowned. "Why can't you just tell me who has the Hallows, in this time and mine?"

"To find the Masters is to find yourself," Death said and Harry was surprised he didn't shrug with how casually he responded.

"Really?" Harry replied, unimpressed. "A journey of self-discovery?"

Yellow fluttered around them and Harry scowled slightly.

"You will find what you need here. You will learn who you are meant to be." Death cupped his hands around the black and red ball he now held, completely devoid of the other colours that now created their own dancing ball. As Harry watched, the red ribbons dimmed and disappeared into the black before the ball seemed to melt through Death's bones, joining the mist swirling around. "You will be free."

Harry looked at him, confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"What would you like it to mean?"

Harry glowered at the being, hardly noticing that the mist filling the space was beginning to drift away.

"Call on me, should you need," Death told him. "We are connected now as we were always meant to be."

"How exactly do I do that?" Harry demanded.

Death said nothing and Harry scowled at him again, finally noticing the retreating mist.

"Until we meet again, Master," Death said and the mist wrapped around him, it and him disappearing.

"I told you not to call me that!" Harry shouted into the white nothing.

Shaking his head and huffing, he turned back to his new core. The colours were twisted and braided together, dancing, but it was the silver that was the most intriguing. They were moving excitedly as though coming to life for the first time. As he watched, the silver strands pulsed, receiving responding pulses from the other threads. His hand flew to his chest as he felt a strange thrum. With every pulse of his core, his chest beat like a low drum, and he winced as it became stronger and stronger. Eventually, there was a final thrum and he was pulled away, his body flooding with lost power and an incomprehensible whisper echoing through his mind.

Harry gasped as he opened his eyes and found the pulsing had not ceased. Glittering lights were dancing before his eyes, brightening and dimming with every throb of power in his chest. His heart was pounding and he could feel himself trembling, his breathing hitching sporadically.

"It's alright, lad," the deep voice of Merlin said and Harry's eyes darted around, trying to see through the cloud of sparkling, bouncing threads. "Your magic is trying to reorient itself. Do not fight it or your core could overload or reject your magic in your panic."

Harry tried to listen, understanding the danger, at least to an extent. He tried to calm himself, tried to slow his breathing, but his newly released magic was too much. It was so much larger than him, surrounding and encompassing. It was like his cupboard and he was small, alone, unworthy, and unwanted. All he had in that cupboard was all he deserved, all he could handle. He wasn't strong enough for the world beyond the cupboard. He wasn't strong enough for the roles and expectations bestowed upon him. He wasn't strong enough for this power.

He was just a lonely little boy left in a cupboard.

He wasn't enough.

Suddenly, amongst the heavy pulsing, there was a sharp pain in his chest that made him release a shuddering breath. The pain continued, pulling a whimper and tears from him as a harsh cold began to settle deep within him. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sensations and all-consuming fear.

"He's panicking," he just barely heard Arthur say and he wished he could laugh at the understatement. "His core is rejecting the magic."

"Why would he reject his magic?" he heard Severus ask.

"His core is reacting to his panic and his panic is likely being caused by not wanting the magic or something similar," Godric replied. "It is very similar to Infusion Magic. Our cores can only absorb magic if we allow it and accept it. He's not accepting his magic for some reason."

"And if he doesn't accept his magic?" Severus asked, sounding worried.

"His core will empty and he will die," Merlin responded severely.

"We need to convince him to accept his magic," Salazar said. "Could there be a reason he is panicking about this?"

There was no response and Harry let out another shaky breath as he was wracked with pain and cold. He was startled when a hand gathering up his broke through the despair and charged magic. He forced his eyes open and found Severus through his magic.

"Talk to me, child."

"I...I can't do it...I'm not...not good enough or...or strong enough," Harry stuttered.

"For what?"

"Any...any of it."

"Well, this magic is yours and was inside you all along so you must be good enough and strong enough for it," Severus told him gently.

"I'm...I'm not a hero," Harry said as though releasing some great admission.

"No one is asking you to be," Severus replied.

"You will be free."

"You are enough as you are and that is all we need," Severus continued and Harry stared at the man as the conviction bled into the man's words. "I will never ask for more than who you are. You are enough."

"You will find what you need ... learn who you are meant to be ... you will be free."

Death's and Severus' words penetrated his suspended haze of lonely deprecation. Some part of him wrapped itself up in the words, desperate to believe. As he did, the pain in his chest slowly eased and the magic around him began to calm, twisting together gently. He was able to take slow, deep breaths and his body stopped trembling. Where there had been pain, there was now a warmth.

"That's it," Severus murmured. "Just relax."

Harry continued his slow breaths and his magic, all tangled together, steadily sank into his chest, the warmth growing in response. It almost felt overwhelming, threatening to make him panic again, but it was also familiar as though he knew this power, allowing him to absorb it into his core. He could feel the change, the difference in power level and the way the magic flowed through his body. Soon, his magic disappeared into him completely and, despite the new power, Harry felt it settle and settled himself, his new magic a part of him.

Finally feeling better, Harry shuffled and started pushing himself up on the stone bench he was still lying on. Severus helped, carefully pulling him up until he was sitting.

"It worked," Harry said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Severus nodded with a small smile and reached out, brushing Harry's hair away from the scar. "Nothing but you."

Harry smiled back, eyes dropping to the hand still holding his, and found the odd new mark on the inside of his right wrist. He looked at it curiously. It was thin and white, looking like a scar, and was a triangle with a circle and vertical line inside. When Severus released his hand and turned his own over to reveal a matching mark, Harry lifted his gaze to the man in question.

"The symbol of the Deathly Hallows," Severus told him. "Our Hallow and Death connections have activated."

Harry frowned. "Yours was blocked too? You saw Death?"

Severus nodded. "My Dark Mark was blocking the bond."

Harry's eyes flicked to the man's left forearm, seeing just a tiny part of the Dark Mark peeking out from beneath the man's three-quarter tunic sleeve.

"The magical connection is gone, but the Mark remains," Severus answered Harry's silent question. "It is a brand and cannot be removed."

Harry frowned again, upset on the man's behalf that he was stuck with the Mark forever. It didn't seem fair, to be reminded of his greatest mistake and regret after everything he had done to try and put things right.

"The mark itself means little," Severus said as though he knew what Harry was thinking. "I am still free is so many ways."

"You will be free."

"Death said I would be free too," Harry said and Severus smiled.

"It would seem he was correct."

"Harry?" He looked up at Merlin. "How are you feeling, lad?"

"Strange," Harry admitted. "My magic feels different and there's...something. A buzz, but it's very subtle."

"It is likely your Hallow connection," Salazar told him. "It will likely reach for you now the connection has been restored."

"Are the rumours true then?" Arthur jumped in, seeming to be excited. "As Masters, you can speak with Death himself?"

"It would appear so," Severus confirmed.

"Apparently we should've had the bond all along," Harry explained. "He told me it should've started when I was eleven."

"Fascinating," Salazar murmured.

"Did he tell you anything about the Hallows or the Masters of our time?" Guinevere asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not really. He said, even in our time, I don't know my Master, but I'm connected to them in many ways."

"Perhaps Isabella can help," Rowena said thoughtfully.

"I thought she couldn't see the Masters?" Harry asked, remembering what they had been told when they'd arrived and learned of all that was going on.

"She cannot, no one can," Merlin replied. "They have cloaked themselves from all Sight. What she can see, however, is shadows of connection. It is possible she could see the Masters' shadows as they connect to the two of you."

"Almost like bloodlines, only magical bonds and connections or other strong bonds that will greatly impact your life," Godric explained.

"She describes it as the auras that surround a person, their soul," Rowena added.

"There is no guarantee this will help find the Masters, but it is a start we did not previously have," Merlin said. "It will surely not be long before Morgan follows the same path now she knows of Harry and Severus specifically. She can focus her Sight as Isabella can."

"Morgan's a Seer too?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Not exactly," Arthur told him. "She has a fracture in the world through which Seers see. She fractured the barriers using her mixture of Mind Magic and Necromancy. It allows her to search that plane of existence and time, but in fractured pieces because it is not true Sight. It's far more difficult for her to see than Isabella and she really only sees death as a result of Necromancy being used to create the fracture."

"It's simply a violent manipulation and disfiguring of magic," Merlin said, sounding disappointed and disgusted. "Please, return to Camelot and enjoy your return to Hogwarts. I am sure we will see each other again soon."

Harry looked at the man curiously, wondering how he knew they would be attending Hogwarts.

"Arthur and Salazar, if you would remain," Merlin requested and the two inclined their heads in agreement.

They left Merlin's Cave, then, and Tintagel Castle, taking the portal back to where they had left the wagon. They were fairly quiet as they made their way back to Camelot Village, Guinevere and Rowena up front and Harry, Severus, and Godric in the wagon. As they travelled, the green hills rolling by, Harry found his mind wandering.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked quietly. "You are very quiet."

Harry nodded. "Just thinking." He paused as he continued to muse. "If Morgan wants the Hallows and knew who we were, why didn't she do anything at Tintagel Castle?"

"It is likely she hopes you will bring the Hallows and Masters out of concealment, and then she will take them," Guinevere replied. "She also noticed the magic in you. She likely hopes it will be something she can use once revitalized within you."

"Despite her efforts, she knows she cannot find the Hallows on her own," Godric said. "She also knows you will not help her, but you are the only way she will find what she wants so she will not harm you, not while you hold purpose."

"How did she know of us in the first place?" Severus asked.

"Likely through her own fractured Sight and she probably felt the magic you brought," Rowena told him. "She is heavily connected to Black Magic and would have likely felt new Black Magic enter our world."

"And Merlin? Surely he's strong enough to stop her. Why hasn't he?" Harry asked, voicing his puzzlement.

"She is his greatest failing and his own fatal flaw because she is very similar to Calypso," Guinevere replied. "He knows the path Morgan is on because Calypso followed the same path and he nearly went with her. He believes he is unable to harm Morgan because he harmed Calypso and swore to never do so again. Instead, he has doomed himself to watch another he cares for fall as Calypso did."

"What happened?" Harry asked gently, hearing the tragedy in the yet untold story.

"Several centuries ago, Merlin and Calypso fell in love," Godric began and Harry looked at him, listening intently to the story. "There were few safe places in the world for wizard-kind and Merlin sought to create one, to create Camelot. However, he very nearly abandoned everything for Calypso as she delved further into Black Magic, into the dark side of Black Magic. She tempted him down the same path and he nearly followed, nearly lost himself for his love of her.

"He resisted and begged Calypso to give up Black Magic, but she refused. She cursed him with long life in the hopes he would one day return to her or, if not, suffer without her. When she began using her magic against others, he confronted her once more. He nearly fell to her while at the same time anguished she had chosen Black Magic over him.

"He was unable to kill her, both because he loved her and because she was an enchantress chosen by our Ladies of Magic alongside Lady Nimue and so was immortal. Instead, he trapped her and kept her close as a reminder of what he lost and what he almost became."

"The fountain," Harry realized and Godric nodded.

"He saw Morgan heading the same way as Calypso and struggles with what to do," Godric continued. "He knows she needs to be stopped, but he is also vulnerable to her temptation into the dark side of magic so he has refused to truly confront her. It is why he banished her."

Harry didn't respond, unsure what to say, nor did anyone else add to the story. He mused over what he learned, unable to stop from making comparisons, seeing Voldemort, Severus, Dumbledore, and even himself in the story. 

Voldemort seemed to be a mirror of Calypso and Morgan, choosing the dark side of magic, of humanity, over anything else. Calypso and Morgan had given up love for Black Magic. What had Voldemort given up?

In Severus, he saw a mixture of Merlin and Calypso. The man had fallen to the darkness, giving up on those who had given up on him, but had come back because of love. His actions and choices contributed to the loss of one he'd loved and he lived with that regret, with the choice he made over Lily Evans.

Like Merlin with Morgan, Dumbledore refused to confront Voldemort himself. Was he vulnerable to Voldemort's path as Merlin was to Morgan's? Did Voldemort remind him of a loss, a failure he couldn't accept?

As for himself, he understood Merlin's struggle against temptation. He'd felt the darkness, had had it offered to him. He felt pulled to it because maybe over there he could find himself. Maybe over there he could actually have the power to protect himself from everything and everyone that had hurt him. Maybe over there he could be what everyone expected and wanted. Maybe over there he wouldn't be alone. He could even understand Calypso and Morgan choosing the darkness. Despite what they had, they were probably searching for something more, needing something they knew wouldn't abandon them.

He cast a quick, subtle glance at the others, wondering about Severus' thoughts around the story of Merlin and Calypso, and Guinevere's, Rowena's, and Godric's own experiences and vulnerabilities to the dark parts of themselves. Dropping his eyes to his new mark before moving them to watch the passing hills, he sat in the silence of the remaining trip. Only the clopping of the horse's hooves on the dirt and the creaking of the wagon sounded amongst the open glades and rolling hills they travelled through.

Once they returned to the village, Harry and Severus were led to Isabella while Rowena returned to the infirmary and Godric went to find Artemus to inform his Knight son of Morgan's appearance. Isabella lived on her own in a small cottage just up the road from her parents, Helga and Thomas, and from the Nye cottage. Her cottage was only four rooms; the common area complete with seating, a table, cabinets, and a hearth, her bedroom, a lavatory, and a room filled with odd magic.

It was a dark room with no windows, but there was a charmed pattern in the ceiling that looked like the phases of the moon. The walls shimmered and the floor, instead of regular wood, was a deep glittery blue with glittery white dots creating the constellations. As he stared, Harry noticed them shifting and he realized they were likely mirroring the real constellations' placements above them, currently hidden by the daylight. In the center was a round table draped in a purple velvet cloth with a crystal ball on an intricate gold stand. It was a similar set-up to Trelawney's classroom, but without the very obvious fraudulent nature. Trelawney may have spoken one true prophecy, but, in Harry's opinion, that didn't make her a true Seer like Isabella. Candles with different shapes, inscribed designs, and coloured flames floated calmly around the room above their heads. A glass cabinet sat in a back corner, made of dark wood and clouded glass with inscriptions of some kind.

They were guided into the room by Isabella and watched as she carefully moved the table with the crystal ball off to the side before summoning large purple cushion, gesturing for them all to sit where the table had been. They did so, Isabella joining them, sitting in front of them with her legs folded to the side and her blue dress draped over them elegantly.

"I am pleased to see all of you," Isabella said, smiling at Severus and Harry.

"You knew about the horcrux?" Harry questioned in surprise.

"Not precisely," Isabella said, "but I could see parts of you in shadows. It was heartbreaking to see such empty parts in otherwise wonderful souls and auras."

Harry just looked at her, unsure how to respond.

"Now, what would you like me to See?" she asked pleasantly.

"Shadow connections," Guinevere told her. "We know you cannot see the Masters, but we thought you may be able to see the connection now the magic and bonds have been restored."

Isabella looked between Harry and Severus contemplatively, nodding slowly. "Certainly possible. If I may, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry agreed despite not knowing what he was agreeing to.

He watched as she lifted a hand and one of the various candles floated down to her, followed by another that came to hover in front of Harry. They were both white with golden runes inscribed on the surface and soft blue flames. She also waved her hand and the glass cabinet opened, something thin and wispy floating over to Isabella. As it glinted in the candlelight, Harry realized it was a golden thread. He watched as it passed through the flame on Isabella's candle and extended to Harry's, each end disappearing into the flames and the thread stretched between them.

"If you could hold the candle," Isabella requested and Harry cupped his hands around his candle's base. 

The runes on the two candles glowed brightly and the flames grew, some wrapping around the thread and travelling across it until they met in the center. Isabella murmured something and the flames on the candles turned dark, almost black with a glittering blue core, while the flames wrapped around the golden thread remained blue. She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them, gazing into the black and blue flame of her candle. For several minutes, no words were spoken as Isabella gazed deep into the flames, the flickering lighting up her soft, honey-brown eyes and giving them a hint of blue.

"I see many bonds," she finally spoke. "Some are wreathed in fire, some in death, others in extraordinary love."

Harry looked through the fire at her, somewhat startled, unsure what to make of her observations.

"There are some, however, that have or will change your life, change your very self," she continued and Harry swallowed thickly, becoming unsettled. "I see you embroiled in dark riddles, their answers found in dark pasts."

Harry glanced at Severus. "It's got to be Voldemort. His real name is Riddle."

Severus just nodded in agreement and Harry turned back to Isabella.

"I also see a lost prince shrouded in pain," Isabella said. "Yet, the light you will inspire in each other will bring a happiness neither have ever known."

Harry frowned, unclear who she could be referring to this time.

"I believe that could be me," Severus said, sounding slightly hesitant, and Harry looked at the man again. "My mother's maiden name was Prince."

Harry blinked at him, stunned at the implications of what Isabella had said about this particular bond. His heart leapt slightly at the idea of Severus apparently being such a large part of his life.

"This one," Isabella said, pulling Harry's attention back to her. "This one is strong, quite a large part of you, but very difficult to see. I see one attached to you, but cloaked in death. Unfortunately, I can see no more of this bond."

"It must be the Master that holds your Hallow," Guinevere said, turning to Harry. "Is there anything else Death said to you? To either of you?"

"He told me to believe in what I will find and that my son will show me the way," Severus replied. "Except, I have no son to speak of so I am uncertain what he meant."

Harry saw the long stare Isabella gave the man and frowned slightly at the strange gaze. It reminded him so much of Luna, that glint that said she knew something.

"You will," was all Isabella said with the smallest of smiles, gaining a deeper frown from Harry and a furrowed brow from Severus.

"Harry?" Guinevere asked.

"Not really," Harry admitted, thinking back to his conversation with Death. "I mean, he said I have my Hallow already back in our time."

"You do?" Severus said, surprised, and Harry nodded.

"My invisibility cloak," Harry said. "It's Death's cloak."

"How did you get it?" Severus asked.

"Dumbledore gave it to me in first year, said my father had left it with him before he died," Harry told him.

"James Potter was not a Master of Death, was he?" Severus asked, looking at Isabella.

Isabella shook her head. "There have been no Masters in your time since those who currently are here until you."

"How would a Hallow have gotten to someone who wasn't a Master?" Guinevere asked, confused.

"Death said it passed where it needed to get to me," Harry remembered.

"It's an heirloom," Guinevere said in realization. "You're descended from the Master of the Cloak of Invisibility."

Harry turned to Isabella. "Can you see bloodlines?"

"I can, but the Masters remain hidden regardless of what I try to look for. I still will be unable to see a person or a name," Isabella told him.

"What about a child?" Severus suggested. "If the Hallow is to be passed, the Master will have a child if they have not already."

"Go as far back as you can from me until you get to someone you can't see," Harry added. "Maybe we can find someone who knows the Master."

"Quite clever thinking," Isabella said with a smile. "It is certainly worth a try."

Isabella ended the connection between the candles, sending the gold thread back to the cabinet and the candles back to float above them. She replaced them with other items, summoning a jar, a little velvet pouch, and a small dagger with a delicate handle and runes engraved on the silver blade. She placed the pouch and dagger next to her, and opened the jar, pouring the contents on the floor between her and Harry. As it spread across the starry floor, Harry realized it was a silvery coloured sand. Jar empty, she put it aside to pick up the pouch and pour its contents into her hand. There was a small, clear ball that resembled a marble and several flat, oval pieces that looked like simple stones. She held them in one hand and picked up the dagger, looking at Harry.

"To see a bloodline, the blood from that line is required," Isabella told him. "Only a drop is needed on this crystal." She pointed to the clear ball with the dagger.

While not thrilled at having to cut himself, Harry knew it was necessary and it was only a small cut anyway. So, he took the dagger and small ball.

"Simply cut your finger and let a drop fall on the crystal. Then, drop the crystal into the sand," Isabella explained.

Harry nodded in understanding and quickly pulled the blade across his index finger with a wince. Blood immediately bubbled out of the cut and he squeezed a drop onto the ball before letting it roll out of his palm onto the sand. The clear ball quickly turned red and began to glow. Isabella cupped the stones in her hands and muttered something over them. She quickly pulled her hands apart and the stones began to fall only to stop before hitting the floor. They hovered over the sand, spreading out as though searching for somewhere to land. Isabella then took the dagger back and swiftly sliced her palm, pressing it to the sandy floor.

A white glow emanated from her palm and the sand began to sparkle as a white rope escaped from under her hand. It slithered across the sand and touched the red ball. It glowed brightly again and began rolling through the sand seemingly aimlessly, the white rope following its odd path. Every few seconds, the ball would pulse with light and one of the flat stones would come to rest in the sand in the spot, runes etching themselves into the stone's surface.

"A long line," Isabella said, her eyes following the ball and stones. "So much power and greatness, and...yes, such pure love."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling anxious and lost at the revelations. He wasn't sure he fit into such a bloodline and, while he knew his parents had loved him, he hadn't experienced any of that ‘pure love' since that Halloween night. He met Isabella's eyes when they rose to his, the woman smiling.

"You will see and you will have," she said, eyes flickering to Severus before lowering back to the sand and stones. She watched silently as several more stones settled on the floor, her gentle smile turning steadily into a confused frown. "The Master has cloaked them from Sight as well."

"Can you see anything?" Harry asked.

Isabella stared hard at a couple of stones whose surfaces were blurred instead of inscribed. "The shroud is strong. However, for all the Master's strength, he cannot cloak himself and his family to the same extent. I see a little girl with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows and a name...Aelina."

As soon as she said the name, the red ball pulsed brightly once more and fell dim, the red colour dissipating to leave a clear ball once again. Isabella sighed lightly and pulled her hand from the sand.

"I can see no more. The Master has hidden himself and his family well," she said regretfully.

"It is more than we had," Guinevere said optimistically. "We can search for a little girl named Aelina. I will speak to Arthur and the Knights."

As Guinevere spoke of the potential they had gained, Harry looked down at his wrist as his Hallow mark warmed and a whisper brushed his ear and the back of his mind.

"Come find me, Master of the Cloak."