I am in the eye of a hurricane of fire – an eye that will soon close.

   I let them go. I could have raised my wand and launched a spell, ripped the engine from the motorbike and sent them tumbling into the flames they created… but I did not.

   Instead I let them go. I let them fly to whatever freedom they dare to seek. I don’t know where they plan to go – and the more I think about it, the less I care.

   I stare into the fire and I wonder why. Does the law, something I grew up revering and trusting and fighting for… does it all mean nothing? Am I as bad as Parkinson, viewing the law with a cynical eye, using it for naught but exploitation?

   Or am I like my father, believing and enforcing a law that has only damned us?

   I hear a rumble around me – the Fiendfyre spell will collapse soon under the weight of the counterspell. My broom is gone – tossed aside when I dove into the eye of the inferno. The Anti-Apparition enchantments bar me from fleeing away.

   I have walked to my own gallows.

***

   “My future?” Harry asked with confusion, stepping away from the sphere and stumbling over the debris. “I… I don’t – what?”

   Cassane shook his head. “Come on.” He gestured for Harry to come closer. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”

   “Are we allowed to be here?” Harry demanded, pulling his robes tighter around him – the room really was freezing cold. “I mean, isn’t the Department of Mysteries off-limits?”

   “Not for me,” Cassane clarified, and for a half-second, Harry thought he could see a hint of a smile cross the man’s face. “Fudge gave me official permission to work here after the Azkaban attack and some arm-twisting, but I was already doing some things here from…” He paused with thought. “I think I first came down here during the Ministry attack, after I freed Remus and helped the Weasley twins trigger the goblin explosives.” He chuckled grimly. “Nobody even noticed I was gone.”

   Harry’s mind raced. “Okay… so you were down here working with Bode, getting the materials we needed for Hogwarts, the Ectoplasmic Harpoon and Projector.”

   “Good thinking, Harry,” Cassane said lightly, resuming his walk, Harry hastening to keep up. “And you’re mostly correct, too – I needed to make sure everything was in place once you started using them, and I must say this, they worked masterfully.”

   “So all the spirits, they’re all here?” Harry asked anxiously.

   “Yes, and well-contained.” Cassane gave Harry a nod of satisfaction. “In all honesty, I didn’t think it would work – I didn’t even think it was possible –” He coughed, and quickly cleared his throat. “But – but it was, and you can’t imagine how impressed I am.”

   “Well, thanks,” Harry replied awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. Something about the way Cassane was talking seemed a bit off… “So what now? I think Hogwarts is safe –”

   “Hogwarts will not come to harm, and I suspect the time distortion is gone as well,” Cassane said calmly. “Now granted, I’m not entirely certain of all of the variables, but here’s my theory.” He glanced at Harry. “Have you ever heard of the Muggle theory regarding travelling at the speed of light?”

   “Uh…”

   Cassane rolled his eyes. “Thought not. Basically, if one travels at the speed of light, to that person’s perception, time seems to stop. However, if we consider that something moving that fast must have an astronomical amount of energy, what would happen if the energy was bled away?”

   Harry frowned as he thought. “I… I guess that would mean that the person wouldn’t be travelling that fast anymore…”

   Cassane winced sympathetically. “Either that or mass would have to be removed, from what I understand. But that’s Muggle science, some of which even I barely understand, but I suspect the principles remain mostly the same. When the spirits were blasted out of Hogwarts by whatever you did and redirected here, their link to the time stop – already unstable due to your simulamancy and the sheer amount of time for which the school had been out of synch – was shattered, which explosively returned Hogwarts to the ‘regular’ time stream.” He sighed. “Granted, it’s just a theory, and not a good one at that, because I haven’t had a chance to take any data, but I believe Hogwarts has now reverted back to our time.”

   Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some sort of victory – about damn time. “It makes sense to me, if that means anything. Dumbledore said that the chamber where we took Nott down was ‘outside of time’ or something, and I…” He swallowed hard – he didn’t want to bring up what Su Li had told him, something about that whole encounter had just screamed unnatural. “I was told that ‘death was only a timeless instant, before the step onwards’. So maybe without the souls there, the integrity of the chamber collapsed – does that make any sense?”

   “Perhaps a bit,” Cassane replied with a shrug. “All I know is that whatever you did, you caused a bit of a mess down here. Every Time-Turner the Ministry keeps is in the Department of Mysteries, and they all split open. A bunch of these orbs,” he gestured to the glass balls lining the shelves, “broke open too – guess nobody’s going to know or care what those prophecies were saying.”

   He glanced at Harry. “But perhaps that’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

   Harry shifted, a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “I… I dunno, really. I mean, knowing what’s coming was kind of great, when I was facing Nott – I mean, I knew he couldn’t actually stop me, there was still parts of the simulamancy vision that hadn’t happened yet.”

   Cassane’s gaze hardened slightly. “Prefer to rely on destiny, then?”

   “In cases where I’m going to benefit from it,” Harry retorted, “I don’t see why not.”

   “So what about the prophecy where you are supposedly the only one who can kill Lord Voldemort?” Cassane asked with a twisted smirk. “The entire world benefits from that one.”

   “Oh, come on,” Harry replied with a snort, “you don’t even believe in that. Hell, you burst out laughing when I told you about it the first time, when I was trying to convince you to join our side!”

   “Because prophecies only have as much power as we choose to give them,” Cassane replied, unable to stop a small smile from crossing his lips. “Certainly Voldemort believes in it – hell, he stole it from this very Hall last August, because he wanted to know the whole truth. And more importantly, he has been relying on your belief in it as well.” Cassane’s smile faded as he looked away. “Because he knows if you are driven to the very edge by attacks on all sides – not attacks directly on you, but on your friends and those you love, that you’ll come for him unprepared, and he’ll strike you down.”

   Harry couldn’t help but feel a queasy feeling rising in his gut. “I… look, I’m not going to go hunting for Voldemort yet, I could barely take down Nott and that evil Slytherin spirit possessing him –”

   “Nott chose to be possessed himself?” Cassane interrupted, his eyes lighting up with interest. “That sounds… well, insane.”

   “Yeah, it was,” Harry replied with a shudder. “It was some insane evil witch, she transformed Nott into some blend of the two of them, and it was creepy as hell. She had been the one to possess Luna, and she spoke Parseltongue –”

   Cassane stiffened. “Did she, now?”

  “Yeah…” Harry’s voice trailed off. “Do you have any idea who she might have been?”

   “A witch that appeared twice in the ‘life cycle’, was a Slytherin, spoke Parseltongue, and behaved like a demon from Hell itself?” Cassane shook his head bitterly. “From the description, it sounds like one Clare Peverell, former student and Professor at Hogwarts from the eighteenth century. A bit of an infamous tale, too.”

   “Why?”

   “Because the Headmistress burnt her at the stake on Hogwarts grounds.”

   Harry stopped cold. “What?”

   “And if the story is true,” Cassane continued grimly, “she felt every second of the flames. No Flame-Freezing Charm, this witch burned by the same Fiendfyre she was teaching her students to use.”

   “She taught Defense Against The Dark Arts, didn’t she?” Harry murmured.

   Cassane snorted. “Of course she did. The interesting thing about Miss Peverell is that apparently she also disappeared for almost a whole year at Hogwarts, during a Triwizard Tournament that was being hosted there. She had been selected as a champion, and in the Third Task, she just vanished.” Cassane frowned. “If she had died, it would explain why she attacked you twice, but one must wonder how she would have come back…”

   “Maybe she used some twisted form of simulamancy,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “Her ghost knew what it was – and if she was really as evil as you say, it might explain why there were no records of it anywhere.”

   “Maybe,” Cassane muttered, and it was clear from his expression that he didn’t quite buy that explanation. “The Peverells have always had a nasty habit of meddling with Death, though, so you have to wonder…”

  He sniffed, his voice dropping lower. “And they’re not the only ones…”

  ...while the abomination may have been driven back, the true crime has not been solved…

  Harry froze in mid-step.

   “Something wrong?”

   Harry shook his head. My own mind is playing tricks on me – it doesn’t help this place is dark and creepy as hell… “Nothing, I’m just scaring myself.”

   Cassane cocked an eyebrow. “Well, don’t do that.”

   “And I can’t help but feel like someone’s watching me down here,” Harry continued, trying to keep his voice even as he glanced down the dark aisles.

   Cassane smiled approvingly. “Well done, Harry. It’s because somebody is watching you, albeit magically through a scrying spell. Fine job noticing it, by the way, most wouldn’t. And it’s Miss Delacour, to be precise.”

   Harry’s mouth fell open. Fleur’s here? “Are you… so you’re telling me instead of her vanishing or going back to France, she’s been –”

   “Working for me, yes,” Cassane replied primly, his smile growing.

   “But why?” Harry demanded. “If she’s been here the whole time, why didn’t you tell me –”

   “Because it wasn’t relevant,” the older man replied simply. “As for why she was working for me… well, let me just say it was a necessary contingency plan, considering the maw of the Ministry was closing in on her. Scrimgeour had long suspected she was up to something, and instead of going to the French Ambassador, who was confined within the Ministry along with the rest of the international delegates and journalists, she came to me instead for asylum.” Cassane’s smile tightened. “And a good thing she did – if she had gone to the ambassador, she likely would have been dead.”

   “But why work for you?” Harry asked with growing bewilderment.

   “Because I pay well, offer good benefits, and excellent protection?” Cassane replied with a wink at Harry. “Don’t worry, I’ve kept her well out of danger – in fact, until very recently, I needed to make sure she remained quite safe.” He let out a long breath. “Granted, the girl does have an impulsive streak – I was nearly scared half to death when I thought I saw her in the Department of Magical Finance in January.”

   “You were there?”

   “I had a meeting with O’Sanden, to iron out some transfers, make sure my gold was in the right places,” Cassane replied coolly. “I didn’t expect to see ‘Miss Delacour’ there with you, Skeeter, and that insane Hit Wizard Kemester. It wasn’t until later that I spoke with Miss Delacour and determined it was Tonks there instead.” He snorted. “And frankly, I should have known better. I panicked for no good reason, but seeing Skeeter there was unnerving. That bloody woman is useful, but she has a terrible habit of poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m not surprised Greyback burned down her apartment and Parkinson tried to have her killed at Bonaccord Hall.” Cassane’s eyes hardened. “But rest assured, had she betrayed me, I wouldn’t have been kind.”

   Harry took a deep breath as he tried to process everything that Cassane had told him. It was a lot to take in, and he didn’t really know what question to ask next. He guessed he’d have a lot of time – wherever they were going, they weren’t getting there very fast – the Hall of Prophecy seemed to go on forever.

   “So this… this is the Department of Mysteries,” he began hesitantly.

   Cassane nodded. “Quite something, isn’t it?”

   “What have you been working on down here?” Harry asked, glancing at the shelves of prophecies. “It can’t just be the spirit problem at Hogwarts, if you’ve been down here since the Ministry attack.”

   Cassane took a deep breath. “It… it’s not an easy thing to explain, Harry. It’s rather complex.”

   “We just talked about magical relationships between time, space, and death,” Harry argued exasperatedly. “I think I can handle it.”

   “It’s not just the complexity,” Cassane said softly, closing his eyes. “I… I am not proud of everything I have done here – the sort of magic I have chosen to work with is not that which can be easily explained – or justified. That’s why I’ve chosen to do my work here, away from prying eyes.”

   Harry thought of Su, and swallowed hard. “Believe me, I get it.”

   Cassane’s hand trembled, and Harry could tell the older man was struggling to maintain his composure. “No,” he murmured, “no… you really, really don’t.”

   “Nathan, I’ve seen the memories,” Harry said, trying to sound kind instead of frustrated and impatient. “Look, I saw what happened to your wife and daughter, and… and I saw Snape’s memories too, I know what happened with the group and my parents and… I just want to say I understand.”

   Cassane took a deep breath, and he met Harry’s eyes. “Harry, I cannot promise that you will not hate me or wish me dead before I am finished.”

   “Well, I’ll decide that,” Harry replied firmly.

   “Very… very well,” Cassane replied. The wizard set his jaw, and they continued walking.

   “This story… no, this explanation… it begins and ends with my cowardice.”

***

   I can see the serpents, the manticores and dragons.

   I can see them lurking in the inferno as the circle of protective magic begins to crumble. I can see their hunger for the man standing beyond their reach, the man who voluntarily dove into the maw of the demon.

   But this hopeless time, unlike Azkaban, I don’t feel anger or hatred or fear or indignity. For I have chosen this path, this suicidal swan dive.

   Does it make me insane?

   No, I think, shaking my head slowly. I am not insane. I have not lost my mind or rationality – and at the same time, I have not lost my emotions either. I am still a man.

   A bitter, damaged, husk of a man, but a man just the same.

   So am I suicidal?

   It seems more likely. The feeling of despair is hard to argue with, and reflecting upon the past months, it is hard to see my value. I have been neither protagonist nor antagonist – just an irritant, clawing his way to the truth.

   A truth I haven’t found. The truth I long held has proven to be nothing but hollow – and one must question what I have done, whether or not my mission, my goals, my very existence…

  Whether it mattered. Whether it had meaning, or was just pointless drivel.

   So perhaps I am suicidal… but I’ve always lived with the maxim that suicide is the coward’s way out.

   So am I a coward?

   This I know. This, a truth I can state unequivocally, is something I can cling to.

   For I stand inside a ring of hell, and I am not afraid. I do not fear what comes ahead. I do not fear the pain. I do not fear the coming darkness.

   After everything I’ve seen, after everything I’ve done, after everything I’ve felt and experienced…

   When your life is a living hell, you cannot fear death. And it takes a brave man to set aside that fear of the unknown and face the inevitable choice to step towards eternity.

   I do not fear death.

   I am not a coward.

***

   “Let me begin with a question that might seem callous,” Cassane said slowly, taking a deep breath. “Harry, do you remember your parents?”

   Harry blinked. “Well… outside of your memories and Snape’s memories and…”

   His voice trailed off as he remembered the clamminess, the chill through his body at their approach…

   “And what?”

   “I used to hear my mum and dad,” Harry said, his voice very quiet, “when the Dementors got close, before I could use the Patronus Charm. I used to hear Voldemort coming to kill them.”

   There was silence for a long few seconds, and then Harry felt Cassane’s hesitant hand on his shoulder.

   “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” the older man said softly. “I’m sorry.”

   “Is it relevant?” Harry demanded, unable to keep the anger leaking into his voice.

   “It is, but not exactly in the way you might think,” Cassane replied, and it seemed to Harry that the man was carefully weighing every word. “You see, I knew Lily and James – James more, simply because I knew his father and I saw him grow up.” Cassane shook his head as a wistful smile touched his lips. “You have no idea how much you’re like him, Harry… no idea…”

   “Everyone says that.”

   “But let me ask,” Cassane continued, “a slightly more… awkward question, if you will indulge me: do you think you ever knew Lily or James?”

   Harry frowned. “I… well, they were my mum and dad, and I saw the memories –”

   “A shade different, I’m afraid,” Cassane interrupted, his voice both kind and reproving. “You know them through the perspective of others, from who they were from another point of view. You know as well as anyone that such points of views can be biased simply by the environment in which you see them.”

   “Okay, but even still, I think I can get the fair gist of who they were from that!” Harry argued indignantly. “You can’t see that much bias in memory, particularly not from a Pensieve –”

   But Cassane was shaking his head. “But even with that, Harry, and even with the empathy I know you have… even though I know you can empathize with them, seeing how they lived and what they experienced… it’s a photograph, Harry. It’s an image outside of time. You might as well just be reading a book or watching a Muggle film.”

   “That doesn’t make the emotions any less valid!”

   “True, but it does make the emotions less…” Cassane blinked twice and glanced away, and Harry could see that the man was struggling to hold onto his composure. “I’m sorry, Harry – old memories…”

  Harry took a deep breath – he knew that it was only one thing that would make Cassane lose his composure like this. “This… this is about Cassandra and Phoebe, right?”

   Cassane nodded quietly.

   “You… you still miss them?” Harry asked.

   “You can’t imagine,” Cassane whispered, “what it was like…”

   “Yes, I can,” Harry said quickly, trying to keep his voice sympathetic. “Look, I… I remember when Voldemort killed Cedric Diggory last year – I… it was hard, it was horrible, knowing that he was gone –”

   “I held her body in my arms,” Cassane said quietly. “Both of them. You saw it – you saw me go to the ruined house. You saw me collapse in the ashes, holding onto them desperately, praying to every god I never believed in that they would come back, that somehow they would come back…”

   And even despite the fact it wasn’t his memory, Harry could see it clearly in his mind…

   "It was quick," Dolohov replied quietly. "She asked for it... in the end."

   "Why didn't you try and save her?" Cassane screamed, his entire body shaking with emotion as he tore his gloves off and pulled his wand free. "Why did you let this happen? Why –”

  "REGINA'S DEAD!"

   The words stopped Cassane in a second, and his mouth fell open. "But..."

   "What happened to protecting her, Nathan?" Dolohov roared, his own eyes wild with sorrow and fury, mirroring Cassane's. "What happened? Instead, she's fucking dead! The Ministry came for her just like they came for me, and she fought and... and –"

   "Antonin, I didn't know – it doesn't mean y-you should –"

   "WHY NOT?" Dolohov yelled, yanking his hood back. "It's always been them! It's always been the rest of the world that ruins people like us! And no matter how fucking hard we try and save them, they piss all over it and ruin our lives! EVERY-FUCKING-TIME! SO FUCK IT! I'M DONE!"

   Dolohov's words were ragged, as if they were ripped straight from his throat, but he didn't say a word until Cassane stood.

   "I'm not gonna kill you, Nathan – not today. He wants you to live, you know." Dolohov blinked twice and ran a hand across his eyes. "He wants you to become like me."

   "I'll never join him," Cassane whispered hoarsely.

   Dolohov shook his head sadly as he picked up a battered broom leaning against the ruined wall. "Nathan... in his books, you already have. It's all part of the plan... he said one dead wife deserves another... but he's already won. I'm just there because there are people that need to die and meet their justly deserved hell – you know, the one we were already going to."

   "You could have saved her," Cassane whispered.

   "I did," Dolohov replied quietly as he mounted the broom, "and I only wish I could save you too. Save yourself, Nathan – please."

   And now Cassane’s voice was dark, deep and hoarse as old memories surged to the surface. “But there was no peace… not for him, and not for me. I knew it wasn’t him who was responsible for this. I knew the man – no, not a man, but a craven wretch of a creature that didn’t dare face me in person, but chose to strike at me through those I loved most. And the worst part of all was that he knew it would work. He knew I would be driven to rage and further, that I would stop at nothing to utterly destroy him and everything he stood for.”

   Harry blinked, the memory of Hermione’s terrified face as he clasped her torn robes around her and ran vivid in his mind. “I know…”

   “I told you a few times, Harry, that I don’t remember those days,” Cassane said grimly, “and for the most part, that is true. I do not remember the days.” He closed his eyes, his face contorting into a snarl. “No, I remember the panicking, horrified faces. I remember the terrified screams, the sprays of blood across the wallpaper, the skeletons charred into ash, the houses erupting in flames. I remember standing with Crouch as he authorized the Unforgivable Curses to be used against Voldemort’s army. I remember looking into Dumbledore’s eyes and telling him the most recent body count as my team killed everything and anything in their path.” Cassane’s hand clenched into a fist. “And I don’t remember a single moment of regret.

   “But there, I think, came the first indications of my cowardice – because I was simply content to avenge. I didn’t want to settle my debts. I didn’t want to go for the source, call Voldemort out, earn that moment of glory as my team and I ripped him and his pack of wild dogs to bloody smears on the pavement.” He shook his head scornfully. “And at the beginning, it was before the prophecy – there was no fate sealing Voldemort’s fate away from me. Between my team, if we had made a full assault…” Cassane’s gaze hardened to ice. “We could have killed him. I know we could have.

   “But I didn’t. I was content slaughtering his men, his informants, his contacts, all of their families, purging every stain of the Dark Mark with Dark magic of my own. I dragged my team into the depths with me… your father, your mother, Sirius… we killed so many.” Cassane glanced at Harry. “They feared us as much as they feared the Death Eaters, Harry.”

   Harry didn’t have words for that – what could he possibly say? What could he –

   “I don’t remember the night when I was attacked,” Cassane muttered, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I remember pain and a blue light… I remember a feeling alien to me – it was grief, but on a level that was beyond the human mind’s ability to grasp or control, as if I was feeling the guilt for every possible sin I committed and more… and I remember thrashing around in this ocean of despair, reflected on all sides by a tortured hall of windows reflecting every blood-drenched moment…”

   Cassane shook his head. “In the end, it reflected the scope of my life, and rendered it utterly meaningless.”

   “That was the spell Snape cast,” Harry said bracingly, “and… look, you weren’t a coward – it doesn’t make sense for you all to attempt to kill Voldemort, not without backup or a special weapon or Dumbledore –”

   “And yet we didn’t seek any of those things,” Cassane interrupted harshly. “But I feel you might have missed the point, Harry. In choosing not to face Voldemort, we were not cowards because of the possibility of loss.”

   Both of Cassane’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists now. “No, it was because of the possibility we might have won.”

   Harry froze in mid-step. What the –

   “But what I remember most clearly,” Cassane continued, his voice very low, “was not the bloody display of those months, but rather the moment of awakening – months after Voldemort had vanished.”

   This time, the darkness faded from his expression, but the anger remained. “I remember waking up in a private ward – my contributions to St. Mungo’s had assured the very best. I remember…” He let out a mirthless laugh. “What I remember most was the curtains.”

   “The curtains?”

   “They were white linen,” Cassane said, shaking his head. “Very fine linen too – beautiful, hand-woven cloth, created completely without magic. The light poured through those curtains, and even though the sky was overcast that day, I could see the sun.

   “And sitting in a conjured armchair, next to those curtains, was Dumbledore.”

   Harry closed his eyes, his own imagination drifting as he tried to put an image to what Cassane was saying…

   “…Albus?” Cassane whispered, weakly sitting up in bed, his face hollow and wasted from the years of the coma. His muscles hadn’t atrophied – the Healers had seen to that – but he was far thinner, and the hospital robes hung on bony arms. “What are you… where –”

   “It’s been a long time, Nathan,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm, but he could tell there was steel in every word. “How are you feeling?”

   “What are… how long have I been out?’

   “It is early January,” Dumbledore replied, glancing back out the window. “1982.”

   Cassane’s mouth fell open with shock. “But… but – I’ve been out for –”

   “Almost two years.” Dumbledore rose from his chair, which vanished beneath him as he approached the bed. “You had an extreme nervous breakdown, triggered by a spell that rendered you catatonic. It has only been recently that we’ve managed to revive you.”

   Cassane was struggling to sit up, but Dumbledore placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and eased him back down.

   “You’re still quite weak, you might need –”

   “Where’s Lily and James?” Cassane asked wildly. “Where’s Sirius, where – where is everybody? And what about Voldemort, is he –”

   Dumbledore raised a hand, his expression grave.

   “Are you sure that you feel up to hearing all of it?”

   The colour drained from Cassane’s face. “What happened? Are the Potters safe, what did –”

   “But even as Dumbledore sat down next to my bed,” Cassane said, his voice abruptly dropping and snapping Harry back to the present, “I knew that something had gone horribly wrong. I just didn’t know what –”

   His voice broke, and he hastily looked away.

   “And then he told me everything,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “He told me how Voldemort had fallen. He told me how the Death Eaters had been rounded up, some escaping. I remember feeling a bizarre sense of pride as he told me that it had taken five Aurors before Alastor to finally take Antonin down. I remember a feeling of helpless rage as he told me about Sirius’ ‘betrayal’. I remember a feeling of sheer confusion when I heard that Claudius Kemester had been arrested and jailed as a Death Eater sympathizer.

   “And I remember grief,” Cassane said, his voice breaking, “when Dumbledore told me that Lily and James were… were gone. And all at once, I remembered that I was alone as well – because Cassandra and Phoebe… they were gone too. All of my life before the coma was effectively wiped away.”

   Cassane let out a bitter laugh. “And of course, everyone forgot everything I did. There were no charges, no public condemnation, no scathing articles from Rita Skeeter shredding my career like with Crouch. I have to wonder why nothing ever came to light – perhaps it was simply the Ministry sweeping their uglier complicities under the rug, like they did with so many other casualties of that war…

   “But one person remembered.” Cassane’s eyes hardened again. “Dumbledore remembered everything. And even as he told me, reminding me of everything I had lost, everything I had sacrificed, I could see the coolness in his eyes, the disapproving detachment, the disappointment. There was some sympathy, but beneath it was something else. Not that I had gotten what I deserved – not even Dumbledore’s that cruel – but rather that I symbolized everything that disgusted him about the war.” He sniffed with disgust. “Maybe he considered me a disappointment – but I don’t know, I didn’t stay around long enough to care.”

   This time, the memory leapt straight to Harry’s mind – he already knew where Cassane had gone.

   Cassane shook his head wistfully as he looked up at the map. "Do you see the little flags on the map?"
   "I do."
   "Each flag represents a place I have been, and where I have seen something beautiful – magical or not." Cassane looked away from Harry for a second, and Harry felt a lump building in the back of my throat. "Some I can return to see again, others were naught but for an instant. So let me ask you this, Miss Desdame: I have spent my life seeking the last fragments of beauty in this world, whether they are in the distant tombs or the highest mountains, so why would I care about such a case, bereft of light and a belief in good?"

   “You went looking for beauty,” Harry said numbly, a chill running down his spine.

   “To the most distant edges of the earth, I travelled,” Cassane murmured, glancing off into the distance. “I climbed mountains, I trudged through jungles, I strode through fields, I walked on glaciers. I stood on the Great Wall of China, at the apex of a Giza pyramid, in the Times Square of New York City, and at the North Pole, the very top of the world.” He looked back at Harry. “I went seeking beauty in anything and everything – something I could love, something I could hold onto. Something I could use to forget my loss, forget their faces…”

   His fist loosened, and he put a hand to his eyes. “I… I could still see them, Harry. I could see them screaming for me, the memory ringing in my ears everywhere I walked. I tried to get swept away, but the memories were anchors, holding me fast. But yet whenever I returned to my manor and tried to remove the memories from my mind… I found that I couldn’t. I needed that pain, that memory, to push away the growing numbness, the feeling that I was a thing of another time, that I was never to be remembered, that everything I had done meant nothing.

   “Now you see my cowardice, Harry.” Cassane shook his head. “If we had chosen to make the attempt to kill Voldemort, and had we succeeded… I would have lost it. I would not have had peace – I would have killed just a facsimile of my grief and guilt. There would have been no closure. I would been forced to reconcile a horrible thing.”

   “What?” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper.

   “That there was nothing I could have done to save them,” Cassane whispered, and Harry felt a pang in his gut as he saw a slow tear trickle down the older man’s face. “That no matter what I had done, no matter who I had fought, there was nothing I could have done to save my wife and daughter. That I would have had to reconcile the fact that their lives were stolen from me not by some failing of mine, but by the sheer capriciousness of Fate and Death. That I was not responsible.

   “But I refused to acknowledge it. And when I woke and the war was over, and that I had not only lost more, but that I had lost my chance at vengeance…” Cassane closed his eyes. “I resented you, Harry. I hated the Boy-Who-Lived. For you had stolen that chance from me.”

   Harry felt a tremor of unease. “Nathan, what could you have –”

   “I could have been better!” Cassane snarled, his face suddenly twisting with rage as he rounded on Harry. “I could have smarter, stronger, more informed, more prepared, more powerful! With all of the power that I had, with everything that I had learned and accomplished – no, I don’t fucking believe that there was nothing I could do! I don’t believe in ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’! I don’t believe in ‘prophecy’ – these are concepts invented by men, Harry Potter! Men who do not have the courage to admit they have failed, admit that their lives are more than just cosmic playthings for some omniscient god! Saying that I could not have found a way…”

   His voice trailed off as he looked away, fighting to regain his composure.

   “No,” he whispered, “I couldn’t accept – I can’t accept – that I was helpless, that I could have only done nothing. Perhaps that is the root of my cowardice – refusing to accept what many would see as such a simple fact to take the worry from my mind. Man is not a helpless pawn, Harry – we never have been, and we never shall be. And things that happen seemingly beyond control – no, a loss of control is a bad excuse for failure. We live in a world of spells, time travel, and magic beyond our wildest dreams. You’ve seen it, Harry – with all of these possibilities, how could I simply accept that they were gone?

   “But I think some weaker part of my mind thought that if I could just forget,” Cassane said, his voice suddenly trembling, “if I could just put their faces out of my mind… that life would go on, as it had before… that I could be the man I once was, that I could regain my honour, my life, my soul…

   “And then I found it.”

   Harry took a deep breath and tried to shove back his frayed nerves – it had gotten more than a little unnerving. “Found… found what, exactly?”

   “It had been a rumour,” Cassane said, his tone beginning to quicken. “Something I had found in an old tomb across the world – a legend that there… that there was a way that I… I could see them again. That I could eradicate my mistakes, that I could have it all back again, that I could start over!

   “So I did my research, and I tracked it all back here – to London.” Cassane tapped his foot on the floor. “More specifically, this very Department. So I began digging, and before my efforts stalled against the Ministry’s bureaucracy, I discovered it.”

   “‘It’?” Harry asked with confusion. “What? What is it?”

   “A project the Department of Mysteries had pursued since its inception,” Cassane whispered, his eyes burning with a sudden manic energy. “A project the Ministry had poured untold amounts of gold into researching, a project with untold potential – a project that had been kept very, very quiet for a long time.”

   “How did you find out about it?” Harry asked curiously. “I mean, if it was so secret –”

   “I looked in the right places,” Cassane replied softly. “And as good as the Ministry is… well, they can’t hide everything. Ah, here we are.”

   Harry looked up, and saw a black door set against the wall. “Is that where –”

   “I want to show you, Harry,” Cassane said urgently. “I want you to see.”

   The door opened with a prod of Cassane’s wand, and Harry couldn’t help but open his mouth with wonder as they stepped into a beautiful rectangular room. There were clocks of every description on the walls, and a beautiful sparkling bell jar with a flower growing inside to maturity before withering.

   But everything in the room wasn’t perfect. In the far corner there was a stack of hourglasses that Harry immediately recognized as Time-Turners – but every single hourglass was cracked, the sand pooling on the floor.

   “Your magic really did a number here,” Cassane said briskly, quickly crossing the room and opening the next door. “Come on, Harry, not much further.”

   They stepped into a circular chamber, and the second Cassane closed the door, he tapped it twice with his wand. Immediately a series of blue-white runes sprayed over the door, gleaming brilliantly in the dim candlelight.

   “What was that –”
   “Shh,” Cassane whispered, taking a hold of Harry’s arm, “and watch.” And before Harry’s unbelieving eyes, the walls and doors around him began to spin!

   A few minutes later, the spinning stopped, but the brilliant runes remained on the door. Cassane nodded with satisfaction, and then approached the second door from their entrance.

   “Come in, Harry – I want you to see this.”

   The air in the new room was still, and very cold. It was large, and looked a bit like one of the Ministry courtrooms, but that was where the similarities ended. There had once been what looked like benches lining the room, but they had been ripped out and replaced with strange clockwork mechanisms that whirred and sparked. A few even looked like modern Muggle technology, with screens that displayed hazy, flickering images and streams of symbols and numbers.

   And in the center of the room was a sunken pit of grey-black stone, about twenty feet deep. Steep, crumbling steps, criss-crossed with copper wires and glowing blue streams that Harry guessed were some form of a magical conduit, rose out of the pit to a dais, and Harry immediately thought of the last dais he had seen in the sphere.

   But this dais was very different. On it was an archway of unhewn stone, and between the arch was a faded, tattered veil, fluttering slightly as if a chill wind was blowing past it. But despite the lack of carving, the archway still was covered in artifice. Whirring gears, spooling wires, and sparking mechanisms crawled up the stone like veins on an arm, climbing to the very top, where a massive orb of glass hung suspended over the arch. The orb, supported by chains and metal grips, glowed brightly with a sickly grey light, and Harry felt a peculiar feeling of foreboding as his gaze drifted downwards.

   For jammed into the base of the dais, hard enough to split the rock in two, was another Ectoplasmic Projector.

   Harry closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. It didn’t help that he could swear that he was hearing voices whispering. And it doesn’t sound like Fleur –

   “Do you hear that?”

   “Them, Harry,” Cassane corrected gently, proceeding down the steps towards the pit, effortlessly stepping over the wires and magical connections. “And if all of this wasn’t here, you’d still hear them beyond that brink.”

   “It’s coming from beyond the veil –”

   “Not just from there,” Cassane said, pointing upwards. “The orb as well. If you look a little closer, you can see them all.”

   Harry stepped a bit closer and squinted up at the orb – and nearly stepped back as he saw a ghostly face slam itself against the crystal, its mouth open and screaming with unbridled rage –

   “They are the spectres of Hogwarts, Harry,” Cassane said in a low voice. “Trapped and tormented, bound by the enchantments the Founders locked over Hogwarts like a vice for a thousand years. Prevented from going on because a fear that they might decide their business was unfinished. They have suffered a millennium, Harry – and thanks to you, I finally have what I need to set them free.”

   The old wizard glanced down from the orb and fixed Harry with a wistful glance. “And perhaps – just perhaps – I can regain everything I’ve lost. This barrier, Harry… the Ministry’s been studying it for years. Anything that goes through never returns – but until now, nobody has ever succeeded in bringing anything back.”

   Harry paused. “What do you mean, bring anything back?” His mind suddenly jumped to a thought – a horrible, yet strangely compelling thought. He can’t possibly mean – but if he does – “You don’t mean –”

   “Yes, Harry,” Cassane said softly.

   Harry’s mouth fell open again. It’s not possible.

   “A soul, Harry, has energy beyond either of our wildest dreams – and there are thousands of souls in that orb,” Cassane exclaimed, jumping down from the dais and approaching Harry. “Thousands! With that much energy, that much power, the veil can be sundered in two, letting out a long psychic call across the mists of eternity.” His eyes softened. “And I… I know who I’m calling. Can’t you imagine, Harry – the chance to bring any of them back –”

   He could imagine. His father and mother’s faces swam into his vision, and he felt the rush of longing surge through him – the chance to have a normal family, a desperate hope for something that he had only dared to dream when staring into the Mirror of Erised…

   And then it happened.

   It wasn’t quite doubt, but the thought of the Mirror brought something to mind that raised the question to his lips before any other.

   “How did you do it?”

   Cassane seemed to be expecting the question, and closed his eyes. “The Ministry’s been working on this research for years –”

   “But all of this?” Harry exclaimed, raising his hands and gesturing wildly at the fantastic devices around him. “This… you couldn’t have done all of this in a few months without help, not with everything else going on!”

   “Very true,” Cassane conceded, his voice slowing, weighing every word, “but then again, you saw some of the machinery in my home when you visited me the first time in that body, inquiring about vampires.”

   "Well, take a seat, Harry," Cassane said, nudging aside a few books with his foot into a corner of the room. "Mind the oscilloscopes and radiance coils on the chairs over there – they tend to spark more than they should, and I haven't had a chance to fully adjust them."

   "Right," Harry said nervously, stepping away from the strange equipment and taking a seat in one of the few open chairs in the room. It creaked comfortably under his weight, but Harry didn't notice. He was watching Cassane, who had drawn his wand and was sending a score of brass mechanisms whizzing into the air to rotate around the room.

   "I apologize for the mess," Cassane replied with a hint of a shrug, taking a seat in a massive leather armchair next to the fireplace. "I haven't had much of an opportunity to clean since I got back from my last trip. I only returned for the vote, as a matter of fact. I haven't even had time to get those installed properly." He pointed at the electrical equipment, which sparked threateningly at him, the screens flickering to life for a brief second before shutting off.

   "I thought Muggle electronics don't work where there's a lot of magic," Harry said slowly.

   "And so they don't – not usually, anyways," Cassane finished with a grin as he waved his wand again. A few glasses zoomed out of a small concealed cupboard, along with a rather dusty bottle. "But, from time to time, wizards try to make them work. From everything I've heard, Arthur Weasley is notorious for it. The funny thing is, a group of American wizards down in Texas have made remarkable progress." He laughed once, the deep sound filling the room. "A pity the rest of their fragmented wizarding society will never be able to utilize it."

   The uneasy feeling in Harry’s gut only grew stronger. “But that doesn’t… why would you have them, you couldn’t have known about the attacks yet – you couldn’t have known that you’d be able to power this thing…”

   The chain of logic in his mind reached its conclusion – a conclusion he couldn’t quite even believe. It’s not possible… it’s just not bloody possible…

   Cassane stepped closer, and slowly placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I… while I knew you didn’t know everything, I thought I had given enough of the pieces away. Even the night before you consummated your relationship with Tonks, I thought I had given you the hint…”

   "You have something special with Miss Tonks there, I think," Cassane continued, his eyes strangely moistening. "Reminds me a bit... a bit of what I used to have with my wife, a long time ago."

   Harry felt a bit of a lump forming in the back of his throat. "I'm sorry, Nathan – I really am."
   "You know... once you lose someone like that... she's gone, forever, and you'll never replace her." Cassane took a great, shuddering breath as he continued, a strange note in his voice. "Harry, I'd do anything to bring her and my daughter back – my family. That kind of beauty... you can spend your whole life searching and never find it again. No matter what you do..."

   He shook his head, and turned back to Harry. "You should go. Be careful, and keep in mind that what you're doing... well, you're making it clear who you can't afford to lose."

   "I think Tonks know that," Harry said quietly, "and she's accepted it."

   The smile returned to Cassane's face. "Yes, I know. Go ahead, then – you've earned this."

   Harry nodded quickly and left the room, the back of his mind pondering the strange note in Cassane's voice – like he was trying to send a message to Harry, a cry for help...

   “Part of me that night wanted to say everything,” Cassane whispered, his voice breaking. “I wanted to scream it, shake you, tell you what I had done and give you the chance to stop everything before it was far too late… but every other part of my mind told me to stop. I couldn’t compromise any more, I couldn’t throw it all away, everything I had fought for and sacrificed – I couldn’t do it, Harry, I couldn’t.”

   “This isn’t happening,” Harry said, not knowing whether to go for his wand or run for his life. “This… this can’t be happening –”

   “Do you want to know why Voldemort chose not to attack anyone the first month he had returned?” Cassane asked softly. “He made two plans, Harry. The first was to retrieve the prophecy connecting the two of you.”

   He let go of Harry’s shoulder and turned away. “And the second was to approach me.”

   Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No, this isn’t happening – not this way –

   “He came to the manor in the middle of the night, alone,” Cassane said, beginning to walk back towards the archway. “He knocked on the door, and asked to be let inside. I went for my wand, and I nearly threw the Killing Curse, but he said he was not here to fight, but to make a bargain.”

   “No…”

   “I could have killed him,” Cassane continued, his hand sliding across the stone of the dais, “but his words slithered into my ears. He said he knew my pain, and even though I knew the words were a lie, I kept listening. He said he wanted to make amends, give me… reparations.”

   Harry’s hand dropped towards his wand in his pocket.

   “I told him there was nothing he could do to counter the lives he took, but he offered me a bargain. He said there was a way – a chance to bring them back – but he would need the spectres of Hogwarts, the damned ghosts, and he knew how to get them out. He would have agents at Hogwarts that would act, and when Dumbledore’s forces rose to stop them, I would allow myself to be coerced into service, giving them all the tools they’d need to funnel the spirits here…

   “And at that second, I knew he had an ulterior motive.” Cassane’s face twisted into a disgusted smile. “No, I knew Voldemort had a plan for these spirits, some corrupt ritual that would probably wreak havoc upon our world, but I knew I could be faster – I could earn my revenge against him, double-cross him… but I would have to play along.”

   Harry felt the holly wood of the wand beneath his fingers – he wasn’t sure what he should do, but he needed to do something –

   “And every part of my mind, my conscience, my moral fibre screamed for me to turn away,” Cassane said quietly, his hand rising to his temple. “But Voldemort had offered me something I could not resist – a chance, a desperate hope, the slim plea that fills every prayer – the possibility that my mistakes could be amended. That I could bring them back.”

   I can’t take him by myself, Harry thought, his mind racing. He’s way too good – and he doesn’t believe in prophecy, so he might just kill me if I try something –

   “And so I asked Voldemort how he could accomplish such a feat, and he told me about an archway in the Department of Mysteries that he had learned about from his pet Unspeakable years earlier –”

   Rookwood, Harry thought with a horrible pang. What else did the Death Eater tell him about this place?

   “–So I would need to get down here,” Cassane said, running his hand across the jagged rock of the dais. “In a later meeting, he told me that when he broke in to steal the prophecy, he discovered the man running this research – a man named Laertes Rawling.”

***

   It is hard not to think that my life has meant nothing.

   I stand alone in a shrinking circle of flames, and I wonder what I could have done to make something of my life. Had I solved the tangled web of mysteries, would my accomplishments have meant anything?

   Or will it be forgotten, like the rest of them?

   Will my death be ignored? Will I end up in the silent, unmarked graves, of the Hit Wizards and Aurors who gave their lives in the last war to earn whatever paltry scraps of freedom we’ve clung to? Graves that go unvisited – alone in the darkness of the night.

   Or will I even have a grave? Will I be like Leon Sanders, his grave the shattered scattering of rock where Azkaban once pieced the darkened, cloudy skies? Will anyone care that Dmitri Kemester, son of Claudius Kemester, has passed beyond this world?

   Is it pertinent that I wonder about my grave, how I shall be remembered, or is it merely fantasy? Does legacy matter beyond a few trite statements and liquor poured out on a pavement stone?

   Or am I to die forgotten, like the mysteries left unsolved, the truths left untold, the questions left unanswered?

***

   “He told me Rawling had sympathies with Dumbledore,” Cassane continued softly, “but that he would take care of the removal. After all, he had a sleeper agent within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement named Reed Larshall…”

   “Kemester’s partner,” Harry said aloud, his voice echoing in the dim chamber.

   “Yes,” Cassane replied, glancing back at Harry. “Although Kemester’s actions never really drew me in – I didn’t even recognize him under the scars at the Department of Magical Finance – if you hadn’t mauled him so efficiently, he would have looked just like his father –”

   Harry struggled to think – it still didn’t make sense! How the hell could Cassane…

   “Wait,” he asked, his mind jumping to the first thing he could string together. “That first time we met – Voldemort attacked you, I was there!”

   “And yet he dealt no damage to my manor and took nothing,” Cassane replied simply. “You and I, we both managed to escape easily – after all, Voldemort needed you alive to stop the spirits at Hogwarts, but they had to make it look convincing.”

   “Voldemort wanted… he wanted me to trust you!” Harry accused, his hand gripping on his wand, but he didn’t draw it quite yet. “That’s what he wanted –”

   “No, that was me,” Cassane interrupted, and Harry was a little shocked by the genuine hurt in the man’s eyes. “I saw so much of your father – no, not even that, I saw so much of myself. I knew the whole time what Voldemort was doing, what he was planning to do… and even though I knew that he would try to hurt you the same way he attacked me, there was a chance that you were stronger, that you wouldn’t make the same mistakes...”

   Harry racked his brain – pieces were still out of order, things still didn’t quite make sense –

   “The Ministry attacks,” he blurted.

   “Both a distraction for my work, and a way to hurt the Ministry,” Cassane replied. His eyes narrowed. “And of all of my crimes, that is not one I regret.”

   “People died –”

   “Not nearly as many as there could have been,” Cassane retorted coolly. “The attack was very early in the morning – most Ministry employees weren’t inside.”

   “But you were still working for him!” Harry shouted, his wand snapping up to point at the older wizard. “You still –”

   “Put the wand away, Harry, you don’t stand a chance,” Cassane interrupted sternly. “And the appropriate phrase is ‘with’ him, not ‘for’ him. For him, I only completed a few tasks, and gave him only one thing. I did not lie when I said my desire was neutrality. I did not want to get involved – unfortunately, the letter from Miss Granger forced my hand.”

   “Tonks said you were worried about the Ministry finding out,” Harry growled, “but you were really talking about Voldemort –”

   Cassane laughed openly at that comment, and his voice boomed across the hall. “By that point, Harry, Voldemort already knew that I was working at cross-purposes to him, but he didn’t dare strike back directly. Why do you think that only that insufferable woman Skeeter was attacked when I published that article in the Prophet calling attention to the activity of the Death Eaters? Why do you think he never returned to deal with me personally as I continually aided you far and beyond anything I had promised? And who do think sent a Patronus and immediately tipped off the goblins when Lucius Malfoy attempted to rob you?”

   Harry’s mouth fell open. “And… you would have already known from Fleur –”

   “I told you then that there was nothing more I dared do,” Cassane replied, folding his arms over his chest. “And I did not lie. And besides, compared to what you did – ah, you were far more disruptive to Voldemort’s plans than I was. You managed to limit casualties at Hogwarts from the spiritual attacks, where he had planned for a much higher body count. You managed to make plans and stratagems that caught him off-guard. In fact, your biggest accomplishment may have been entirely accidental.”

   “The temporal distortion around Hogwarts,” Harry whispered.

   “It was something he had never suspected, and had nothing to prepare against it.” Cassane gave Harry a strangely wistful smile. “And I thank you for that, Harry – it made my… acts hold less emphasis and less weight, if that makes any sense at all.”

   Harry’s mind whirled. The pieces were falling into place, everything Cassane said was making too much sense, but Harry felt that something was still amiss – Cassane was holding something back –

   “It’s not simple,” Cassane said calmly, taking a deep breath as he looked up at the glowing orb above the archway. “There is no simplicity in this… particularly now.”

   “You’re not telling me something,” Harry said in a low voice, his grip on his wand tighter than ever. “I can feel it, you’re holding something back.”

   Cassane closed his eyes. “Harry, do you remember when you came to my house in your simulacrum the second time, and you… and you encountered the Muggle police?”

   “You said it wasn’t relevant,” Harry said, his mind racing as he tried to remember. “You wouldn’t tell me what they were investigating –”

   “I honestly thought you knew.” Cassane made eye contact with Harry. “Especially considering you recognized one of the officers.”

   “Yeah, Seamus Finnigan’s dad,” Harry said impatiently. “What does that –”

   And then a new memory came roaring back, of a conversation he had hardly remembered, one of the few times he had spoken to his fellow Gryffindors in months…

   "It's not just that," Dean said heavily. "Look, Seamus had a rough summer. His dad read one of the articles about Harry escaping from that plane – well, he's a police officer, and that article put him between a rock and a hard place."
   "Why?"
   "Well, there was a bloodstain on the wing of that plane, and nobody could identify it…

   Harry’s eyes opened very wide.

  From the very beginning.

   From the very start, he was there…

   “T-That… that was –”

   “My plane, yes,” Cassane replied softly. “The one task Voldemort required of me – he knew from the Malfoys of your friendship with the Weasleys, and he was able to predict your flight path with relative ease, and he suspected that given your skill on a broom, which he had heard from Crouch Jr. – it was only a matter of timing…”

   Harry staggered back. From the very beginning – from the very fucking beginning… “I… I –”

   “I’m sorry, Harry –”

   “SORRY’S NOT FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH!” Harry screamed, his wand snapping up again. “Do you realize what you did? Did you –”

   “Do you think I wanted to do this, Harry?” Cassane retorted, and Harry noticed the other wizard’s wand slide into his fingers. “Do you honestly think I wanted to do this to you, the son of two of my closest friends – I nearly told you so many times, I wanted to scream it that I was responsible, that I was the one…”

   He sighed. “But I had made my devil’s deal – and I wasn’t going to throw away that hope. And you still managed to get through it all, Harry.” He blinked and looked back at Harry. “You survived the flame, and came out stronger than ever. It wasn’t my plan – no, I hated whatever plan I had every step of the way… but you came through… and now we’re here.”

   “It’s not supposed to be like this,” Harry said, his voice numb as he fought against his emotions surging in his gut. “You’re… you’re not supposed to –”

   Cassane raised his wand, and there was a flurry of white sparks. Out of the darkness, supported by silvery chains, two massive stone biers dropped down, locking into two spaces where the wires and conduits had been diverted away.

   Harry’s breath caught in his throat. On one of the biers was the simulacrum of Clarissa Desdame, nude and covered tastefully with a white sheet.

   And on the other bier, unmoving under a similar sheet, was Hermione.

   He tasted bile in his throat as he stepped closer. She looked so still, so peaceful, so –

   “Is she –”

   “No,” Cassane replied simply, not looking at Harry. “She is not dead, merely under the influence of a powerful Draught of Living Death. I told you I would be able to find her.”

   “But what are you –”

   “When they return, they’ll need bodies, Harry,” Cassane replied, still not meeting Harry’s eyes. “I made several contingency plans – in fact, Miss Delacour’s original recruitment called for such a fate… but this way was easier.”

   “But Hermione –”

   “She asked for oblivion, Harry, and I… I can understand a desire for such a request.” Cassane closed his eyes, and Harry could see his hand trembling. “Her mind was reeling, she didn’t understand how her friend could do something like this to her – something so violent, something so horrific. And even when I told her that it wasn’t you, she told me… she told me she saw something of you in the eyes while it –”

   The older man’s voice broke, and he finally looked at Harry. “Harry… I, I told her what I planned to do, and she said… she said all she wanted was oblivion, and if there was someone who could…” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “All I plan to do is grant her request. There will be no more pain – she will be in a better place, I promise you.”

   Harry didn’t know what to say – what could he say?

  …while the abomination may have been driven back, the true crime has not yet been solved…

   Su had figured it out, Harry thought numbly. She had access to my memories while she was in my body, I would bet… and that means she just put together the pieces I overlooked…

    Now almost everything fit together…

   “The one thing you gave Voldemort,” he whispered. “What was it?”

   “Just a book,” Cassane replied, glancing up at the archway. “The Book of Inversion and Duplex.”

   There were only two copies of 'The Book of Inversion and Duplex.

   And now Harry saw the final piece. Harry had one copy of the book.

   And Voldemort and Cassane had shared the other.

  He glanced around the chamber. The only sounds in the air were the sparking of mechanisms and the whispers from the veil, but to Harry, it felt like silence.

   “So what now?” His voice sounded too calm, almost alien to his ears. “You… you said we were going to discuss my future.”

   “And a fairly simple discussion it is, Harry,” Cassane replied, lowering his wand and glancing back towards Harry as he began to climb the narrow dais steps. “You now know everything I could tell you. I can’t say it’s everything you need to know, but it’s all I know for certain. And now you have a choice.”

   Harry felt his breathing come faster as he raised his wand. “The obvious choice –”

   “–Is to try and kill me,” Cassane finished, scratching his temple idly as he reached the top of the dais. “And as good as you are, you aren’t capable of such a feat, Harry. That’s not anything against your skill, let me make that clear.” The older wizard gave him a knowing expression. “It’s just fact.”

   “You make it sound like I have another option.” Harry tried to keep the emotion out of his voice and out of his mind, even though his sheer anger was making a concerted effort to assert control. “Like I should just let you kill one of my best friends, or take my simulacrum.”

   Cassane looked away. “Harry, as much as you may wish to, you cannot stop me from completing things. I know that Voldemort is on his way, and I have destroyed too much to be stopped now. But I do have another option.”

   “I’m listening.”

   “Come with me.”

   Harry’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

   “Come with me,” Cassane repeated. “You’re tired of this life, you’re tired of all of this, and you know that as long as you stay here, you will never be free of it! As soon as this is completed, I will take my wife and daughter and we will leave this island forever, put this horrid mess of a half-spent life behind me – and I want you to come with me.” And to Harry’s shock, he could hear quiet desperation in Cassane’s voice now. “You don’t need this, you don’t need any of them. You can take Tonks and Sirius and leave all this behind, live a brand-new life!”

   “But it will all be based on a lie!” Harry exclaimed. “Your wife – your daughter, they will know they –”

   “Their bodies will transform upon possession,” Cassane replied urgently. “And they – they won’t have to remember any of it! We can start over, Harry – anywhere we dream, we can go! We can forget this war, this hell, this miserable existence where everything we do to save the world destroys us in turn!” Cassane’s voice shook. “There’s purity in simplicity, Harry, and purity in peace. I don’t need this – and I see so much of myself in you to know that you don’t need this either. Please, Harry.”

   “But the prophecy –”

   “Prophecy be damned!” Cassane roared, and red sparks sprayed from his wand. “Did the prophecy say that it was only you with the ‘power to defeat the Dark Lord’? Learn the lesson that Voldemort already learned – prophecy only has weight because we give it weight! Your life is worth more than prophecy, particularly considering what following said prophecy will do to you!”

   The wizard’s words rang in the room, ringing in the silence – the long, long silence.

   “I... I …” Harry put his hand to his forehead with frustration. He shouldn’t even be considering this offer – what if it was all a trap –

   It’s not.

   But what if Cassane was lying –

   He’s not.

   But how could he trust him –

   You can’t, the little voice in his mind whispered, but despite all of his crimes… maybe he should be allowed to go free…

   “I… I can’t leave my friends,” he finally said, shaking his head. “If I leave them to suffer under Voldemort –”

   “Dumbledore is the only one he ever feared,” Cassane cut him off, his voice very cold. “I think it’s about time the Headmaster used some of that fear to his advantage.”

   “But Dumbledore’s counting on –”

   “Dumbledore,” Cassane snarled, his eyes suddenly blazing with a dangerous light, “has done nothing to earn your respect. He is not some omniscient force of good, he is not some ‘paragon of light’ – he is a man, Harry. Just a man, who has spent his life exploiting you and forging you into a weapon to be cast aside once the war is done.”

   “He hasn’t –”

   “You’re expendable to him, Harry,” Cassane spat. “He’s lied to you just like he lied to me. Do you honestly think he cares?”

   “I do.”

   The new voice caught them both off-guard, and Harry’s heart leapt in his chest as he spun around.

   And there they were at the door. Tonks, McGonagall, Moody – and Dumbledore.

   “I do care,” Dumbledore said simply, drawing his wand with one easy move as he began to descend down the stairs towards the pit. “I have always cared. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you, Nathan – and it always has.”

   “How did you –”

   “You left Broderick Bode alive, Nathan,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head with disappointment. “Even despite the grievous wounds Miss Delacour inflicted upon him, he did manage to get a message off. Such carelessness – it was almost as if you wanted me to come here and stop you –”

   From the anguished look on Cassane’s face, Harry knew there was at least some truth in that statement.

   “I understand, Nathan,” Dumbledore said, his voice both strong and compassionate as he moved closer. “I understand, but this is the wrong way – you have to let go. I already told you once, they would have gone on –”

   “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Cassane screamed, his eyes bulging as he pointed his wand wildly at Dumbledore. “You don’t know – no, I have to try, I have to –”

   “Nathan, this isn’t the right way!” Tonks exclaimed, shoving past Dumbledore and moving next to Harry. “I saw everything, I know how you feel –”

   “Liars.”

***

   I can see my brother now.

   It’s sudden, but the fire around me seems less terrifying. The dragons and serpents fade away, and all I see a candle flame. I see his cherry-red hair waving in the wind, his smile never fading as he steps close.

   “Will it hurt?”

   Bartholomew shrugs. “Maybe. For me it was quick. A blink and it was over.” He glances away, up at the dark sky above them. “But I went out flying, Dmitri… it’s definitely the way to go.”

   “I did so much,” I whisper. “I hurt so many people because…”

   Bartholomew looks back at me. “We can’t know all ends, Dmitri.”

   “I betrayed everything.” My voice is hoarse and cracking badly. “I… I took everything our father believed and set it on fire –”

   “If you did, I would not be here.”

   My mouth falls open as my father steps out of the flames, his expression stern and cold, as it always is.

   “I taught you and Bartholomew to live by a code,” Claudius says, his voice abrupt and curt. “A code that means more than some codicil of law. For laws can be changed – I know that, I lived through it – but as long as we don’t compromise our principles, our code is sacrosanct.”

   “But I did.” My composure is crumbling now, but I don’t care. “I comprised – I went outside the law, I did everything I had to get answers. For fuck’s sake, I tortured people! I – I failed –”

   “You did.”

   Not him. No, please, not him.

   “Reed…”

   “You were the worst partner I ever had,” Reed said, shaking his closely-shaved head with disbelief. “And yet I stood in Scrimgeour’s office and pleaded for him to authorize a mission to save your life. Even when I was being controlled and manipulated, even when it would have been so damn easy to put my wand to the back of your neck and just say two simple words and vastly simplify my life, I never did. Do you know why?”

   “No…”

   “Because deep down, you believed in something. I don’t know if it was your own crazy brand of justice or what, but do you know what it means when you can look into somebody’s eyes and know they’re holding onto something, and that they will go through hellfire and brimstone to get there.” Reed sets a hand on my shoulder. “So tell me, Dmitri – what did you believe in?”

   “Having belief isn’t redemption,” Claudius says coolly.

   “Quiet, Father,” Bartholomew mutters.

   I don’t know what to say. Do I believe in justice, however one chooses to define such a nebulous and empty concept? Or is it something simpler, something much more basic…

   “I believe…” I cough, and my eyes start to water. “I… I believe that… that life is fair. Everything gets its due, good or bad. And… and that’s why I was so angry when you died, Bartholomew – hell, when any of you died! It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right –”

   “Life’s not fair.”

   “Then maybe I’m the only one who cares!” I scream, my voice echoing “Maybe I’m naïve and stupid and maybe I’m just wrong, but it’s all I have! So maybe life’s not fair – well, maybe I’m here to make it fair! Maybe if more people were like me, I wouldn’t be here… like this.”

   “Dmitri, if more people were like you,” Reed says in a low voice, “nothing would change. The world wouldn’t change. People don’t change.”

   “Fine.” My voice is growing hoarse, and my scars burn from the dampness trickling down my face. “I don’t care, then. Maybe… maybe I’m just alone. And if you’re all so dead-set in convincing me of that, then leave me here to die in peace!”

   There is a long silence, and then I feel his hand on my shoulder.

   “We’re not leaving you.”

   I look up and I meet Reed’s eyes. “Does… does it hurt?”

   “At first, yeah,” Reed says sadly, “but it gets better.”

   “Nobody will come to my funeral,” I whisper. “It’s so trite but… nobody will care.”

   “Even when we were partners,” Reed replies softly, “you always stood alone. You are not a coward, Dmitri, and that world means nothing now.”

   “I’m not sorry for what I’ve done.”

   The words are a little unexpected, even to me. I know one is supposed to be contrite at the moment of their death, but that’s not who I am.

   “You wouldn’t be a Kemester otherwise,” my father says calmly. “Are you ready?”

   I taste cold, clean air for the last time, and glance up at the moonless sky.

   “Yes.”

   The spell collapses, and the pain comes immediately, but it will be over soon.

   My name is Dmitri Kemester. I am far, far less than a hero – but I am a Hit Wizard, and I am a man, and I face my Death with dignity, poise, and without fear.

  And in the end, that’s all that matters.

***

   Moody and McGonagall snapped their wands up at the cloaked figures stepping out of the darkness of the chamber. There were six, eight… no, more than a dozen. Harry felt a chill rush down his spine as he grabbed Tonks’ hand.

   “They’re lying to you, Nathan,” the lead cloaked figure said, his voice high and cold as he slid his hood back to reveal a hairless scalp. “They’ve always lied to you –”

   “You’d listen to Lord Voldemort before you listen to me, Nathan?” Dumbledore asked sadly. He turned as Voldemort moved closer. “The depths to which you plunge sometimes still astound me, Tom –”

   “They shouldn’t,” Cassane whispered.

   “And now it is time, Nathan,” Voldemort continued, as if he hadn’t even heard Dumbledore, his eyes glittering with raw avarice, “that we conclude our little bargain.”

   “I agree that the bargain has used up its usefulness to me,” Cassane said, his voice abruptly calm as he looked down. “In fact, it has long been rather… irrelevant to me.”

   “A shame there is not much you can reasonably do to stop me,” Voldemort said pleasantly, “for even with Albus Dumbledore standing with you, I have brought more than enough Death Eaters to take what is mine.”

   Harry looked wildly between Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Cassane – but there was a smile growing on Cassane’s face. A smile of confidence – a smile of triumph.

   What the hell…

   “No… you see, I planned that you’d try something like this, Voldemort,” Cassane said loudly, rapping his knuckles on the archway, knocking a few fragments away. “I knew you’d try something, and while I didn’t expect the cavalry, you’re too late.”

   Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up, and Harry couldn’t help but feel his own heart pounding wildly. What the –

   “You see, I activated everything in here the moment the spectres reached this place,” Cassane said, his eyes blazing, “and that means, given how long everything takes to warm up… it should start right about… now.”

   At Cassane’s word, every mechanism let off a shower of sparks, every screen exploded, peppering the ground with hot glass, and Harry felt his feet leave the floor.

   “Stop him!” he could hear Voldemort screaming as the Death Eaters let out stifled yells, their own feet leaving the ground as everything in the room began to hover. “Kill him now –”

   But Cassane was laughing and shouting over them, his wand shooting jets of hot white light at whoever flew close – but then his eyes latched on to one figure drifting away from the rest.

   “Antonin!”

   Harry twisted, but the Death Eater was already raising his wand –

   “I can bring her back for you, Antonin!” Cassane shouted. “All we need is a body – you can kill Bellatrix, it would be easy –”

   Lightning cracked through the air, but Harry could hear Bellatrix howl a curse and Dolohov narrowly dodged a reddish curse as they flew higher and higher –

   Somehow, Cassane did it, he’s doing it –

   And then he heard a voice.

  A voice he didn’t expect to hear. A voice that sent a horrifying chill down his spine. A voice that was malevolent, and just as triumphant as Cassane…

   He felt Tonks’ hand squeeze hard against his as Cassane looked up wildly to see the source of that voice…

   And there he was, translucent and grinning, staring straight at Cassane, a massive black boulder clutched between his hands.

   A shard of that sphere, Harry realized with a rush of horror. But what’s he doing –

   “Tell me, Nathan,” Peeves hissed, his voice audible above the hissing of the sparks, “have you ever seen a dream die?”

   “What are you –”

   “I suppose not,” Peeves replied, shaking his head. “Guess today is your lucky day.”

   The poltergeist hefted the boulder.

   “Of course, you might want to pick up a mirror.”

   The boulder arced through the air. Spells ricocheted off of it, and pieces fell away – but it didn’t break.

   Peeves kept his gaze locked on Cassane, his evil smile only growing wider.

   The boulder struck the orb holding the ghosts.

   Both shattered.

   And everything went mad.

   There was a squeal of agonized wires and machinery. Sparks exploded everywhere as translucent spectres flooded free, screaming at the top of their lungs…

   Then Harry saw a flutter of movement –

   And Voldemort was suddenly standing in front of him, his eyes blazing with cold satisfaction, his wand pointed right at Harry.

   “No matter. Tonight, I still win. AVADA KEDAVRA!”

    There was a flash of green, and he could hear Tonks’ scream and a rush of searing cold…

   And everything went black.