Slytherin's ghost- where the hell is he?

Harry heaved his tired form over a flash of green spellfire as he answered with one of his own, uncaring if it made contact. It was enough for his would-be killer to draw back momentarily, enough to allow him to continue to force himself onward, further through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, fighting to draw breath as his reddened eyes scanned for threats.

Has to be down in the dungeons- unless he's still guarding the damn third floor corridor.

Only moments earlier a dying Theodore Nott had told him and Ron that the Bloody Baron would have been alive at the time of the Founders. He boasted of having heard the last words of Rowena Ravenclaw, but said no more on the subject.

"I 'spose it wouldn't be coveted knowledge if he went around telling everyone. Bloody bastard, that's what he is." Ron had muttered as he burned the dead boy's face with a fire charm. He could not have cared less himself, but he had promised to do it without asking why. "Reckon you can get the ghost. I think I've an idea- I'll go help Hermione-"

"Right- right- see that you do." he remembered saying with an odd sense of clarity.

The stairs were especially treacherous, as if they perceived some harm would befall the ghost and a piece of the school's history if he failed to answer the questions to Harry's satisfaction. Casting a Patronus while thinking absently about his first kiss with Cho Chang for some reason, he ordered the stag to watch out for threats, especially dementors. He took the stairs two at a time, the reason for his haste forcing blood through his very heart, arteries, and veins. Haven't a damn clue where the other thing is- still have to kill the snake- break the cup- He turned at a landing, swinging off the banister as the stag kept in cadence with his feet.

"BARON!" he shouted as he neared the bottom, his hands out in front of him as he took the last step, almost a quadraped's crawl. I have to kill the snake- its body being destroyed just means it has to be dead- that's what Hermione says anyway.

His cry was met by silence, even the portraits seemed to have nothing to say. For a moment he had an odd memory of a knight who showed him the way once to his first Divination class, though he had long since forgotten the horseman's name. Better idea- I get a better knight.

"NICK!" he shouted, seeing the ghost appear almost immediately.

"Harry! Good to see you, though, I must say, you look a bit worse for-"

"That's rich, from a man with-" Harry stopped himself. This isn't like killing the dragon- no time for games- no theatrics. "I need to find the Baron. He's supposed to be down here somewhere."

"I'm afraid he does not simply come when one calls, my boy. Though I imagine these are not normal circumstances."

"Please, Sir Nicholas, if you know any way of- they're not- I need to kill the snake, I need to find Ravenclaw's lost thing-" An expression of concern passed across the ghost's face, and he imagined looking at himself, strung out on ends as he was. "If I don't- Voldemort- he’ll kill me. He'll kill everyone."

"I am honor-bound," the knight said before disappearing.

Harry sat down, resting at last, if only for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking around at the paintings that had become part of the scenery the past six years. His breath was ragged, his thoughts as strung out as his words, were it not for the potions he had been taking he would have gone as mad as a hatter. His patronus cantered off into the distance, leaving him to his thoughts. Ravenclaw...

His mind took him back to a conversation with Hermione only a few days ago.

"She designed much of Hogwarts, Harry, the warding, the secrets, well, not the Chamber, but apart from there..." she trailed off, biting her lip. Like his own her eyes had a bloodshot look to them from many a sleepless night.

"Hermione, we need this. You've seen what Vol- you've seen what he can do; what he did to Lovegood. He has to die. This- this damn thing is a small part of the only way to kill him."

"Harry, I know- please." Water formed at the edge of a strained eye. I'm not being fair. "Please, we just need to get there. Someone from Ravenclaw, or maybe someone from the time of the Founders has to be there." Without looking at him she continued. "I'm not putting it off or- or crossing the bridge when we get there. I'm at the end of what I know."

"It's not-"

"I'm sorry, Harry. The only help we can find is in Hogwarts now."

Sir Nicholas appeared with the Bloody Baron, his black eyes full of scorn. The young wizard catching his breath at the foot of the stairs had never looked into the eyes of that particular ghost, having always been afraid of him. The chains and the silver blood running down his garments had been enough.

"What do you know about Rowena Ravenclaw?" he asked. "Did she ever lose anything?" It wasn't mentioned in any books Hermione read.

"To worthier duties must I return," the spirit argued. "The great House of Slytherin-"

"You must stay," the Gryffindor ghost insisted. "This is of paramount import to Hogwarts. All four Founders-"

"I knew her," he admitted, nearly spitting but for pure dedication to propriety. Harry realized he was in flagrant defiance of the same, but was too tired to care.

"Did she lose something? It would be- I don't know, significant."

The Baron’s narrowed eyes told him more than enough.

"Thou refer to Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem, Wisdom Wrought in Silver, would though that I the ages remember its name. Propriety has ordained I regard thee as an equal, fain though that I would ignore thee and thy fool's errand," the Bloody Baron said, his eyes unblinking in death. Managing to parse the last bit, Harry decided to stress the importance.

"Sir, Voldemort can't die unless I find it and destroy it. He has to die. He's too much of a threat to leave alive." As he spoke he realized that he was talking to two wizards who had both died long ago, expecting some instrumental help out of one or both of them, all while hoping to render a dark wizard to a person of no consequence. If Voldemort can still be a ghost after I break all of the horcruxes... well, I'll deal with that when I can.

"Ages have passed since felled me the same fate of all mortal men, dark wizards have come and the same have gone before mine eyes," the Baron started. "Whatever nascent threat this young dabbler in the arts presents he presents only to thee, not to magic, not to the school, and not to me."


A younger Harry might have protested that the man who killed his parents had to be around seventy at least.


"Thine ail will die," the Baron concluded simply.


Harry’s tired mind racing to understand, he put together that the ghost was calling his quest pointless not only because the diadem was lost, but because it was his belief that one way or another, one day or another, Voldemort would die all the same.

"Well, sir, I don't think the school is safe under him, at least not a fair bit of the students." he responded, trying to be polite and efficient at the same time. "Also, he really doesn't intend to die and he hasn't really done it yet. He's trying to make it impossible- see, he's got these things called horcruxes which keep him... tethered to life." A look up at the face of the bloody spirit revealed a look of interest, or possibly disgust. "He can come back to life. He can put his body back together, I've seen it, he can use this dark magic ritual to be fully alive again." he explained awkwardly, trying at a new angle. "It just can't be allowed, sir, it's... unnatural."

The Bloody Baron waited a long time before responding. Harry's heart had stopped beating in his ears.

"For what reason, knave, deigned have I to wander these ancient halls for all ages, in the best application of thy pitiable knowledge?" It was a simple question, at least for the ghost asking it. He thinks it's one I can get.

"Er, I guess you have unfinished business," Harry offered, caught off guard. "If you're the Slytherin ghost, you might have wanted to help the students." He turned to his old friend. "Nick, please, help me out, why do ghosts stay around?"

If the spirit in a bloody doublet had tried his patience, the other swordsman was even worse.

"Harry, to tell you the truth I was afraid of death," he started with an honesty he had not expected. "I am afraid your friend Ronald had the right of it when he insinuated that I am afraid of some things, and the feeble imitation of life I now have is what I preferred to death." Looking over at the other ghost, he wore an expression of disapproval, though something else was there. "I cannot say why all ghosts stay, but the truth is that men have a choice when they die. We may either go on, or we may remain, though some of us wander for reasons of our own. This is why I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, What lies beyond, if anything, is a mystery to me."

The speech made him think of losing Sirius again, his godfather forced through the Veil. He remembered thinking that there was a chance he would see him again, but despite the horrors and tragedies that wracked the man's life, the animagus had been happy. He was the manner of wizard who lived without fear of death and little enough concern for the future. When searching for Pettigrew he had been motivated only by revenge, a desire to right a past wrong. It had taken Harry years to privately conclude that his own insistence on sparing the rat's life, something for which he had felt awful, had been part of a necessary healing process for Sirius. In his childhood naivety he had placed what felt right right over reason, not realizing it would be all too easy for a rat animagus to escape them, but he had reminded Sirius and Lupin of his father, and perhaps the two of them decided that their former friend had not taken away everything of James from them.

"Undeath is the choice of cowards and those with regret," the Baron spat, seeking to distinguish himself as the latter of the two, Harry estimated. Sirius died with no regrets. "For mine own part I have atoned for my failure to the Founders in life, serving their school as a specter. I shall vouchsafe to tell you of Wisdom Wrought in Silver because thou hast implied that it has been profaned with dark magic."

"Do you know where it is?" Harry asked.

"Helena, the daughter of its maker, from her own dying mother purloined it. Poison is her name on my tongue, poison is her memory in my mind, yet poisoned was I for she who cast me off discourteously. Perhaps it is so that in death I cannot lie, perhaps the centuries have granted me the neglectfully dilatory gift of perspective." He sighed.

"The diadem, what did it look like?" he asked, remembering he and his friends had an idea that it was at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione are counting on me. I can't fail them. A look of vexation passed across the ghost's face, as perhaps he was getting around to his answer to the first question. Wherever Helena hid it, Voldemort found it. He wouldn't have put it back in the same place; he would have taken it to Hogwarts.

"On a circlet of silver, a round sapphire, as deep a blue as a third eye, always open, always staring," the Baron explained, almost lost in memory. "Her mother wore it for years, importing an Eastern concept of some description, impure though the magic might have been."

In seconds Harry's mind made the frightening connection.

He set off running again, cutting off the archaic speech.

I've touched it- without even thinking about it, the horcrux- it's in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione's words came back to him as he raced up the stairs, the ghosts following in uncertainty, or perhaps out of a chivalrous duty to see the matter through.

She designed much of Hogwarts, Harry, the warding, the secrets... Had he not been using his feet to force himself ever faster up the stairs, he might have kicked himself for not realizing it before. Ravenclaw designed the Room of Requirement. The conclusions he was reaching outpaced his breathing, but not his feet, his desire for the familiar feel of his Firebolt growing. Voldemort took it back- from Helena- wherever the hell she had it- he brought it to the Room for irony's sake- maybe- why the hell did she have to put it on the seventh floor? Catching sight of a duel taking place in a corridor as he sprinted up the stairs, he guessed it was possible the battle had begun already, though they looked like students. Making out their appearances as he neared them, he guessed Luna had finally decided she had had enough of Pansy.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, catching the Slytherin in the back, her shield blocking the Ravenclaw's spellwork. "Luna, what are you doing here?" he asked. At least now I know the battle hasn’t really started. Probably.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, cocking her head. Mistaking it at first for a rhetorical question, he caught his breath before deciding it was legitimate.

"I'm trying- I need to get to the Room of Requirement." he managed.

"Has it moved to this floor?" she asked as she waved at the ghosts.

"I hope not." He turned to go, but looked back a moment. "If you see Ron-"

"I'll tell your friends where you're going." Luna extrapolated, smiling, somehow. Harry simply nodded and ran again. Would've thought the Room would be the safest place- well, it's no secret anymore- they might have been forced out. He was aware that Death Eaters had taken over the school in his absence, and could only imagine the horrors the remainder had endured. The three of them had been devastated to learn that Ginny had been killed.

At long last at the top of the stairs he felt like collapsing, but decided he would have to rest after getting the horcrux. His friends were working on a way to break the cup, with the sword gone. He only hoped that their heads were cooler.

Slowing down as he approached, remembering to think about hiding his book, he looked around for threats. Nick'll keep me posted if he sees anything.

The corridor was familiar, almost as much as feeling like he was about to die of exhaustion. Not for the first time he wondered about everything through which he had put his body, the dragon in fourth year coming to mind. Possibly to distract himself, he wondered if dragon fire could destroy the diadem.

I need a place to hide my book.

The door opened and Harry stepped inside.

The sight of the Vanishing Cabinet made him want to set everything on fire, thinking of Malfoy, Dumbledore, that horrible night- No, I think I'll set Malfoy on fire. It took him mere moments to find the cursed object, grabbing it off the bust of the statue and collapsing.

To his surprise, the Baron recognized it as soon as he did.

"Had not thought I in all my centuries errant that I would regain the lost treasure, but not the true prize."

"What- d'you mean?" Harry asked as soon as he had the breath.

"The creator of what thou hast taken vouchsafed that I would wed her daughter, so soon as I rendered her to her mother's deathbed."

Looking down at the diadem, as if to discover what was so special about it, the blue of the gem caught his eye.

"She wanted this back... didn't she?" he asked. The idea made sense. If something precious had been stolen from him, he would want it returned. He could only begin to guess the value of even the stone as he stared, not to mention the wealth of wisdom the ornament was meant to bestow upon the wearer. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.

"Lady Ravenclaw and I wanted the very same," the ghost started. Of course- who wouldn't want this? His mind took him through all of his childhood stupidity, all of his errors, the times he failed his friends, his parents, their sacrifice- Sirius would still be alive if I were wise.

"Harry..." the concern in the voice of Sir Nicholas was audible. Shaking his head, he tossed the diadem out in front of him. I'm not that stupid, Tom- not after the locket.

"It was the girl, wasn't it?" he asked, his eyes returning to the ghost with the blood-soaked doublet. "The whole time it had nothing to do with the diadem, she just wanted to see her daughter again before she died." Voldemort would never understand that. Something Dumbledore had said was echoing distantly in his memory. "She didn't come back, though." he said, stating the obvious. "She wouldn't come back with you."

"Helena challenged me to a duel," he explained, speaking clearly for a change. "Vexed for my discovery of her hiding place, twice for mine offer to come with me instead, and thrice for mine objection to a duel between us, an appeal to nature and custom. Of little note or nobility is the Potter name, and yet I found myself disappointed in thee, striking a witch, and in the back, no less. In proper times it was not done, and yet I could not but grant her request; should she prove unwilling to return by broom or thestral, bound myself had I to bring her to her mother bound." He paused before continuing, Harry failing to sympathize with his sense of honor. I'd kill Bellatrix if I had the chance. He'd have to count her a lady, pure Black blood and all that. "In the manner of a savage she came after me with half again every descript of hex or curse I knew, but the better duelist carries a sword that cleaves shields. It is not a sport for the witch, she lacks the speed and swiftness of eye that has endowed nature the wizard."

Harry momentarily imagined Hermione getting onto the ghost about that, but he let it pass. When she gets here-

There was a sound coming from outside.

"I killed her. In her resolve she shielded close to her heart, unwilling to be beaten and not slain and in mine anger I plunged, forcing mortal steel into her breast, where never had the fire of love burned." Harry rose as he listened, doing his best not to step on any of the myriad hidden things as he went to the door again. "Would that I followed her, yet to die with a task incomplete is to die in perfect failure, though I remain a denizen errant for lost happiness, for shame that drove my sword into the breaking heart of mine own loss."

As he reached the door and opened it, he decided that he could sympathize, at least in part, as he had felt like dying when he heard of Ginny's death at the hands of Alecto Carrow. Selwyn's Legilimency had it out of her what he meant to her, what she meant to him, and the Death Eaters killed her for no other reason. The world seemed to darken as the gentle voice of Remus Lupin announced on the radio that her funeral would be taking place at home, over Christmas holiday.

He had been most surprised at the changes in himself, however slight they were at first.

Hurting people became easier. The Snatcher's screams made him think of Ginny as she must have screamed when they killed her. He remembered beating the witch for hours before she begged to die, insisting that she knew no more. Hermione objected, but Ron said it was a mercy. Harry felt hollow when he killed her, and the days that followed, the empty, maddening days of squatting in the forest had him wanting, waiting for something to happen. The falling out with his friends had been painful, fruitless, and hard to repair.

Seeing their faces as he opened the door should have made him happy, but his dark expression had the opposite effect on their excitement.

"Mate..." Ron started, holding a basilisk fang. Of course- wait, the venom didn't dry up or something? Hermione was carrying a broken horcrux.

"I got the diadem- Ravenclaw's thing- well, it's over there." I don't want to touch it. I don't want it anywhere near me. Ron stepped around him gently, as if he were a china doll.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked. He noticed her cosmetics were smudged, which was odd, since she had not been wearing any for weeks.

"I'm fine, I just need these things dead. It'll make me feel better." The pounding in his head had worsened since losing Ginny, and he doubted wearing the locket helped. The mental connection with Voldemort seemed to grow stronger, which fit, since he felt like he had lost his ability to love. The last thing I need is his voice in my ear, always whispering about power and greatness- things he could give me if I'd just stop worrying about good and evil.

"Please tell me what it is..." she pleaded, noticing his hand going to his head again. Somewhere behind him a red haired wizard destroyed the long lost possession of Rowena Ravenclaw, Wisdom Wrought in Silver.

"I can hear him whispering- it's like the locket- you wore the locket, you know. Only it's in my head, it's..." the color drained from Hermione's face as she raised the broken cup, its stem melted off, as though the venom had acted as a corrosive acid. Her eyes were fixed on a small black mark inside the cup itself.

"Harry, do you know what this is?" she asked him, tears forming at the edges of her eyes. "It's- well, it's something I've been thinking- it hasn't left me alone for days."

"Hermi-"

"It's a curse mark, Harry. There was one on the locket, too, on the inside. I had to look at it after Ron destroyed it."

"What are you-"

"Please, Harry, I don't want it to be true, but- when he killed your mother, when he tried to kill you- I'm so sorry, Harry, he was scared, he was dying- what do you think he would have done?" She looked exasperated, as though he did not understand. "The killing curse wouldn't have left a mark on you..."

Her words trailed off as she looked over his shoulder, presumably to see Ron standing there. Harry did not turn around.

Instead he took a seat on a broken chair, his racing mind stopped, motionless, dead.

Sir Nicholas offered his sympathies as he floated over, though Harry did not particularly listen. He was already dead- not completely destroyed, but definitely dead. His mind went to the time he had been poisoned with basilisk venom, but he did not die as Fawkes saved his life. There's no way out of this. I can't just die a little bit, I have to be destroyed. A quick glance at the cup of Helga Hufflepuff removed all doubt he would be having a closed casket service- he could only imagine asking Ron or Hermione or both of them not just to stab him with a fang, but to keep stabbing him to ensure his destruction.

"What are you- we can't do this, Hermione-"

"I don't want to! It's the last thing I want to do, Ron!"

Lucky me, they already figured it out...

"No, that's the kind of line we can't cross- we'd be no better than Snape. Reckon I can stand not being better than some of them. I got over killing people when I knocked a few of them off their brooms." His mind in need of a distraction, he thought back to the time he had been fleeing the Dursley residence- at the time he confined himself to disarming Stan Shunpike, even as they were trying to kill Hagrid he fired back only to force them to dodge, not once did he lead his shot- but Ron afforded them no such mercy, knocking them off their brooms as he saw fit. Not long after leaving the wedding, he suggested killing the Death Eaters who had attacked them. "I can't kill him, though- look, there's got to be another way-"

"Why would there be?" Harry asked, thinking of Hedwig shielding him from a killing curse. There was no other way for her. "I'm a horcrux- a walking bit of dark magic- a little piece of Voldemort. No wonder I've always been like him- talking to snakes and- no wonder everyone around me suffers and dies."

"Harry, no, you're not- well, you're not just a horcrux, you're a boy-" Hermione started awkwardly. "well- a man, and a good one. That's how you'll... be remembered when..." She started crying again; her eyes looked like they hurt.

"Don't tell anyone you did it- no one will suspect you anyway. I want you to burn me, like we burned Nott-"

"You musn't die." All of them turned to look at Sir Nicholas. "I won't allow it."

"Like you're going to do anything," Ron challenged, displeased with the help he was getting for his side of it. He's right though- Nick's just afraid of seeing me die, like he's afraid of death. For some reason, however, the Baron seemed interested, though he said nothing.

"No, this has gone on long enough. You are all my students, and I shall not allow you to kill each other, no matter the why and wherefore." Hermione looked like she was about to object, but the other ghost beat her to it.

"I disagree. Wills he that he will die, he will die; by our hands of unfeeling ice it will not be prevented. Death for all men comes, moneyed and poor, beautiful and ugly, he makes them equal; just and true is his way. Without a man will the living go on and for him will they know the value of life. Should he wish to expire, let him cease to be; should he request swordpoint, offer it fain."

In Harry's mind it was an interesting philosophical argument, but a moot point in the face of the overwhelming necessity of his death to end the life of his mortal enemy. Neither can live while the other survives- funny how that works. The longer I live, the longer he lives. But if I die- maybe he still can't be killed- maybe I need to kill him first. The thought made his heart beat, his eyes going red again.

"I'll kill him first," he announced, cutting off his friends, to whom he had not been listening. "I have to be the one to do it anyway- and maybe this is why he's never killed me when he could have. Maybe he knows I'm keeping him alive.”

"He has a body now, Harry, he doesn't need- please, Harry, that doesn't even make sense, the snake-"

"We kill the snake," Ron decided. "Then Harry'll be the only thing keeping him alive- if anything." he said as he turned to Hermione, who saw through his probably vain hope that Harry was not a horcrux. "We have to kill the snake anyway, we might as well kill it first." he argued, cutting off her protests and catching her hand at the wrist as her fingers curled into a fist. "Harry's got that mind-link thing and he can talk to snakes. We need him to kill it."

He was not impressed that his friends were talking about him as though he were already dead, but it fit, since that was how he thought of himself.

It looked like Hermione was about to agree when the door exploded behind them.

Smoke in his eyes and some sort of debris in his mouth, Harry rolled over, realizing he was on the ground Damn it- where the hell- Fumbling for his wand, he saw Draco Malfoy and a handful of his minions. Sir Nicholas, unaffected, stared straight ahead, floating resolutely between them and danger. His eyes on a swivel, the Baron was nowhere to be seen. Bastard-can't help us if it's the Slytherins-

"I thought I'd find you here, Potter," Malfoy spat, taking stock of the situation. He and Harry noticed at the same time that Ron was not moving, having shoved Hermione out of the way. "The Dark Lord knows what you're doing- did you think he wouldn't send me here?"

"No," he croaked from the ground. "I didn't think he'd miss another chance to get you killed."

Malfoy found no reason for the optimistic slight, merely raising an eyebrow and turning to see if either Crabbe or Goyle were laughing. Blaise Zabini kept his expression neutral as ever, though his eyes might have been smiling.

"Avada Kedavra!" Hermione shouted as they were distracted, forcing their shocked leader to leap out of the way, the curse colliding with the less quick-witted Crabbe. Blaise scowled and sent a curse of his own after her as she ducked behind a massive pile of lost things. Slashing at them with his ghostly sword, Sir Nicholas shouted at them to distract them as Harry grabbed at his wand. Shielding, he forced himself from the ground as he blocked an overpowered cutter from Draco, responding with a killing curse of his own, keeping the three of them together as Blaise was forced back into the other two. His friend ducked another curse as she surfaced, breathing out something like 'glisseo' as the Slytherins fell to the ground. With the one opportunity, the pair of them cast killing curses at the same time, but a cutter from one of their enemies had Hermione's wand arm off, causing her to fall, screaming. No- all of this- since I was born- He forced his head to turn to Malfoy, a gleeful grin on his face as he held a wand to Ron's throat, lying atop him.

"He's still alive, Potter- you can't lose him, can you? I heard you talking- you're going to die!" he announced, having heard enough. "You think the mudblood can kill the Dark Lord without an arm? I'm tempted to let her try- to take your blood traitor friend away from you the way you've only just taken mine." the vengeful wizard muttered, where any other man would have shouted. He knows about Nott. The witch was groaning in pain, unable to reattach her arm, her spell-forms fizzling out as each charm was interrupted by a soul-churning cry of agony. Tears were flowing down Harry's face and he was frozen, inextricably trapped in the mire of an impossible choice.

"Draco, take me instead- your master wants me- he doesn't care about-"

"Drop your wand, Potter- I'll take you up on it." Malfoy ordered, pouncing on the idea. He's going to stun me, then kill my friends- the secret of the horcruxes dies when I do. His wand was now pointing at Harry. Hermione's screamed fire charm announced that she was cauterizing her wound. She's given up on healing- she'll be disfigured-

"Hermione, I'm so sorry-" he started, not taking his eyes off the Death Eater, but raising his wand as if he meant to drop it. I'll catch it- in mid-air as he tries to-

"Drop it, Potter." Maybe if the wound seals- maybe I can dodge the stunner- "I'll kill him, you half-blooded-"

"Okay-" he interrupted, out of ideas, dropping his wand. Hermione was still screaming as ideas failed him, too close to dodge anything, not if Malfoy led it- "okay-" he muttered uselessly, his mind racing again-

"Stupe-" Harry leaped instinctively, but the word did not come out of the other man's mouth. Ron's fingers were wrapped tightly around his throat, blood vessels popping in the writhing bodies as Harry grabbed his wand again.

"Ron- thank God, Ron-" he pleaded. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, knocking the Death Eater's wand out of his hand. Try and cast a nonverbal now, you pompous- He wanted to run to Hermione, but he forced himself to stop his friend from killing Malfoy. "We need him, Ron- he can get us close-" The attention of a striking blue eye was caught at the idea and he released the throat, looking up at him and the shocked face of the Gryffindor ghost.

"Not what you thought, is it?" he muttered cryptically in the direction of Sir Nicholas as he went to help with the wound, muttering something about Madam Pomfrey.

"She might be dead, Ron," he warned as he used a full-body bind on the heavily breathing Malfoy. "Hermione was right to-"

"Shut up, Harry," he spat. "If we killed you like you wanted, we'd all be dead now. I was right."

"Yeah, I gue- Yeah, you're right. You need me to get the snake." If he wants to be right, he can be right- he's not wrong anyway, at least I don't think.

There was a pause as Harry attempted a few spells, cursing himself for not having learned how to magically reattach an arm. He was sure it was possible. Bones could be regrown. Remembering the silver limb that Voldemort made for Pettigrew, he thought better of attempting it. If he knew little of healing spells, he knew nothing of fashioning metal.

"How do we get close..." he muttered to himself, trying to take his halting mind in a useful direction. The snake's the last one and he knows it- he's got to be doing something with it; he won't be sending it after anyone. Thinking back on having to fight the reptile in Godric's Hollow, he remembered thinking it was a stupid plan, dangling one of his precious horcruxes right in front of them. In short order the three of them injured the animal badly, unable to kill it before it escaped. Still no idea if you can even kill it normally- Ron's killing curse didn't work, not really.

The part of the encounter that frightened him was that the snake seemed to be highly intelligent, or at least clever enough.

It's a man in a snake's body- meanwhile, I'm a snake in a man's. Harry's spirits sank again, though he supposed they had never risen; they were only distracted by the danger and the pain, which still darker thoughts told him was simply the story of his life.

"Baron!" he shouted, not knowing the ghost's name. Dutifully, the specter appeared again, though with a scowl. Sir Nicholas moved the point of his sword in the air, as though to remind him it was still out. "Can you stab other ghosts with that thing?" he asked, suddenly having the idea.

"I have never tried, Harry," the Gryffindor ghost replied. "Before today, there has never been an appropriate-" He started, turning his ancient eyes to the Bloody Baron.

"The boy does not refer to me; inform thine anger that controls thee," the Slytherin ghost muttered, his words at least comprehensible. "His ail worse yet remains, in his folly he wouldst have thee thrust into his curse mark thy immortal steel." He's been listening- of course he's been-

"What are you-" Hermione groaned. "-suggesting?" Ron looked like he wanted her to stay still, but he said nothing. Harry guessed she was figuring it out as well- the ghost had taken his expression of annoyance with his conflict of interest as a plot to destroy the horcrux in his own head- it was an absolutely mad idea, but he had tried worse. At least the worst thing that can happen is I die- then my friends have to tear up my corpse-

"We can't do it yet-" Ron argued, piecing it together. "We don't know if that'll work- 'course it's better than bloody suicide, but we need him." Harry knew not whether he was entirely correct about the feeling that he was getting from Ron, the one that suggested his friend needed him for purposes not entirely strategic. "Look, just stay with him and- and don't do it unless there's no other option," he finished weakly. Harry nodded. We know Voldemort wants to kill me himself- but he won't hesitate to use the snake, since it's part of him.

"We'll use me as bait," he decided. "I'll draw the snake out- then you two stab it. I won't be trying to die, but if it's about to get me..." He turned to Sir Nicholas, who looked like he would prefer to do anything else. Baron's got a sword too- can't trust him, but he's- The knight closed his eyes and nodded silently.

"I shall require your help for this," the ghost said, turning to his counterpart. "Consider this your final service to the school, the dead, and the living."

All eyes were on the other specter, who seemed discontent with the fact that his duties were being extended, after a fashion, though he agreed eventually. Harry did not bother to puzzle out why the fight against Voldemort was any less of a conflict of interest, there were some notable differences- Hermione's planning was more important.

"I can't... hold a wand and a fang... not like this," she explained, still visibly hurting. "I'll... protect you with... shield charms." Ron appeared to want to keep her from any sort of involvement, an idea he would have supported, but Hermione, with one arm or otherwise, would never allow it. Harry briefly considered stunning her, if for no other reason than to keep her from re-opening her wound, but the part of his mind that remembered it wanted to die found it hypocritical. If she feels like a burden to us, who am I- "Please don't risk your life for me, Ronald," she pleaded quietly. "You've always been risking your life- I don't think I could bear it-"

"We have to do this on the grounds," Harry muttered, cutting off his friends. I don't envy them- I don't envy them one bit, not after everything I've made them suffer.

"R-right," Ron muttered. "We can keep the rest of them away if we've got a distraction." I didn't even think about the rest of- "We can ask Neville to lead a bit of the army out to the Forest, where it'll be hard to hit them- won't do a lot of damage to the Death Eaters, but that's not the point. It'll seem like an ambush, and once they chase them in, Harry calls the snake. They can get out on broomsticks, I think." You hope.

Some of them would not survive.

There was nothing for it.

The chill of death followed them out of the Room of Requirement, neither ghost quite realizing the effect it was having on Harry as they flanked him, watching out for threats. The hope was that they would run into Neville or someone on the way out, since they were on the seventh floor. I'd take Colin Creevey at this point- if he's still alive.

The three of them had heard news from Hogwarts on more than one occasion. For Harry it became a drug after Ginny's death. Losing her had not been like losing Sirius; his godfather had no family in the world save his cousins, whom he hated, and Harry, who was eventually able to get over his death. By contrast, when he thought of his girlfriend, he thought of the Weasley family, all of them, torn to pieces- and it was all his fault. In the same way that he had intended to rescue Sirius and ended up getting him killed, he had meant to keep Ginny from harm by leaving her at Hogwarts- under Snape's care- was I mad?

I have no family left. When I die... Harry nearly kicked himself for not thinking of the feelings of others upon his death, but what thinking was there to be done? Ron and Hermione will be guilty for killing me, but... they'll have each other. They're the real heroes here. He was aware that there were plenty of people at school who knew him, but to them he was either some kind of inhuman savior or some kind of madman. None of them knew his fears, his failures; his faults. What they would miss would only be the version of him they imagined into existence, even the Death Eaters had a better idea of who he was. Of course, no one knows me as well as Voldemort- all he has to do is look in a glass.

They found a group of students at the bottom of the stairs, disconcerted by the ghosts as Sir Nicholas went ahead, resolving to delay the approaching forces. Harry regarded the conversation between Ron and them with a feigned look of interest, one he had mastered in Potions class. All he picked up was the looks of fear on their faces, the determination in his old friend's voice. As they split up after deciding on something, he decided Voldemort's death would not leave a hole, he was an evil that never belonged in anyone's life, and all he did was make holes- like me.

Reaching the Great Hall to find the exits were sealed, his friends discussed what to do momentarily before they asked McGonagall's help as she was conducting an assembly, probably to inform the students of the coming invasion. His ears on autopilot absorbed that Snape had fled the castle. Had that particular Headmaster not overseen Ginny's death, he would have given up on figuring out whose side he had taken, where his loyalties lied. Harry remembered hating him for months, but his heart started to change as he learned more about Dumbledore, who weakened him with his constant lying. He knew about the prophecy- wouldn't be surprised if he knew about what I really am. He smirked darkly as the Deputy Headmistress faithfully told Ron and Hermione about the only way to get out of the castle. Of course he lied to me- it's what any sane man would do when dealing with a little piece of Voldemort, too close to everyone else's children. If he'd been concerned for my life, he'd have trained me- moved me out of the anonymous muggle home where he'd been hiding me- but no, he knew I had to die all along. Harry wondered if it had amused the old warlock, seeing him every time he escaped death, and all because of the horcrux keeping him alive- He'd certainly come up with an amusing explanation for why I'd survived.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the three of them were outside, possibly by means of an enchanted door in the greenhouse, a specter floating above them in silence.

Love.

Love indeed.

It had been his mother's love that protected him from Voldemort, of course, just like it had been Dumbledore's love that drove him to constantly lie. He doubted the word love had any meaning for the late Headmaster ever since he killed his own sister, no more meaning than it had for him when he lost Ginny. It was weakness- that was why I separated her from me-either weakness or some- vague- awareness that the further away she is from me, the longer her life will be. Of all the stupid things I've ever thought-

Ron shook him, jarring him out of the mire of his thoughts.

"Malfoy's with the DA- they're getting the truth out of him," he explained efficiently. Harry was aware that the three of them were taking position near the greenhouse, which despite being made of glass was as secure as the rest of the school. There was a time it would have shocked him, a once awkward, not at all surefooted boy would grow into a man who could keep up with the others at a crouch. His arms and legs moved automatically as his mind despaired, but that part of him had died long ago. Momentarily he pictured the horcrux inside of him strangling the good, pure remnant of his parents in his soul, but he was distracted by Hermione's expression.

"Legilimency?" she asked, as if in a contest of efficiency. His only thought was about the lengths of parchment a much younger girl had turned in, wondering when she too had died. On the matter of how their friends were getting information out of the Slytherin, he had little doubt.

"Not exactly." the red-haired wizard muttered. It had been his idea to use the glass of the greenhouse as a place behind which to hide himself and the one armed witch, who confirmed that the snake would be unable to see through the glass, since its eyes detected heat and the greenhouse was always warmer than a human body.

"Don't get distracted," Harry instructed, thinking of warm bodies, envying their ability to love. "The killing curse will be the signal."

He waited alone out on the grass, his friends just out of direct view of the Forest, from whence he was sure the snake would come. Already he could hear slithering, whether from his ears or his mind he knew not. The prophecy was made too early. I don't have any power Voldemort doesn't- he's got more than enough I don't.

"A pleasure to see you again, Harry. You smell of death."

He was aware the snake was speaking Parseltounge, though he responded reflexively as always.

"I've killed people today, snake. I've killed wizards with wands. I can kill a worm like you- you're nothing compared to a basilisk," he threatened, raising his wand as though he were in a duel.

"What about a worm like you?" the monster responded in kind. Harry reminded himself it was trying to get him off balance. "A creature of no natural means to survive as he has, defying the dark lord who created him, denies he that which gives him power. So says the dark master that you might have been the Heir of Slytherin, had you the strength to claim your birthright. You fear yourself, boy, you reject the exploration of your limits as you rejected the offer of our lord. For your ingratitude and insufferable weakness you must die."

Harry smirked momentarily at the thought of death as a punishment.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted. Though he doubted the curse would have the intended effect, the pale green spellfire charged from his wand all the same, the flash from his oldest memory reminding him, as ever, of his mother's death scream. A newfound rage fueled him as he dodged the successive strikes from his foe, the twin blasting curses from Ron and Hermione sending the serpentine head back. Casting a shield charm at the underside of the snake's neck, he held its writhing head in place as Hermione caught on, hitting it with a shield charm of her own.

"Can't get through!" Ron shouted from somewhere, Harry's eyes fixed on the snake's. "It's- got some some of- shielding!" An inquisitive part of Harry's mind might have wondered if the shields that he and Hermione were using to hold the beast were any threat to it at all, but as it was they held and would hold. Distantly he hoped that Sir Nicholas could distract the snake's master long enough to keep him from realizing it had wandered off on its own, forgetting where he had heard that aspect of the plan.

"BARON!" he shouted, summoning the spirit from above them, who drew a long, thin blade before stabbing at the snake, though that seemed to have little effect. Already he could imagine Voldemort seeing through the ruse, blasting through whatever line of defense the students of Hogwarts could manage on Malfoy's reluctant information, and surrounding the three of them. That's if the snake doesn't kill us first-

Dodging a lunge as the beast escaped the trap of shields, he cast a flame whip and encircled its neck as Ron hit it with another blasting curse. Sooner or later- it'll realize it's outnumbered- and we can kill it. He was having little luck guiding the snake's head away from him with the whip spell, but in the back of his mind Hermione cracked the magical bubble, defaulting to some sort of basic shield as Ron went in with the fang, though the snake avoided her and reared back for him instead. Poisoned with the basilisk venom it strained against the flame whip, fangs catching the red haired wizard's leg as he tried to jump out of the way.

"Run! Run-both of you- it's dying for sure now- nothing can save-"

Three Death Eaters appeared around them as the anti-apparation wards finally died.

Jerking the flailing snake by the throat, he knocked two of them off their feet before they could react, Hermione's killing curse too fast for the third. Needing no further motivation, she grabbed the wrathful Ron as he sent a burst of flame after the snake, the Death Eaters, or both. He needed someone to look at the bite, and he probably knew it. Harry shielded as a grounded dark wizard sent some kind of explosive curse in his direction, though the force knocked him back all the same. A flurry of curses made him wish not for the first time that he had expanded his arsenal, but it was too late for that now.

As surely as the thrashing monster beside him, he was dying.

Harry felt a moment of pity looking back on the snake's eyes as they darkened, the last bite of the Heir of Slytherin's true monster searing it from the inside. He dismissed the notion as a residual fear, fear of the basilisk venom that had once been in his own system, fear of the still greater monster yet to come, fear of the soul fragment lodged inside of him, the last remnant of the killing curse used against him.

When the three of them yet had difficulties with the idea of using the curse, knowing it was dark and likely to change the user, Hermione discovered that the emotional requirement was an act of 'a wizard rousing his soul to battle'. When the flash collided with the target, a constant stream of the smallest fraction of soul united caster and target, and those unprepared to kill would be unsuccessful. Kicking himself now for never realizing it before, the soul was split every time the killing curse was used, it was just that the target rarely survived. Of course, most targets lacked Lily Potter as a mother, which in his case resulted in some secret warding or enchantment. His face twisted into a grim smile as he imagined the magical equivalent of Voldemort pissing on an electric fence.


He caught up with his friends.

Before he knew it the three of them had retreated into the castle, the other Death Eaters dead, a green flash still floating in his memory, Hermione saying something to him about getting Ron to someone who could help. As he responded to the tune of 'right, right, of course' he distantly wondered if Ron would die. Alone with the ghost in the gardens of the greenhouse, he let the living see to the concerns of their bodies and minds as he stared off in silence. He wondered if even in the best of cases, his soul would survive, though he doubted it.

As the Baron sheathed his blade he felt no further away from soul death, the prospect of ceasing to exist entirely, whatever meager hope he might have had of an afterlife shattered. He might have taken solace in the thought that the man who killed his parents faced the very same, but he would not be there to see it. No, it would be someone else, someone more qualified who killed Voldemort, a wizard capable of more than a few shields and a dark curse that left him by some small fraction less human, less himself every time he used it. In this respect the naive boy was mostly already gone, a horcrux and a hardened killer were all that remained inside of him.

"I understand how ghost possession works," he cleared up, responding to a momentary look of uncertainty in the visage of the ancient spirit. "Don't ask me how I remember it, but Voldemort said he was 'less than the meanest ghost' and he had it going for a year."

"From thy heart release thy wide-eyed fears and trepidations, for loath am I to profane the living with my presence, an imitation of life may it be, a feeble one is it, as has deigned to describe Sir Nicholas." With the careful footwork of a master swordsman he approached and struck, seeing no need for further admonishment, not even of a variety Harry could parse.

There was a blackness all around him, though in the untold distance it was like a summer night, his apparent nudity no object to him. Harry was alone inside his mind, or perhaps his heart, or perhaps the dark cupboard under the stairs, the place of his earliest and most formative memories.

I was born from love, but brought up in cruelty- in darkness.

Somewhere in his mind he was desperately trying to figure out whatever it was he needed, whatever would bring an end to his role in the battle that likely raged outside, but years of experience told him haste would do him no good. In previous years he had almost always been vastly wrong about everything he had been trying to figure out- he had thought Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, he suspected Sirius, even Hagrid, when there were murders- whatever evidence he had that pointed him to those conclusions, he had decided on them entirely too quickly, and acted on them even sooner.

I believed I saw the truth, but I was always in the dark.

Learning the truth about Sirius had shattered any illusions about the light of truth he might have had. Though he had not relied on anything of the sort as long as some of his schoolmates had, the unavoidable truth was that the Prophet and the Ministry, slave and master, simply fabricated much of the story and manufactured evidence to cover up the fact that they imprisoned a man without a trial. Where he had imagined his parents were only valuable to him, that they died had to fall on someone- and since the man who was actually responsible was dead, it had to fall on someone else. He had believed as a thirteen year old that Pettigrew had been clever enough to frame his godfather only because he knew nothing of priori incantatem, which would have cleared him- had there been any intent to acquit the innocent and punish the guilty. As it was, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement likely saw no purpose in turning over every loose stone for a cowardly rat when they already had the scapegoat the public needed. As far as they knew or cared, Pettigrew really was dead.


Harry could sympathize, in part. It was harrowing to learn that some of the older students had been placing bets on his survival as early as third year. Wonder what they’d think of my chances now.

"Hello, Harry."

He rounded quickly and where he expected to see a clone of himself, or possibly a pair of scarlet eyes, he saw the last thing he expected. A decent-looking man of perhaps fifty stared back at him. He lacked the charming appearance of a younger Riddle, yet he looked decidedly more human than he was meant to- Harry quickly surmised that the look of the soul should be similar to the way the creator of the horcrux looked at the time, though what he was seeing was irreconcilable.

"I've changed you. You've changed me." A familiar voice explained, seeing his look of confusion. "It's a humbling experience, truly- being stuck inside the body of a beardless boy for years, influencing him with my wisdom, pushing him in the right direction, speaking to him in dreams. In some ways it was like a second chance at life- and now I realize that you are my last chance. I cannot live without you, Harry."

"You tried to kill me-"

"The rest of me tried to kill you and he continues the effort even now. All that I have done has been to keep you alive, to protect you from him who would cast me away. I and those like me may have been useful tools to him, but having regained his body he no longer needs me, and I doubt what remains of him would survive another division."

"You expect me to trust you? Where's the Baron?"

"Trust your own judgement. I am a part of you, and were I not, our interests would yet align. We have the same enemy- let us fight him together." He gave a soft chuckle. "We have already begun to work together. Do you think it an accident that young Ginny fell for you, or have you realized that she saw in you the same mastery and wisdom she missed? Did you think you loved her, Harry?"

As he left the young man to parse what he was proposing, crouched, his eyes turned to the infinite blackness, the unnaturally human voice explained that the Baron had traveled far, but had far yet to travel.

"I remember loving her," Harry argued, rising. It was difficult for him to think of the time before, it seemed like antiquity "I know I loved her because I tried to save her. I remember what I felt when I lost her."

"I remember it differently. I needed pull no strings in your baser instincts, yes, but I conjured memories of your mother when you were desperate for someone to need you. It was imperative that you were shown something essential about yourself, and I allowed you to push her away without any nagging notions of guilt over having done so. Your friend loved her, you will remember that he did not lose his lease when she died; he swore revenge, he gained a fire in his eyes I had never seen before, though your reaction was entirely different from his distinctly loving one." The middle-aged Riddle came round and stood in front of him. "You simply gave up the illusion of who you were."

Something was breaking in the distance, though he could not be sure if the sound came from within his mind or the world of life, the place that seemed a million miles away. Harry responded to nothing.

"Ah. Perhaps you were mistaken about the amount of influence I have. Perhaps you believed I would simply enshrine you with power, but be without voice. Really, Harry, I have been with you since you were unable to speak, though I confess it was difficult to communicate with you then. It was I who hardened you against the years of darkness imposed by the revolting muggles, for I too had a shameful upbringing, if a proud heritage." Harry's mind was swimming, but he merely stood there, his eyes unblinking in confusion. All the same, Riddle continued. "Deep in your earliest memories I was there, whispering exhortation that you stand tall, against authority if need be, against the larger part of myself, the greatest wizard in the world. I was proud when you rejected his offer to help you on the way to greatness- proud of myself, proud of you, proud of what we had become together."

"You killed my parents!" Harry shouted, lost as the background of the world changed again. The pair of them were in a neat little house.

"I did, I confess. In a moment of fear of prophecy, I appeal that it was an act of necessity, as one of us was to kill the other- but have you considered how much better off you are without them? All others remember them with the rose tint of martyrs, but you know better- your father was a coward, picking on those weaker than himself. He rose to Dumbledore's aid because it was commonly believed that my old Transfiguration teacher was a greater wizard than I. His little friend, Pettigrew, was a traitor, but never half the coward your father was, disappearing rather than facing me. It would have been easy for his master to be waiting in the wings to kill me, if he were truly capable, and I imagine this was when your father realized he had chosen the wrong side."

Around them the scene played out, Harry's mother and father in the sitting room downstairs.

"This isn't my memory..."

"It's our memory, Harry. Come, let us take our places." He rounded suddenly to see his mother staring at him, not a memory- or perhaps he was the memory. Riddle was gone as he turned again, appearing at the door only moments later. His father shouted and the red haired woman ran before he could finish his thought, dragging him painfully up the stair as though he were a disobedient child. Madly, he could see through Riddle's eyes at the same time; he saw his father groveling and pleading and the defense mechanism on his mother's face as she placed him in a crib with an unnatural strength, telling him not to worry; it would all be all right. His father died below them as his mother's wand came out, hiding behind the door, though Riddle simply blasted a hole through it as he came up moments later. He could feel himself, a part of himself, laughing as it killed his parents, laughing at their feeble, naive attempts to protect themselves, the cowardice and dishonor of his father, and the utter failure of his mother. Her body was a broken marionette on the floor, the Dark Lord kicking it aside as he entered.

"You think this makes- killing them- okay?" Harry choked.

"It was a pity Severus saw none of this. I would have enjoyed seeing how quickly I could make his expression change. Alas, he was not there-"

"Neither was Sirius," Harry spat, his rage and pain drawing memories like water from a deep, dark well. A look of confusion passed across Riddle's face. "Sirius- wasn't- there! In the DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES- SIRIUS WASN'T THERE!" The confusion was replaced by naked shock as the scene exploded around them, Harry's eyes not leaving his enemy's as a wand appeared in his hand. We're in my head-

His shield blocked both a memory charm and a curse he did not recognize, some hidden art the soul fragment was keeping from him for a situation like this. Fighting to stay alive through the barrage of spellfire, Harry noticed that the pair of them were in a large, white room, a cleaner King's Cross. A momentary breath provided the opportunity for a reductor curse of his own, making cracks in Riddle's shielding. He doesn't have half my magical power- Harry pressed, careful to keep up his shields, though the myriad hexes and curses did little to damage them. Armed with a nigh insurmountable advantage, he cast a fire charm and a stunner into shields as they were being reinforced, noting that Riddle had avoided the killing curse thus far, possibly because it would be ineffective.

"Bombarda Maxima!" Harry shouted, breaking the shields and blasting his enemy several feet back, further than expected. Following quickly to press the advantage, Riddle merely waved his wand from the floor and Harry was immobilized, his wand out of his hand in the next instant.

"Oh, I hoped you would not have thought a little extra power would best decades of experience," Riddle taunted as he rose, waving his wand to force Harry into a bow, facing a glowing red rune on the floor. "The explosive charm rarely sends an opponent off his feet, though I suppose the advice is wasted on you... you forgot my ability to fly."

Unable to think as his enemy magically angled his head up again, he stared at a pair of reddening eyes.

"I value courage, Harry, I truly do, and yet I believe a change of leadership is in order. I risk soul death, you understand," the dark wizard explained, mocking Harry's earlier thoughts. "I assure you there are no hard feelings- how could I hate you? This is all but an act of fate, of course. One of us was ever to kill the other."

"That... prophecy... doesn't apply to you, Tom," Harry breathed, as the point of a silver sword charged out of Riddle's chest. "You're already dead." The expression frozen on the pallid face of his enemy was one of shock. "I thought you didn't believe in striking from the back."

"Liken thou this killing blow to the death of a dog, sicke with plague or madness. Might it have been thy battle to fight, it was one I would see ended swiftly, as there are battles yet." The Bloody Baron was insulting him, but the young wizard could not have cared. He was breathing heavily and happy to move again, and for the first time in months he felt alive. The specter turned to go.

"Baron." The open, white room around them seemed to be growing lighter, though the Slytherin ghost seemed to be in no hurry. "I don't know if I loved Ginny or if I was just-" being a teenager. "I just- What I know for certain is that I didn't want to- I never wanted to deal with losing her. Maybe I was more worried about that than actually losing her, I don't know. It's hard to remember after all that's happened."

The Baron seemed to consider his words and nodded, looking Harry in the eyes before disappearing.

"Harry!"

The voice came to him as the scene dissolved around him.

"Harry, wake up!"

His eyes had yet to open as the feeling returned to him, the aches and pains in his arms and legs.

"Get a move on, you absolute bellend."

Harry might have laughed as he opened his eyes, but he coughed first, spitting blood out of his mouth. As he took in the scene around him, he doubted it was his own.

Ron and Hermione, surrounded by several others, were standing amid a slew of corpses on the floor, by their general description a smattering of low-ranking Death Eaters and Snatchers, an Inferius that had been burned to a new definition of undeath in the corner. Did the Baron do this? He rose to his feet uncertainly, supposing that it could have been his friends defending him.

"How long is it? Where's-"

"He's retreated, Harry. He'll be back, of course, with greater numbers-" Hermione started as he looked at her cautiously. Someone had reattached her arm, a horrible scar visible from where her sleeve had been removed. "More importantly are you alright?"

"We were really worried about you, mate." Ron said. Behind him it seemed much of what remained of Dumbledore's Army agreed.

"Never better. We need to shore up the defenses-" he muttered, mostly to himself as he wondered how many, or perhaps how few people they had left. If he's retreated it's because he lost the mental connection- I'm sure of it- He can't just floor me with the mind arts and possess me at a range, so he's retreating- altering the strategy. A hand touched his elbow from behind, interrupting his thoughts. He turned in time to see Ron gesture to the others to leave the three of them, Hermione staring resolutely.

"Are you really better? He's out of your head now?" she asked quietly. He wondered who had reattached her arm. Madam Pomfrey would have been my first target- use a student to get close- He shook himself.

"There's only one way to be sure." he decided. "I need to hear something in Parseltongue."

Some mad hissing sound came out of Ron's mouth. Harry stared back.

"What?" Ron asked. There was a discoloration in his skin- either the venom or the antidote- there would have been something in Snape's office. "You used to talk in your sleep a lot."

"I don't now?"

"Well, no, Harry, it's a bit of a challenge when you don't get any," he explained, his own reddened eyes smiling as Harry and Hermione acknowledged the joke, though it seemed the witch's mind was elsewhere. She's got every right to be thinking about the future.

"Well, best get on that. It'll be a fight from hell when he gets back." He clapped his old friend on the back. "I'll find my way to the dormitory."

"Going to be fine on your own, then?" Ron asked half-jokingly, his arm around the waist of a moderately scandalized Hermione.

"Yeah, I think I will." he said, leaving the blossoming life of the greenhouse for the old bed of his first real home, something he never knew he would miss. Walking in the stone corridor, he felt a kind of solitude he had never known, a truly miraculous one.

In that there was also the old thrill of victory, having killed the horcrux that haunted him the most. Without forgetting or making less of all that remained to be fought, in a way it seemed the most pivotal battle was over, though he had to shake his head at the notion. There was nothing to celebrate yet, nothing his friends at Hogwarts knew, nothing that mattered to the world, but in his heart he was proud of himself, and perhaps for the first time.

 

So this is a decent effort. It has a beginning, middle and end and has clear stakes and an end goal.

Where it falls down is duologue and pacing.

As BTT has mentioned, the pacing is all over the place. This starts off as a high strung sprint towards the climax which is a good choice, it's a short story and it's fanfiction so you don't need to explain the stakes, we already know them. The scene is set, running battle through what remains of Hogwarts, explosions, spell fire, final desperate attempt at destroying the Hocruxs once and for all. Just getting straight to the good stuff.

The problem is the pace comes to screeching halt for various reasons. Waiting around for the Bloody Baron, infodumping about the diadiem and the Barons backstory with the Grey Lady. Reitterating Harry the Hocrux and the sacrifice several times. Back story about Ginny. Most of this stuff was unnessisary, half of it we already knew. The author has not taken advantage of the fact the audience know the canon already and so wastes a lot of words on known info that's going to get skimmed. Never a good thing for a short story.

Equally you had long pontificating conversations that also killed the pacing. Half of them were full of info the reader already knows. A lot of them was overlong. You could have had twice the emotional impact with about a quarter of the words. Everyone talking too damn much and it killed the flow of the action scenes dead.

There's a gem of a good idea here and some inventive turns that could really work. However to get to it you kind of need to take a machete to about half of what's written. Still that kind of ruthlessness is an acquired skill (or the job of a good beta) it comes with time.

 

This story honestly left me a bit confused. It was never entirely clear to me why things had changed, and to a degree I could roll with it. But the more you focused on the Ravenclaw plotline, the more confused I became.

The Baron's overwrought speech was a chore to read through. As a means of dialogue, it really jars me out of the story and takes too long to convey certain points across. I'd say a good parallel here is overenunciating foreign accents - a little bit is enough to give us the idea, stuffing too much of it just makes it a distraction from your story.

The pacing as well is a mess. You jump from climaxes to low points, building scenes up, creating tension and then throwing it all away in a roller coaster ride. The long winded dialogue - plenty of which the reader would already know about from having read DH - could have been cut down plenty and left the same (or perhaps greater) impact. More words does not always mean more development.

The end result is that huge portions of the story were entirely skippable, and that's never a good sign when every scene counts in a story as short as this.

 

I had trouble getting into this because I thought that this - Slytherin's ghost- where the hell is he? - was a curse. As in Merlin's balls, where is he!?

Then it turned out that he was actually looking for Slytherin's ghost and it made me blink and scratch my head, because it feels very clunky for someone to think in complete sentences like that... or something about it feels unlike a thought, I suppose.

Is Ron scared of ghosts or something? He's very vague about his idea, comes off like he's scared of ghosts so he just spouts off that he'll go help Hermione. And the burning Nott's face thing feels very random and yet emphasized.

I think I mentioned this in someone else's review too - the Dumbledore story? - but in my opinion I think you're using italics for thoughts in some way that's a little bit off. I think in close 3rd you can do less of it and keep the content? People don't think things like "that's what Hermione says" - or at least, not explicitly. That can be part of the paragraph not in italics. I'm not explaining this well.

Not a huge fan of the flashback to a few days ago - could show that instead of tell us about it probably - and I'm not really feeling 'in the moment' with Harry. You tell me he's tired, and I believe you, but I don't feel it.

So, the ghosts are obligated to talk to Harry? So far I'm not feeling any tension. A tired Harry has a glossed over fight with someone, some cryptic stuff about Theo Nott, and then he sits around and waits to have an awkward conversation with the Baron, who is obligated to talk to him.

"Has it moved to this floor?" Made me laugh, well done.

Urhm, and, surprise, Ginny died in this one? And Harry finds hurting people to be easier? That feels a bit like it came out of nowhere for me.

I like this idea of "can't just die a little bit" to get out of it with Harry's recollection of the Basilisk venom.

I like your idea in general - that of an 'altered' final battle. I think your primary AU point was Ginny dying? Which led to a harsher break within the trio and this new relationship dynamic with Ron. These changed events lead to the climax going differently in general, from finding the horcruxes to their discoveries about Harry himself being one.

But to be frank I'm struggling not to skim.

This reminds me a great deal of a lot of 'early works' from fanfiction authors. There's too many words, the pacing is sloppy, there's little tension, but the idea is sound.

I personally wouldn't 'edit' this so much as I'd rewrite it. If it was me, I'd take this story, make an outline of it now that it's written, and then re-write the story based on that outline and taking into account the feedback you get here.

Solid ending concept, by the way - getting rid of the horcrux in a different manner from canon is always a plus. Not because Harry's not-death in canon was bad, but because it's overdone at this point.

I like that you tied up your corner of the larger story - with Harry, etc. - but left the war itself still ongoing.

Meets the 'Death' prompt criteria by a hair by my standards, but to me this wasn't really a story about Death... even if I agree you did include it, so technically I'll check that box off. A bit of rewriting to emphasize earlier that Ginny's death set this entire AU into motion would have helped there, I think.

 

This is very scattered and all over the place and a large portion of the story needs to be re-written with better direction. I was totally confused for the longest time about wtf was going on, and then when I finally figured it out I wasn't less confused.

This feels like something you had laying around and then tried to turn it into a story for the prompt. I'm not sure I entirely like it. I'm not really sold on the idea of it either. There was a lot of space that you could have spent selling it to me, and you chose to do something different. I hate long drawn out, and overly inspired speech writing. The bit with the Baron was a bit of a snooze fest. I'm struggling to say anything else for this.

I appreciate your effort in submitting, I hope to see this reworked in the future as a submission to WbA. Don't let any of the comments here deter you. DLP has always been about improvement, even if its just fan-fiction.