Chapter Twenty-Four of 'World in Pieces'- The Bridge

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Title: World in Pieces (24/25)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Warnings: Violence, angst, mentions of suicide and torture.
Pairings: Past AU Harry/Draco, canon het pairings otherwise (and no pairing for Harry in the present of the story). Eventually, a Snape mentors Harry story.
Rating: PG-13 to R
Summary: Harry is summoned to an alternate universe still suffering under Voldemort less than an hour after his own defeat of the bastard. Worse, he's not the first Harry Potter they've called on this way. Worst yet (at the moment), there is no way back home. But give Harry time, and he's likely to find something that's even worse.
Author's Notes: This is a WiP that's likely to progress extremely slowly. I know it has 24 chapters, and they'll be long, but I can't say exactly when it'll be updated. It's also really angsty at times, although hopefully never for very long. It picks up right after the last chapter (as opposed to the epilogue) of DH.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews! There will be an epilogue to this story, posted some time in the next two weeks, but this is the last chapter proper of World in Pieces. I just couldn’t fit everything into it, so there will have to be an epilogue. But as for the main story, it really does stop here.

Chapter Twenty-Four—The Bridge

“Of course I will take charge of him.” Minerva looked shaken, her hand rising to her mouth as though she assumed that would cover her shock. “Are you sure—you are sure of all he has done?”

Severus wanted to close his eyes and sink back into his chair. He had thought it best to tell Minerva about Albus and the things he had done, as well as what they needed her to do now, early in the morning, but he should have foreseen the challenge of her doubt. She would not want to believe him, and he did not want to argue about it.

He hadn’t remembered that he had someone by his side who would challenge Minerva if she tried to get away with that.

“Of course he did all that.” Harry stepped forwards, his legs stiff when Severus opened his eyes to look at him. His face had a darker maturity than it had yesterday. Severus wondered idly how much that came from the battle, how much from destroying the Dark Lord, and how much from simple longing to go home and leave the complexities of this Order and his relationship with it far behind. “Why would we lie and tell you he did if he didn’t?”

Minerva turned a troubled gaze on Harry. “I do not—disbelieve you, precisely,” she faltered, and Severus held back a snort. Of course she did. “But I wish for some more proof than what you’ve offered me so far. It’s a serious accusation.”

“Remember the body of the Harry who committed suicide, we were told, on the banks of the lake?” Severus asked. He was done with this nonsense, and with the way that Harry glared at Minerva. It was Harry he mostly wished to protect from Minerva’s doubt, but he might also have to protect Minerva from Harry’s wand if this went on. “Do you remember how his pupils had swollen, which was an odd sight? And there is the small matter that one cannot commit suicide with one’s own wand. Someone else could have changed his wand into a blade and given it to him, but that would imply the presence of at least one other person who was aware of the deed.”

Minerva sat up, her gaze electric now. “I do remember reading about that,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Albus’s words were an effective blind,” Severus said tiredly. He wondered if this was how it would be when they went back to the castle to deal with the Order. If it was one-tenth as hard, then he would yield to the broad hints Harry was already dropping and let Minerva deal with it. They could depart without seeing anyone except perhaps Black. Severus would remove the controlling spell from him, since they would have no further need of it. “He had only to hint that Harry was afraid to face the Dark Lord, and everyone else picked up on that. After all, we were afraid, too.”

Minerva nodded, although she looked at him as though she suspected he hadn’t been afraid. Severus restrained his snort with an effort he thought was probably visible. But as long as Minerva agreed and did as she was told, including helping to restrain Albus, then it really wouldn’t matter.

“I can believe more easily now that he was responsible for that Harry’s death,” Minerva began, her gaze darting to the Harry who stood at Severus’s side as if she still found them hard to separate.

But, Severus thought, knowing what came next.

“I still find it hard to believe that he kept it concealed from us for so long.” Minerva shifted uneasily in her seat again. “According to you, he believed he was right, that he had to sacrifice Harry to save the world. Why would he keep something like that secret? He never hesitated to tell us what had to be done, when he thought the Order had to summon other versions of the destined hero from their worlds.”

“He didn’t want to tell you because it didn’t work,” Harry said. Severus was glad that he had taken over. His flat voice and blunt words might convince Minerva more effectively, as would his outrage. “He couldn’t make himself part of the prophecy the way he thought he might be able to, and he sure couldn’t take it over and transform it so that he was the one destined to defeat Voldemort and not me. Us,” he added. Severus wondered if it was because of the way Minerva was staring at him or just because he remembered that he hadn’t been the only Harry Potter called on as a replacement. “He couldn’t admit to failure. He didn’t even want to admit that summoning other Harrys from other worlds was a failure. He just kept having you do it.”

Minerva nodded slowly. “Can you forgive us for that?” she asked Harry. “For bringing you here with no way for you to get home?”

Harry was silent for so long that Severus wondered what he was planning to say. Although the effort of moving still made his head hurt, he managed to turn and look at Harry.

Harry had his eyes half-closed and his fingers tapping on one hip. Then he opened his eyes and nodded. “I suppose I can,” he said, “since Professor Snape and I found a way to go home after all.”

Minerva seemed to go mostly boneless in her relief. “That’s wonderful,” she breathed, with only one glance at Severus to confirm it. “Then you can—you can forgive the rest of the Order, too.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t plan to talk to them about it. If they talk to me, then I’m going to tell them exactly what I think of them. They didn’t desert to help me like you and Draco did,” he added, perhaps because he had seen Minerva’s wince.

“Yes,” Minerva said faintly. “Well. Perhaps it would be for the best if Mr. Black and Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger stayed out of your way.”

Harry smiled at her and turned to look at Severus. “Do you think we can trust her not to be corrupted by his words, then?” he asked.

Minerva sat up and glared at him. This time, it came sheerly from his insolence and not from any belief that Albus was more innocent than they had said he was, Severus judged.

He nodded once to Harry and turned back to Minerva. “We had to make sure of you,” he said. “And your initial reaction justified our caution.”

Minerva shut her mouth on what was probably a sharp snap, and then grimaced. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll—follow you and take charge of him. I should take him back to Hogwarts right away, I suppose.” She hesitated and looked around the room they sat in, warm and blazing red, the room Severus had allotted to her, as if she didn’t know what to do next. “There’s no reason to stay here, now,” she said, in a little rising tone.

Severus nodded again. “And you might as well take Mr. Malfoy with you. He should go back to Hogwarts and see his father.”

His gaze crossed with Minerva’s. Minerva moved her lips soundlessly for a moment, then smiled. “Of course I will be there when they meet,” she said.

Severus inclined his head, well-pleased. When she was not blinded by her obnoxious faith in a man who had her in the palm of his hand, Minerva had good sense.

“We need to go back to Hogwarts, too,” Harry said suddenly. “There are some things I left there that I need, and you need your clothes and books and any Potions ingredients that you want to take with you.”

Minerva’s mouth fell open. “Take with you? Where are you going, Severus?”

Severus half-smiled. He could have wished that he was less tired or that Minerva was a more hostile audience, for the full effect of the words, but he would enjoy them as he could. “I am retiring,” he said mildly. “Going back with Harry to his world, and keeping him out of trouble while making a new life for myself, sounded like a good idea.”

“But you are dead there.”

“And I’m dead in this one,” Harry said sharply. “Didn’t prevent me from getting pulled here to save all your arses.”

“Language, Harry,” Severus said mildly. “But yes, Minerva, I am well aware of that. Based on the theory that Albus talked about with us—a theory I believe to be sound despite his general untrustworthiness—I would not be able to fit into Harry’s world if I was not. There would be no gap I could drop into. As it is, I am rather looking forward to it. A world with a different reputation and no Albus sounds like the world for me.”

He caught Harry’s gaze, the way his eyes had widened and he’d clamped one hand over his mouth, probably to keep from bursting out cackling. He did not seem to have thought that Albus’s death in his world might be one of its attractions for Severus.

An instant later, Harry grinned and turned to Minerva. “So when are we taking Dumbledore back to Hogwarts?”

*
“Caution.”

Harry didn’t really think he needed Snape’s hand on his shoulder, or the word Snape leaned down and hissed in his ear, to tell him that. Yes, all right, he was practically marching forwards in his eagerness to find the members of the Order and tell them what he thought of them. It didn’t matter much, though, he thought. Whatever he said, they wouldn’t change, and they couldn’t hurt him. He was leaving this world in a few days.

It didn’t mean that he was prepared when they rounded one corner in the dungeons, with McGonagall floating Dumbledore in front of them, and met Ron and Hermione.

Weasley and Granger, Harry told himself firmly. He had decided it was best for his sanity if he just separated them from his friends in his mind as much as he could.

“What are you doing with the Headmaster?” Granger asked, although her voice was faint and almost came out as a squeak. Weasley stood beside her, eyes darting around as though he wished he was somewhere else.

Well, I wish the same thing, Harry thought, and glared at them. “I know you got the letters I sent to you,” he said. “That should have explained most of it. And maybe Mr. Malfoy could explain the rest.” He thought Lucius was the likeliest of all them to have suspected something wrong about the first Harry’s body.

“I still don’t understand.” Granger looked at Professor McGonagall, and she shook her head. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “You know that Professor Dumbledore was only trying the hardest he could to—to make sure that we survived.”

“And he has done it, if you want to think of it that way, Miss Granger.” McGonagall looked as impassive as Harry had ever seen her. He decided it was probably because she had decided Granger wasn’t really to blame for everything Dumbledore had done. “The last Harry Potter he summoned has killed—Voldemort.”

Granger swayed on her feet, and Weasley looked like he might faint. No wonder, Harry thought. McGonagall had probably never said that name before.

“Really?” Granger whispered this time. “He’s dead?”

McGonagall nodded and looked almost kindly at her. Harry shrugged. She could give kindness, and that was fine, as long as she didn’t expect Harry to do the same thing. “Yes. I saw the body—what was left of it—myself. He burned.”

Weasley smiled for the first time. “Good,” he said. “That’s justice for the way he burned Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.”

“It is indeed,” McGonagall said. “And I think you ought to thank Mr. Potter, who was instrumental in his destruction.”

Weasley turned to face him. Harry gave him a bored look, wondering if this was really necessary. But McGonagall was the one who had made Weasley apologize, so Harry supposed he could be gracious for however long this took.

“Thank you,” Weasley said, although his eyes were fixed on the floor at Harry’s feet instead of on his face. “You were—you were the one who could do the job, and we ought to have known that.”

“We did know that,” Granger said, although her voice was small, like she was still reasoning her way towards a conclusion. “That’s why we brought him across from his world to ours.”

And that, in the end, was what ignited Harry’s temper. He lifted his eyes and looked at Granger, and she stepped back so fast that she collided with the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw McGonagall open her mouth as if to say something, then sigh and shut it.

“You didn’t know that,” Harry whispered. “The fuck are you talking about. You only brought me because your own Harry was dead—murdered by your fearless leader, by the way—and you were desperate to survive. You didn’t think about whether I wanted to or whether I would do any better than the two versions of me you already lost. You didn’t even pay close enough attention to realize I was in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin! It was only coincidence that I managed to save you. I sure as hell didn’t get any help from you—”

Snape put his hand on his shoulder. Harry choked back his fury. He knew that Snape wasn’t touching him that way because he thought Harry should keep the words to himself; he’d done it because Granger’s chin was rising, haughty as fire, and he knew that she wouldn’t listen to a thing they said.

“You still saved us,” Granger said. “And you were brave, so thank you.” The words might have broken her teeth, the way she said them. “And you probably found a way back to your own world thanks to the help you got, so it all worked out for the best.”

“Not help from you,” Harry whispered.

Weasley interrupted, looking back and forth between them uneasily as if he knew Harry was upset but not why. “Anyway, things are all right, now,” he said. “You found a way to go home?”

“No thanks to her,” Harry said, jerking a finger at Granger, “but yeah, I did.” He reminded himself again that the point was to get the first Harry’s diary and some of the things Snape had left here, and go home. He couldn’t make this Ron and Hermione understand the truth, because they wouldn’t, no matter what he said.

“Okay.” Weasley gave him one more cautious glance and laid a hand on Granger’s elbow when she would have said something. She rolled her eyes and said a derogatory word beneath her breath, but followed Weasley up the corridor without a farewell that would probably have set Harry off again.

“Now that that is done,” McGonagall said, in a bright, brittle voice. Harry thought she was a little shocked that other members of the Order had behaved exactly the way Harry and Snape had told her they would, and just barely managed to keep from shaking his head. What would it take to convince her? “May we go on? You said that you wanted to retrieve something specific from the Slytherin common room, Potter.”

“Yes,” Harry said, and glanced at Snape. He was unsure how strong he was after the battle with Voldemort. Sometimes he still limped or clutched his arm or looked as if he needed some extra support.

“I will manage,” said Snape, and made a shooing motion. Harry sighed and darted away down the corridor.

It took him a few moments to realize he still had a follower. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Draco behind him, his mouth set.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry muttered, and stopped, turning to face him. “I’m not going to break anything or take anything that doesn’t belong to me, all right? You can let me go alone.”

“I don’t want to.”

Harry rolled his eyes and kept going. Draco paced him, his wand drawn. Harry watched him from the corner of his eye, but as long as Draco didn’t point the damn thing at him, then it was none of Harry’s business why he wanted extra protection.

They rounded the corner that would lead to the door of the Slytherin common room, and Lucius Malfoy was standing there.

Draco stepped in front of Harry. Harry shook his head and moved up beside him, instead. Did Draco think that his father would strike at Harry for being the one to cause Voldemort’s death? Maybe, but Harry had faced worse things now, throughout the month he’d been here, than Lucius bloody Malfoy.

Lucius didn’t look as though he wanted to strike, anyway. He glanced once at his son before fastening his eyes back on Harry. “You succeeded,” he whispered.

“No thanks to you, right?” Harry asked. “You might have been a spy for Voldemort for years, from what I can tell.”

Draco was the only one who flinched at the name. Lucius regarded him thoughtfully instead, then nodded. “Yes. I did send some information to him. Until you came and demonstrated that you could resist the Dark Lord’s magic, I had no hope in the replacements for the original Potter, and no faith in the prophecy.”

“Did you have anything to do with Harry’s death?” Draco’s voice was low and dangerous.

Lucius turned to him and smiled pleasantly. “Of course not. How could I? He’s standing right in front of you, still alive.”

“Don’t play with me.” Draco’s wand flicked once. “Did you help Dumbledore sacrifice him?”

Lucius shook his head. “Why would I? His was the side I chose. When he demonstrated his strength against the Dark Lord, he was the one I chose to honor and follow. But the others were unknown factors. I could not trust them, and I wanted to be sure that I was on the winning side.”

“That’s all you care about,” said Harry. He felt strange and weighty and wise, saying that. He felt as though he understood Lucius better than he understood the Weasley and Granger of this world. Of course, Lucius had been more honest, was being more honest right now, and if he wasn’t, then it wouldn’t affect Harry as much. “Being on the winning side.”

Lucius glanced at him and nodded. “It will not matter as much as I thought, given the way you defeated him,” he added, with a thoughtful blink. “He will not be able to punish me or favor me. Will Dumbledore?”

“I doubt it,” said Draco.

Lucius faced his son again and studied him. Then he smiled. “You have got over that death,” he said. “I am pleased.”

“I gave my grief to Dumbledore,” Draco said, his voice as steady as the castle walls. Harry wondered if Lucius knew him well enough to see the nervous way his eyelids fluttered.

Probably, but he didn’t make a mocking remark about that, the way Harry would have thought. Instead, Lucius bowed. “You have become the Malfoy I knew you could be,” he said.
“That was well-done, indeed.”

Draco beamed. Harry sighed. “Can you let me pass? I need to retrieve something from the Slytherin common room, and you’re blocking the way.”

“You must have found a way back home,” Lucius said, moving out of the way. “If you were staying here, you would try to be more conciliatory to me.”

Harry snorted and stepped past him. Perhaps Draco would explain to his father how little interest Harry had in placating anyone here.

Except Snape, perhaps, but already, Harry didn’t think of Snape as belonging to this world. He was, instead, just the ally who would come back with Harry, the person who deserved a real home instead of exile here.

The only person who does, Harry thought, as he slipped into the room and made his way to the bed that the first Harry had slept in, the one with the knobs of gold that he could push and touch. The others can stay here and rot for all I care.

He had to admit he didn’t really feel that way about the Weasleys—most of them—but this was still their world, and not his. He had left it up to Professor McGonagall to tell the Weasleys about the defeat of Voldemort. It wasn’t the kind of story Harry had the patience for anymore.

He held the diary in his hands soon enough, and cracked it open, hoping against hope it might have changed into English, or even Parseltongue, words since the last time he looked at it. No. It was still a mess of letters and numbers.

“What is that?”

Harry hesitated, but the first Harry was dead, and he had been avenged, and if there was anyone here who had loved him, Harry thought it was Draco. He held the diary out, and watched Draco frown at the code for a moment.

Then he snorted, and his face broke into a gentle smile. “That’s a code we used to write to each other in first year,” he said, shaking his head. “We thought we were so clever. If any professors found the notes, they wouldn’t be able to understand them. But all that happened was that they thought we were planning something more serious than we were, and they assigned us a worse detention than you usually get.”

“You can read it, then?” Harry asked, when he could speak.

“It’ll take me a second,” Draco said in distraction, picking up the diary gently. “It’s been years since I used it. You have to substitute letters for each other, see, and write the words backwards. The numbers are just distractions.” He fell silent, then Summoned a piece of parchment and an inkwell and started writing.

“Will Severus be returning?”

That was Lucius. Everyone seemed to think that he wanted to answer their questions today, Harry thought in irritation. But this one, there was no reason to keep silent on. Maybe Draco’s father would be humbled a little if he knew that he couldn’t lord it over Snape anymore. He turned around. “He’s in the castle.”

“I meant, will he be staying here, or going back with you?” Lucius stood with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on Harry as though he was trying to understand why he had been able to defeat Voldemort when none of the others had.

Because I had more help, and I knew about Horcruxes, and I was stubborn, Harry thought. He knew that no one would believe that answer, if he gave it. They would want something either more mystical or more—deadly. Harry wondered if people were already telling each other different stories about the way he had defeated Voldemort back in his own world, too. Using a Disarming Spell and the help of others and just happening to have the allegiance of the Elder Wand wasn’t special enough for some people.

“He’ll be going,” Harry said. “What does he have to stay here for?”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed a little. Harry wasn’t sure why that shot had gone home, but he was glad it had. He wasn’t going to judge Lucius for betraying Dumbledore; in a way, Snape had done the same, and if Lucius passing information on to Voldemort had resulted in some deaths, that was a matter for people here to work out and punish him for. But Lucius still wasn’t Snape, wasn’t an ally.

A friend, even.

“He might stay to see the one who hurt him punished,” Lucius murmured. “The Headmaster.”

“And other people?” Harry asked, and smiled nastily when Lucius flinched. “No, he won’t want to stay. He’s just not interested in that.”

Lucius looked at him with his lips parted. Then he shook his head and said, with irony that Harry knew he meant to be devastating, “It is more than clear that you do not know Severus. You would never say such a foolish thing if you did. The idea that he would give up revenge…” Lucius fell silent, smiling into a corner. “You cannot think that.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Draco didn’t lift his head from the diary. “Professor Snape let Harry destroy the Dark Lord. And he let Harry yell at Dumbledore and say all the things that Professor Snape would say if he really didn’t want someone to take revenge for him.”

Lucius turned to his son. “You were not there, so you cannot say how it was,” he said, his voice sharp.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “And it’s more than clear that you don’t know Draco, if you thought he would let someone else take his revenge,” he muttered at Lucius. He didn’t really care if Lucius heard him. He just thought it was beyond stupid of him to act as if he knew everything.

Draco lifted his head and looked steadily back at his father. “I came into the garden where they defeated both of them after the Dark Lord had burned,” he said. “But I asked Professor Snape later if it was Harry who burned the Dark Lord, and he said it was. And I heard Harry dumping all his hatred on Dumbledore. I would offer you a Pensieve memory, except you don’t have a Pensieve here.” He flashed Lucius a nasty smile. “And you would probably come up with another way to deny what’s perfectly true. You enjoy doing that, don’t you, Father? You enjoy shoving away everything that would contradict your blatantly false notions about the world.”

And he turned back to the diary.

Harry had to grin. Draco wasn’t going to have any problems handling his father, not if he could say things like that that left Lucius staring at him, and Harry didn’t think he needed to worry about Draco being consumed by helpless grief any more, either.

“Harry.”

The voice came from the entrance of the Slytherin common room. Harry turned around.

Sirius stood there with his hair dangling into his eyes, so much like the escaped Azkaban inmate from his own world that Harry’s heart went out to him for a second. But then he drew a breath and reminded himself that the only Sirius who was real to him, the one from his world, was dead.

“What?” Harry asked, slowly standing and moving towards him. He didn’t want a confrontation with Sirius in front of Draco and Lucius, and that was the only reason he was moving. He didn’t owe this Sirius anything, either.

The man didn’t seem to think he did, to be fair. His eyes were resting on Harry, so yearning that Harry winced a little, and he held out his own hand. “Can you come talk to me? I need to say something to you.”

If it’s about Snape’s mind control spell, then I’m not listening, Harry thought, as he stepped out the door and nodded once to Draco, who had looked up at him. Draco nodded back and returned to translating the book. He would find Harry when he was done and let him see the translation, Harry was sure.

Sirius had wanted to talk, but he kept wandering down the corridors for long minutes. Harry finally sighed and said, “We probably won’t be here very long. What did you want to say to me? Or ask me?” The way Sirius hesitated all the time said it might be a question, instead of the declaration that Harry had been half-expecting.

“We?” Sirius turned towards him, mouth loose and eyes bright. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Professor Snape.” Harry had to admit that he’d probably added the title just to irritate Sirius, but, well, he could do that if he wanted. And Snape deserved some respect in front of the Order.

“You don’t belong with him!” Sirius jerked to a stop and faced Harry fully, his arms folded and his head tossed back. Harry sighed a little. At least it made him look less like the Sirius Harry had known and loved, except maybe in those moments when he was facing down Snape in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. “You belong with me! I’m your godfather!”

“No,” Harry said slowly, already regretting that he’d agreed to the walk. Fuck it, he’d just got Draco over thinking that he was the Harry born to this world, and now Sirius had to be persuaded the same way? “You’re not. You were the godfather of a boy who was dead, and you raised him, and I know losing him hurts. But I’m not him.”

Sirius recoiled a step, staring at him. Harry stared back. He knew that Sirius hadn’t been in Azkaban in this world, so how could he still act so stubborn and insane and lost?

Unless some of those traits are just part of him, I suppose. They can be good, like the way he wanted to raise me after knowing me for a few minutes. Or they can be bad, like this.

“I’m not him,” Harry said, and this time, he tried to soften his voice a little, for Sirius’s sake. For the sake of what he had known, not so much for what someone in this world wanted. “I can’t be him. I would never be the same, and I don’t share his memories, and it isn’t fair for you or him, not really. You might think it is, but it’s not.”

“I loved him,” Sirius whispered. “And if what they’re saying is true, that Albus killed him…” He put his hands over his face. “I helped kill him.”

“How?” Harry asked. He was getting tired of being a confessor for everyone. “Unless you actually helped Albus pour the potions down his throat and convince him that he wasn’t good for anything but being a sacrifice, then you didn’t do anything to him.”

“That’s what he did?” Sirius let his hands fall down and stared at Harry, magic gathering around him, ancient and powerful. “You’re sure?”

Harry half-smiled. Maybe what Sirius really needed was someone else to fight, and since he didn’t have Snape now and didn’t even have Voldemort anymore, Dumbledore would do. “I don’t know how many steps there were, or how long he spent convincing him,” he said. “But yes, that’s what happened. He thought he could take Harry’s place in the prophecy, if he took on his power and his—destiny—through the sacrifice. Only later did he realize that he couldn’t, and by then it was too late. He kept calling other versions of me through the gate rather than admit that he was wrong.”

Sirius made a soft growling sound deep in his throat, and nodded. “Then I’m going to find him,” he said. “And remind him of that every day. And maybe I’ll wear him down so much in the end that he’ll just give up and die.” He marched away from Harry as though he’d forgotten him, his head up and his feet pumping.

Harry blinked after him, a little amused. Yes, Sirius needed someone to take revenge on. It would never be Wormtail in this universe, but it seemed Harry had found him someone else.

And Harry had to admit, he couldn’t think of someone in this universe who deserved to have Sirius after him more, now that Voldemort was dead.

“Harry?”

He turned around. Draco was behind him, holding out the parchment he’d covered with his neat handwriting. “It’s not the whole book, of course, but it’s the most recent pages,” he said quietly. “And from what I can see, the rest of the diary is a lot like this. It’s just—this is what was on his mind right before he died.”

Harry came forwards and took the page from Draco, aware that his hands were trembling and Lucius was watching critically. But what was Lucius going to do? He could hardly rip up the translation, and that was the thing Harry cared about most right now.

I don’t want to do my destiny. Dumbledore keeps saying I have to, and I know he’s right. Because without me, other people would die, and there’s no one who can answer as to why someone with a baby or a kid with two parents has to die, when it could be me.

Merlin, now I’m even sounding like him.

I don’t want to do this, though. Dumbledore keeps telling me that if I don’t want my destiny, it’s better to give it to someone else, and that way, the other person could fulfill it. But what if he’s right in what he’s hinting about, and the only what I can give my destiny to someone else is to die?

I don’t want to die.

Harry swallowed and skipped down the page a little. He wasn’t sure he could keep reading that diary entry, especially remembering the way that he had walked to his own death in the Forbidden Forest. He hadn’t wanted to die, either, but he had gone.

There’s no way to do this, except die. The Headmaster keeps telling me that I can’t fight Voldemort if I’m too afraid to even Apparate into the same place where he is, and I know that’s true. I know that’s why I’ve put off learning to Apparate. I don’t want to have to go after him, and other people would start asking me why I wasn’t doing it, if I knew how to jump anywhere I wanted.

I think all of them see me as the fulfillment of my destiny, except Draco and Sirius. They just want me to do something, something that will spare them having to do it. They don’t care about me, they care about what I can do.

I hate it, but throwing it all out the window and running away isn’t feasible, either. Voldemort would just come after me. And in the meantime, he’d kill people, and those people I love would be on the front lines, fighting, and they’d die, too.

So I have to do what I can to fulfill it, but I hate it.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head a little. Poor Harry. The genius they all said he was, the Slytherin who could make friends with people in other Houses, the warrior and the boy who’d won Draco’s heart. He was as scared and conflicted as anyone else.

Harry was glad that he hadn’t got to the point where he really hated and envied the Harry born here. He’d had a death that no one deserved.

“Harry?”

Oh, of course. Harry opened his eyes and turned to Draco, page in hand. But for once, Draco didn’t look at the parchment the way Harry had expected. He had his eyes on Harry’s face again.

Merlin save me if this is another plea for me to stay and be his boyfriend. But Harry just braced himself for the question, ready to shoot it down if it was too maudlin.

“I know that Black wants revenge on Dumbledore,” Draco said quietly. “But I took mine already. What else can I do? What else do you think my Harry would want me to do?”

Harry shook his head. “You knew him better than I did. All I really know about him is what people here have told me and that diary.” He nodded at the translated page. “I can tell you that I think you should live, and keep doing things that Dumbledore and your father wouldn’t want you to do. But I don’t know what your Harry would say to you, because I’m not him.”

Draco, though, was smiling. “That sounds like something I can do,” he said, and caressed the diary a little. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled back, and turned the translated page over one time. He wanted to take the diary with him, at least a little, but in the end, it should belong to Draco. He was the only one who could translate the code and give this Harry a fitting memorial. He gently handed the page back to Draco.

Draco pushed it back to him, though, shaking his head. “You’re going to leave the book with me,” he said, impressing Harry with how much he could evidently read from Harry’s gestures. “That means that you can keep this. Please. You should have some memorial of him.”

Harry slipped the page into his pocket and nodded back towards the bed he’d pulled it out of. “There’s also a photo album in there. I think you should have some of the pictures, and maybe you’ll give some to Black, too. There are plenty of pictures of him and Harry that he’d probably want.”

Draco turned towards the bed with an old, old face. Maybe he’s upset that the original Harry didn’t tell him about what he was hiding, Harry thought. But thank Merlin, that was no longer his problem. He had brought Draco out of his grief and given him a shot at vengeance on his boyfriend’s real murderer. That would have to be enough.

“Harry.”

That was Snape, standing at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Harry turned around with a relieved little breath. “Sir,” he said. “I think I’m done here.” He did take one more look around the room, and ended up Summoning the clothes that he’d originally worn through the spell, before they had given him some clean ones that had belonged to people from this world. He intended to use one of these pieces of clothing as the anchor for the bridge that Hermione had talked about, the thing that had come with him through the original gate and could stay here to “convince” the magic that he was staying, too. “Now I’m ready.”

When he faced Snape again, he could see the faint, approving smile on his face. Snape nodded once and lifted a small trunk that hung from a loop of rope over his arm. It didn’t look big enough to contain everything that he wanted, but then again, Harry knew shrinking and packing spells could do wonders. “Come.”

Harry turned around to Draco and his father one more time, shrugged, then waved. Draco waved back. Lucius gave him such a concentrated stare that Harry had to turn away to hide his snicker as he followed Snape.

They passed Professor McGonagall, without Dumbledore. McGonagall nodded to Harry with a faint frown on her face. “We owe you a debt that we can’t repay, Mr. Potter. Good luck in getting back to your own world.”

Harry nodded to her, too. He would have shaken her hand if she’d held it out to him, but she didn’t, so this was the best farewell he could hope for. “Thank you, Professor. I think that we’ll manage, somehow.”

McGonagall straightened her shoulders and bit her lip once. Then her face firmed. “I think we will, as well,” she said, and turned back into the school.

Snape was silent as they walked to the gates that led into Hogsmeade—or what had been Hogsmeade—and Harry glanced up at him. “Are you sorry to be leaving?” he asked.

“Not nearly as much as I anticipated, the last time I thought about leaving the school,” Snape murmured. “Of course, until we went to Shaldon’s Garden, I had never truly pictured leaving except at the end of a Death Eater’s wand. Or perhaps with my head on a pike.”

Harry shuddered and said, “They’re probably still out there, some of them, but we don’t have to worry about them now.”

Snape’s hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed, once. It felt like a crab’s pincer, but on the other hand, Harry could feel the affection behind it, which he doubted most people could. “Let’s go home.”

*

Severus looked around the clearing he and Harry had chosen. It was a good distance from Hogwarts, but still in the wild, warded part of Scotland where few Muggles would come. They had picked it partially for its isolation, and partially because it would easily correspond to a place that Harry’s friends could reach in his world, as was needed for the construction of a bridge that would reach between the universes.

Severus became aware that his breath was coming short and his skin was clammy.

He shook his head in irritation at himself and rose. He had done harder things than this, things less likely to succeed. Things like creating the reverse Horcrux, and killing the Dark Lord, and going back to Shaldon’s Garden for the last time yesterday to retrieve what he wanted to take.

He wondered briefly that this should seem hard, after that. In all three ventures, he had had help, and he would have more here.

“Ready?”

Severus turned to face Harry, and bowed slightly. “You trust Draco to anchor the bridge for us?” he inquired delicately. He would have thought to ask Minerva, himself, but it was true that Minerva had much to do with putting the school in order, spreading the word of the Dark Lord’s defeat, and preparing for Dumbledore’s trial—or whatever else they decided to do with the old manipulator. Severus had not asked. They were not his problems anymore.

Harry drew in his breath and nodded. He looked much as he had the day he had come to this world, Severus thought, with fast breathing, red cheeks, brilliant green eyes, and dark hair tumbled around his face. But wiser, Severus decided, and he did not think it was only his own biases that caused him to say that. Harry certainly held that Dark wand with more assurance and confidence than he had.

“Let me just send the Apparition coordinates to him,” Harry said, and whipped his wand back, his gaze focused on the distance as he whispered, “Expecto Patronum!”

The stag that leaped from his wand was a darker silver than any other Severus had seen, and he couldn’t help thinking that came from the Dark magic of Harry’s wand. But it turned to Harry and pawed the ground, and Harry looked around the clearing once, then turned back and said, “Tell Draco Malfoy that we’re in a clearing north of Hogwarts with a broken tree on the right side of the clearing and a spring on the left.”

The stag bowed its head once, then sprang into the air and faded. Harry put his wand away, and only then seemed to notice Severus staring at him. “What?” he added.

“You surprise me continually,” Severus murmured. “You have learned more and more impressive magic in your wars than I knew.”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder and glanced away. “You’ve seen my Patronus before. I used it to attack Voldemort.”

Severus flinched before he could stop himself, and then swallowed. You know of at least four worlds where he no longer exists, given that Albus summoned two other versions of Harry Potter who had also won, he reminded himself. “Yes, but I had failed to appreciate how solid it was,” he murmured. “And how well it obeyed you.” He hesitated. “You are sure that you trust Draco to hold the bridge?”

Harry glanced at him and smiled a little. “You think that he might want me to stay here? I really am sure that he doesn’t, not anymore. He knows I’m not his boyfriend. I think finding the diary and the album really told him that. His boyfriend had a whole secret side that Draco didn’t know about, and that gives him something to explore.” Harry rubbed the corner of his jaw, thoughtfully. “According to the diary—Draco sent an owl to me yesterday—there was an argument that Harry had with what he thought was you. But it had to have been Dumbledore Polyjuiced as you. Harry started to talk to Draco about it, briefly, and then stopped. That was why Draco thought Harry had had an argument with you right before his death, and that you were somehow involved in it.”

Severus nodded. “But in reality, the conversation might have taken place a while before.”

Harry nodded back. “It was painful for him, Draco said,” he whispered. “Draco thought that maybe he could have stopped the sacrifice if he had encouraged Harry to talk about it more. But I think if Harry kept quiet about it, the way he kept quiet about being scared, then there’s no way he would have told Draco any more.”

Severus started to respond, and Draco Apparated into the clearing. He glanced back and forth between them, then nodded once, as though the way they were standing there had confirmed something for him. Severus scowled at him despite himself. Draco seemed to be adopting some of his father’s mannerisms, namely the ones that made him appear more wise and knowing than anyone else.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked, looking around as though he expected a bridge to simply spring into being.

“Not quite yet,” Harry said, and began the spell that would link him with his friends in his own world. Severus moved to add his strength to the spell, taking a moment to make sure that his trunk was securely tucked in his pocket. He could not perform magic on that bridge, and neither could Harry, and he would not be able to rescue the trunk if it tumbled out of his robes.

There was a spark of darkness that grew into a starry whirl, and the voice of Harry’s version of Granger came out of it. “Harry! Are you ready to come home? Are you in that clearing you told us about?”

Severus glanced at Harry. Harry had his eyes closed and a faint smile on his lips. When he blinked his eyes open, Severus suspected him of suppressing tears. But his voice was strong and steady. “Yes, Hermione. What do we need to charge these objects with magic?” He lifted a ratty shirt. Severus took up the book that lay at his feet, one that he was sure he could get another copy of in Harry’s world.

Granger said, strong and confident, “Just push some raw will into them. It’s more a process of making them magically significant, not a specific spell.”

Harry frowned down at the shirt he was holding, and then pushed his wand into the middle of it. Severus, more experienced with this from some times of having to do it with potions, charged his book easily, and then laid it on the ground at his feet. Harry’s shirt followed a moment later. Severus shied back from it. It was sparking hard enough that he thought it might burn the grass.

“Fine,” Granger said. “We’re going to start casting from our end. You have to start at the exact same time, Harry. It’s very important. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Harry’s head was high, confident, and he looked even more settled and sure than he had when they were confronting the Dark Lord. Well, of course he did, Severus thought a moment later. He was working with people he trusted more than he had trusted Severus himself, and for a purpose that would give him something he wanted more.

Severus half-rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed now was to feel jealous, and for such a petty reason.

“Good,” Granger said. “Fine. One. Two. Three.”

Harry began to chant at the same time as she did, and Severus’s voice glided smoothly forwards with his. There were not going to be two bridges, but since they would need one capable of lasting long enough to support two of them, it seemed counterproductive to hold back.

For a few long minutes, there was no sound but that of their voices and, behind them, Draco’s hoarse breathing.

Then the starry void ripped open further, and further, and began to spiral. Severus finished the chant, glad that they were the last words of the spell; his throat dried out as he watched the smoky arms of magic that braided their way into the pillars and post, flat piece and long, slender arch, of a bridge of pure power.

The bridge came down to rest at Harry’s feet, next to the shirt that was glowing with the power of his wand. Harry leaned his hands on the railings and glanced back at Draco. Draco nodded and drew his wand.

“You have to hold it,” Granger’s voice said, ragged, out of the split in the air. “You have to—you have to dedicate all your will and all your p-power to keeping it there. Understand?”

“I understand,” Draco said smoothly, and if Granger recognized and distrusted the source of the voice, she gave no sign of it.

“Good,” she said, loudly enough that Severus started a little. “Remember that you can’t use any magic on the bridge. Come on.”

Harry smiled at Severus and launched himself onto the bridge, his wand tucked away into his waistband. Severus swallowed and glanced back once at Draco. Draco nodded to him, perhaps a farewell, perhaps a reassurance that he was equal to the task of holding the arch, as Granger and probably Weasley were on the other side.

Then Severus followed Harry onto the bridge.

*

Harry was running between stars. Under his feet was a solid-seeming, but slick and thin, arch of wood or metal. Beside him ran railings that looked like they could be made of wrought iron, like some of the fences on Privet Drive.

Ahead of him, the bridge rose up, and up, and the stars glowed all the brighter, distant yellow-white glows of light. They formed no constellation that he knew, but that didn’t matter. Harry could see them shining off the bridge, distorted reflections in the magic, and he knew where they were leading him. Home.

He came to the summit of the bridge, clutched the railings as he stood there, and glanced back to see where Snape was.

Following him, and coming more steadily on than Harry would have expected of someone that age. He nodded approvingly and continued running. He would have just slid down the other side, but Hermione had said that they had to cross the bridge, and he wasn’t sure sliding counted. He didn’t want to do anything right now that would jeopardize his chance of seeing his friends again.

Ahead, a soft grey glow waited, like the line of faint light Harry used to see underneath his cupboard door. He sped up. He was going to get there. He was going to reach it. He was going to see them again.

The bridge trembled under his feet abruptly, going soft. Harry slid, but the railings were firm beneath his hands, and he maintained his balance with only a little kick. He looked back again, and saw that Snape had done the same thing, although he was coming more cautiously now, a frown etched under his hooked nose.

“Come on, sir!” Harry shouted.

Snape lifted his head, probably to shout something back, and the bridge trembled and went misty under him, on the edge of collapsing.

Harry didn’t know who was at fault, his friends or Draco or just the sheer strain of the spell, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that he would make it, and he would make it with Snape, not without him.

He ran back to Snape. Snape lifted his head as Harry came up to him and snarled at him. “You are to go on. They came here to rescue you—”

“You were an idiot for thinking that would work when you told me to leave you alone with Voldemort, and you’re an idiot for thinking it’ll work now,” Harry said calmly, and grabbed Snape’s arm, slinging it around his shoulders. He grinned at the look Snape sent him. “Sir.”

Snape tried to growl something else, but the railings were only mist now. Harry sat down and tugged Snape with him. Snape resisted a moment, muttering something about dignity, and Harry kicked off.

They slid down the arch of the bridge, Snape flailing beside him until he got his arse settled. But he never let go of Harry, and Harry laughed aloud as they plunged faster and faster, towards that grey glow that never faded like the rest of the bridge, but grew brighter and brighter.

And they went like the cart in Gringotts, the time that Harry had ridden with Hagrid, down and down and down and—

And together they came out in greenery and sunlight and a stabbing confusion of voices, and arms grabbed hold of him, and Hermione shrieked almost into his ear, “Harry!”

And Ron’s voice was saying, “Bloody hell, he wasn’t kidding! It’s Snape!”

Then he swarmed up to the side of Harry, too, and Harry had his arms full of his best friends, and they were hugging him, and he knew that they were never going to let go.