This chapter promises to reveal at least three more people who have been reborn for who they were in their past. It also promises to deviate from Canon greatly.

AND MORE SURPRISES YET TO COME!

Chapter 12: Sin, You Heartless Angel

"This is rather shocking business… Rather shocking indeed… It's a miracle that no one died… I've never heard anything of the like… By Thor's thunder, it was lucky you were there, Professor Snape."

"Thank you, Minister."

"Another Order of Merlin is in order, I believe. Though, this one will again have to be Second Class, if you don't mind."

"Thank you very much indeed, Minister, but that won't be necessary."

"I saw the boy… Vincent Crabbe, I think was his name. Nasty case, he is. Madam Pomfrey has her work cut out for her, aye?"

"It's just the aftereffects that has some of us worried, sir."

"And you say Potter did this? Are you absolutely sure of that? Willing, even, to say so in front of court and under oath?"

"Yes, but I am also fully prepared to state how the attack was provoke and accidental. Vince Crabbe struck Mister Potter in the back of the head with the Bludger, mind you, Minister. That could unleash any number of effects from a wizard. Accidental magic does still occur within everyday wizards."

"Yes, yes… Quite right you are, Snape… But an investigation must still take place. Much change is in order, you see."

"Yes, sir. Much change, indeed."

Harry lay listening to this conversation with his eyes shut tight, but rolling in his head nonetheless. He felt very groggy and stiff. The words he was hearing seemed to be traveling very slowly from his ears to his brain, so that it was a bit difficult to understand… His limbs felt like lead; his eyelids too heavy to lift… He wanted to lie there, on the comfortable bed, forever…

It made Harry very nervous of what they did to him while he had been forced unconscious.

"What amazes me most is the behavior Potter displayed. You were quite quick on the scene and seemed to know how to deal with it best. Have you really no idea what made this situation occur, Snape?"

Snape seemed to pause at that question, most likely reflecting on what he could spin in his tale to make Harry look like less of a murderous monster.

"…No, Minister… by the time I had arrived on the field, several of the students along with Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall had already subdued Mister Potter. I only thought to put him to sleep so his condition would be easier to manage."

"Extraordinary. And yet—"

"As I said, it was all well within hand before my arrival onto the pitch." Snape spat quickly, "I only commanded that Potter be unconscious before Madam Hooch and myself conjured stretchers, and brought the two boys straight back to the castle."

There was a pause in the conversation as Harry's brain seemed to be moving a little faster, and as it did, a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach…

Harry opened his eyes to the world.

Everything was slightly blurred. Somebody had removed his glasses, but his vision was clearing quickly. He was lying in the darken hospital wing, which from the windows showed the grey clouds which hung low outside the castle. At the very end of the ward, he could make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to him, bending over a bed. Harry squinted as Crabbe's meaty form visible beneath Madam Pomfrey's arm.

Harry moved his head over on the pillow. In the bed to his right sat Ron and Hermione with Neville playing around with a bedpan that Harry desperately hoped was clean. When they saw that Harry was awake, Ron pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed to the hospital wing door. It was ajar, and the voices of Cornelius Fudge and Severus Snape were coming through it from the corridor outside.

Madam Pomfrey came walking briskly up the dark ward to Harry's bed as he turned to look at her, and then paled comically. The medical-witch was carrying the largest block of chocolate he had only ever seen once before in his entire life. It looked like a small boulder, and Harry was sure that a normal teen would have cried tears of joy at the sight of it.

Harry, however, was slightly afraid for his health.

"Ah, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey spoke briskly as she placed the chocolate on Harry's bedside table and began breaking it apart with a small hammer. Harry's head swooned as he could already feel the sugar in his system just from the sight of it.

"How is Crabbe?" Harry asked as Madam Pomfrey gave him a subtle glance.

"Well, barring whatever possession came over you, it did a number on him. However, if he stops being underhanded and stays away from the likes of you, I'm sure he'll long enough for something else to kill him." Madam Pomfrey said grimly as she continued to break up the chocolate, "As for you, Potter, you'll be staying here until I'm satisfied you're free from whatever took ahold of you out there on that field."

"Harry, dude, you should see yourself right now!" Neville exclaimed with a muffled laugh. He tossed away the bedpan with a clatter, earning himself a disapproving glare from Madam Pomfrey, before hopping over to Harry's bedside where a mirror lay.

Harry sat up, but was immediately blinded by a curtain of long hair. He pushed it away, reaching for the mirror that Neville was handing him. Gazing into the reflective surface found Harry himself staring back at him.

Except with long silvery hair.

"Why has no one remedied this?" Harry asked curtly, having to spit out hair the second his mouth opened to speak.

"Madam Pomfrey grounded us to this bed when we attempted to even touch you," Hermione spoke with an ever present calm clarity, "She and Professor Snape are to be the only two with permission of interacting with you on such an… intimate level."

"I see," Harry settled back against the headboard of his hospital bed, blatantly ignoring the small smirk Hermione was casting his way.

"Really and truly, you brought this upon yourself," Ron snapped as he crossed his arms against his broad chest, "What happened out there, Harry? You cracking up like that? And all over getting hit by a ball?"

"I can't explain it," Harry looked away from Ron's stern gaze, looking down at his hands as he folded them into his lap. His silver lock fell around him, veiling his face from the scrutiny of the four observers around him, "It was like someone else had taken the reins on me. One moment I'm having some fun, and the next, it's like a dragon was disturbed deep within my soul while the real me fell into the darkness to be silenced. When Crabbe hit me with that Bludger, it felt like I exploded with nothing but rage and an eerie sense of calm."

"So you were possessed," Madam Pomfrey almost seemed afraid to say the words as she placed a hand over her heart. Ron had a pinched look on his face, but Hermione and Neville seemed to take things swimmingly.

"You, me, and Genesis are having a very long conversation about you anger management issues." Ron used that tone he had once held as Angeal, saying that his words brokered no argument. They were to be followed.

"Oooh, Seph is in trouble~~! Seph is in trouble~~!" Neville crowed mockingly, making Ron smack him upside the head. When Neville whined about it to Madam Pomfrey, she threatened to send them out. It was only thanks to Hermione that they were allowed to stay, but now Neville was confined to a bed across the ward from them.

Unfortunately, their antics had been heard in the corridor outside. The next second, Cornelius Fudge and Tseng-Snape had entered the ward looking startled and annoyed.

"Potter? What is the meaning of this?" Fudge spoke, looking vaguely agitated, "You should be in bed. Has he had any chocolate?" Fudge asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously.

Harry had no words for the foolish Minister, and so did not raise his head from where his hair hid his disgusted expression from the man.

But Fudge still went on, now shaking his head with a small smile on his face. He must have thought himself clever.

"Harry, Harry, my boy…" now he was Harry. Emerald eyes rolled as Harry knew this would be followed by a ridiculous statement or action, "You must be very confused right now, and indeed you should be with all you've been through since that tournament last school year. Dreadful ordeal, it was. Lie back down, Harry. We've got everything under control…"

"I would much rather not," Harry replied with tension in his jaw as he bit back the words he truly wanted to say. Bit back the actions he really wanted to take, "Thank you, Fudge."

"You see now, Minister?" Snape drawled lazily and Harry could practically hear the smirk in the man's voice, "Confunded, as best as I can tell. Whoever attempted it did a very good job…"

"Mister Potter!" Madam Pomfrey admonished as Harry reached for her hammer. She slapped his hand, but he didn't back down from his thoughts of murdering both Fudge and Snape now, "Minister! Professor! I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed! Snape, you know this best."

"I can assure you that I am not distressed," he murmured, but Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into his mouth to keep him quiet. He choked as the med-witch seized the opportunity to force him back into lying in bed. The silver hair fell into his face and poked at his eyes, nose, and mouth awkwardly.

"Now, please, Minister, these two children need care. Please leave." Madam Pomfrey spat gently as Fudge and Snape turned to leave the room.

The door opened again, just as Fudge and Snape were about to leave. It was Professor Dumbledore. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and got up again. An anger much different than the one which took hold of Harry to punish Crabbe was now welling up within Harry. While the one that harmed Crabbe had been cold, detached, and vengeful this now sense of rage was hot, vicious, and particularly vindictive. Harry did not stir an inch from where he sat up in bed.

Voldemort was truly trying Harry's very limited patience at the moment.

"For heaven's sake!" Madam Pomfrey spat hysterically, "Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist—"

"My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter about this particular incident." Dumbledore spoke calmly with an air of finality to his voice, "I have just been talking to some of the Healers from St. Mungo—"

"I suppose they've had much to say on this subject," Snape drawled with a roll of his eyes, "Probably thinking it's a simple matter of sexual frustration or some other dribble…"

"That, indeed, was one of their theories, Severus." Dumbledore said, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles with twinkling electric blue eyes. Snape gave Dumbledore a hard long look before he scowled deeply.

"And does my evidence count for nothing?" Snape snarled, "This was all the result of you giving Potter his way far too often. He thinks himself above the rules and regulations of us meager mortals. If you had nipped this in the bud when I suggested—"

"Now, Snape." Fudge said, looking deeply startled along with Madam Pomfrey, "The young man may well be disturbed in the mind. We must make allowances—"

"I would like to speak to Harry alone, if you will, before the Healers have their time with him." Dumbledore interrupted abruptly, a stark contrast to the normally jovial old man they all knew him to be, "Cornelius, Severus, Poppy, students — please leave us."

"H-Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey sputtered in protest.

"And I can assure you that this cannot wait." Dumbledore said, his hand raised to quell any further arguments that were obviously on her lips, "I must insist. Please, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips for a moment, before she strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Ron and Hermione gave Harry reassuring looks before they exited. Neville had to put back the bedpans before he left with a grin and thumbs-up at Harry. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat.

"The others from the Ministry should have arrived by now." Fudge said, pocketing the watch, "I will go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs in your office."

Fudge crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn't moved.

"You surely don't believe a word of this possession trash?" Snape whispered loudly, his dark eyes fixed on Dumbledore's face.

"I wish to speak to Harry alone." Dumbledore repeated, a small upward quirk of his mouth, betraying his stony expression by showing his hidden amusement.

Snape took a step toward Dumbledore, but then turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding. Snape gave one final sneer at the Headmaster before marching off into the corridor, slamming the door behind him and in the face of the Minister of Magic who was trying to lurk in the doorway as long as possible for eavesdropping.

"Harry," Dumbledore called his name, returning Harry's attention to the elder wizard.

"We have nothing to discuss," Harry said in a mutter, silvery hair with more luster than Dumbledore's own falling in a curtain to hide his facial expression like a veil. But even still, with those piercing blue eyes, Harry knew that the ancient Headmaster did not need to see his face to read him like a book.

Whether or not he was an open book or a locked tome still needed to be confirmed…

"No," Dumbledore said simply, "By all accounts, I suppose we do not. However, you will allow an old man to have his say."

This was in no way a question.

"Then speak and be gone," Harry simply couldn't hold his tongue when it concerned people who irritated him more than average. Umbridge was a disgusting woman, far too many complexes with far too few brain cells. He despised that woman with passion. Dumbledore was a secretive old fool who enjoyed hearing himself talk far too often. He was aggravated with the old coot so much that his brow twitched with annoyance.

"I will," Dumbledore agreed sadly, "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would have thoroughly earned it."

"What are you talking—?" Harry goggled unabashed at Dumbledore from behind his silver hair. He placed the long flow of bangs behind his ears so he could properly see the old man. What nonsense was he projecting now?

"It is my fault that this has occurred," Dumbledore spoke clearly, his eyes gazing over Harry's silver hair, "Or I should say almost entirely my fault. I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Nevertheless, I should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for prolonged time between my explanations. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been from the time of your hearing with the Wizenangot, you would have known a long time ago, and Mister Crabbe's injuries may have never occurred. Yet, that blame lies with me, and with me alone…"

"Harry, I owe you an explanation," Dumbledore started after a pause of silence, "An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young… and I seem to have forgotten lately…"

"Stop with your poetry read, and lay bare the facts." Harry growled menacingly toward the aged Headmaster.

"I guessed, fifteen years ago," Dumbledore continued like Harry did not interrupt, "when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort."

"You've told me this before, old man," Harry cut through Dumbledore's stalling bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything concerning the wizened wizard very much anymore.

"Yes," Dumbledore spoke apologetically, but Harry was not in a forgiving mood, "Yes, but you see — it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion."

"And still you state facts I already know," Harry spat jadedly. He was quickly getting tired of these games.

"This ability of yours, to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers." Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already.

"More recently," Dumbledore continued, "I became concerned that Voldemort might realize that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, this was that time. He has felt you this time, Harry. You entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence."

Harry lifted a single eyebrow, but did not voice his hilarity at Dumbledore's conclusion that Voldemort had caused the plight of Crabbe.

"And I'm sure you are now wondering why it is that I did not explain this to you? Why I had not done so in our last meeting?" Harry looked up at Dumbledore. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired.

"Because you are a coward," Harry said with a sharp clarity to his voice. The words echoed around the room before bouncing back to cut through Dumbledore like a wild knife.

"Harry…"

"No," Harry raised a hand, silencing the old man, "You are little more than a relic at this point, Albus Dumbledore. You are stoically pragmatic and enjoy your game of lies and secrecy. You sit in your comfortable office, concocting plans and hatching schemes for whatever your aim is."

"Harry, please—"

"That is not to say I believe you a deliberately cruel man, but you have proven to me that despite the fact that I should be worthy of your trust at this point, you will not share with me everything I need at the moment. You take great deviant pleasure in feeding me and others scarps of your design. Dumbledore, you are perhaps too far-sighted."

Again Harry did not let the man interrupt him, "You make choices that you believe to benefit humanity, but those choices have hurt me and others, Dumbledore. Your most fervent example is one Severus Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected him quietly, but Harry pretended not hear him or see the lone tear that fell from the man's eye.

"You might be a powerful wizard, and even a brilliant mind, but as a leader…" Harry trailed off, brushing back his long bangs so he could stare into the eyes of Dumbledore without an obstacle in his way, "You are artifact. Relic. Antique. Albus Dumbledore, you and I have no more words to exchange. I shall deal with the threat of Voldemort my own way. You are free to do as you please against him. I shall find my own path in crushing my adversaries; both Umbridge and Voldemort." And Harry made sure to call up his slumbering soul to get his point across this time. He felt the energies awaken within him on pure instinct and willpower alone. They stirred and rose, filling his veins and he felt more than saw his eyes glow radiantly. Dumbledore did not flinch back from this display, but stared more intently at the corner of Harry's mouth. He made sure to lift that corner of his mouth into a particularly sharp smirk. "Do not get in my way, Dumbledore. Or you, too, shall become my adversary."

For a long pause neither said anything. The sudden hush was only punctured by Crabbe's half labored breaths at the other end of the hospital wing. Then Dumbledore sighed with weariness, his shoulders sagged as though he were carrying too much weight upon them. His eyes lost their twinkle, but still Harry did not car. He had given Dumbledore his time, and the man had wasted it by beating around the bush like always.

Harry was no longer in the mood to play games with the ancient Headmaster.

Harry was in the mood for action. He was in the mood to strike back, and do so hard.

"If that is your wish, Harry," Dumbledore spoke heavily, "I believed I could come here to persuade you from action, but it seems that I've let things develop too far. You have become jaded, and I fear it is not only against the Ministry and Voldemort you have lost faith. I have allowed you to become cynical in your views of myself, and I daresay I deserve so much more of your hatred, Harry, than you so kindly dish out."

"I do not believe in sympathy, Dumbledore," Harry spat, "so you can cut the crap. And I do not hate you. My hate is reserved for only one man in all of existence." Let the old fool think he was talking about Voldemort. Voldemort did not even begin to vex Harry like the one true mass of complexes named Hojo did in comparison.

Dumbledore turned with the same solemn look on his face, as though attending a funeral. Harry watched him go without so much as batting an eyelash.

Soon after Dumbledore's departure, Harry's friends had returned, but this time they were accompanied by Draco, Ginny, and the three healers.

Tseng-Snape was glaring at Harry, which he did not find odd. The man most likely knew the turn his and Dumbledore's conversation had taken and was angry that Harry had cut ties with the old man instead of further manipulating him for their added benefit. But Harry was not a manipulator. And Snape would still be able to do his spying job, however, with a bit more difficulty now that he would most likely be tasked with watching Harry more critically for a time.

Draco, too, was giving him an expression of simmering annoyance. The blond was probably just pissed off at him for being in this predicament in the first place. Ginny and Luna were, thankfully, very amused by the fact that Harry, who had once been the almighty Bane of Wutai, was being interrogated by three medics while wearing a hospital gown.

Two of the healers were doing most of the questioning, asking him to recount his actions and experiences on the Quidditch pitch.

It was a mess, but Harry would play them like perfectly tuned instruments in order to sweep the whole debacle under the rug.

He waited calmly for the healers' questions.

"Harry… is it all right if I call you Harry?" the first healer asked. He was a bearded man that reminded Harry strongly of Igor Krakaroff. Harry nodded.

"We already have everyone else's accounts of what happened on the pitch, starting from the beginning of the match to your unfortunate bewitchment. We also have some comments here from Professors Snape and Dumbledore about what happened when they inspected you themselves as experts and researchers into Dark Magic and such. However, there are still some unclear aspects, specifically given your most recent appearance change and test results. We'd like you to talk us through it, from your own point of view, and we'll ask questions as they become necessary."

Harry nodded again, it was fair enough what they were asking.

The healer apparently noticed his detached expression as a warning sign of some sort, as he continued, "Please don't feel too uncomfortable about the more personal aspects. We may need to ask you to be quite precise at times, but that's because things may be important from a medically magic perspective, and not because we want to pry. We understand this may be difficult for you, but your friend Ginny over here has been seeing me for the past couple of years now, and I believe she would attest to our professionalism."

Harry quirked a brow toward Ginny, somewhat shocked that she had been receiving help all this time in dealing with her possession by Riddle's Diary those two years ago. Ginny saw him looking and flushed to her roots. She stuck her tongue out at him, and just to be equally childish he did so back at her. This small action decreased a lot of the unspoken tension in the room coming from the three healers. They probably had believed he was still suffering under some of the 'possession'.

Harry laid his hands in his lap, offering them a small smile, "Let's begin. What do you want to know?"

"A little background first, just to be safe," this was said by the only female healer among them from St. Mungo's, "You felt quite normal going onto the pitch, yes? No headaches, or acute feelings of agitation? Nothing like rage and misery?"

Harry shook his head, causing him to spit out strands of silver hair, "No, nothing like that. I felt completely normal."

"And when did that change?" the bearded fellow asked this time, leaning forward a few centimeters.

Harry considered his question, "When I was hit by the Bludger, I suppose. The world around me started to… drain away, I guess. Voices became lost, smells disappeared. I remember how heavily I was breathing from my own excitement, and when I was hit, it felt like I stopped breathing altogether. And the only thing that was in that world… was Crabbe."

Draco was glaring at him, as though he wished he could reach over and kick the silver-haired teen. Harry supposed he was milking it a little, but all his words were honest.

"How did that feel to you then?" Harry looked at the woman again, "By all accounts the two of you were not friends, but you say that he became the focus of your world at that moment. In normal possessions, the possessed would usually go after friends and family first, but you say that the only person who remained in your world of consciousness was Mister Crabbe."

"That's true," Harry admitted with a slow nod, "But it wasn't a good thing. In that world where everything drained away but Crabbe, it was like a beast had been shaken from its slumber. It rose up inside me, and it took ahold of my person. And its aim of awoken fury was Crabbe."

The healers were obviously very keen to hear him further explain, but Neville snorted loudly and Draco did the same, but with more haunting contempt.

"Are all Gryffindors so weird, or is it just you? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Draco glowered from where he sat, and Snape smacked him upside the head.

"Man, sounds to me like you've got major mental problems, Har." Neville laughed out, but gave a little squeak when the silent senior healer gave a quiet cough.

"Moving along…" the female of the healing group began, tearing her annoyed gaze away from Neville, "You say that you experienced a moment of detachment? How would you further describe the creature which separated you from yourself in that moment?"

"We ask you to be specific, Harry, because it could mean a lot or a little depending on how well you can give us a visualization of the thing that may have caused your episodic fit during the game." The bearded healer said, his gaze sharp as he watched Harry's face, something like a hawk watching another hawk as both stalked their prey.

"It was a leviathan…" Harry felt that he played this part well, shadowing his eyes from view with the curtain of his long silver hair and looking down as though the memories of this all pained him so much. He could even feel his fist clenching into the bed sheets, and his lips quiver.

Was he truly feeling this way, or was this still apart of the act…? Even Harry couldn't be sure anymore…

"It was a monster, a dragon. It felt only outrage and injustice at Crabbe's existence," Harry confessed as the healers all began scribbling furiously in their notepads. "The monster reared up when Crabbe hit me with the Bludger. It was outraged that he dare even exist to attack me when it was on an amused whim that he should even live to compete against it… Who was this peon to harm it in anyway when it could have swatted the boy from the world of the living like a fly at any moment the beast chose."

"Serious anger issues…" Neville muttered for only the sharpest ears to hear. He was shaking his head and Ron grunted in agreement with him. The healers were looking at Harry in some mild surprise, and Snape was open-mouthed at his description, his eyes slightly wide too.

"So then, apart from the beast's anger and indignation at Crabbe's actions, which are clearly important, was there anything else prompting your actions at this stage?"

Harry wanted to sharpen his gaze at the oldest of the specialists. He knew a leading question when he heard one, and it seemed like the old one was not in the least bit fooled by Harry as if he knew there was more to it than simple possession. He knew what Harry really was, or at least the old geezer suspected. Harry was tempted to lie, but a lie was harder to recover from than a partial truth.

"There was also a sense of great peace then," Harry continued quietly, now being completely honest with both himself and his attentive audience, "It felt good… to just fall away from the world around me and fade into darkness…"

The others were so stiff and silent that Harry could have dropped a quill in the hospital wing and heard it echo off the walls.

"There were no sounds or worries once I sunk away from the surface. It felt… right… to be able to feel that relaxed. To not have to be burdened with life anymore. I was letting myself fall away from the world… I wanted to fade into the abyss." Harry looked up through his shiny silver locks in order to pin his friends and Snape with a glare that dared them to call him crazy, "And I think… I might have considered just letting it all end right there. To just close my eyes and sleep forever…"

"But why not?" the elder was asking, his eyes heavily lidded at this point as he watched Harry critically, "Let things end there, I mean. You could have. You had the freedom to surround to the darkness and let the beast continue its rampage onto others pass young Mister Vincent Crabbe Junior. So, I ask, why did you not descend into the abyss?"

Harry hung his head once more. Having the old man look at him as if searching for answers while Hermione and Neville's eyes land on him with such supreme confidence disturbed him. These stares of poised assurance frightened parts of Harry that he did not altogether understand himself. Why was it that their emotions and expression pierced him so much more than Draco's fierce glare, or Snape's stony silence? More than Ron's solid expression, or Ginny's feint of casual ease with the conversation?

"I think it wouldn't have been impossible for me to fall… I was so tired and weary and all I wanted to do was rest in peace… But there was something else. Something that, in the back of my mind, told me that rest wasn't for me. It just… wasn't for me…"

"But, when you could have made either choice, you came back to yourself rather sink further?" the grey-haired elder asked directly, leaning forward in his chair as he stared at Harry.

Harry nodded only once, no longer wishing to speak.

"All right then, Harry." The woman spoke up, glancing between Harry and her apparent senior in their field of expertise, "What happened after that?"

"I floated through fog a bit, feeling like there were iron chains wrapped around my lungs. Then I was just floating, being jostled quite often, but floating just fine. And afterward, I was here, I guess, in this bed because I felt heavy and woke up." This part was more of a lie then the truth, but it was usually the sensation people described when they were awakened from a good sleep.

After several rounds of muttering, and a small amount of hushed bickering between the two younger healers, Harry was quite sure he was in the clear. Finally, the eldest healer stood up and thanked Harry for his time, shaking his hand and leaving the room for his two understudies to catch up to him as he moved quite quickly for a man of his age.

Harry smiled at the two younger healers once they had reached their conclusion, and said their goodbyes, telling Madam Pomfrey that he was free to go whenever he was ready as he was in perfect health. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, looking ready to tear into the two young people from St. Mungo's about how it was her hospital wing. But she eventually sighed and released Harry from her custody with a load of chocolate on the condition that he devour the entire small mount before his next meal.

"So, does anything in Mister Potter's condition worry you?" Dumbledore asked as he fell into step behind his old schoolmate, Donavan Churchill, leading expert on Wizardly Possessions.

"A few things that I may have to research, to be honest, but I trust that young Harry has it all well in hand." Elder Donavan said with a small smile, "He admitted everything well, even if he fibbed the truth in some of the less important details. But he told me one thing that showed me there was nothing to fret over."

"Oh, and what was it, if I might be so bold?" Dumbledore asked with curiosity evident in his eyes.

"He chose not to fall back into the darkness. He made the decision, and he's all the stronger for it." Donavan beamed brightly as his two coworkers ran up the corridor to catch up to him. They were probably going to bug him about his own findings, but he would be quite tight-lipped today. They needed to see these things for themselves, after all.

Greatness was not copied. It was fought for through hard work and determination.

"Yes, I think Harry Potter will be just fine…"

"Sir, wait up!"

"We'd like to get your insight on a few things!"

"Ugh, young'ngs these days…"

"Wait! Master Churchill! Don't walk faster!"

"We need your expertise, sir! Wait up!"

"Banned," Angelina moaned in a hollow voice. She was sitting in the common room as Harry and his posse entered after having lunch in the Great Hall, "Banned. Our best Seeker in ages kicked from Quidditch… What on earth are we going to do?"

It did not feel as though they had won the match at all from the way his house was acting. Everywhere Harry looked in the common room there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were around Angelina trying to cheer her up. Even Fred and George were present, fanning the dark-skinned female as she slumped down the couch in her depression.

"It must be disappointing to be banned. I know how much you like flying." Hermione said behind him as Harry cranked his neck to look back at her.

"Just because I've been banned from the team doesn't mean I have to give up flying my broomstick. It's not like there's a rule against me just flying on it for recreation." Harry said with little interest. True, he was a little upset that he would not be able to play Quidditch anymore, but that did not mean he couldn't race Draco and Ron around the lake, or play a bout of extreme catch against Neville in the Room of Requirement.

"The more pressing matter at hand," Ginny made her presence known as she strolled in front of Harry and poked at his chest, "Is your episode out on the pitch. We've contained the media backlash this time, but if you SOLDIERS make my job any harder this year, I swear I'll shave each of you as hairless as a one of those freaky-looking hypoallergenic cats."

"And speaking of hair…" Hermione chimed in softly, running a hand through Harry's head. It felt like she had cracked an egg over his head and was now spreading the yolk into his scalp. He saw his hair falling away from his head, turning darker and darker as more and more fell from him. Soon enough his hair was back to its normal length and color, even returning to its natural messy look as Harry smiled at Hermione.

"Can I marry you?" He asked, but grunted as Ron slugged him in the arm with a warning look.

"I think this brute has me under lock and key," Hermione murmured as Ron took her into his arms and snuggled her close.

"A true shame, that…" Harry smirked, turning on heel and walking out of the common room through the still open portal. "If anyone has need of me, I'll be at Headquarters for a little meditative retreat."

"We'll be along shortly." Ron made sure Harry heard him, even though he was speaking through Hermione's hair. Harry lifted a hand into the air, showing that he did indeed hear his friend's reply as he walked on without hesitation.

"It's just so unfair," Alicia said numbly, "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"

"No," Ginny sighed, plopping down in the closest armchair while Ron and Hermione took the other couch. Neville grabbed a patch of rug as though he were a child about to be told an interesting story by his grandparents. He even tucked his legs in and placed his hands on his knees as looked up at the others. "Considering what Harry did to him, whenever he wakes up from that nightmare he'll be punished with lines and several detentions with Umbridge. I heard Montague laughing about that bit of information at dinner."

"Why'd that bitch have to come here anyway?" Alicia surged up and spat furiously, pummeling the arm of the couch with her fist.

"Yeah, I'd love nothing more than to see that toad croak right about now, yo." Fred said with a very ugly look on his face, "Preferably on one of our Ton-Tongue Toffees…" he muttered under his breath.

"I'm going to bed," Angelina said miserably, getting slowly to her feet, "Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream… Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't even played yet…"

The others watched her go and then played witness as she was soon followed by Katie and Alicia so as to further comfort their close friend.

Fred and George sloped off to the dungeons when their pockets started vibrating and flashing with a small red light. Ginny went after them not long after that. Only Ron, Hermione, and Neville were left behind.

"Has anyone seen Luna?" Hermione asked in a low voice, her eyes landing between Ron and Neville.

Neville shook his head.

"I think she went off with Snape after the healers left," Neville said with a shrug.

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, then made for the portrait entrance, "Then we better catch Harry before he starts brooding too much by his lonesome."

"You're right," Ron groaned, his hand sliding down his face, "Harry Potter… Sephiroth… he doesn't exactly have the best track record for dealing with any sort of emotional anxiety, does he?"

It was said that when gods clashed, the earth trembled. At the moment, the setting he had chosen shuddered with a crippling breath, and the false sky above was split asunder! Twin clouds, one on each side of the great rift thundered high above, heavy, and pregnant. Harry glanced up at the raining skies, watching as the imaginary onslaught fell in sheeted curtains. Yet, never did he feel a single drop of this pretend rain. Though the planet around him whimpered and tried to heal its wounds by weeping its lifeblood, Harry felt none of what his eyes saw. He outstretched his hands, curious to the sensory mistranslation that was happening around him.

Behind him at the entrance of the room stood Draco. The blond watched him through the weather with an expression Harry had yet to see, but could feel needling into him at the back of his neck. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, in that instance illuminated by the quick shine of lightning arching naturally from false skies.

"Is this not the time," Harry muttered to himself, his beloved Masamune laid across his lap as a loyal pet would have been. He could not risk Hedwig any further by having her so close to him when Umbridge was on the lookout for anything suspicious, "when her life-force should be consumed? Ages ago… or perhaps maybe not so long ago from her perspective… she had assembled her champions. They were mighty, each and every one of them. They had been great warriors of ages… Masters of their generations… She collected them, guided them, and sent them forth to protect her most precious commodity… Sent them forth to preserve that delicate thing known as human life…"

Harry placed a hand on the side of his Masamune, running his unclothed fingers along the sharp edge of the blade. It did not cut, for a devoted pet did not dare to bite the hand of its master. But instead, it sung. Its beautiful song hummed at Harry's fingertips as the blade purred under his caress. Draco was now closer, at his back and listening to what was probably confusing and alarming all at the same time. Harry, however, was more concerned with his sword's song than whatever frilled nerves his words gave the blond.

"But their enemy had been mighty as well. It was the beast," here Harry chanced a glance back and up at Draco's face. His expression was closed and delicate, but Harry could see how faintly Draco nibbled at his bottom lip, biting the inside of his cheek. How his eyebrows moved without meaning to in order to furrow by way of bemusement. Yes, Draco was indeed confused and alarmed, "and it was too strong," Harry turned back to watch the storm unfold and stroke his Masamune.

"The beast had been too strong for those fabled warriors, all who fell before it in one battle or another. They fell in their line of duty, for the beast had been sent forth to conquer. And the champions fell, scorched. Nations crumbled in its many jaws… The hearts of heroes were punctured by the beast and its midnight fangs."

Harry dropped his head, eyeing the gleam of his sword as if it watched him with something akin to sorrow. He was nothing to pity, and he hated pity with a strange surge of passion that did not befit him or his past life.

"And then?" Draco had barely parted his lips, speaking as though he had not known how. The doors behind him and Harry opened, letting in others to join them in the height of the storm.

"The souls of the innocent were drowned," Harry's eyes raised, staring straight and forward into the darkness of the imagined rain, "by way of blood…"

"Gotta say, Har," Neville crowed as he came in, followed closely by Ron and Hermione, "You are one seriously gloomy dude when you're in one of your moods."

"Rain Off," Ron barked loudly, making the dreary weather disperse as though time had flashed forward. The clouds parted and the sun shone brightly in the room. All the area was wet with fresh rainfall, but even as they stepped through puddles, none of their shoes was met with the wetness that should have naturally followed.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with a calm breath.

"There is much to do," Harry said to all of them as they perked with interest, "before the war will be unleashed on a wide scale."

"Like training?" Neville queried, but Harry was silent as he rose with Masamune in his hand. It was not yet raised for battle.

"There are some things that can't be solved by sparring, Neville," Harry said finally, turning around and offering his friends a smile. "And I feel as deeply as anyone else."

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked, taking a step forward as Harry smiled even broader and nodded.

"Yes, I am well." Harry answered, but Draco stepped back and Ron crossed his arms with a dark auburn eyebrow lifted questioningly. Even Neville seemed to catch on as he gulped and backpedaled a step. "I love you all… But, perhaps I love you too much. I've been blind much too long to the things that needed to be done. And… I can't do them with you all."

"What fantasy of angst have you been running through that head of yours, Sephiroth?" because at the moment it was very clear the person in front of them was not Harry Potter. Draco scowled deeply at his friend, summoning his Rapier without an ounce of dramatic flair.

"There are only so many beings in all the Lifestream that I could ever claim having sentiments for," Harry went on as though Draco had not asked him anything, "Genesis, you are loved, but you once abandoned me and then begged my help after your scorn."

Draco sneered and snarled, but kept himself in place. "Those were different times. Things were much different back then!"

Harry turned to Ron, who looked faintly upset that he was about to be spoke to, "Angeal, my honorable friend. You once tried to keep me human, but… you failed. Didn't you?"

Ron hung his head in shame and sorrow of times passed. His fists clenched together at his sides, "I hadn't been strong enough back then…"

"Zackery," Neville visibly flinched as Harry landed his eyes on him, "You had pitied me once before. Blamed Jenova—" they all flinched back at that name, but Harry remained calm, "—for taking control of my mind. You believed I had been broken and that I went insane."

All fun and games aside in the face of this discussion, Neville stepped forward, "YOU DID! That wasn't you, Seph! That person, that madness! That wasn't the hero I knew, and it damn well wasn't the Sephiroth I had come to know!"

"You are wrong," Harry deadpanned with his eyes glowing and his sword raised. Masamune sung heavenly as it sliced through air molecules. "Her will was not strong enough to overcome me. I burned Nibelheim to ashes because the Sephiroth of then had been too human… too mundane… He had loved too fiercely. Had acted on the purely human emotions of rage and betrayal. What happened to Nibelheim… and what happened out on the Quidditch pitch… those were crimes of passion."

The rumbling of the sky and the shaking of their surroundings was drowned out as Harry merely walked forward and caused the others to break into action. Ron swept a hand in front of Hermione and pushed her flying through the air back toward the door. She went rushing back, her trainers barely skidding across the stone floor before she stopped her backward motion with a graceful landing. Neville called upon his wand, and with a flourish he was holding his wand in one hand and a broadsword identical to Ron's newly manifested one in the other. Ron settled into a warrior's stance while Draco merely raised his sword for combat.

But still Harry simply continued to walk toward them, not even lifting his sword to meet theirs as he watched them ready their defenses against him with a smile.

This would be over soon enough.

Neville watched Harry's slow predatory approach with complete stillness. His breathing becoming regular, and his ears trained on the sounds of his opponent's every footfall as though they were markers to hen the chaos that would consume them. What had gone so wrong this time? What had been said or done that he had not seen? Had not caught in time to make everything stay lighthearted and peaceful? Why was he always too late and too stupid to keep his friends from falling under the weight of their pressures?

Why in Hell's name was he so useless, dammit!?

Ron gripped the handle of his sword harshly, gritting his teeth as memories of another life flashed before his mind's eye. Was this really their destiny? To forever relive the anguish and pain of being torn from one another by the dark hand of Fate? To lose each other to insecurity and darkness all because they were not strong enough to overcome the destruction with greater resolve? Had he been wrong the whole time? Had reaffirming their once legendary abilities and warrior prowess been a grave mistake on his part?

Was he forever doomed to be the reason he could not hold his friends together?

Draco tried hard to dispel the nauseous feeling that squirmed around in his stomach at the moment. However, dread crept into his bones, every muscle of his frame tensed, adding to the wave of sickness, and warning him of danger. To think that he would once again be the fool. He should have never made such a childish fuss about what he had once been. He should have looked toward the future, redefined himself into a better person. Helped his friends, both new and old, into becoming better people. But here they were again. Reliving all the tension that had been caused by him always looking to the past and wanting to relive lost glory.

Why was he forever cursed to look backward selfishly when his friends needed him most in the here and now?

Masamune sang softly as it sliced through the air; the melody a tune promising war and death. Such was the power of the weapon that made all the world pause and dance to its harmonic rhythm. Draco was thrown into the air as he defended himself against a mere upward slash from the exquisitely crafted piece of steel. Ron was knocked aside as he parried a blow from the entity unto itself. And Neville grunted as he countered a strike from the living instrument of death. In his hands, Harry felt his heartbeat fully when he was connected to his blade like this, becoming one with something he could truly call the physical representation of his will.

Beautiful, deadly, and one of a kind.

Going through the motions of this battle, Draco felt it as hollow and soulless. There was no heat behind Harry's actions, though as always within the pitched tempo of battle, the emerald-eyed warrior moved with an unnatural, yet captivating, grace. Slicing diagonally upward, jumping back, stabbing forward, blocking Ron's overhead strike, downward slash as he changed the trajectory of the redhead's move, block again as Neville came in with a slash of his own, and counter-attack with a kick as Draco himself tried to enter the fray. These steps were no doubt memorized. Sephiroth had fought for so long that he had created his own rhythm to war. Improvising was unwarranted it seemed; they were merely ants to be crushed. Draco gritted his teeth and sneered fiercely.

Spinning to the right, Draco watched as Harry easily maneuvered out of the path of Neville's charge. The winds of movement stirred the raven hair of the last in the Potter line.

"Is this the best you three can do?" Draco raged as the taint of arrogance patterned Harry's words.

A grunt was heard from Ron, before a look of grim determination set his features to stone. He lunged at the poised stalker to strike. Still, Harry barely seemed to move from where Ron rammed into him. They clashed swords, sending sparks from the strength of their stalemate as their weapons grinded against one another. Then they broke apart, and Harry flashed his sword upward without warning. Ron was just barely saved as Neville stepped into the fight and took the blow, being knocked into the air where he recovered with a backflip. Ron skipped back a few meters, opening up room for the conflict as Draco once again found all three of them standing opposite the lone warrior.

"Ugh," Ron heaved a breath as he and Neville reassumed their stances. Draco was silently gathering the power he needed to fight on par with Harry's sword mastery. He would be able to provide the necessary backup through his magical mastery while Ron and Neville did the grunt work, "You don't have to do this, Harry! WE CAN ALL STAND TOGETHER THIS TIME, DAMMIT!"

Harry seemed to freeze for a split second then, unexpectedly lowering the one true Masamune about half a meter from where he held it aloft. But then he smirked, meeting their defiant gazes individually with his own intense, wary stare.

"Then don't run… Make this moment last a little while longer…" Harry adopted his fighting stance, this time taking them seriously as he raised the Masamune in his double-handed grip and pointed the blade toward them with the point of his sword directed at their feet. He scanned each of the three with a critical eye in that moment, gauging them for something or another. Draco again shifted, but knew that the battle would not be easy. He would need to be exceptionally quick on his feet for this.

Neville heard the telltale whooshing melody of Harry's sword before he had even seen it coming. Reflex and anxiety drove him to defend against the direction the sounds had come from the moment his ears registered them. A half second later he was gasping as his sword grinded against the mysterious legendary blade of a more legendary wielder. Glowing emerald eyes watched him as he was forced to endure the awesome impact of their struggle. Neville felt like his entire body had turned to jelly, and at the moment, Harry was a kid poking at him with a fork. His frame was jarred from the clash of metal which reverberated from his sword, to his arms, and down onto the metal floors of their arena at the present moment. Surprising himself, Neville held the block in spite of the increasing pressure against his own blade. A snarl of frustration escaped him as he found himself unable to push his enemy back ripped past his clenched teeth. The metal buckled under his feet, and his muscles were beginning to ach from the strain.

Then the pressure was gone, and Neville took a huge gulp of breath as Draco and Ron took over the battle, slashing and hacking at Harry in tangent before he soared after them, retaking the fight when they were mere centimeters from being run through or cut down.

They had been on the attack, but then Harry stopped backpedaling, and sliced through the open air widely in a circular arc, forcing them back before he watched them gather and stand strong. He took a couple of steps to the left, beginning to circle them with an almost catlike grace. Neville had always idolized the level of refinement Sephiroth possessed. In battle he was always perfectly balanced, and the three of them seemed so awkward and clunky compared to him as they made to mirror him, moving likewise.

Harry tested them with a swing at Ron, who was at the right end of their three man front, presumably hoping to catch the guy off balance. Neville knew Angeal was better than that though, and the man proved it by twisting his upper body back just in time. Though if Neville were honest with himself, he had saw the difficulty his old mentor had moved with, the way he had only been saved by quick reaction, and then only by centimeters. The blade had whipped so close past Angeal's face that Neville was sure the redhead had felt the slipstream brush against his milky skin.

Neville found himself acting on instinct, barely recovered from his surprise at hearing the metal singing, actually reverberating from the force of the swipe, when the next blow came at him. He deflected it with milliseconds to spare, but there was no breathing room to follow. Harry was moving his longsword with inhuman speed and power, pressing the advantage with another three smooth successive attacks in a blur of black and silver. It was only thanks to Draco's quickly cast shield and then him parrying the other two that Neville was spared the pain of losing his right arm and leg to Harry's demonic pace.

"Get your head out of the clouds, Longbottom!" Draco snapped, catching the final upward sweep of Harry's combo and being knocked back a bit. Harry followed after him, and then jumped at Ron.

"We can't beat him in a straight fight." Neville said, running to rejoin the fight as Harry took them further and further from the entrance way where Hermione watched them battle with bated breath.

"So cheat!" Draco sneered even as he blocked a strike which would have separated him from his legs.

"Use your environment!" Ron stressed as he continued to work together with Draco.

This was not to be the case as Harry slashed once at them to drive them off, and then spun on heel. He attacked the excitable dark-haired boy with a one-handed downward slash, an attempt to finish him off. But rather than blocking it, Neville stopped dead in his tracks and dived to the right. With the sword's song ringing in his ears, Neville tucked into a roll and launched himself off the ground before Harry's sword carved an enormous gash into the metallic flooring. Neville was only dimly aware of the screech of metal and shimmer of sparks as another vicious sideswipe sent the narrow blade slicing right through the spot he'd been at milliseconds ago. Even still, his unorthodox methods of dodging didn't impede Harry's savagery any. Harry spun and whipped the sword at Neville even as he landed on one hand atop the floor before pushing off again, using all the momentum he had left. He landed on an elevated platform, seamlessly rolling to evade another swing, before finishing up on one knee, weapon raised in a double-handed block.

"Dammit…" Neville hissed, a moment ago having thought that he was incredibly lucky to make it through Harry's assault unharmed. However, now he was aware of the stinging pain along his right arm, and the warmth of blood dripping from a cut on the outside of her bicep. The tip of the sword must have nicked him when he had rolled away. It was a mere scratch, but nevertheless meant that Harry judged his position with an impressive degree of accuracy, despite the undignified and unpredictability of his movements.

If this kept up, Neville wasn't sure how much longer he'd last…

Draco and Ron were God-sends, bless them, Neville thought as they defended heartily against the attack he'd been prepared to block against. Harry had lowered the Masamune to eye their steadfast teamwork, favoring the struggling three with a small but genuine smile on his face. His darkly lit emerald eyes lightened to some degree, studying them with something close to fascination. This is what I wanted, his expression read. This is fun, and we'll continue to play like this until I'm satisfied.

It was all in his face, Neville realized. He was fighting them seriously, but his mind was still focused on something other than killing them.

As it were now, Harry was practically toying with the idea of finishing them off…

Neville knelt in his position of the battle with labored breathing as air refused to enter his lungs sufficiently enough. He caught the glow of his eyes and that of his two present partners on the flat of their blades. All of them had summoned power from deep within to endure this contest of wills. Neville wasn't the brightest of the bunch, neither as Zack Fair or Neville Longbottom, but he did understand that much.

This was a contest of wills. He didn't know what those wills represented, but Harry obviously did. And Harry was clearly the director of their little play. So what were they really doing here if Harry was not serious about killing them?

"Because if you wanted to kill us, YOU'D HAVE JUST DONE IT ALREADY!" Neville's frustration at not comprehending the problem became too much for him. He screamed for all the virtual world around him to hear his anxiety. "We're not your enemies, Harry! We're your friends, dammit! So if you want to kill us, just do it! We're trying to help you not be crazy, but all you want to do is shove our faces in the fact that you can murder us at any given moment!"

Neville got up, and found a well of anger and frustration breaking deep inside his soul. He pointed a finger at Harry's face, which broke into a calculated smirk at his temper tantrum, "Well to hell with that order of the world! You wanna toy with us? WELL BRING IT ON! I am Neville Zackery Fair Longbottom! I DON'T BACK DOWN FROM ANYONE ANYMORE! NOT YOU! NOT UMBRIDGE! AND NOT ALL THE ARMIES OF HELL!"

He surged forward, and broke through the delicate stalemate that Harry had maintained against the two warriors who were once upon a time Neville's superiors in all battle arts. "BRING IT ON!"

"Hmph," Harry threw him another smirk, "With pleasure."

Silvery metal blades clashed and crossed, and Neville's fiery shouts of determination rose above the dim of their fight to split the world like lightning.

Blade-to-blade, they were as different as two warriors could be. And yet, they were identical. After thousands of memories that could be shared between the two of them, after hundreds of hours in virtual sparring or training programs, they knew each other well, but not well enough still. They kept things between them buried where the other could not stab. Emotions and feelings, thoughts and memories. All too precious and fragile to share with the world. All of it kept behind a shield in the heart where no one could see, where no other being in the universe would even think to look.

And now was the time when that shield raised. At least, that was what Neville hoped was happening. He had once knew someone better than a brother, had known a flower girl more intimately than any lover. And now, here he was fighting someone who had shared the pain of shock and betrayal like Neville's own complementary half of a single heart. In every exchange, he felt Harry give ground to his furious onslaught. It was Harry's way. To see the limits of Neville's prowess before washing over them with a tidal wave of power on a completely dreamlike realm of strength.

Ron and Draco jumped into the battle as seamlessly as if they were blended into the mixture of chaos by an unseen hand. Exchanges flashed. Leaps were side-slipped or met with flying kicks; ankle sweeps skipped over and punches parried. Any part of the environment that came in their way was met with their steel, fell in pieces, and then stepped over.

Neville barely had time to catch some of the debris and fling it at Harry. It was a desperate move. Anything to distract Harry from slicing through them before they could devise a plan to subdue him; anything to slow the impossible beast of battle down. Easily, contemptuously, Harry batted them back at Neville, and the sparks flared between their blades until their solid forms faded and the particles of the packed selves dispersed into a dusty fog.

A roar of flame sent Harry jumping backward as Draco used his sword to send waves of dense fire at the katana-wielding genius. The blond felt his veins heat up from the amount of energy he used in an effort to incinerate his dark-haired adversary. It was not enough though as Harry came back with a vengeance, slashing his way through flame and cinder to try reaching them again. Ron leapt forward, and met their opponent head-on with his shoulder, smashing Harry through a nearby metallic wall. Draco desperately hoped that Ron had knocked breath from Harry's lungs, hopefully leaving their friend swaying in a half-stunned state.

But that wasn't the case as Ron was sent hurtling through the air and an explosive contact had done it. Harry was now using magic as well, so Draco heaved a final breath and lifted his blade for the kill. He had only one trick left, one that wouldn't work twice—

But, oh, was it a very good trick. It had, after all, worked rather splendidly on Sephiroth in the past.

Harry came stalking out of the flaming wreckage Ron had tackled him into like a man possessed, and Draco was there to meet him. Neville distracted the longsword artist for a moment with a shouted side assault, but it was all Draco had needed. Draco used his blade to slash at Harry, who met him squarely while catching Neville sword by angling their parry upward at the overhead slice Neville tried to deliver. Then Draco twisted the three joined swords far, and Neville must have caught on because he moved like a fisherman to help Draco in keeping contact. The Masamune slipped from Harry's hands and sailed high through the air. Neville quickly took a hand and hoisted Draco into the air where he reached the blade a second before Harry. The two warriors quickly backpedaled out of reach from where Harry was fully capable of dishing out jaw-shattering punches and knee-crushing kicks should they stay in range. As an unarmed combatant, Harry was perhaps nearly as deadly as he was with a sword. He was no Angeal, but he could still hold his own against the man without swords in the equation so that was more than enough to boast.

Draco poised both blades in a cross before him, a look of triumph lighting his face. "The flaw of power is arrogance."

"You hesitate," Harry said, still smiling as he stepped defiantly over debris and sprouts of flame toward them, "The flaw of compassion—"

"You should know better than any that I have no compassion," Draco sneered at him, eyes flashing with deadly intent, "But I will be nice enough to give you five seconds to end this madness and return to normality. You're not Sephiroth anymore. You're Harry Potter now! Isn't that what you told me? Told us? Well, goddammit! ACT LIKE IT!"

"No," Harry shook his head, losing his smile some as he never paused in his stride toward them, "I am no longer either… And I realize now that I can never be again. Neville said it best when he gave me his name."

Draco roared and flew at Harry, using both swords and his body to destroy Harry, but the moment he was close enough, Harry plucked Draco out of the air, using his hands to seize the arrogant blond's wrists with impossible strength, forcing his arms wide.

"I am so sick of your damn melancholy speeches!" the blond snarled at Harry, who stared back at him unblinkingly. Power pulsed and intensified with his grip. Draco felt the bones of his forearms bending, beginning to feather toward the greenstick fractures that would come before the final breaks.

With Potter's grip on his wrists bending his arms near to breaking, forcing both the Masamune and Rapier down in a slow but unstoppable arc, Draco finally just let go. Of everything. His hopes. His fears. His obligation to the Goddess, his promise to become the new Hero of the Tale, his failure to his friends. His failure to Sephiroth.

And most importantly, to their swords. Caught momentarily off balance by this unexpected action of release, Harry instinctively shifted his grip, releasing one wrist to reach for his blade; in that instant Draco twisted free of his other hand and with expert ease caught up his own blade, reversing it along his forearm so that his swift parry of Harry's thundering overhand not only blocked the strike but directed both blades to slice through the wall against which they stood sidelong. He slid Harry's following thrust through the wall, guiding both blades again up and over his head in a circular sweep so that he could use the power of Potter's next chop to drive himself backward through the wall, out of the way of the flaming wreckage and debris he himself had created.

Harry was slowly coming back from Draco's act of release, shrugging it off and reverting back to his usual cool composure. Draco glared at him. This was not a game! Whatever the fool was playing at would burn along with him if Draco had any favor with the Goddess still.

Ron came bursting out of the ground then, his powerful arms catching Harry's shoulders and shoving him away just enough that the sword slipped past the bridge of his nose when it was intent on scalping him.

"There's no sense in talking anymore." Ron said, his clothes in tatters as he stood tall and proud next to Draco while Neville caught back up with them. "It's time for action. There comes a time when men of honor have to fight. Have to prove something, whether to themselves or to others." Ron stepped forward to where Harry was slicing away the debris that was in his way, "So let me prove something to you! Prove that I'm not the person I once was either!"

Hermione watched the battle unfold from where she stood near the room's entrance. Ron ran straight at Harry with a war cry, constantly attacking. Harry again started to give ground, retreating along the metal facility that was currently projected. They moved along a narrow balcony high above where Draco and Neville were still watching them. Hermione took a deep breath within herself and her soul before she strode forward, hearing the hum of death in front of her with every step she took. This was her fight as well. She would not – could not – allow herself to play only spectator to it.

This was her story, too…

Harry let Ron drive him toward the furthest reaches of the virtual reality they occupied. If Ron took notice of their place of battle, he made no move to comment on it. Harry had chosen this place for a reach after all. It was not by accident they were clashing through the Junon facility, currently making their way out toward the cannon Sister Ray. Harry let Ron drive him toward it. It was a place, Ron decided, they should reach together.

Ron forced Harry back with his superior physical strength, but Ron knew that Harry had only to slice his blade this way or that in order to turn the tide of their clashing to gain the offensive. Swordplay was Sephiroth's art while Angeal's had been unarmed combat. Even still, Ron drove him back and back, slamming his blade down with strength that seemed to flow from the depths of his soul that were slowly awakening. He whirled and sliced razor-sharp shards of steel from the walls and shot them at Harry with the full heat of his fury. He slashed through an archway along the walk, and the ceiling that had blocked the sun crumbled around them as they barely paused in their sword dance.

Then, fire rained around them as Draco and Neville dropped into view. Harry backed to the end of the balcony; behind him was only the mako cannon, a thick heavy structure which hung out over the clear blue waters that swayed gently within the great ocean. Harry leapt backward onto the cannon without hesitation, and the other three warriors followed, raining down chop after chop which Harry met and parried. Out on the thick cannon ground, their four distinct blades blurred even faster than before. They chopped and slashed, parried and blocked. Sparks and embers ignited from the intensity of their battle. Draco's fire magic caused bubbles of white-hot metal to drop into the ocean below, shedding drops of burning scrap that scorched their clothes and robes. Smoke shrouded their vision soon after with flares of energy crackling and spitting as their resident battle mage threw all he had at Harry without stopping.

This was not light against dark or good against evil; it had nothing to do with duty, philosophy, prophecy, religion or morals. It was Harry Sephiroth Potter against them. Personally. Just the one against three of them, and the damage they had done to each other's souls.

The last of the Potter line back-flipped over a powerful slash sent from the Buster Sword, watching as Neville easily sailed forward in hot pursuit of what could be considered an opening. Harry leapt again, and spun to meet Neville's sword head-on as he and the boy whirled over the top of the mile-long cannon. They battled it out, slicing apart sections of the cannon and creating craters in its surface. And Harry, having skipped and skidded out on the edge of the cannon in order to avoid being incinerated by Draco's latest flow of raging fires, deflecting the smaller fire blasts and countering strikes from the other two, suddenly found his vision shaded once again when the smoking battlefield was behind his enemies.

A shadow loomed over him, and Harry looked up just in time to flip back toward the middle of the cannon walk. Just in time to avoid a shaft of light which exploded in a wondrous array of colors at the very edge Harry had occupied not a moment ago.

"Breaking past the people we all once were is what it means to be alive." Hermione spoke softly as another celestic arrow begin to materialize along the string of her bow, "Improving and stumbling along in the darkness, we create light to further our reach toward the heavens. Now the angel descends to do war against the beast, and bring it back into the fold of the Goddess' chosen few."

"Nonsense," Harry lunged at Hermione, but she had already pulled back her bow and loosed an arrow at him. Harry watched with awe as his sword clashed with the mystical arrow, carving it in half which caused it to burst in his face with all the colors of a rainbow.

"We're your friends," Hermione said, loosing another three arrows as Harry dodged around her along the cannon surface. She floated high above him, and saw him move like a snake through the dense jungle, curving and deadly as he tried to asset how best to consume her, "we won't ever leave you, Harry."

Harry stopped dead as the arrow that struck down in front of him didn't explode or disperse. He batted away Neville, kicking him back while he gazed up at Hermione's soft visage. Three more arrows fell around him quicker than he could count. He glanced around at the shafts of shimmering light, their positioning a suggestion of some kind of subterfuge or trap.

"Two more," Hermione whispered, but Harry's superior hearing caught the words, and his excellent sight saw the two glimmers shot from her bow. They weren't aimed at him, and impacted the cannon surface before he could understand why she was aiming around him. "And the setup is complete."

"Do it now, Hermione!" Ron shouted, and Harry saw the bushy-haired bookworm nod as her six arrows began to glow intense yellow color.

"Six Rows of Patience!" Hermione said, and the arrows all rose up and shot at Harry, who deflected the first three, but not the ones behind him as they all came at the same time. He felt his strength drain from him, and his sense of perception thrown off. Ron shot at Harry, sword held high overhead as he slammed it down onto Harry's own blade.

"Effort!" Ron roared and their clashed powers doubled as Harry grit his teeth to keep from groaning. "The future is a brighter place than today! I failed you in the past and I hadn't been strong enough back then, but I'll be damned if you think I'm gonna fail twice. I'm stronger than I was back then! And with these two hands, and this sword of honor, I WILL PROVE MY WORDS WITH EVEN GREATER ACTION!"

"Three Rows of Restraint!" Hermione intoned, and the three arrows in Harry's back pulsed once before turning a deep blue color. He felt his strength fade even further, and Ron's power began to overwhelm his own. Harry quickly slashed upward, sending Ron away from him, but Draco was gliding around to the other side, a trial of flames at his heels.

"Great Flame Encampment!" Draco said, dragging Rapier along his path through the cannon top while the flames rose higher and higher. "We don't have time for all this sentimental foolishness! We'll defeat you here and now before moving on to deal with our soap opera moment."

Neville burst through the flames with a huge grin on his face and a toothbrush in his mouth for some reason, "Morning Routine!" he ran at Harry, who was shaky on his feet the longer the arrows remained in his back. Neville kicked the sword from Harry's hand, and then pun with his other foot catching Harry on the chin to knock him high into the air. "This is gonna show you that you're not the only hero anymore! We've all changed and adapted for the better! I now understand you, Seph! You are Harry Sephiroth Potter, AND YOU DON'T STAND ALONE AT THE TOP ANYMORE!"

Chains and ropes sprang from thin air to twist and wrap all around Harry, keeping him in place. Giant metal hands rose up from the cannon's surface, coming to wrap their metallic fingers tightly around Harry's middle. Hermione shot forth several more arrows, but these new bolts of shimmering light stopped in midair to pulse with a faint glow, soothing the emerald-eyed prisoner into a relaxed state.

All around his friends took up positions as he was levitated down at their posed state. Ron shouldered the mighty Buster Sword with a broad grin on his face. Draco swiped the majestic Rapier through the air a single time before smirking up at Harry's floating captured form with brightly glowing orange flames as his background. Neville took the toothbrush from his and pointed it up at Harry like a legendary sword while grinning like a loon. Hermione came to stand in the last position, floating down with Harry as she rested her longbow on the cannon top next to her, it standing just as tall as she did. All together they cut the picture of a terrific team, one capable of many awesome things.

And Harry smiled, as it seemed that capturing him was merely one of their impressive talents. "I suppose I have no choice. Fate, it seems, has determined that I not do things alone."

"Yes," Hermione said, a soft smile on her face as the other gathered closer, "that's right."

"Well," a genuine smile graced Harry's face as he conceded the battle to his friends, "I'm listening."

Colin backed away from the open door and toward the opposite wall, sliding down it with his face buried in his hands.

Sephiroth…

"I told you he was bad news," Cho said with little heat as she shook her head.

"What do we do now?" Susan asked, honestly curious.

"Look, drop it, will you!" Colin burst out, rubbing his face in his hands, "It's bad enough, without you trying to egg me into it!"

Cho and Susan said nothing, but sat next to him on the corridor's floor. The two young witches gazed miserably at the damp hem of Colin's robes. He had been outside looking for Harry and the others, but they weren't in the courtyard with Ginny and the Weasley boys.

After a while Colin spoke up again, saying in a dull tone of voice, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my life…"

"Join the club…" Cho said bitterly, her fist clenched at the floor. Damn that Sephiroth for making her friend feel this way. Damn him to the depths of Hell.

"Well," Susan said, her voice trembling slightly. "I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up."

"Oh yeah?" Colin said skeptically.

"Yeah," Susan said, turning to her two friends, a broad smile spreading across her face. "She finally got them to remember. So now… Cid and Barret are finally back."