Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

January 29, 2016 A/N: Two years after I started this story, I think it's finally where I want it to be as far as the flesh and bones go. Please help me finish polishing it by looking for omitted words and things like that. I discovered belatedly that the uploader likes to delete random punctuation and whole parts of sentences.

The next book and continuation for this story, All Hail the Time Lord's Son, is live on my profile.

Thank you so much for your follows, faves and reviews. I've never written a story of this magnitude in so short a time (originally, about a month from beginning to end). I hope you've enjoyed this first installment of my alternate imaginings to JK's universe and the metacrisis Doctor.

Chapter Fifteen: No Quarter

7 June 2013

Harry left his Potions final feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. His forgetfulness draught had turned out perfect. Professor Snape silently bottled several phials worth for Madam Pomfrey's store, which in itself was as good as pronouncing Harry first in class. The first-year Charms exam the day before had left him feeling similarly pleased, having made his pineapple dance a perfect imitation of a Ginger Rogers routine he once saw on the telly. He performed admirably in Transfiguration, though Daphne made her mouse-turned-snuffbox far more decorative than his own for bonus points. His lacked imagination despite possessing perfect form and utility. No one did as poorly as Crabbe and Goyle, however, whose boxes still had whiskers and tails when they ran out of time.

Their astronomy exam felt laughably easy – a simple affair of mapping the night's sky and labelling the heavenly bodies – and herbology seemed positively relaxing after their especially long and tedious written exam for history of magic.

Contrarily, his exam for defence against the dark arts felt like a disaster. It wasn't that Harry didn't know the material, but in the presence of his personal nightmare-inducing demon, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate long enough to do anything with it. Most of his energy went to reinforcing the rather formidable defences around his mind, and the small fraction left over barely managed to fill in his essay questions before the bell rang. He could only feel glad there wasn't a practical portion, or he might have done even worse.

But now, it was over, and Harry happily allowed Neville to escort him to the hospital wing for a well-deserved dreamless sleep potion and a long, long nap.

Very Early 8 June 2013

Ron Weasley woke from the same nightmare that had haunted him for the last several weeks, ever since his ill-gotten detention from the greasy-haired, hook-nosed, over-biased, anger-inducing Professor Snape.

Sweat clung to his forehead and made his fringe stick uncomfortably to his cold skin. His flannel pyjama shirt practically dripped with perspiration. His hands shook. Shivers rolled down his spine.

He bent over the side table and hastily lit the candle there with the tip of his wand, unwilling to sit in the darkness with the spectre shifting just beyond the fringes of his imagination. Its shrouded face shone with silvery unicorn blood and its clawed hands reached for him even as the light of Hagrid's lantern shone behind him in the dark.

"Whossit?" Neville asked sleepily in the bed beside his own.

Ron grunted something unintelligible as the other boy's curtains opened. Only then did he notice their guest.

"Gah!" Ron screamed.

The pointy-eared creature crossed its arms and glared up at the red-haired boy.

"You will wake your friends, young Ronald Wheezey," the house elf hissed. "Cuddie needs Neville Longbottom," she said, turning to the bleary-eyed blonde.

"What's wrong?" Neville yawned. "What do you need?"

Cuddie hopped up onto the bed and tipped a potion into Neville's mouth. Steam immediately spewed from the boy's ears as he straightened, and his eyes bulged momentarily with the potion's effects.

"Harry Potter is in danger! Cuddie went to wake him because Cuddie saw his sonic thingy beeping when she was cleaning his room, but he was not in the hospital wing when I went to bring it to him. Cuddie cannot find him, and the only place elves cannot go in the castle is the headmaster's room and the big doggie's corridor. Please hurry! Cuddie has already woken Miss Greengrass, Miss Grangey and Master Malfoy!"

The little elf rang her hands as Neville jumped from the bed and slid into his shoes. He didn't bother changing out of his teddy bear pyjamas and only paused a moment to take up his wand and to slap a sticker on the back of his neck.

Ron watched all this in bemusement and mounting frustration.

"What are you doing? You're going to lose us points just to go hang out with that traitor Potter?" he hissed.

Neville pushed past him.

"Sorry Ron, I haven't got time. Go back to bed."

"No!" Ron shouted as he grabbed a fistful of Neville's collar. "You tell me what you're on about, now, or I'm fetching Percy!"

A loud crack! rent the air, and Ron found himself thrown back to his bed and tangled in his covers. The little house elf stood over him with a glare on her pointed face.

"No! Wheezey will stay and sleep or Cuddie shall make him! Neville Longbottoms is needed!"

Neville didn't wait for Cuddie to run down the dormitory stairs. He dashed through the portrait hole to run, flat-out, to the third floor corridor, where the others waited anxiously for his arrival. It was a wonder no one stopped him on his way, but then, Cuddie may have thought of that before she fetched him. By the time he reached Daphne and Draco, the boy was panting for breath. The Slytherins and Hermione were in no better shape.

"I've got Harry's bag and scanner," Daphne said. "Are you ready?"

Neville nodded rather than trying to speak around his gasps. Hermione managed a squeak. Draco pointed his wand at the lock.

"Alohomora!"

Hermione activated the music box as soon as the door opened, but there was no need. The beast inside lay trussed and bound in the corner, whining pitifully to itself. All three noses sniffed eagerly at them as the children entered, but its eyes, usually mad with the desire to defend its post, stared forlornly at them while they approached the trapdoor.

"Oh, it looks sort of sweet when it's not snapping at us," Hermione murmured, still a little breathless after her panicked run.

"Well, we've not got the time to waste and we need to help Harry," Neville grunted. "Besides, he'd only get in the way on the way back up."

Draco huffed as he lifted the heavy trap door.

"We don't have Harry's broom," Daphne said regretfully. "He's kept it in the changing rooms since we finished placing the alarms."

"We'll just have to manage without. It's good Draco's such a great flier," Hermione said. "Has anyone called the Doctor?"

She lit her wand and started passing out water pistols, which the other children quickly stuffed into belts or pockets.

"Done," Daphne confirmed. "As soon as Cuddie told me. They Rose told me to get Snape, and I did, and he's trying to get the headmaster back from London, but she also said to not go after him, which we're obviously not doing."

"Let's not waste any more time," the Slytherin boy snapped. "Let's go."

Just as in their earlier excursions, the devil's snare gave them little trouble and the key room quickly fell to Draco's skill. The chessboard presented a new challenge.

"We've never tried to take so many people across," Hermione worried.

"It's only one more," Neville said. "We'll manage."

And they did, though there were a few close calls with so many of them on the board. With four brains thinking together, however, they still finished the game within fifteen minutes. The white pieces bowed out of the way, and the children rushed forward into Bob's chamber.

A stench like an open sewer freshly topped with rotting fertiliser met their noses, and Daphne wretched.

"Oh no," Hermione sobbed through her sleeve.

Neville and Draco shifted closer to the girls as they took in the scene.

Bob the troll lay dead on either side of the next door. His top half faced them, his eyes staring dully and his mouth curled in a silent snarl of agony. His lower half lay twisted and broken against the wall. Dark grey blood pooled around the chamber, flecked with bits of flesh no one dared identify. Hermione quietly cried while Daphne held her. Draco tried very hard not to be sick.

"He must have tried to defend it, anyway," Neville mumbled forlornly.

"No," Daphne countered.

She pointed to the footprints and wide smears through the muck.

"He tried to save Harry. See? I think he's been dragged."

"We'd better get going, then," Hermione whispered shakily. "But before we go, someone should go back and get McGonagall and Flitwick. They're both brilliant, and Flitwick was a duellist."

"There isn't time," Draco said a little helplessly. "And I'm sure Professor Snape woke everyone already."

"We don't have time to argue about this! The plan's shot," Neville shouted. "Hermione, with me. Draco and Daphne, you go back. You can fly. If we're not back before the teachers get here, call the Doctor."

The two Slytherins looked at the boy for a long moment. Neville nodded once and they turned to depart at a run. Hermione took the Gryffindor's hand, and they stepped through the last door to run down the remainder of the corridor together.

"How should we do this?" Neville asked as the flames sprung up before and behind them.

"Erm-" Hermione frowned and pulled a cork from one of the wine bottles.

A tap of her wand transfigured it into a small glass jar, and she grinned.

"Pour in the flame-freezing potion, put the phial back and wait for it to refill. Then we go through the black fire together."

Neville nodded, and Hermione double-checked the riddle and the arrangement before emptying her dose of potion into her conjured jar. As soon as the little phial sat once more on the table, it refilled, and Neville raised it to his lips. Hermione toasted him. They swallowed their potions in one go and, shoulder-to-shoulder with wands and potion-squirters at the ready, stepped through the black flames.

…

Harry woke from a horrible dream. The flames surrounding his head in sleep seemed to follow him into wakefulness, and pain, hot and insistent, burned across his brow. Gasping, the boy fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses until the tips of his fingers encountered the familiar plastic frames.

Only a few candles still burned through the hospital wing, and the chamber swam with shadows. The matron herself stood nearby, statue still, as if watching over him in his sleep.

"Matron," Harry rasped as he shoved his spectacles onto his face. "May I have another Dreamless Sleep? I'm still getting nightmares."

"Indeed?"

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end at the sound of the voice, absent of its usual stutter. His head pounded ever more ferociously as he scrambled to sit up while he groped beneath the pillow.

"You've no need of your wand, Potter," Quirrell snarled. "You will come with me, or you will face the same fate of the dear matron. She was most unwilling to allow me entry, you see."

"You didn't need to hurt her," Harry said more bravely than he felt as he slid out of bed and stepped into his shoes.

"Do keep that in mind," the turbaned professor sneered. "I do not need to do anything. I do only as I please."

With two wands pointed at his back, Harry began the all too familiar trek to the third floor corridor. Quirrell made quick work of Fluffy. Harry winced as the man cruelly bound and trussed the three-headed dog with thick black cords that cut into his protesting flesh. For the trapdoor, the professor bound Harry's arms together behind his back with the same painful bands before pushing him in, face first. It was all he could do not to scream as he fell through the open air to land with a fwup! on the devil's snare below. The professor followed far more gracefully and proceeded to burn away the wriggling vines with a casual wave of Harry's wand.

"Did you think," he smirked as he pulled the boy from the floor by his hair. "That my master would not sense your magic throughout this blasted gauntlet? That He would not recognize the very thing that once undid Him?"

They had reached the key chamber. Quirrell stopped to weave a complex summoning spell that stank of bleach to Harry's sensitive nose, and the key flew meekly to his hand.

"The headmaster thought he could trap us here, but we were cautious," he murmured. "We took our time and undid the detections he cast though this place. The average seventh-year has excellent control of his magic, but no such discipline for the mind. They bend easily to suggestion and even more so to forgetfulness. Now…"

He pushed Harry forward to stumble onto the chessboard. The pieces shuddered and moved to stand aside.

"Now, they are all His. Each defence, so carefully laid to slow Him down now bows in His presence. Even the troll knows better than to stand in His way!"

But he was wrong, Harry knew. The other defences may have been re-rigged to bend under Quirrell's will, but Bob, sweet beast, had never felt loyalty for the turbaned man who locked him in his chamber. Quirrell opened the door to Bob's domain and pushed Harry through. The troll's reaction came immediately.

"GRAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRRY!"

The troll, previously seated quite docilely in the corner of the vast room, lumbered forward with his club raised as soon as he saw Harry stumble to his knees. Quirrell snarled and jumped away as the spot he previously occupied fell to the troll's club. Bob wasn't done, though. Enraged, he charged with the club swinging again.

"Stand aside, foul idiot!" the professor shrieked shrilly. "You're my beast, and you shall obey me!"

"Get away, Bob!" Harry shouted. "Run! I'm fine! Run!"

It was too late.

Quirrell's wand whipped this way and that, and where a great mountain troll stood moments before, Harry only discerned a cloud of dark gray mist. A pungent odour overtook his senses, and his mouth filled with the taste of blood and bile. His stomach protested, and he felt himself dry-heaving and shaking from his place on the ground. The boy's feet felt numb when Quirrell dragged him forward again.

He could only think how very wrong it all was. This wasn't what they planned. Where was the Doctor? Why hadn't the DMLE arrived? Why hadn't he kept the scanner on him? He should have been able to call in the cavalry before Bob died, and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be hurt, maybe even dead, too, in her office-

His mind ground to a halt.

"Why am I here?" he whispered aloud. "What do you need me for?"

"I wondered when you would ask, Potter," Quirrel sneered as they came to the potions riddle. "Why did I bother with you when I had a job to do?"

He turned, jerked Harry's head back by his roots, and forced the potion down his throat. Harry spluttered, and a moment later, he lay sprawled before the mirror. He idly wondered why he still had any clothes.

"Weren't you paying attention, Potter?" he mocked bitterly. "I've altered the protections here to my suiting, and yet, this damned Mirror or Erised… Mirror of Desire, indeed! I see myself presenting the stone to my master. He is rewarding me beyond anything I could ever deserve, and yet, I cannot find how to retrieve the stone itself. My master felt this foul contraption call for you, and thought that doddering old fool would not believe too fearful of taking you in order to unlock the secret."

Harry choked back a hysterical laugh. It was all so very wrong.

He did not want to admit he still, after all their discoveries since entering Wizardspace, held some hope for Dumbledore's intentions. Of course Voldemort wouldn't be able to get the stone out of the evil bloody mirror. Dumbledore had put in a failsafe just in case Harry wasn't an idiot and didn't want to confront a terrorist on his own.

He felt wholly unsuited for such an impossible situation. He needed to be more. He needed to be better. He needed to be a Time Lord.

Harry Potter-Tyler- (sometimes) Smith needed a miracle.

"Oi! Smelly!"

Harry turned, and he felt his heart swell and stomach sink simultaneously at the sound of that voice. Neville and Hermione stood framed in the black flame archway, their wands and water pistols drawn and levelled at Quirrell's back. The man did not react. Harry slowly began inching toward his friends while they walked closer. Neville's slightly green face remained focused on their mutual enemy, but he did not move from his muttering before the mirror. Harry's heart beat a desperate tattoo against his ribs. They needed a plan, and fast.

"Do you remember what you were telling us about concussion spells?" Hermione whispered as she and Neville pulled him to his feet.

But Harry had never taught them about concussion spells.

"I could kiss you," he breathed as his memory caught up to Hermione's idea.

He glanced back at Quirrell, who still seemed intent on his task, while the girl used a Relashio charm on his bondage.

"On three," he whispered as Neville and Hermione lowered their wands. "Hit him with the guns, and give it everything you've got."

Neville seemed grim and determined and Hermione, terrified but committed.

"One," she breathed.

"Two," Neville grunted.

"Three!"

Harry forced every other thought from his mind and exhaled sharply as his nose and mouth filled with the flavour of his friends' magic and his own aching desire to live.

Quirrell shouted in surprise and fury as his body flew hard against the mirror, and it shattered into a million pieces beneath his weight and the children's will. The fire behind them blinked out.

"Now!"

Neville and Hermione squirted him with the potion, and before the man could try and rise again, Harry summoned his wand to him. They fled.

Chunks of rock rained down on them from a suddenly unstable ceiling. Somehow, though, he, Neville and Hermione managed to dodge the debris and dash, gasping and covered in dust, into Bob's chamber.

"Run!" Harry yelled.

"POTTER!"

The scream was their only warning. Harry flew hard against the opposite wall. Neville and Hermione shrieked as they joined him in a heap at the wall's base. Quirrell towered over them, horrifying in his twisted anger. His turban sat askew, and the horrible stink that followed him filled their nostrils.

He desperately grabbed Hermione's gun from her pocket and squirted a face-full of paralysation potion at the man.

"Why didn't it work?!" the girl squealed.

"I don't know!" Harry shouted back weakly.

Quirrel snarled and swept an arm over his dripping face.

"YOU DARE!"

Horrible pain overtook him as the mad professor's magic picked him up and threw him again. His head bounced against the stone floor, and his shoulder and arm burned where he'd tried to catch himself. He gaped through his double vision at the glaring man standing over him.

"YOU DARE DEFY ME! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN YOUR TRAITOROUS FATHER AND MUDBLOOD MOTHER!"

"Where's that voice coming from?" Hermione whimpered.

"Behold what you've done to my master! What you've reduced Him to!" Quirrell's mouth screamed as he tore the turban from his head.

He turned away from them to reveal the most horrible sight Harry had ever beheld. Hermione screamed. Neville made a strange choking sound. Nausea took over Harry's stomach again, and the relentless pounding in his head doubled. He felt dizzy. He couldn't seem to orientate himself well enough to crawl away. He felt someone dragging him and realised his friends had crawled toward the monster to retrieve him.

A horrible, snakelike face protruded from the back of Quirrell's bald pate. Red eyes glared at them through fleshy, lidless slits. There was no nose, rather two narrow slanted nostrils stretched over a horrible, sneering mouth.

"See what I have become?" the face rasped. "See what your mudblood mother did to me? All for the sake of you! You, who cower now at a mere shadow of my true power. You will pay, boy, for your insolence. For stealing my victory today."

The face twisted into a cruel smile, which lingered in Harry's mind even as Quirrell turned around and stepped a few paces away from them as he raised his wand. Harry weakly tried to push Neville and Hermione behind him.

"Run, as soon as I say."

"Not without you," Neville snapped.

"We do it again," Hermione agreed. "Then we'll run together."

"KILL THEM ALL!" the face shrieked.

The tip of the wand glowed green, Quirrell's lips parted in fury, and Harry sprang into action. He ran at the man in a full-on tackle to bury his head and shoulder in the professor's gut. The boy heard an oof! and a strangled cry as he dug his fingers into the man's radius and twisted as hard as he could. A spell burned his skin as it missed his ear and left the air smelling of bitumen. The wand clattered to the ground. Hermione crowed in triumph, and Harry grinned as the unmistakable sound of snapping wood filled his ears.

"Now!" Harry shouted.

Again, the invisible force of their combined will and magic threw Quirrell away from them to sprawl in a robed heap across the room where he skid to rest among the remains of their fallen troll ally.

"FOOL!" Voldemort commanded in a scream like nails on glass. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM WITH YOUR BARE HANDS! DO IT! KILL THEM NOW!"

"No!" Harry cried. "We can stun him! Concentrate really hard, and think of him knocked out! Wish for it really hard!"

But Hermione and Neville were exhausted. They could hardly stand, and they were terrified. Harry was, too. Even with all his practice, he hadn't used so much wandless magic at once all year, and he hadn't slept more than a few hours a night for the last month. He wished he'd thought to put a pepper-up in his pocket before going to sleep, or that he had the strength to summon one from the tattered bag still clinging to Hermione's shoulder.

Quirrell stood on his feet again. One of his arms rest at an odd angle in relation to the rest of his body, and blood flowed freely from a wound on his skull, but he shuffled forward anyway with his crazed eyes focused on Harry.

The children tried the defensive spells they knew – tripping jinxes, body binds, incendio spells – everything short enough that they could spout them in quick succession from the many hundred they learned, but the more powerful wizard batted them away like so many gnats. Neville charged only to receive a brutal blow across the face. Harry shoved Hermione behind him and roared his desperate outrage as he ran forward. When all else failed, his mother had once told him, bite and go for the eyes.

As Quirrell attempted to wrap his long fingers around his neck, Harry half climbed his thin body to bury bony knuckles in the man's eyes. To his surprise, Quirrell screamed and pulled away, and Harry watched in amazement as the professor's flesh blistered and peeled away in black flakes. It was as if he'd been burned. He stared at his hands. They felt burned hot and raw, but Quirrell had started after Hermione under Voldemort's crazed command.

Without further consideration for the intelligence of his course of action, Harry jumped on the man's back and pressed his hands to Voldemort's livid, snake-like face. It spat scarlet, bloody foam and gnashed its teeth, but the skin still charred and peeled until it crumbled like ash beneath his hands. Harry bared his teeth against the pain racing across his skin and diving deeper into his flesh and bones. It felt as if his skull would split, but still he hung on.

"If you want to kill me so badly, just go ahead and try!" he shouted through a raw throat.

His arms and legs clung harder as the body beneath them thrashed in an attempt to throw him off. He felt stone at his back. Something hot and wet ran from his crown down the back of his collar.

"Try all you like, 'cause I'll give as good as I bloody get!"

Finally, blessedly, the moving stopped. The body he held to collapsed, and as his knees hit the ground, the thing that once was Quirrel or Voldemort or both disintegrated to leave nothing but a dirtied robe behind. He heard a strange buzzing in his ears. His face felt wet and his mouth tasted like copper. Before he could turn to check for his friends, the black specks swimming on the fields of his vision expanded rapidly. His brain shut down, and unconsciousness caught him before his head hit the floor.

14 June 2013

It began with odd, half-formed murmurs and blurs of coloured light. A light, warm brush against his arm or forehead alerted him to the presence of others, but his head felt so much like swimming through pea soup, and his ears felt so stuffed with cotton wool he couldn't assign a name to the owner of the familiar touch. These brief moments of muddled confusion fell between long stretches of darkness, until, with quite a lot of pain, Harry opened his eyes.

Everything looked blurry and bright. With a groan and a stretch with a shaking hand, he found his glasses on the bedside table. He put them on to peer around him in confusion.

Bright sunlight streamed through the narrow, pointed arch windows spaced near the vaulted ceiling. A witch in green robes and a crisp white apron went around the room, stripping beds with a wave of her wand and sending bedding into a basket at the centre of the floor. Several chairs sat near him, several overflowing with sweets, gifts, cards and flowers. Then his mind reengaged.

"MADAM POMFREY!" he yelled hoarsely.

The woman jumped a foot in the air and whirled to glare at him.

"MR POTTER! YOU LAY DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

But Harry couldn't bring himself to listen. He shoved off his covers and ran to the woman to throw his arms around her waist.

"You're alright!" he gasped, intensely happy. "I thought he killed you! What about Hermione and Neville? And Daphne and Draco, too?"

The flustered matron patted Harry on the back affectionately and gently pushed him away.

"I'm quite alright, Mr Potter, as are your friends. I'm not sure what that villain told you, but I was safely asleep in my rooms until Miss Greengrass and Mr Malfoy came to wake me for your treatment. I'm just ashamed he managed to come in here and take you under my watch."

"It was Voldemort–"

The woman winced.

"I doubt you could have done anything to stop him," he said with a rush. "I'm glad you didn't. I would have hated for something to happen to you, too."

"Indeed," a playful voice said. "What Hogwarts could there be without our beloved Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry turned as Professor Dumbledore entered the hospital wing with the two people Harry least expected to see at his side.

"MUM!"

Rose ran forward and enveloped Harry in her warm, soft embrace. She sank to her knees with her arms still around Harry's slim shoulders and squeezed him so tightly he thought he might stop breathing, but he quickly decided he wouldn't mind.

"You're grounded," she sobbed into his hair. "Forever. Until you're thirty-five with kids. You're never scaring me like that again."

Harry just let his mother hold him, and all the fear and stress of the past several months came out of him at once. He felt very glad the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey suddenly seemed so interested in stripping the beds and chatting loudly to one another.

"Just how long was I out?" he finally asked once both he and his mother had stopped leaking water everywhere.

"Almost a week," the Doctor choked. "We've been here since Saturday."

"What about Jenny?"

"With Jackie and Pete."

Harry smiled up at his dad a little shyly and the Doctor loped forward to pull both wife and son into his chest.

"And your mum's right. Never scare us like that again. Just what happened? We got Daphne's call, but even after the investigation we haven't been able to piece it all together."

"You know what they say about our best-laid plans," Harry muttered. "He sensed I'd tried... You know. And the mirror wouldn't let him at it on his own, so he came and got me."

"Much to his detriment," the Headmaster beamed, rejoining them. "He thought to use you to his own devices, and, alas, you prevented him most completely."

Harry's head bowed. He ignored what little he could see of the professor's grinning place from under his parents combined limbs.

"I think I killed Professor Quirrell," he whispered in his mother's hair.

She pulled away slightly, and the Doctor knelt to gather his son up in his arms. Harry would have protested to being held like that. He wasn't a baby or a girl, but he still hadn't found the room to care about appearances, yet.

"No, Harry, if anyone's responsible for his death, the dear headmaster is," he said forcefully. "Like you said, there was no way for him to get the door prize without you, was there?"

Both parents glared at the old man who had the decency to look abashed.

"I admit I should have been more cautious than to leave while the stone still remained, but, fortunately for us all, Mr Weasley had the presence of mind to call on Minerva, who quickly dispatched her patronus to alert me to the danger."

"Daphne woke Severus before Cuddie even woke Nev, so don't give me any of that. I thought we had an understanding," the Doctor growled lowly. "You can't play your stupid little games with us. I've warned you once and this is your last warning: I have ended races and destroyed planets far beyond your greatest imagination. Vast armies run at the mention of my name."

"We have seen the end and the beginning, and we understand the Void and the Vortex better than your puny little mind could ever comprehend," Rose hissed icily. "We know what you've done, you kidnapping hypocritical arsehole, and we know why you need our son."

The man and woman, eyes blazing with righteous conviction, held Dumbledore's gaze for several moments as the thinly veiled threat sank in. The headmaster no longer twinkled. Finally, the old man nodded.

"We told you before that he wouldn't be playing by your rules, but since you seemed to have forgotten, let me make it clear again," the Doctor snarled. "Since Amelia's charges of child endangerment and impeding an investigation probably won't see the light of day by the time you're done greasing palms, here's what's going to happen unless you never want to see Harry in Britain 're going to inform us the next time Voldemort raises his ugly head. The first hint of any Death Eater activity will send your patronus or flaming chicken directly to us."

Harry squeezed his dad's arm, and he gently let him retake his feet on the ground. The boy still clung to his huge hand, though. He felt dizzy again, and it was wonderful having them drag the professor over the coals. In the meantime, Rose had taken up the ultimatum where the Doctor left off.

"Furthermore," she snarled. "You are never to speak to Harry without the presence of either myself or his father. The same applies to our daughter when she comes here in the fall."

"If you go against these simple rules," the Doctor added. "Nothing will save you from the reckoning we will deliver. Harry will be gone from your school and from Britain. The Statute of Secret will Fall. Your offices, your commission, your power, will crumble at your feet, and when wizards ask why they have to answer to the responsibilities of their fortunate birth, you can tell them: 'Because I am a coward too weak to fight my own battles. I relied on a child to do it because it was convenient.'"

The headmaster said nothing, at first, in response the family's combined stares. His mournful eyes rested most often on Harry's stony face. The usually spry sorcerer withered, and suddenly his floor-length beard, his wrinkled skin, and his silver hair seemed to suit the over one-hundred-year-old man.

"I see I have failed more completely than I imagined possible," he murmured tiredly. "You have my sincerest apologies, and my promise, Mr and Mrs Smith, Harry- I will endeavour to be more forthright, and I shall abide by your requests from here on."

Dumbledore turned to leave the infirmary, stooped as Harry had never before seen him, but had not passed the doors when Harry's call stopped him.

"Professor, I had a thought last week… Were you there when whoever it was made the prophecy about me? Is that why you thought you were doing the right thing?"

The headmaster looked at him for a long moment from the open infirmary doorway.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "Yes, I am sorry to say I did."

He left without another word, and Harry went back to enjoying his parents' presence. It had been a very long time since Christmas holidays.

It wasn't the end to the year Harry had hoped for, but he still felt grateful for a number of things.

With Hagrid's help, he, his parents, Neville, Hermione, Daphne and Draco were able to hold a small funeral for Bob the troll, who had they buried at Neville's insistence on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Doctor officiated and sang a beautiful Gallifreyan song of thanks, which made them all cry a little. Hagrid very helpfully carved Bob's name and death date into his club and planted it as a headstone for the fallen beast. Harry's parents departed soon after for their home in Sutton to finish packing for their move to the castle. It was good to have some closure for the misunderstood troll, and better to know the Doctor and Rose would be there next year to help prevent similar tragedy next year if his Wizarding luck persisted.

He also celebrated his friends' conditions post-Quirrell. Neville and Hermione, thankfully, really weren't hurt aside from a few minor bruises, and both looked a lot better than Harry did when Madam Pomfrey permanently released him for the leaving feast on Monday. He was told, however, that under no uncertain terms was he to fly, run, jump, or engage in any strenuous activity for the next several weeks. She rather tearfully informed him he had very nearly died from internal haemorrhaging and also gave him a very large box of potions to take for the coming month. Still, it was better than the recovery period he would have faced in a non-magical doctor's care, and he also celebrated the fact he hadn't died. Jenny would not have forgiven him.

He was also surprised to receive a standing ovation when he entered the great hall for the leaving feast. Slytherin and Gryffindor, he noticed, seemed just as happy as everyone else to see him restored to their number.

"Just what does everyone think happened?" Harry whispered as he sat between Daphne and Draco.

"Well, since Madam Bones came in with Law Enforcement, everyone knows Dumbledore had the stone here all year," Draco explained. "The story is, since there wasn't any actual proof about Voldemort, that Quirrell was ill and went after the stone to save himself. You were kidnapped to help him and stopped him instead."

"So, mostly the truth," Harry muttered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and Draco scoffed.

"No," he asserted. "That sort of omission makes the rest of the story practically a lie."

"Imagine how your book sales will soar, though," Daphne quipped. "You really should look into your back-owed royalties."

"I'd rather just sue for libel and get them all shut down."

"The things you say, Potter-" the girl complained. "Sometimes I wonder if you're really a Slytherin, at all."

They broke into laughter and tucked into a magnificent feast. Dumbledore presented the House Cup to Hufflepuff (won thanks to Hermione's last-minute points on top of her House's already record-high score), and nearly everyone cheered, Harry included, as Professor Sprout accepted the coveted trophy. It had been close, though. Slytherin lagged only a couple points behind and only missed the trophy because, apparently, Weasley had picked a fight with Blaise and Tracy while Harry was recovering, and the resulting loss nearly cancelled Harry, Daphne and Draco's extra points.

With brunch over and luggage in tow, the children gathered on the platform of Hogsmeade station. The red steam engine whistled and belched white clouds over a crowd of black-robed students and the staff members who followed their exodus to see them off. Older students helped younger ones levitate their heavy trunks onboard, and housemates hugged one another good-bye.

"Do you think next year will be any quieter?" Hermione asked a little wistfully as she settled into her seat across from her Slytherin friends.

Neville laughed.

Harry smiled. He had changed drastically from the frightened boy he met so many months ago. We wasn't as clumsy, he sat straighter, and he laughed and smiled much more easily. He was brave enough to face monsters and stubborn enough to stick around when all sense screamed at him not to.

"Course not," Harry shrugged. "It's Hogwarts."

"I, for one, liked the excitement," Daphne tittered. "It's such a wonderful relief after so many years of mind-numbing society functions and pretending to be a well-behaved lady."

Draco sneered and rolled his eyes.

"Why? Is it that society functions don't try to kill you, generally speaking?"

"Let's just hope for the best," Harry laughed, interrupting what promised to be a very snarky exchange. "I promise you still reserve the right to un-friend me if the need arises."

He was answered with several blows to the upper arms and a langlock hex for good measure.

"Right," Hermione grinned, putting away her wand. "Who's up for some exploding snap?"

Harry just grinned around his immobilized tongue. He could not have asked for better friends.

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed the changes I've made and the journey we've taken. Please let me know what you think. I'll be putting an update at the end of book 2 to announce the end of my major edit party, and I hope to have edits, along with two new chapters for All Hail the Time Lord's Son, posted in a timely manner.

Please keep in mind that I've made significant changes and will likely take longer to gather my thoughts for AHTTS than I did to flesh out this particular beast.

Thank you again for sticking with me and for your enduring patience.

-Ren