"Harry Potter."

Mark paled drastically.

Hermione nudged him to get up. But he couldn't, because he wasn't Harry Potter. He was Mark Potter. The older Potter. Oh, Merlin, why hadn't he insisted on going to Hogwarts first?!

Ron turned accusing eyes towards him, narrowed blue eyes faltering at his sheet-white face and panicked green eyes. He nudged Mark. "Get up there, mate!"

He was frozen.

Oh, god, his brother. What would Harry think of this?

He's already faced down Voldemort and a werewolf. A silver cup full of magic fire should be alright.

NOT!

Ron stood up and bodily hauled Mark from his seat, set him on his feet, and gently pushed him towards the dais. Mark tripped and nearly fell, his limbs numb and uncoordinated with worry.

Dumbledore was looking at him worriedly.

That night, Mark called his brother on the mirrors their dad and his friends had used in their school days and explained what had happened.

Rumbling pierced the air, faintly, at first. But Mark heard it and his head shot towards the doors. Hagrid noticed it as well.

"What?" Ron questioned. "What you on about now?"

Mark was smiling and yet a crazy bundle of nerves at the same time, getting up as the rumbling grew louder.

"What's that noise?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

The doors opened as a motorcycle—instantly recognizable to anyone who knew Sirius Black—landed with naught a bump or a skid on the tiled floors of the Great Hall.

"Always Hogwarts," the newcomer grumbled as he fiddled with his helmet. Mark approached his brother, a wide grin on his face. "What have you gotten yourself into now, brother?"

"Another insane attempt on your life," Mark replied dryly. "Why is it always you?"

"Probably because no one knows you exist," Harry said casually, lifting his helmet. "Although that plan has been blown into a million pieces."

Three hundred gasps filled the Great Hall as the identical twins stood there, bantering easily, Harry shutting down the motorcycle and shrinking it, scooping the bike off the floor and stuffing it in his pocket.

"The Potters had twins," McGonagall said weakly.

"Oh, wonderful," Snape muttered.

Ron and Hermione's mouths were hanging open. Neville looked surprised but extremely amused.

"Twins," a Ravenclaw said within their hearing, astonished.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Twins."

"Why?" Hermione pressed. "Why did you keep each other secret?"

Mark shrugged. "We had family obligations to fill. We both got an education and we were able to fulfill those obligations. No one knew about me except for Harry and our parents."

"You know both of us," Harry reassured Hermione and Ron. "I was here during first and third. He was here during second and this year, but I guess that it simply wasn't going to work. We tried, at least."

Ron covered his eyes. "Let me get this straight. You two had 'family obligations'—and though I'd like to ask I won't—so you decided to split up. One takes care of the 'family obligations' and the other gets an education. During the summer you would most likely update the other on what was going on and what had happened during the ten months that had passed."

Both the Potter twins nodded.

"And the education? There's no way you can teach all that we've learned in two months," Hermione exclaimed.

Harry pointed at Mark. "He probably has a better education than I do."

Hermione eyed Mark. "Why?"

"Three words: Russian battle magic."

Mark laughed. "That's the only reason that you think that I have a better education? Hate to tell you, dear younger brother, but Russian battle magic was a series of spells to be taught to uneducated Russian wizards so that they could fight in a war. Russian battle magic has no finesse, unlike the six months that you spent in the Mayan temples in Kohunlich. That looked like fun."

"That was absolutely exhausting," Harry countered.

"That doesn't sound like family obligations," Ron said, scratching his head.

"Oh, no," Harry assured him. "The one out of Hogwarts went and had fun in between stuffy meetings. We had a flying motorcycle. Between the two of us, we've gone around the world about two and a half times."

"You," she pointed at Harry "spent six months in Koh-hoon-leech. What happened to meetings during that time?"

Harry chuckled. "All my meetings were back-to-back in the first three months. I went and toured America's East Coast for a month and then studied under some Mayan mages for six months in Kohunlich."

"Where's that?" Ron asked.

"Yucatan Peninsula," Harry told him. The red head looked at him blankly. "Mexico," Harry said. Ron still looked blank. "North America?" Harry asked desperately.

Ron nodded slowly.

"The landmass across the Atlantic Ocean," Hermione supplied.

Mark's sneeze sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"How's Jasmine Cottage?" Mark asked.

"The elves are still keeping it warm and homey," Harry replied wistfully. "So what's all this about the Triwizard Tournament? I thought that it was cancelled centuries ago because of the death toll."

Mark shrugged. "Some high-up idiot decided it needed to come back, I guess. Promote inter-country unity, blah, blah, blah."

Harry snorted.

"How are you?" Mark asked, closely watching his twin.

His younger brother shrugged restlessly. "I was ready to get out of here last year. That thing with Sirius and Lupin…"

"I know," Mark said softly. "I was ready to get out of here after second year. I can't imagine us not being able to trade off years anymore."

"Oh, we can," Harry said, his lips quirking into a smirk that wouldn't look out of place in Slytherin. "You never registered, remember? We can pull a Gred and Forge. The one at the castle would be Harry, the one running errands and taking a break would be Mark. Just like every other year. Except they would know about the twin having fun."

Mark chuckled, looping an arm around his brother's shoulders. "A Slytherin and a Hufflepuff disguised as Lions. Together. Should be an interesting year, eh?"

Harry grinned impishly. "Wouldn't you love to see Snape's face if I told him where the Hat wanted to put me?"

Mark laughed aloud. "I would pay good money to see that!"

"Dragons," Harry announced to the empty room, his voice curiously devoid of emotion. "I'll be dealing with dragons."

"I wouldn't recommend sticking a sword through the roof of its mouth," Mark said mildly.

"Thank you, Mark," Harry exclaimed testily. "That was really helpful! Could you impart more wisdom upon my ignorant consciousness?!"

Mark's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Slytherins and sarcasm. What is it with you people and sarcasm?"

"My natural defense against idiots," Harry drawled.

"It's dragons, Harry. Who do you know that has close associations with dragons?"

"…Hagrid."

"No, idiot, Ron!"

"Ron got bit by a dragon, yeah…"

"Really, now," Mark bit out. "I never would have guessed. However, I would have guessed that perhaps Ron's brother, Charlie Weasley, regularly deals with dragons, considering that you palmed Norbert off on him! Perhaps, you might want to go ask Ron what he knows about taking down dragons or stalling them!"

"I never would have guessed a Hufflepuff would use the dreaded sarcasm," Harry huffed.

"It's my natural defense against idiots," Mark mimicked his younger brother.

Half a beat, and the two fell into slightly hysterical laughter.

Charlie always told me that if I ever had the bad luck enough to meet a wild dragon then to stick to earth magic. A dragon will always best a wizard in fire, a master of the air in flight, and water and ice might stall it a couple of seconds, but a dragon's legs are like a croc's jaws. They can stomp with crushing force and push off easily to fly, but pulling themselves out of a couple feet of rocks is almost impossible without help. Likewise, you can hold a crocodile's jaws together with your finger and your thumb, even though those same jaws can snap together with bone-shattering force.

Ron's words ran through Harry's mind over and over as he marched out to face the Horntail. Those words were devastatingly useful. Coupled with living with old Mayan warriors for six months—Mayans who are widely known for their makings of large, solid stone temples—and those words, Harry was fairly sure that this would be much easier than what he feared originally.

He tried to relax. The spell would fail if he didn't relax. Kind of hard to relax when you have a dragon breathing down your neck.

He raised his wand slowly, words spilling out of his mouth in an eerie chant. The various boulders planted strategically around the arena trembled and followed his wand movement. His voice rose, dark yet lilting, to a crescendo, not even concentrating on the words as he flung the boulders towards the dragon's feet.

The dragon screamed in frustration. Not pain—never pain, Harry would never harm the beautiful thing. But frustrate it to no end? Definitely.

Harry ran over under a shield specifically made against Fiendfyre. Sure enough, dragonfire billowed around him, leaving him irritated and sweaty from the heat. He scooped up the egg and ran for the exit.

He couldn't tell if the roaring was from applause or dead silence and he was hearing his blood pounding through his ears.

"That was awesome, Harry!" Mark cheered.

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. "I'm crashing. If someone disturbs my sleep, I'm going to replicate what I did to the dragon on them. Give the rest of the school that message, please."

Mark looked entirely too amused. "Will do."

"Thanks ever so much."

"You are entirely too welcome."

"My twin wishes you all to know that he is sleeping and if someone disturbs his dear beauty sleep then he will replicate what he did to the dragon—this time on the one who disturbed him," Mark announced, amusement clear on his face.

Laughter echoed throughout the Hall—whether from the message or from Mark's good-natured ribbing, no one could tell.

"I can promise that I'll try to save the unfortunate person if the threat comes to pass," Mark added, prompting more laughter as he hopped down from the dais.

"So what did the Golden Egg give you?" Mark asked curiously.

"A headache," Harry groused. "I'm so glad that you gave me those law books. Now I just need to find a tub big enough for me and the egg."

"Mermish?" Mark said.

"Aye."

"Well, you could conjure a big glass tub in here and let the girls watch. I know they've been aching to get a look at those non-existent abs."

"Well, you could conjure a big glass tub in here and let the girls watch. I know they couldn't tell the difference. Perhaps you'd like to be mobbed," Harry retorted.

"Do you two always argue like that?" Hermione demanded.

"Yes," they said simultaneously.

The Weasley Twins snickered as Hermione smacked her forehead.

"We're brothers," Harry said sweetly.

"That claim would be fruitless—"

"—if we didn't argue."

The Twins howled with laughter. Hermione shut her eyes and turned around and walked away, nearly running into the Hufflepuff table.

Mark discreetly fist-bumped George.

"…tired, Mark."

Fred Weasley, for once devoid of his other half, stopped dead.

"I know, Harry. If I didn't know that the Goblet tied to magical signatures matching the name, I would have done it for you."

"I'm so sick of the bastard coming back, over and over. How many times have I faced him now?"

"Twice. Probably again by the end of the year. I know that. Keep your head screwed on straight. You're the Slytherin, Harry, you lock up your emotions better than I."

Fred's eyebrows rose.

"You use those emotions. You were willing to die to save Ginny. I can't do that. I don't know how you did that. I faced Voldemort the first time when I had nowhere else to go. I don't even know if I was the one who killed him in the first place! The second time, I was alone, and I killed him out of self-preservation. You killed him because he was draining Ginny's life force."

Fred swallowed at that reminder.

"You haven't been in that situation, have you?" Mark challenged. "You don't know how you'll react to it until you're in the thick of battle. Yes, I reacted with my heart instead of my head. You, however, have reacted on instinct so far. I wonder just how much instinct is tied to emotion?"

A lot, Fred thought, thinking of he and George placed into that situation, substituting for Mark and Ginny.

"You don't understand, do you?" Harry whispered, just barely audible to Fred. "I came back and collapsed because I had such a bad headache that Voldemort's very presence caused. I wasn't tired, I wasn't exhausted, I was passing out because that bastard and I are tied somehow and I can feel him, insane anger and hate and twisted happiness just floating there at the back of my mind and I can't even stand in his presence because I'm too busy dealing with pain."

Had Fred a mirror, he would've thought he had chicken pox, his freckles stood out so starkly against his pale, pale skin.

"I go to sleep fearing that we'll have switched bodies when I wake up and when I go to try and get my body back I'll be killed because I'll be wearing Voldemort's body—for which he has none as far as I can tell—and he'll have mine at his disposal," Harry spat. "I wake up praying that I'll be groggy per usual and not in an absolute rage or insane, twisted, maniacal joy flooding through me. I don't know how much of a Slytherin I truly am until I kill the Dark tosser—I don't know how many emotions are mine until I kill Voldemort—I wouldn't even know if the Parselmouth trait was mine if you hadn't had it as well! Yeah, I do know how I'll react to that! I'll be lapsing in and out of consciousness and screaming my bloody head off as if I were held under the bloody Cruciatus!"

Fred ran.

Harry climbed out of the icy water of the Black Lake, wrapping a towel around his older brother, who was shivering. He turned in Dumbledore's direction, swiftly maneuvering his wet, half-naked body through the crowds, his green eyes cold cold cold, hard as diamond. He wove his way with all the lithe danger of a panther.

He stopped in front of Dumbledore, who opened his damned benevolent mouth, reared back his fist, and broke Albus Dumbledore's nose.

"You bastard," Harry hissed into the shocked silence, a sneer worthy of Snape on his face. "Kidnap my brother and place him in mortal danger again and I will ruin you. So I swear, so mote it be."

He stalked away, emerald green and silver magic whirling around him in a tempest as a sign of his oath and his rage.

Not even Snape said a word.

Professor Snape~

I believe that it is prudent to take a Potter Day Off so that no more noses shall be broken. Knowing the animosity between my twin and yourself, and my twin's recent…overprotectiveness of myself, I am passing on the information that anything negatively construed will probably be hounded upon and then exaggerated by my poor brother. Please, guard yourself so that I do not have to explain to my guardians that my twin was expelled for breaking too many people's noses. Or bones in general. Or general harm.

Sincerely,

Mark Evan Potter

Snape buried his head in his hands, trying very hard not to laugh.

"C'mon," Mark said, dragging his younger brother away. "You and I are going on a Potter Day Off."

"But…"

"Shut up."

Harry snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

"You, my dear good fellow, are being entirely too overprotective. I do understand that the incident with myself and the Black Lake has rattled your already addled brains, but please, you do not need to be breaking noses left and right."

Harry looked mutinous, although he was keeping quiet.

"While an older brother might say 'good job' for that punch you gave Dumbledore, I would hate to see Snape's face by the end of the class."

The younger twin snickered. "It'd be fun, though."

Mark rounded on him, uncharacteristic disapproval written all over his face. He grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders and shook him a bit. "You are a Slytherin! Not a bloody Gryffindor, you idiot! You want to get expelled? Fine. Shows how much you care about your supposed 'finesse'. If you want to get even, you don't do it by getting in trouble! I'm the Hufflepuff, and even I know that!"

"That is because, my dear Pufferfish brother, you have hung out with an eel for far too long," Harry said dryly.

"Pufferfish and eels," Mark muttered. "Wonderful."

"Messers Potter have not been in my class," McGonagall said to the other teachers.

Everyone else nodded, agreeing with the statement.

"The older twin thought it prudent to keep his brother away from the Headmaster until his temper cooled," Snape drawled. "As well as myself. Apparently anything negative would be 'hounded upon and then exaggerated by my poor brother'."

Snape's imitation was eerily accurate. Some of the staff grimaced.

"Probably a wise choice," Sprout said, wincing at the thought of another confrontation. "I was surprised you didn't assign Mr. Potter a detention or ten, Minerva."

The elderly professor hesitated. "The Potter Twins have never lied to me unless absolutely necessary. I've never seen either of the twins so unhinged, and I've never seen either of the twins so comfortable with another person until this year. Protective of one another and comfortable they are with each other, I cannot think that Mr. Potter would lie—or could lie—about something that serious. That absolute rage that was clear as day on his face could never be faked, especially not by him. The twins are horrible at lying."

"And yet it wasn't even Harry Potter that was here for a full year, Minerva," Flitwick pointed out dubiously. "And we never suspected that it was Mark Potter instead of Harry Potter. From what I've gathered, they were planning on this lasting throughout their education."

"Throughout their lives," Vector corrected.

"Until they were sure that You-Know-Who is truly dead and gone," Snape disagreed sourly. "It was a safety measure. A smart safety measure. Potter could seem to be in two places at once, baffling him beyond reason. He could get twice as much done in the same amount of time."

"But Harry—!"

"Faced him again at the end of first year. Mark Potter faced him at the end of second year in an attempt to save Ms. Weasley. I have no doubt that he will rise again soon," Snape said sharply.

There was not a healthy face in that room.

"What?" McGonagall whispered.

As a response, Snape yanked up his left arm's sleeve, baring his forearm with the dark grey Dark Mark upon it.

Babbling fainted.

The teacher's meeting room exploded into chaos.

Mark could see his twin and Cedric vanish and not reappear again. All of his alarms went off. He sprinted for the wards, knocking people over in his haste to get out of the stadium. He started into a dead run, plunging into the Forbidden Forest, wrinkling space between himself and his brother—

—to be plunged into the middle of a battle between his brother, Cedric, and Voldemort and a lone Death Eater.

"Kill him, kill him!"

Harry quit casting and ran for the ugly baby, and simultaneously, in the weird way of twins, Mark picked up where Harry had left off seamlessly, forcing himself to ignore his brother in favor of the job that he had to do.

"Harry?" Cedric yelled, confused.

Mark didn't let up enough to answer, and finally managed to get a Stunner at the Death Eater, whom he now figured out was Pettigrew. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. Cedric stumbled a bit, Mark steadied him.

"I will rise, Harry Potter, nothing you do can stop me," Voldemort-baby screamed.

He and Harry smirked like they were merely copies of one another. "How does getting rid of your Horcruxes sound?" they said simultaneously, the same inflection in their voices. "For nothing you do can stop me."

Mark whipped out his wand and roasted the thing with an overpowered incendio. A shade rose from its ashes, malevolent crimson eyes floating in the middle.

"From ashes you came, to ashes you will go. Death will not be happy when I track down all of your soul anchors, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The shade vanished without a sound.

Harry doubled up, clutching his head. Mark hurried over, scooping his brother into his arms.

"Summon the Knight Bus," Mark told Cedric. "I've money in my pocket. Tell the driver to get us to Hogwarts." He hesitated. "And levitate Pettigrew with us. He can get our godfather freed."

Cedric complied without question, though he had so many whirling around his head.

"Where's Harry?" Cedric asked the lone twin quietly at next year's first Hogsmead weekend.

Mark's eyes widened as he looked at the graduate of Hogwarts. "How did you—I've told everyone I'm Harry."

"You have a sun freckle mostly hidden by your left eyebrow. So, where's Harry?"

Mark shook his head. "He was flying last I talked to him. He could be anywhere."

"That doesn't bother you? Not knowing where he is?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't worry about him unless he's in Britain. Harry can handle everything else but Voldemort easily. We both know that he's making an active bid for a body, and then power once he has that."

Cedric nodded, shuddering at the images the graveyard had left him with. "How did you do that? The copy thing. That actually freaked me out pretty bad. And I knew the Twins for six out of seven years at Hogwarts."

Mark chuckled. "The Twins could do it too if they wanted to. They're more focused on giving everyone whiplashes."

Cedric laughed.

Aurors marched into Hogwarts the day after Mark's second detention with Umbridge.

A BLOOD QUILL? THE UMBITCH DARES TO USE A BLOOD QUILL ON YOU?!

Even though Harry wasn't within a thousand miles, Mark cringed at his voice. The conversation was bloody—literally, Mark had still been bleeding from the detention—and loud. Oh so very loud.

Let me make myself perfectly clear. If the bitch uses the Quill on you again in your next detention, you are going to contact the Aurors and show them your bloody hand and have the Ministry's Toadie sacked. That thing is highly illegal for everything except signing the most important documents and can only be authorized by a goblin or the head of the ICW. If you don't, then I'll come back to Britain and round up Rita Skeeter and have a vote of no confidence for the Minister and then have them sack every. Single. One. Of his 'secretaries'. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!

"Mr. Potter," an Auror said sternly. She was older than what he expected, grey taking over about half of her previously brilliant red hair with a monocle firmly fixed in one eye. "You have charged Ms. Umbridge with the highly illegal use of a Blood Quill on you. Do you rescind your statement?"

Dumbledore stood. "He does, Mrs. Bones."

"I do not, ma'am," Mark said sharply, unwrapping his hand and baring the scabbed words to the Great Hall.

Umbridge paled as the Great Hall erupted into yells and whispers.

The Auror's eyes widened with shock, then narrowed into anger. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Potter, but you'll have to come with us."

He stood, snagging a croissant. "Not a problem."

"Why did you file the accusation against Madame Umbridge?"

"Because my brother threatened to do something much more drastic if I didn't seek justice from her and I truly do not need any more headaches caused by him," Mark said blithely.

She looked like she was trying not to smile. "Unofficially, may I ask what those 'much more drastic' measures were?"

Mark sighed. "He'd actually buckle down and use his political leverage and a notorious reporter that owes him several favors to call for a vote of no confidence for the Minster and then proceed to have every single one of the Minister's lackeys sacked from any and all positions they owned."

Her eyebrows lifted. "That is drastic."

"Uh-huh."

"Who are you?"

He smiled ruefully. "Mark Potter."

"So Mr. Harry Potter is…"

"Probably on the other side of the world."

Her eyebrows raised again. "Probably?"

"We find that it's safer that only one of us knows where the other is during most of the year. I can guess, I know he's in a tropical rainforest, so that narrows it down to central Africa, the eastern shore of Latin America, the northern half of South America, and a small bit in southeast Asia. Of those, I would say in one of the Americas."

"I…see."

Mark peered at her. "Do you?"

She winced at the challenging and yet despairing tone he had.

"No, Mr. Potter. I don't see."

"Yes, I got her sacked. You don't have to worry about coming back until next year," Mark said, amusement lacing his voice.

"The year's only half over," Harry said grimly.

"Oh, kill my good mood, why don't you?"

"Gladly. Just need to get a Harry Potter doll and a large stuffed snake with a metal toothpick and then we can do a reenactment of second year, complete with a redheaded Barbie doll playing damsel in distress," Harry snarked.

Mark closed his eyes, desperately trying not to laugh.

His brother didn't need encouragement.

The mirror shivered. Mark scooped it up, curious to see what his brother was doing.

He got a pale face in the sky. "Where's Sirius?" Harry demanded over the roar of the motorcycle.

Mark paled.

"This is a trap, idiot," Mark hissed. "It's barely closing hour and yet the entire place is empty. It's not as though we can't call the Aurors and explain the situation."

"No, you can't," someone said.

Instantly, the twins were back-to-back, wands out with glowing tips.

People melted from the shadows, standing in black battle robes and eerie white masks.

Harry smiled, showing sharp canines. "Fun. You got the old crowd back together. You know, Mr. Malfoy, if you wish to be truly faceless, I would put a color-change charm on that oh-so-distinct white-blond hair of yours."

Sirius groaned, looking worse for wear. "No, don't—"

He was cut off with a sharp blow to the head. Harry winced, his hands itching to clap themselves over his scar in a futile attempt to block the pain.

"Which is Harry Potter?" a high voice rang out.

They both smiled, despite the situation.

"Identical twins?" one guessed weakly.

"There was only one Potter spawn in the nursery, idiot! One must be an illusion."

"Awfully solid illusion, Harry," Mark snickered.

"Why, thank you, Harry," Harry said, grinning.

"Must we keep calling each other Harry, Harry?"

"Sadly, we must, Harry."

"For sure we shall confuse ourselves, though, Harry!"

"We must not mix each other up, Harry. You are Potter and I am Harry, okay, Potter?"

"If we must, Harry."

Sirius was grinning weakly.

"Harry Potter!" Voldemort screamed.

"Yes?" the twins asked in unison.

If Voldemort had hair he would've pulled it out. "You are not concerned about Black!"

"Oh no," Harry corrected.

"We are," Mark said.

"A little bit, anyway."

"But I'm sure a prankster—"

"—a Marauder—"

"—a master thief—"

"—would always—"

"—have something, perhaps—"

"—up his sleeve?"

Mark leaned over to his brother and stage whispered: "I think we've been hanging out with Gred and Forge too much."

Harry shrugged. "It's fun to give people whiplashes, though."

"Yes, yes it is."

Sirius flicked his wrist, came up with a strange bottle with a button, and pressed the button, spinning in a wide circle awkwardly, pepper spray causing everyone to choke or scream in pain. Mark ran over and cut his bonds, breaking bones and knocking Death Eaters out on the way. "Thanks," Sirius said, coughing.

"Let's get out of here," Mark said by way of response.

"Capital idea," he agreed.

"How long were you with the Death Eaters?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "At most, three days. I woke up a couple hours ago to a ten-second Cruciatus."

Both the twins cringed.

"And what's going on with the illusion thing, Harry? I thought you could drop it by now."

Harry scratched his head, looking sheepish. "Uh, I forgot you didn't find out with the rest of the school last year. This is Mark. Mark Potter. My twin brother."

Mark waved.

Sirius stared at the two of them. Then he roared with laughter. "What exposed you two?!"

Harry grimaced. "Triwizard Tournament. My name came out of the Goblet while Mark was masquerading as myself and I was halfway around the world in a meeting."

"So which one did I meet?"

"Me," Harry said, smiling a bit.

"And you are…?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said, smiling fully now.

"We were planning on alternating years at Hogwarts," Mark explained, shrugging helplessly. "Harry started in first year. I went for second year, and Harry came back for third year. I was there for forth year until Harry's name came out of the Goblet. Then I had to call Harry, because we're good, but even we can't switch places on a whim like that, and it wouldn't be fair to Harry, anyway."

"It wouldn't be fair to either of us if it had happened the other way around," Harry countered.

Mark nodded, conceding to that point. "So, do I get to know where you were or are you going back?"

"Yeah, I was in the Amazon, camping with large bird-eating spiders and literally falling into a tomb of three-thousand-year-old dead guys," Harry said, grimacing. "Actually, the only reason why I'm not still covered in dust and dirt was the ride here. That place was creepy."

Mark snorted. "Please tell me that you at least alerted the authorities of your find before splitting the area?"

"Oh, I did. I actually finally got that illusion spell down. As long as it doesn't have to do magic or touch anything, I'm good."

Mark grinned. "So we can have triplets now, huh?"

"Oh, Merlin," Sirius muttered. "Save us all."

"Merlin is as dead as the guy that I fell onto," Harry said dryly.

Mark's eyes crossed. "Thank you, Harry, I really needed to be told that."

Harry ignored his twin. "I highly doubt that a dead guy will be much help in saving wizard kind. Or magical kind."

Sirius dragged a hand down his face, laughing.

Harry's eyes were cold cold cold. Next to him, Mark's eyes seemed mildly frosty. Dumbledore seemed to not know what to make of being glared at by both Potter twins, both with Lily's intimidating and unusual bright emerald eyes.

"Boys, I understand that you dislike it at the Dursleys—"

Harry exploded all over the Headmaster: messy, violent, and slightly gory. Mark closed his eyes in resignation.

"Dislike?! DISLIKE?! Oh, yes, I certainly dislike being ordered about like a veritable slave. I certainly dislike being deprived of food and light for days on end. I certainly dislike being tossed into the cupboard that I lived in for a decade because I got good grades or I panicked because they were making me bleed. I certainly dislike it, Headmaster! I certainly dislike the word dislike pertaining to my emotions about going back to those fat animals!"

There was a strangled noise of horror from behind them. The twins whirled. Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway of the Headmaster's Office, paler than Death itself.

"This seems inappropriate," she said weakly, "but Albus, I told you. I told you and you refused to listen."

"Wait—" Dumbledore protested. "How did you keep each other a secret from the Dursleys?"

"Tell me, dear twin—"

"—should we tell the—"

"—crackpot old fool?"

A beat, and then, simultaneously: "No."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the one who vaporized him so many times, those defiant green eyes unmistakable. A gleam of amusement shone in those depths.

He was laughing?

"Crucio!" he bellowed.

The boy danced out of the way gracefully, pivoting on his heel and—disappearing?

Across the area, he flickered into existence, casting spells with lethal accuracy despite the disorientation of Apparition.

Voldemort balked. Did he just Apparate despite the wards in the area?

He flickered again, appearing much closer, practically on top of him, less than a meter away. The boy cast some spells—blasting, exploding, tickling, disarming, stunning—and disappeared again. He reappeared about a dozen meters away, firing spells as soon as he landed. Then he disappeared again, and Voldemort spun around when a spell whistled by his ear just in time to see the thrice-blasted boy disappear again.

A whisper.

A spell.

Gone.

A footstep.

Spells.

Gone.

On and on it went until Voldemort was getting dizzy from trying to keep the boy in his sights.

Hello.

The whisper was so faint he thought he'd imagined it, but he whipped around, robes flaring and brushing an unfamiliar set of legs, and was suddenly staring straight into a set of Avada Kedavra eyes. His wand came up and was swiftly plucked from his hands.

Why?

Images raced through his mind—all the people that he'd killed or tortured or deprived of family. The results. Children flashed through his head, backgrounds just as horrible as his past.

Those eyes pulsed and more images made him falter—images of the boy standing in front of him, beaten and abused and treated like a house elf at the hands of Muggles, and yet healed and cared for at the hands of different Muggles.

Voldemort broke eye contact with supreme force of will, staggering backwards to slam against the wall for support. He shook his head, dazed.

A boy flickered into existence next to Potter, looking exactly like him.

"Enough with your illusions," he snarled.

Like a mirror, both reached out and slapped him across the face.

"Awfully solid for an illusion," the illusion smirked. "You were right, Voldemort. There was only one baby in the crib that you fired upon. But there was two children in the room. One watched helplessly from the closet."

And with that, the illusion reached up and peeled the identical scar off his forehead, leaving his forehead bereft of the scar that used to characterize both of them.

"Funny how I remember that night so vividly—Dad screaming…Mum petrifying me and stuffing me in the closet…Mum screaming, Mum dying…the high, cruel laugh, suddenly cut off with a squawk as you cast the Killing Curse at Harry. Harry didn't remember until he was exposed to Dementors."

It finally clicked. "Identical twins?" he guessed.

"Ding ding ding," the thrice-damned boy said sarcastically. "We have a winner, ladies and gents!"

"Oh, do shut up Harry," the twin exclaimed. He pointed Voldemort's own wand at him. "Avada Kedavra."

And he knew nothing more.

Harry turned to his brother, maneuvering himself so that Mark wouldn't see the crumpled body, and opened his arms. Mark's grimace turned into a crumpled face as a sob wrenched its way from his throat.

Mark's head thudded against Harry's collarbone, heaving with sobs. Tears dripped onto Harry's clothing, onto Mark's own shoulder, and Mark suddenly realized that Harry was crying too.

Crying because he was thankful that he didn't have to kill again.

Crying because he had an enormous burden lifted from his shoulders.

Crying because both had gotten out of this alive.

I have done my public-induced duty to the magical world. You have heaped responsibility for your own actions onto a teenager that hasn't even reached his majority.

May you lead interesting lives, Wizarding World. Maybe then you could learn how to clean up your own crap.

—Harry Potter

P.S.—Many were there during my forth year when someone who looked very much like me landed in the Great Hall on a motorcycle formerly belonging to Sirius Black. That was me. The one who greeted me is my twin brother, Mark Potter. Now that Voldemort is dead and gone, it's pointless to keep it a secret.

P.P.S.—It wasn't even me who cast the killing blow. It was Mark.

Minerva slammed the Daily Prophet down onto Dumbledore's desk, depicting the dead body of Voldemort appearing in the Ministry's atrium during rush hour and the letter that appeared in the editor's office.

"I resign," she snapped out.

Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the office, leaving moving pictures and a stunned Dumbledore in her wake.

Uh...hi? Ruby here. I know. *hides* It's been ages. I've suddenly realized that school is hard. Or school suddenly got a whole lot harder. I think it's the latter. Well, part of the reason why I've not updated anything or posted anything is because of school.

The other reason...my muse has gotten stuck on Harry Potter. Firmly. It's driving me insane when I need to get back to Percy Jackson. I've already written a Harry Potter fanfic consisting of Veils and Alternate Universes...that's over twenty thousand words long. The other one that I've been working on consists of Harry going with his godfather after third year instead of going back to the Dursleys'...and is over ten thousand words. So yeah, I've gotten a lot done...just not what I need to get done, unfortunately.

Whoops.

*sheepish grin*

-Ruby

P.S.-if you have questions regarding how Voldemort regained a body, leave a review. Or questions regarding anything, really. I'll get back to you if you have an account.