DEATH IS LIGHTER THAN A FEATHER

CHAPTER ONE

A cave.

Once again, it was a goddamn cave. He could barely see, the smell was not unlike the smell of a Troll Keep he'd been to in Bulgaria, and by god it was humid. Sweat plastered his 'messy' hair the sides of his head, and a bunch of mosquitoes stung his arms repeatedly. Shit, that stung like hell. Flailing his arms around weakly, he tried to beat them off to no avail. Damn suckers latched on to him again in a a second, happily draining him of his blood. Cursing under his breath, he flailed his limbs with considerably more vigour.

Chains clanked, and his wrists burned where the iron chafed at his skin.

Well, shit. Of course. This couldn't be like the last one now, could it? It's Karma. Universe getting back at me to enforce its immutable law: Harry Potter cannot get too much suffering. Damn you, you useless Veil! Is it too much to hope for something good for once from you, you rotten piece of dinnerware? Fuck you!, he ranted at the artifact mentally, laying backwards on the damp floor, uncaring of the mosquitoes that stung him with what seemed like a renewed joy. A movement of his legs confirmed that they too were shackled to the wall.

His eyes narrowed, and he was now officially annoyed. He couldn't ever catch a break, now could he? No sir. Suffering just had to follow him even to other realities! Well, he was done playing around right now. He mustered up his Divination, Damnation, Desperation or whatever the three D's were, the cornerstone of Apparition. Not that he really had to think about the three D's to Apparate, really. Apparition was basically a good way to magically escape, and at escaping he was one talented son of a gun.

He appeared next to his now empty shackles without much effort, and stood up with no little effort. God, how long had it been since he'd eaten? He remembered making himself a slice of buttered toast at the Ministry but nothing since the Veil.

Damn brutes didn't even leave me food, he thought, his irritation spiking steadily. He felt around his pockets for perhaps a Cauldron Cake, or a Chocolate Frog.

No such luck, of course. However, he felt the handle of his wand lying innocently in his pocket.

They didn't even search me, he thought, grudgingly happy at this pleasant surprise. His surprise grew as he felt the Peverell Ring upon his finger still, and the Invisibility Cloak draped underneath his usual coat. This was too good to be true. And good things usually came with a bad thing as far as he was concerned. Frowning, he drew the Elder Wand forth and brought it up to gaze at it's beaded length.

"How many times have I told you not to act out without my permission?"

The wand, which was pleasantly warm in his hand, now grew cold.

"I don't care if you were looking out for me. Oh, stop guilt tripping me will you? You're not good at it."

It shook slightly in his hand, and scorched his palm viciously.

"Ow!", he yelled. "Damn you, you useless-"

He jumped as the door opened with a bang that jarred his ears, rusty hinges screeching high at an application of force they were simply not designed to take. Light flooded into the room, dispelling the pitch blackness to reveal his jailer. It wasn't even much light, really; it was just a dull flickering light from the torch held by his captor. And speaking of his captor, he found that words failed him as his aching eyes quickly grew accustomed to the new brightness of the room.

"What in the hell are you?", he asked the monstrosity standing before him.

The thing standing before him looked like someone had taken a Gringotts Goblin, engorged it to man-size, tortured the shit out of it, roasted it over a spit and filed its teeth to points. Oh, and painted its skin the color of a Shark. A low growling emerged from the gash that served as the thing's mouth, and its eyes burned with an intent he instantly recognized as murderous. He gulped as he saw a heavy scimitar held in its misshapen hand, and gulped again as he smelled the metallic scent of human blood emanating from its mouth.

It spat something at him, a grindingly harsh language he could simply not identify for the life of him. That stood to reason given where he was, but still.

"I don't speak German", he told it, just because he wanted to say something.

When it rushed at him with its weapon held aloft and its fanged mouth bared, he did not lash out with magic. He sidestepped neatly, and delivered a crushing elbow to its hideous face. Teeth crumbled inwards upon his blow as the thing staggered back. He launched himself into the air, body parallel to the ground as his right foot lashed out to kick his jailor solidly in the chest.

The thing went sailing backwards to the wall.

"I am kind of good", he said modestly to the air as he landed softly on his knee. A moment later, a beautiful crunchy kind of thud sounded in his prison, signaling that his captor was probably out for good or dead. He bent to take the torch in his hand, and rummaged around in his coat pockets for a moment. Muttering about errant wands that didn't listen to him, he grasped the edges of a worn piece of cloth and pulled it out.

"Ah, Potter. You have dragged me into yet another shenanigan of yours, I see. To what dismal hell do I have the pleasure of accompanying you to this time?"

"Hat. It seems we're in a medieval kind of world with Goblin-like monsters. I just got here", he told the old accoutrement absently, and plunged his hand into its depths.

"Perfect. You could at least say hello before you violate me, Potter", the Hat said grumpily as his palm closed around the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor. He stumbled as he laughed uproariously at the Hat's words, managing to draw the sword out as he caught himself before he fell to the ground in his amusement. Chuckles escaped him occasionally as he supported himself upon the grounded sword's hilt and stood up with some effort.

God, even that little fight had seriously taken a lot out of him. He carefully put the Hat upon his head, securing it with a mild fastening charm.

"You look like you're about to keel over, Potter. Please, do me a favor and postpone your death to someplace with a lot of air and adults. I've had enough of being stuck in dark places to last a millenium, only to be brought out to sing to a school of snotty brats", snarked the Hat.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up", he said walking over to the repulsive thing he'd just put out of commission. Small rises and falls of its chest indicated that it was still alive. The Sword of Gryffindor fell in a silver arc, and that situation was rectified in a spray of black blood as its head separated from its body messily. He knelt down by the body to search it for some sustenance; guards, even monstrous ones like these usually carried some kind of drink around.

After a minute of groping around the thing's belt pouches, he hit upon a flask that had the same disgusting breath upon it as was emanating from the thing's mouth. He unstoppered it gingerly, and tried not to look to closely at its contents. It never worked on other worlds if you were too picky about things like food and drink.

Coughing and forcing down every last drop of the fiery drink down by sheer will, he discarded the rest of the guard's possessions. Random bones, crude totems, keys, and other meaningless keepsakes were all the creature had.

The drink, whatever it was, had given new strength to his tired limbs. Putting the torchlight out, he snapped his fingers in the complete darkness that followed. The Invisibility Cloak dutifully covered him from head to toe, and the Hat sighed with relief upon his head at its new anonymity. For some reason, the Hat seemed to prefer being invisible while it accompanied him. He couldn't for the love of god figure out why.

He moved efficiently, guided by instincts of an older life: his paradise before everything had gone to shit, when he had just been the Head Auror with three adorable children he'd loved more than life itself and a beautiful, devoted wife. It had been centuries from his point of view since that time, and he still had to blink tears away at the memories.

And wrestle the boiling, blinding anger down. It was so hard to wrestle that rage down, to not drown others in his misery.

He vanished the body parts nonverbally, and flicked the Elder wand. Faint screams became audible to him from somewhere above as the Supersensory Charm took effect, and he recognized them as being female and in terrible agony. Much louder jeers almost drowned the pained shrieks out, and he identified the jeering crowd as being of the same species as the guard he'd just put down. His mouth opened in a snarl as he whipped around towards that direction.

"No Potter. You need to go in the opposite direction, while everyone's occupied up there. Merlin bless that poor woman for giving us a chance to escape neatly, but you need to leave this place and get to the surface. There's a lot we need to do before we get comfortable here, you know the drill. There is something about this world that really terrifies me, and makes my hair stand on end. I know, I know, I have no hair, but still...wait. Potter, where are you going? Potter, you moron! Stop! Not this again! Not your boneheaded saving people thing now, of all times!"

"Quiet, Hat. You don't want to give us away", said Harry, as he made his way towards the source of the heart wrenching screams.

"You've silenced the air around us!"

"And I will cancel that if you don't shut up."

"Fine!," the Hat said mutinously, its 'mouth' closed into a thin line. The stubbornness of an enchanted piece of cloth didn't figure very high on his list of priorities at that moment. He slowly made his way up the winding subterranean path, guided mostly by sparsely spaced torches and his own magically augmented senses. He gritted his teeth and moved as quickly as he was able as the screams grew hoarse, punctuated by pleading sobs.

The screams tore at him, and even his knowledge of Occlumency failed to shield him from her cries. It felt wrong, wrong, wrong. She shouldn't cry in pain like that. She was probably somebody's wife, or somebody's mother. They'd all failed to protect her, and she was suffering because of their failure. Thoughts tumbled incoherently in his mind as he broke into a run.

He wouldn't fail to save her.

His thighs burned as he ran up the steep, craggy underground path. The Supersensory Charm gave him unparalleled senses, and he was thus able to avoid most pitfalls even in the very dim light. The screams and jeers grew ever louder as he ran up the path, and finally he was standing right in front of a crude black door about his height. He skidded to a halt in front of the door, the screams now clearly audible over the jeers. His fists clenched as he realized he'd been underestimating the depth of her torment; because of the cave's abnormal acoustics, the callous jeering had drowned out the agony. Now that he was at the door to this hell, her screams and pitiful cries were the only thing audible.

The Elder Wand sprang to his right hand, and the Sword of Gryffindor spun in a blurring circle in his left. The Resurrection stone glinted sinisterly in the torchlight upon the finger of his left hand, and the Invisibility Cloak fit itself snugly over his entire body. He took a deep breath as he slowly approached the door, laying the tip of the Deathstick upon it. He had to be subtle, here. The days when he went bulldozing into a fight flinging spells left and right, they were long gone.

"I may need your help during the fight, Hat."

Silence.

"Hat?"

"Oh, I can talk now?", spat the Hat angrily.

"Spare me your drama. You know I won't let that woman suffer any longer", said Harry tersely, as he traced the wand in a circle over the door.

"No, spare me your drama, Potter! You keep rushing to save damsels in distress, as if you can ever make up for how you failed to save your wife. You did it on Valash, You did it in Treshinhan, in Folgur, in Manz, everywhere. I've had it with you and your complexes, you blockhead!"

He flinched ever so slightly at the Hat's harsh accusations. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, but it still made him ache. Forgoing his usual witty retort, he drew the wand back and tapped it gently in the middle of the circle he'd repeatedly been tracing for the past two minutes.

And then, he stepped through the door as if it had been made of nothing but air. His eyes widened, and the foul drink he'd just swallowed threatened to eject itself from his stomach at the scene of horror he'd just stepped into.

It was a large hall, huge torches casting blazing light that flickered, ebbed and waned ghoulishly over the rough stone walls. The air was rank with the smell of blood and decayed flesh, and he avoided retching by a hair's breadth as he saw large iron dishes containing what looked like cooked human limbs. He nearly lost his mind when he saw a child's head, no bigger than Lily had been when she'd been four, in a grimy dish.

Cavorting grossly everywhere were the same type of monster that had guarded him while he'd been chained downstairs. They sang boisterously in their screeches and howls, and roared their appreciation at their sick celebrations. They attacked each other, and bruised their brethren as they fed upon the remains of humans they'd killed.

One stick-thin beast with cruel fangs and misshapen ears took a bite out of the child's head as if it were nothing but a particularly juicy apple.

He felt lost for a moment at the sight of such...such wanton evil. His wand shook in his nerveless fingers as he stood invisible in that hall of depraved loss and torment. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself before one of the beasts bumped into him. All he wanted to do was retreat into himself, obliviate himself of the hell he had just seen.

"Potter, look at the center of the chamber!", the Hat hissed in his ear, and almost in concert an ear splitting scream of loss echoed in the hall.

Opening his eyes was perhaps the hardest thing he'd done in a long while. In the very center of the ghastly feast was a large wooden table, and upon it was the woman who had screamed the screams he'd heard for the past half hour. When he saw what they'd done to her, he could only wonder why she did not scream louder.

She had been nailed naked to the table by her hands and legs. One of the creatures stood above her, a tall beast wielding a dagger as long as his forearm. Another short monster stood at the side of the table, its mouth bloody. It was licking its lips as if savoring a particularly tasty dish.

Her body was a mass of bruises, and awash with her own blood. Chunks of flesh were torn away from her abdomen, legs and side to reveal bone. She was slashed all over her shoulders and arms, but her face...her face was lovelier than words could say. Silvery hair tumbled down in gleaming waves to her waist. Her ears tapered gracefully to a point.

She was not human, of that there was no doubt. He was disoriented for a moment at seeing such beauty in the midst of this unfathomable horror.

And then, the fat beast bent forward and sank its fangs into the woman's side to tear a small piece of flesh away. At the same time, the dagger fell to slash her from chest to hip across the abdomen. Her blood sprayed all over the nearby abominations, and they lapped it up from where it fell even were it the floor or the bodies of their fellows.

"Fire?", he murmured in question, his eyes blazing.

"Fire. Don't leave a single one alive", the Hat agreed flatly.

He smiled grimly, raising the Elder Wand and flicking it towards the inhumanly beautiful female. The cave shook as his hex roared forth, clearing a straight path to the center table. The beasts in its path were tossed everywhere with terrific force, some ending as smears of blood on the ceiling while most sailed in all directions to end up breaking necks and heads upon the unforgiving stone walls.

The silence in the chamber was deafening.

Not one to lose the element of surprise, he Disapparated. Appearing behind the knife wielding beast that stood unaware with its mouth hanging open in a grotesque imitation of human surprise, he gently tapped it with the tip of his wand.

The shrieks that emanated from its putrid mouth were higher than he'd ever heard from anyone, on any world, he noted. But then again, he had never had the occasion to use the Blood Boiling Hex upon anyone. The beast literally steamed, curls of smoke rising from its body as it fell to the floor in what was probably indescribable agony, as its very blood heated to boiling point.

Filthy animals, he thought derisively, as the beasts clamored about, shouting accusations at each other in their spitting harsh tongue. It quickly degenerated into a skirmish as they fell upon each other, tearing themselves apart as they blamed each other for the sudden inexplicable assault upon their brethren. Maybe they were too far gone in their depravity to apply reason, or maybe their brutish natures were such that they killed and ate each other like fish.

He didn't care. What he wouldn't allow was them falling by any hand but his.

The mad, fat beast at the table he had forgotten. When it sprang upon the helpless female almost comatose at his feet, Harry's wand pointed at the thing.

Its abdomen exploded through its back, ropey black intestine and bits of flesh raining down upon the uncaring beasts fighting each other behind it. Not one of the demons noticed one of their brethren being eviscerated by his Entrail Expelling Curse, occupied as they were in their cannibalistic brawl.

"Istar…"

He looked down at the soft call. The woman's shining blue eyes held his somehow knowing where he stood despite the Cloak, and they were filled with nothing less than the deepest pleading he had ever seen in another being. She had perceived him from the moment he had entered the hall, and known him to be the cause of every death in the past few minutes. He acknowledged her with a short nod, causing her to fall asleep with a short wave of his wand.

He then raised his wand high, and whirled it in a circle over his head.

The Elder Wand responded to its master's bidding, and a storm of white-hot fire exploded outward in all directions from the edges of the table. The fighting beasts stopped their struggles and finally turned to the centre of the table, registering far too late that there was a foreign threat.

Flames danced in Harry's green eyes, reflections of the sheets of white fire washing over the chamber at his direction. This was Albus Dumbledore's spell, the one he had used so long ago in the Dark Lord's cave to clear it of Inferi as they'd made their escape. As such, the spell was intended to utterly incinerate a human body's constitution. There was no escape for any beast in the room as they were fried and cooked in their own juices. The shackles upon the woman shattered, and the nails driven into her limbs disappeared. She floated behind him as he made his way toward the door, casting a flame freezing charm over them both.

The table upon which her blood was spattered was promptly consumed by the fires the moment he stepped off of it. He again passed through the door with his quarry as if it were nothing but air, but to the rest of the foul beasts it would be harder to break through than the stone wall.

He sniffed at the air, his heightened senses allowing him to perceive a direction where the air was thin and rarefied. The inhuman woman floating behind him, he made his way to a dark cavern in that direction.

The last hoarse shouts from behind the door only made his mouth twitch slightly. What a fearful world he had stumbled into.

…..

He washed his face, water spilling over the edges of the basin as he splashed it on his face repeatedly. He'd gotten somewhat used to the shrill howl of the winds outside, and even gotten in a few hours of sleep. Damn, but he couldn't tell whether it was day or night in this storm. He'd gotten something of a peek through the snow storm when they'd emerged out of the cavernous system of tunnels; he knew they were upon a mountain pass, a rather treacherous one if he remembered his glimpse clearly.

Great. They were stuck upon some high mountain range in a perennial storm.

"Thank Merlin some magic finally got beaten into your head, Potter. I remember that first time on Manz when were stuck like this on that desert", the Hat piped up from the snow stand he'd conjured for it.

"Yeah, Hat. Yeah", he murmured in agreement, shuddering at the memories the Hat had invoked. He snuggled into his cushion as he looked around at the dwelling he had fashioned out of the snow in the pass. His spells had provided water, and he had found that the power of the Elder Wand could bend Gamp's Law under certain conditions to create food. Furniture was scarcely a problem as he went about creating comfortable beds for himself and the woman. Heating spells regulated the temperature within his igloo-like dwelling, and ventilation spells kept the air fresh.

All this combined with sound sleep had rejuvenated him quite a bit, and cleared his mind.

For the dozenth time, his eyes fell upon the woman sleeping in the bed across him. Now that he could see her clearly, well...he could safely say he had not seen a more beautiful woman in all his travels. No Veela could possibly be this woman's equal, he thought. Her form was an amalgamation of purity and heart-stopping beauty, of sensuality and regality. He was pretty sure they'd have fought wars over someone like her in Folgur.

He had healed her broken bones and almost all of her physical injuries tirelessly for the better part of a day. So numerous were her wounds, and so cruel was the abuse inflicted upon her that even his considerably strong spells took much of the day to stabilize her. If a tenth of those grave wounds were dealt to a human, it would mean certain death.

Whatever species she belonged to, they were clearly incredibly durable in addition to their ethereal beauty.

There was however a poisoned wound upon her breastbone, exactly between her breasts. He had managed to confine the spread of that poison to a small region around where the wound lay, to await the attention of a real healer. She lay insensate upon her cot, dressed in flowing white silk robes he had transfigured from a clod of snow.

"How is your latest damsel doing?", the Hat queried, seemingly unable to just the hell up.

"Well. I managed to heal most of her body. I have no clue how to heal her mind", he said, lamenting his own lack of finesse with the Mind Arts. All he knew was to attack and defend; he was no mind healer or any sort of healer. What healing he knew was fit for crude battlefield situations, but they'd sufficed here.

"Better you leave her mind alone. They've already violated her physically in every possible way. We don't need you violating her mentally", the Hat said wisely.

"Fuck you too", he said tiredly, flipping the bird towards the offensive hat. Ignoring the smugly grinning accessory, he snuggled deeper into his blanket. Dumbledore would've been proud of his Transfigurations had he see it; for a moment he was tempted to summon the dead Headmaster as he'd done so very many times in the past. Dumbledore's mind was second to none, and if anyone could make sense of this dark and frightening world, it would be him. The Resurrection Stone glinted upon his finger balefully, innocently...purposefully.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You like driving me mad, don't you?", he queried the Hallow.

"You've already lost your marbles, Potter. Don't blame the Ring."

The Wand shook slightly in his pocket, and he sighed as he looked at the Hat. The stupid thing always disagreed with him, it was almost like having a hot bitchy girlfriend. You felt powerful with it by your side when you faced the world, but it treated you like crap when no one was looking.

"What am I to do when all my artifacts gang up on me?", he wailed at the ceiling, dramatically, as the Hat chuckled.

The Invisibility Cloak draped itself soothingly over him. He patted it a bit, and it fit itself even more snugly over his shoulders. It really was his favourite, truth be told. The hat was a caustic son of a bitch, the Wand was just cruel, and the Ring was one cold bastard. The Cloak always looked out for him, however. The Cloak was possibly the only thing that had been nice to him as long as they'd known each other. He patted it again, knowing it would be his friend till the very end.

Sighing, he sank back into his cot. There really wasn't much to do in the middle of a snowstorm. All he could hope was for the lady to wake up soon so he could peer into her memories and Apparate them all the hell out of this place. She'd slept soundly since he'd healed her wounds, though, not waking once for two days straight. He'd have thought her dead, for she made no noise while breathing even to his highly enhanced senses. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest betrayed the fact that she was still alive.

"You aren't going to sleep again, are you, Potter? Not already tired of 'looking after' your newest distressed maiden, are you?"

"Die, Hat", he grunted, as his eyes closed. He was certainly tired enough, and the years had taught him to grab sleep at every possible opportunity. The Hat's insinuations were such old shtick to him that he slowly fell asleep to them, the storm's screeching howls his lullaby.

As always he dreamed of better days at Godric's Hollow and his family, memories of catching his little Lily sneaking candy to her room, of the fierce Quidditch matches with his sons...of making love to his wife.

And he smiled softly.

…

"Stop it, wand", he groaned in protest, opening his eyes with a few blinks. A glimpse from the small window he'd fashioned revealed that the storm continued unabated, but the daylight was fully gone to give way to night. The night sky was barely visible, but the moonlight was bright enough to cast shadows.

"Alright, I'm up. I'm up!", he shouted, leaping off the bed as a powerful sting raced up his chest where the point of the Elder Wand lay. He yowled with surprise as the wand stung him again for good measure.

"Damn you, you fucking wand! I'd throw you to be lost in some forgotten world if you didn't come back to me the next bloody second!", he yelled at the top of his voice, drawing it out by the handle and making as if to chuck it out of the very window he'd created with it. He didn't care if it came back, all he wanted to do was to throw it as far away as he possibly could.

"Before you go ahead with that boneheaded idea, Potter, may I suggest turning to your nine o'clock?", the Hat suggested from behind.

He slowly turned as the Hat said, and was met with the sight of the lady shrinking as far away from him as she could. Upon her face was a blind panic, her eyes wide and shining with tears. She hid her face from him with her hands, as if not seeing him would negate his existence. She shook like a leaf in the wind as she backpedaled further away, uncaring as she fell off of the bed and shored up against the wall.

"Sorry", he murmured to the wand, carefully stowing it into his robes in full sight of the shaking lady. It was important that he appeared as non-threatening as possible at this moment. He was not equipped to heal mental trauma such as hers, not even close, but he still did have much unwanted experience with victims of torment. He made to approach, but she whimpered and closed her eyes tightly behind her palms.

Raising his empty hands, palm outwards, he slowly approached her once more.

"Yes, that's right Potter. I'm sure the lack of a wooden stick is reassuring to a person who's been beaten and violated with bare hands for weeks, if not months", said the Hat, sarcasm dripping from its words.

He ignored the Hat, walking slowly toward the softly crying lady and kneeling before her. She peeked through her fingers for a moment at him and lurched backwards, gasping with pain as her head struck the ice wall. The impact had caused upon her a shallow cut, which stained her silvery hair red near the base of her neck.

"I won't hurt you, my lady", he told her softly.

"Oooh. My Lady, he says. Look who's suave with the bab-"

He didn't even look at the infuriating Hat, nor did he utter a single word or even change his expression as his spell rendered it silent forcibly. He made sure to keep his movements slow and gentle as he took hold of her shaking wrists and pried them away from her face. Frantic fear was the only thing she exuded, freezing in place as he extended his finger to touch the base of her neck.

"I don't mean you harm", he repeated firmly as the blood ceased staining her with the closure of the cut.

"Istar?", she whispered, her expression changing ever so slowly to one of fearful hope. "Ume I Valar faina lle a' amin?"

The tongue she spoke was musical and flowing, and her voice made it all the more so. He stared at her dumbly, this world's contradictions hitting him hard. How could someone like her be taken by ugly monsters such as the ones he'd put down? What kind of a world was this? What was this female doing to get captured by those fiends?

And these questions did not even begin to scratch the surface of what he wanted to know. The priority was now to get to a populated place of safety. He could then see to it that she got someone to heal her properly, and he could get some information to find his footing in this new reality.

"Istar?", she whispered again softly.

He nodded, not knowing what that meant. Clearly the word held some hope for her, and if she had any hope at all in this desolate mountain it was he. So he nodded again with a smile, holding the attention of her wide blue eyes with his own.

"Mani naa lle essa, Istar?"

Ignoring her melodious query tinged still with suspicion and fear, he dove into her mind. His facility with the mind arts were nothing to write home about, unfortunately. There was nothing like a feather light touch as far as his Legilimency skills were concerned; he was no Snape or Dumbledore there. So he tried to be as quick as possible when he breached her mind, looking for a memory she associated with safety or happiness. He held her wrists firmly above her head as she cried out in pain at his unsubtle intrusion.

A few moments later he withdrew swiftly, and put her to sleep with a muttered spell. He levitated her to the cot slowly, laying her sleeping form gently upon it so as not to disturb her. He flicked his wand to place and secure the silenced Hat upon his head, and knelt to take the lady's hand gently in his left palm as he levitated her to float supine beside him.

He took two deep breaths, focusing on the image of the otherworldly, ethereally beautiful forest of silver-barked trees and golden leaves. He gripped the Elder Wand tightly in his other hand, knowing to be ready for attack - the lady whose hand he held remembered immense power in those woods, a sorcery that kept all she loved safe and happy.

A wave of his wand, his transfigured furniture returned to being the original clods of snow they'd started out as. Another wave, and his temporary igloo began to dissipate slowly into the storm raging outside.

Cracking his neck, he Disapparated them with a sharp popping sound.

….