AN: I OWN NOTHING.

THIS STORY WILL TAKE PLACE IN THE WORLD OF MY SERIES: THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL SAGA, AND WILL CONTAIN CHARACTERS AND INFO FROM THAT SERIES AS WELL AS FROM MY STORY: FOR LACK OF A BEZOAR. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE OTHERS YOU'LL BE ABLE TO FOLLOW, BUT YOU CERTAINLY WON'T BE PICKING UP AS MUCH OR UNDERSTANDING AS WELL AS IF YOU HAD.

I PLAN ON UPDATING ONCE A WEEK/EVERY TWO WEEKS.

THE CONTENT WARNINGS FROM THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL SAGA AND FOR LACK OF A BEZOAR APPLY HERE AS WELL.

BETAD BY GECKOSHAN

PLEASE REVIEW/P.M. ME

ENJOY!

CHAPTER 1–A tale of three worlds

"If a coin comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal.

But on another world, it does come down tails. And when that happens, the two worlds split apart."—Philip Pullman-The Golden Compass

There are many worlds, the theory goes.

An infinite number of them, filling the empty expanse of space like water in a bucket.

As far away as the opposite end of the universe, as close as the other side of a shadow.

These worlds are created, the theory continues, whenever a choice is made.

Whenever someone, or indeed, something, makes a choice, they create a world wherein they chose differently.

Some of these worlds will only have the most minor differences. Some will be starkly different.

Theoretically, it should be possible to travel from one world to another.

The theories are correct.

The chances of inter-dimensional travel occurring are minute. Minuscule.

So unlikely that it is the next best thing to impossible.

But when dealing with an infinite number of worlds, something which is merely almost impossible is as good as certain.

In a vast number of worlds, there exists an artefact that could, under the right conditions, lead to inter-dimension travel.

In many worlds, this artefact was discovered. In some, it was left where it was found. In some, it was destroyed. In some, it was studied.

In most of the worlds, its true purpose was never discovered.

But in some, it was.

Interestingly enough, in every world that this artefact existed, it could be found in the same location.

In one world, approaching evening on the first of May, 2028, the English Department of Mysteries was finishing their daily experiments with the artefact.

For all that they had tested and prodded it, they'd made no progress with it over the previous three months.

They were experimenting with it simply because they could. Because it could further their knowledge and understanding.

Because it could help them better relate to the miraculous world they inhabited.

In another world, approaching evening on the first of May, 2028, the English Department of Mysteries was finishing their daily experiments with the artefact.

For all that they had tested and prodded it, they'd made no progress with it over the previous three months.

They were experimenting with it because they were afraid. They understood the implications of the existence of this artefact, and were afraid that someone would use it for military purposes.

And after the war they had been through, they wanted to be sure that they had no one to fear.

And in a third world, approaching evening on the first of May, 2028, Chief Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood entered the Department of Mysteries to begin his experimentation with the artefact.

He'd been experimenting with it for three months and believed he was finally making progress.

He had subjected the artefact to a full gamut of tests, ranging from simple spells to complex rituals.

And while he had gained the greatest understanding of the artefact out of all of the worlds, he had not yet managed to activate it.

He was spending so much time experimenting with it because that was what the Emperor desired.

It was this same desire that had driven the Emperor to begin a space exploration program, to begin terraforming the moon.

It was a desire driven by desperate fear and urgent need.

A desire, in fact, driven by the one thought that itched at the Emperor's mangled soul.

The thought that there could exist, somewhere in any reality, a place where His rule was not known.

A place where the name Lord Voldemort was not uttered in a fearful whisper.

In one world, Harry Potter won.

The fight against Voldemort had not been an easy one. Many friends had been lost.

Still, he had been victorious.

After the war, he joined the Auror corps. He quickly rose through the ranks, becoming, at age forty, the youngest Chief Auror in history.

He married Ginny Weasley, and together they had three wonderful children.

He fought the good fight, working on a daily basis to make the world a better place, to bring peace, to prevent any would-be Dark Wizard or Witch from threatening the happiness that Wizarding Britain had dug from the ashes.

And he was happy.

In another world, Harry Potter won.

The fight against Voldemort had not been an easy one. Many, many friends had died. No matter how much time passed, he would never be able to remove the spectre of Ron Weasley dying on Slughorn's floor from his mind.

But he and Hermione had fought, using the Death Eaters' own tactics against them.

By the time they won, the Death Eaters were as afraid of the pair as ever they had been of Voldemort.

They paved the road with blood and bodies, and in the end, they were victorious.

After the war, he joined the Auror corps. He was quickly transferred to a newly created task force, one under the authority of the Unspeakables.

During Voldemort's first and second rises, the Aurors and Hit-Wizards had often found their hands tied, unable to act due to legal restrictions and requirements for due process.

Once Voldemort was finally eradicated, it was decided to create a group that would be able to operate outside the law to an extent. A group of highly trained fighters. A group that would be able to prevent possible threats from becoming definite dangers.

Harry Potter proved to be a highly successful operative, and by the age of forty, he was heading the group.

He married Hermione Granger, and together, they had two wonderful children.

And he was content.

And in a third world, Harry Potter won.

The road to victory had not been an easy one. He had lost friends, been forced to kill people he loved.

But in the end, Lord Voldemort was victorious, and Harry Potter, His protégé, was named His second-in-command.

After the war, Harry was made the head of Lord Voldemort's secret police force, the Death Eaters.

He was highly successful in this job, striking fear into the hearts of would-be rebels across the entire empire.

He married Daphne Greengrass, and together they had five children, each of whom were taken aside on their fifteenth birthday, sworn to secrecy, and told of the path to immortality.

He was undoubtedly the second most feared and respected person in the Empire. People were almost as terrified of his name as they were of the Emperor's.

And he was exultant.

Choices, choices, choices. Everything we do is a choice. We choose with every second of our lives.

In one world, when Harry Potter ran with a Bezoar to Ron Weasley's prone form, he chose to look at the floor, to watch where his feet landed.

He did not trip. He reached Ron in time to save his life.

In one world, the Dursleys were unwilling to accept Harry into their home. The danger of having him living there, their worries about their standing in the neighbourhood, their fears of the effects on Dudley; all these concerns outweighed the familial bond.

Choices, choices, choices.

And so rarely must we face the consequences of our choices. So rarely must we look at what could have been, if only we had chosen differently.

So rarely, when we imagine what could have been, do we think accurately.

In one world, Chief Unspeakable Hermione Weasley left the Department of Mysteries at six P.M. on the first of May.

She took the artefact along with her, stringing it around her neck.

Due to the upcoming Memorial Day, she, along with the rest of the Department, was given three days off work.

Her husband, however, only had two days off.

She figured she would use her extra private time well, examining the artefact without a press of excited Unspeakables around her.

So she chose to take it with her.

In another world, Chief Unspeakable Hermione Potter left the Department of Mysteries at six P.M. on the first of May.

She took the artefact along with her, stringing it around her neck.

She and her husband made a point of spending an evening with the Headmaster of Hogwarts at least once per month.

They had planned it to be that very night, and she thought he might be able to shed some light on the artefact; never mind the possible input from the portraits of previous headmasters.

Though he was no master of Runelore, (and indeed, the artefact was covered in runes, blending in with one another in a dazzling display that left the eyes feeling tired and confused,) she knew no one who had as strong a grasp on the Dark Arts as did Severus Snape.

And perhaps, some of his knowledge would prove helpful to unlock the artefact's mysteries.

So she chose to take it with her.

And in a third world, Chief Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood entered the Department of Mysteries at six P.M. on the first of May.

He had not been named Chief Unspeakable simply as a reward for his loyal service to the Dark Lord.

He was named Chief Unspeakable because he was truly interested in solving the riddles that pervaded reality. More, he was driven by this need. He was intelligent, talented, and knowledgeable.

And he was blessed with a total lack of moral or ethical compunctions.

So he entered the Department of Mysteries to continue his testing.

From the little he had gleaned of the runes, he believed that they would be activated by a blood sacrifice.

And so he chose to take with him a muggle child, fresh from the slave markets.

"Can you believe it's really been thirty years?" Ron asked, leaning back in his recliner.

Harry shook his head, dislodging Ginny off of his shoulder slightly as he raised his butterbeer.

They were sitting in the lounge of Ron and Hermione's apartment; a modest three bedroom located in the heart of London.

They'd had a nice enough dinner, albeit full of reminiscing and nostalgia. Full of the unspoken memories of this night, thirty years past.

Harry had a few strands of grey in his hair, but he was the only one. He did have a stressful job, after all.

But it kept him fit. He was in better physical shape than he had been even in his school years, his arms and legs thickened with muscles.

It wouldn't do for the Chief Auror to be unable to keep up in a fight, no matter how infrequently they came these days.

There hadn't been a real threat in wizarding Britain for a good few years. Even the last one was more a wannabe Dark Wizard and less of a true Voldemort copycat.

Still, Harry's paranoia had been forged in the war and had only been strengthened in the first few years after it. Those years had been bad, with panicked leftover Death Eaters causing whatever havoc they could as if trying to avenge their entire broken dream.

Once the last of them had been rounded up and the first few copycats dealt with, life fell into a far smoother rhythm.

But Harry still kept himself in fighting shape, and still made sure that his family knew how to defend themselves and kept themselves able as well.

Paranoia, maybe. Scars from a war, definitely.

Ginny still looked like she was in her thirties, none of the stresses of three childbirths and a fifteen year Quidditch career showing on her face.

She'd retired from Quidditch only a few years previously after a bludger had left her left hand unable to grip as tightly as it had before. She'd been a Chaser, and a damn good one, but she needed to at least be able to use her right for throwing the Quaffle while her left hand guided the broom. She'd preferred leaving the game while she was still a star over sinking into dull mediocrity.

Harry drained his bottle and put it down, beginning to speak with slight hoarseness and a shudder in his voice.

"God, remember when that voice just came from everywhere. And then Pansy, when she tried to turn me over."

They fell back into a comfortable silence.

After a few minutes, he pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the kitchen to fetch another beer.

It was a comfortable enough apartment.

Ron had stayed in the Auror corps for almost six months before he first saw action. And after he did, he'd decided that he didn't want to anymore.

("Seen enough fighting for more than a lifetime." He'd confided in Harry that same day, before handing in his resignation.)

George had been more than happy to accept him into the store.

They'd made a great team. Over the next thirty or so years, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes expanded, opening another five branches; in Hogsmeade, Paris, Madrid, New York, and São Paulo.

Between Ron's hefty paycheck, and Hermione's earnings from the Department of Mysteries, they could have afforded a mansion anywhere in Britain.

But Hermione had been concerned about wealth going to their kids' heads. Afraid of them growing up thinking that they deserved whatever they wanted.

So they'd ended up living in a flat in London, near enough to both of their works, and close to Hermione's parents.

Ron did manage to convince her to add some charms to their apartment.

For example, Harry was certain none of the other flats in that building had an Olympic-sized swimming pool inside. Or a library that was almost as large as the rest of the flat.

He walked back into the lounge, swinging the bottle between his fingers.

Ron was rubbing his head, a habit he'd picked up since his hairline had started receding.

Harry had to smile, seeing him sitting like that. He was looking more and more like Arthur every day, especially with the extra weight he'd put on.

Hermione—well, she didn't really look any different to how she had at twenty. A few more lines on her face, her skin a little less tanned from copious amounts of time spent indoors. But otherwise, not really different.

"Who else is speaking tomorrow?" Ron asked.

"Don't remind me about that," Harry grumbled, settling back into the couch. "Managed to avoid the ten and twenty year anniversaries, but just can't get out of this one."

"You'll be fine, love," Ginny said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"Besides me, there's McGonagall, Kingsley, and the Head Boy and Girl."

"Who are they this year? I feel like, without any of kids there I don't know any of the Hogwarts news."

"I know what you mean," Ginny said, nodding at Hermione, "it's strange, isn't it?"

"Very."

"Well, apparently this year, it's Colin Creevy. You know, Dennis' son. And Meghan McGuire. I met her parents once. Nice people."

They sat in silence again, sipping at their drinks without words for a few minutes until Ginny asked, nodding at Hermione again "New necklace?"

Hermione fingered the small golden chain, answering hesitantly.

"Ah, not quite. It's uh, a work project."

"And you just snuck it out?"

"I figured since the Department's going to be closed, I might as well use some of the time to try to study it," she said, a blush beginning to creep up her cheeks, "and I thought I'd ask Flitwick his opinion on it."

"Can you do that?" Harry asked curiously.

"When we have no idea how something works we can." She grumbled, pulling at the chain.

And revealing the pendant hanging from it.

They all craned their heads to look, Ron going so far as to lean forward in his recliner to get a better view.

It was a strange thing, made of some silvery metal, glittering and gleaming in the light.

It was shaped like an infinity symbol, a sideways figure eight.

And it was absolutely covered in runes.

They flashed, changing and melding with one another, moving with dizzying speed through strange shapes that almost hurt the eye to look at.

"They don't stop changing," Hermione said, sounding hushed and almost reverent. "And we don't recognize half of these symbols. And they seem to move faster the more people that look at it."

"And you don't know what if does?" Harry asked, not looking away from the dazzling display, his own voice much softer than usual.

"We know what it's meant to do, we think. We just don't know how to make it work."

"What's it meant to do?" Ron asked.

"You know I can't tell you that," Hermione said chidingly.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's meant to be more than just a pretty ornament," Ginny said, her hand held before her as if she wanted to do nothing more than touch it.

"Yes. Just a pity that it seems like we'll never figure it out. This thing is so far beyond us it's scary."

They sat there for a few minutes, staring at it in silence, none of them saying a word.

They sat in silence, at least, until the runes all lit up, and they all exclaimed as one.

Snape hadn't changed the Headmaster's office much, during his tenure.

Fawkes' perch wasn't present, but the office was otherwise barely distinguishable from how it had been when it was Dumbledore's. But Snape had imposed some of his personality on the office where he now spent much of his time.

There were three cauldrons, bubbling happily along in the corner of the room, throwing up strangely coloured sparks.

Next to them stood a locked cabinet, filled, Harry knew, with rare and hard-to-find potions ingredients.

And the bookshelves were dotted with extremely Dark and dangerous tomes, the type of books even Durmstrang did not keep.

Still, the room felt warm and comfortable. Snape certainly had mellowed, over the years since Voldemort's fall.

To be fair, his teaching situation probably helped.

McGonagall had bullied him into keeping the position of Headmaster.

("A punishment," he'd once remarked to Harry, "for letting her think I truly was a traitor.")

However, he did have a desire to teach. And yet, as years of students could attest, he seemed to hate it.

The solution, therefore, was for him to create two new classes, both taught by him.

Only for seventh years who had received O's in the subjects, Snape taught a highly advanced version of Defence Against the Dark Arts, for students who would want to become Aurors or the like, and an advanced version of Potions, focusing mainly on adapting old potions and inventing new ones.

The classes were very small, having a maximum of three or four students a year, and were incredibly successful.

Every Auror, Hit-Wizard, and member of Harry's squad who had joined over the previous fifteen years was a graduate of Snape's Defence class. And apparently, his graduates were making as much of a splash in the Potions' world too.

And he'd become a slightly less caustic person.

"So, we got a letter from James today."

Snape raised an eyebrow, slowly putting his mug down.

"Oh? And what does he have to say?"

"Shouldn't you know?" Harry asked.

"We all know you only gave me that title to annoy me."

"Maybe," Harry said with a shrug, "still, you've been a good enough godfather. For some reason, he actually seems to like you."

Snape heaved a great sigh, ignoring Dumbledore's portrait's chuckling behind him.

"Yes, after you saddled him with such a ridiculous name, I realized it was up to me to actually look after the boy."

"It's not ridiculous at all," Hermione said indignantly, "a lot of people have three names."

"James Ronald Remus. Twenty years on, and I still can't get over that."

"I think Tolkien would have appreciated it, actually, a real wizard having his initials." She said primly, sipping at her own tea.

"Regardless, you gave him an absurd name and an absurd godfather. It's a miracle he never decided to simply kill himself and be done with it."

"Are we talking about him or you?"

Snape bowed his head an inch, conceding.

"Well? What did he have to say? He told me he was going to be having an interview, but nothing since then."

"He got the job," Hermione said, pride filling her voice, "As of next year, he'll be the assistant Defence Professor at Ilvermoney. And he said they hinted that if it goes well, he'll get the full position whenever Margo finally chooses to retire."

Snape nodded as if it was nothing special, but a small smile pulled at his lips.

"Well done," he said softly, "I'm sure you must be proud."

"We are. And not just that he's got it. He's making his own name. He said they tested him like mad, made him show off some of his duelling skills. He didn't get it because of us."

Snape smiled truly then, his gimlet eyes showing a hint of happiness.

"No. He deserves it. And your daughter? What news from her?"

Harry sighed.

Lily was a great girl. Sweet, bright, lovely. The best daughter he could possibly ask for.

If only she was a bit more focused.

She'd finished school the year before, and had taken a year off to travel, sending pictures from all over Europe, Africa, and Asia. He thought it was great.

He just wished she'd gone with someone other than her boyfriend.

Jason was a good enough boy. But a part of Harry would never be able to trust any boy with his daughter.

"She's having a fantastic time. They should be leaving Australia tomorrow, they're heading to America. They'll be there a month, joining James at some point, and then they'll all come home."

Snape nodded absently as Hermione finished.

"Does she know what career she plans on embarking upon yet?"

Harry shook his head while Hermione answered.

"Nope. Six months ago she was talking about joining a menagerie, then three months ago she mentioned she might like to be an Auror. Now she's thinking of joining one of the film crews. Or becoming a musician."

"The film crews," Snape said blankly. "Really?"

"They're actually not so bad. We went to one the other night. You know, they're mixing up some of the Pensieve magic with the muggle technology, and it's really immersive."

"Not all of us have the time to simply do whatever we wish. You might want to remind your daughter that the average witch or wizard has to actually earn a living."

Harry just smirked, not rising to the barb.

"Whatever she does, I'm sure she'll do it well. Unless she's inherited too much from her father."

"I don't know," Hermione said, smiling at Harry, "Harry's done pretty damn well."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Anyways, Severus. I'd like you to have a look at this, please." Hermione said, pulling a little pendant on a chain out of her shirt and putting it on the desk.

Snape leaned forward, the silvery glow of the flashing symbols dancing in his eyes.

"Interesting. Tell me, what's in it for me?"

"You get to help us solve a mystery. Everyone knows you love that."

"That I do," Snape said, still not moving his eyes from the pendant, "and yet, it's not enough. Lend me the book, and I'll tell you whatever I can."

"Severus-"

"Cease your idiocy. It's the only one of its kind, and no one's using it at the moment. Lend it to me for one week. I'll even allow you to borrow one of Dumbledore's books."

"I should never have told you about it."

"No, you shouldn't have. Do we have a deal?"

"Fine."

"Excellent. Do you feel it? From this...thing? Almost as if it's hungry?"

Hermione nodded.

"That's why I brought it to you. Those of us who've had the most interactions with Dark magic can feel it more than others."

"Yes," Snape whispered, entranced. "But it's not purely Dark. But terrible deeds went into the creation of this."

Snape took out his wand and began to tap the pendant, whispering in a strange, sibilant tongue.

"Sir?" Hermione called hesitantly, looking at Dumbledore's portrait. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"I don't believe I have," Dumbledore said, a small frown creasing his brows. "Nor heard of its like. The Runes don't stop changing? At all? No pattern to them?"

"Not really. But there's one or two that keep repeating themselves, the symbols for-"

"Blood," Snape interjected, his whisper cutting through the conversation.

"Exactly," Hermione said with a nod.

"Mrs. Potter. What exactly does this object do?"

Dumbledore sounded worried. Harry and Hermione both looked up at him.

"You know the Department's rules, sir. We can't talk about our jobs. Even when getting outside assistance."

"That may be," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard, "but how certain are you that it's safe?"

"From what we understand," Harry said, "or at least, as much as I can understand from what they've told me, it certainly won't be an accidental danger."

"He's right," Hermione added. "The only problem could be if it activates, and that definitely can't happen in this situation. This isn't the whole artefact, you see."

Dumbledore leaned back on his painted chair, looking relieved. And curious.

"Not the whole thing?" Snape asked sharply, looking up from his examinations.

"No. And the rest of it will not be removed from the Department, so don't even ask. But, according to the little writing found with it, this is the main part. But it still needs both to activate. We're just trying to discover as much as we can about this part, for now."

"I'm surprised that you know so much about this, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You're not part of the research team, are you?"

"Still not," Harry answered with a grin, "but I do have top-level security clearance, so I at least get to know what my wife's busy with all day."

Dumbledore kept his piercing gaze trained on Harry, while Hermione and Snape started talking again, throwing out deeply advanced terms.

"Are you happy, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly. "With your task force? With the things you've been forced to do?"

"It's important. If we existed years ago, Voldemort would never have risen. And fine, most of the people we deal with aren't on his level, but there have been one or two."

Dumbledore nodded, looking as old as he had at the end of his life.

"Indeed. And the innocents caught in the crossfire?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "It was you who taught me about that. Some things are secondary."

"I'm going to attempt some Blood Magic," Snape said to Hermione. "You are certain it won't cause...whatever this thing does?"

"I'm sure," Hermione said, "we've done a bit of that ourselves."

"So why am I even bothering?"

"Because you can understand what happens far better than any of us. Happy now?"

"Overjoyed."

Harry turned to watch, as a silver knife flew to Snape from his Potions Kit.

Snape drew the blade across his palm, dropping the knife and picking his wand up again as soon as blood began to drip out.

His wand flashed, and as the blood dripped onto the pendant it seemed to gain a silvery penumbra around it, a ghostly light hiding just beyond the edge of sight.

Snape's blood coated the runes, and they gleamed a bright red for a few moments.

Before the blood sunk into them, disappearing as if swallowed.

The runes shone, glowing strongly for a little before the light faded away.

Snape sat there, his bloody hand hovering just above the artefact's surface, shivering as if in the grips of ecstasy.

"It wants more," he whispered. "A true sacrifice. That's what you would need to activate it. The death of an innocent, their lifeblood spilled onto it."

Hermione nodded grimly.

"We half suspected that. Thank you for the confirmation. It seems we won't be using this, after all."

"I should hope not," Snape said, waving his wand over his palm and healing the cut. "After all your prattle of building a more ethical society, I would hate for you to be proven such a hypocrite."

"Well, you don't need to worry about that, I can promise you-"

She cut off in the middle of her sentence, eyes widening.

The runes had stopped changing shape, and all of them lit up, throwing a dark light across the room.

"The time is now nine fifteen P.M., and I am finishing up the final preparations before performing the sacrifice."

As Rookwood spoke, his dictaquill raced across the parchment on its own accord, marking his words down.

He absently shifted his goggles, the thick lenses not showing his eyes, before he continued.

"I am wearing full safety garb. Not taking any risks now. If the device activates, I will immediately make use of my portkey. Now. Subject has been washed clean of any enchantments and has been bound and gagged for the last twelve hours. Hopefully, there are no potions still in its system, but Gruffin's elixir should have taken care of that."

Behind him, the muggle boy in question thrashed on the floor, its screams coming out muffled.

They were in one of the most dangerous and most secure rooms in the Department of Mysteries.

Those who spent any length of time in this room had learned to ignore the mirrors coating the walls, roof, and floor.

They certainly did not look in them, nor gaze at the reflections that showed other places.

The images in the mirrors were always blurred and unclear, but there were always rumours.

Some of the Unspeakables whispered that if you stared into one of them for too long, something else would look back.

Rookwood stood before a marble desk, wearing so many layers atop his robes that he looked, from a distance, like a bear.

He kept his eyes trained on the object on the desk.

A strange pedestal, shaped perfectly so that it fit the holes of the device placed upon it.

"As previously recorded, the runes shift faster before an experiment. As if it knows what we are about to do. The runes are changing now, and I have never seen them move so quickly before. There is a feeling of...anticipation. I have said it before, and I will say it again. I believe the device has some strange form of sentience."

He turned quickly, and pulled the shaking child off of the floor, gripping it sharply by the arm, pushing it forward so that it was bent over the marble desk.

"Subject is almost in position, and the runes are shifting even faster. They seem to be glowing slightly."

His voice caught in his throat for a second, and he coughed, shaking his head, clearing the images from his mind.

"Subject is approximately eight years old, male. Muggle, of course. Obtained from Selwyn's store. Selwyn swore it was never used sexually, and tests seem to have confirmed that. It is as innocent as a muggle can be. I will be using a standard silver knife, washed in Gruffin's elixir and cleansed of all enchantments. There should be no magical interference, except perhaps the ambient magic of the Mirror Hall itself."

The muggle tried to kick out at him.

He twisted his own leg around it, pulling the back of its knee and slamming its chest down onto the table.

He pulled it forward until its head was right above the pedestal.

The runes were flashing even faster, a hypnotizing display that called to be fed.

"It is now nine twenty-one," he said, picking up the knife and pulling the muggle's head back, baring its throat. "And I am about to perform the sacrifice."

With a smooth, practiced motion, he slit the muggle's throat.

The knife cut well, slicing through veins, arteries, and flesh as if they were butter.

Blood shot out in a great spurt. He ignored the muggle's shaking, angling its body so that the blood would coat the device.

And it did.

"As before, the blood is sinking into the runes, not pooling above. But-"

He broke off, heart beginning to race.

"The pedestal. It seems to be glowing red. As if the blood is somehow filling it up. Preposterous, but it is. And the runes-the runes have stopped shifting! They're not changing, and they're still taking in the blood!"

The muggle's blood was coming slower, beginning to simply drip out. It had long since ceased its struggling.

It looked so beautiful, the device finally seeming as if it was actually doing something. So beautiful, so happy to be used.

The wonderful colours, no longer changing. The runes, finally making sense to him.

He felt a kinship to this thing before him, this utterly alien intelligence.

Had he really wondered if it was sentient? Of course, it was. It was undeniable.

His arm felt stiff.

He tore his eyes away from the device, and saw the muggle, no longer bleeding at all.

How long had he been standing there, staring at the device?

"It-the runes, they're glowing far brighter than I've ever seen before. Each of them a different colour, fading into one another. It is-a beautiful sight. Absolutely wondrous. And it-it feels-"

Something changed. The entire pedestal began to shake, and as one the runes all shined brightly, blinding him for a moment.

Before his vision even cleared he had grabbed hold of the portkey in his pocket, letting go of the body and letting it fall to the mirrored floor.

Just before saying the activation word, he took one last look.

"The runes-they've stopped glowing so brightly. But something is different. They're not changing anymore, and the pedestal is still glowing red. And the device feels-it feels satisfied."

Something niggled at him.

It took him a few seconds of looking around before he realized what it was, and when he did he gasped.

"The-the mirrors. The mirrors. They're reflecting this room. They're reflecting this room. What-what happened? Something happened, the device must have activated, but I wasn't transported."

He shook his head, clearing it.

"I-I will continue my examinations of the device tomorrow, with a full team. And with even greater safety precautions. Something just happened, I'm certain of it. Whatever it did, it will change the world as we know it."

He glanced at the clock and his jaw fell slack.

Had he really been standing there for over two hours?

"It is-it is now eleven thirty-four P.M. Augustus Rookwood, signing out."

They stared at Hermione's pendant as it glowed and shook.

Harry was sure he should do something but had no idea what.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, sounding terrified, "what the hell?"

"I don't know," she said, backing away. "It can't-it needs another piece to do anything! And we don't know how to activate it! It can't activate!"

"Hermione-"Ginny began.

And cut off, as a beam of light shot out of the pendant and stabbed Harry in the chest.

He looked down, completely baffled. It didn't hurt, it just felt a little warm.

"Harry," Hermione said, sounding worried and drawing her wand, "just stay calm, ok? Please, just-"

Three beams of light shot out of him, stabbing Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all through the chests.

The pendant shook violently, and the whole building trembled.

And they were gone.

"Hermione, what the fuck!"

She sat in the same position, staring with wide eyes and a pale face.

"It can't," she whispered, "It can't do anything!"

"It seems to be doing something anyway," Snape said, drawing his wand, "what is this artefact's purpose?"

"I can't-"

"You need to tell me!" he growled.

"It's meant to-"

She cut off as a beam of light shot out of the artefact, stabbing Harry through the chest.

"Hermione?" he said, heart racing, "it's activating. What do we do?"

She drew her wand, and he slowly moved his hand toward his holster.

"On the count of three," she said, setting her jaw, "We-"

Two jets of light shot out of Harry, stabbing Hermione and Snape through their chests.

All the portraits shouted, the artefact shook, and Hogwarts itself seemed to tremble.

And they were gone.

And in a different world, a bombed out, ruined building in a destroyed neighbourhood of what had once been muggle London shook, throwing dust and debris out into the street.

And in the wreck of an apartment, four people appeared.

A few seconds later, another three appeared, falling into a clump beside the first group.

As Augustus Rookwood had remarked: something happened, and it would change the world.

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