No. No. That couldn't possibly be happening.

I snuck along the side wall, keeping as quiet as I could. I'd just have to leave the room and get somewhere else, there couldn't have been any shortage of spiders to kill off.

A Death Eater charged in. I glanced at him, then did a double-take—he didn't even have a wand! Well, that could have explained why he was in a hurry to get somewhere else.

But while I was gaping, and really hoping that the room's first occupant didn't recognize me, the Death Eater pointed at me and twisted his hands.

A second too late, I realized that he'd done wandless magic. But by that time, my wand was sailing across the room, and into his hands.

Great. Now I was wandless, and couldn't leave him if I was to have any hope of getting my wand back. At the same time, I really didn't want to stay put.

Luckily, sort of, the other man now realized he was facing an armed threat, and decided to do something about it. "Stupefy!" he roared.

The Death Eater leapt and turned around. I tried to shrink even farther out of view. Another "Stupefy!" rang out, just as the Death Eater cast a curse of his own. A beam of gold light issued out of my wand. A beam of red light came out of...

well, my wand.

Because standing there, across the room from the Death Eater, was me. The 1998 version.

What was he doing there? Had he patched things up with Angelina and the Weasleys after all? Why had he willing to risk a much more interesting career than mine to fight in a battle he was no better prepared to fight than me?

Would he please disarm the Death Eater so I could get my wand back?

Chestnut faced chestnut. And then, possibly the weirdest thing since...well, over two years in the future, but that's beside the point, happened.

The beams of light connected, and at the point where they did, a bright point of white light appeared. Out from it, light skipped and hopped in every color imaginable and a few that you can't really imagine, they just fell to the ground between the young me and the Death Eater. The dot itself seemed to shiver from side to side, while more and more beams sprung from it.

The Death Eater turned his head as if listening for something, but all was silent. Until he started muttering. "It can't be...this is...where did you get that?"

Oliver paused a moment, opening his mouth and thinking it over, before answering, "Ollivander's."

"Insolent boy," he whispered. "When did you get it?"

Now more confused—I could only hope he hadn't seen me—he answered, "Eleven years ago?"

"You are meddling with Dark Magic...Put your wand down."

"What do you have against Dark Magic?" he said. "And, anyway, I think it's you who should put my wand down, it looks a lot like mine, doesn't it?"

"You do not know what you are tampering with—what you have already broken. I warn you in good faith, put your wand down." Their wand arms were both shaking a little by then.

And then, I heard footsteps from the door I came in. It sounded like more than one person, but only one Death Eater walked in the door. Luckily, he didn't see me, as without a wand I was a pretty easy target.

He did not, however, fail to take notice of the scene in the middle of the room—Oliver and the Death Eater, identical wands sending beams of light in Gryffindor red and gold at each other, while magical lines of every color spread out on each side.

He raised his wand, aimed at Oliver, and glanced at his counterpart, who gave a tiny nod. Oliver must have noticed the nod, because he pursed his lips slightly, still fixated on that ball of light.

Then, the Death Eater fired a curse at Oliver's unprotected back.

Now, if I had had time to sit down and list the pros and cons of each possible action, my list might have gone something like this. On the one hand, even if this spell misses, the new guy is not bogged down in some weird wand effects, and can easily shoot at Oliver again. On the other hand, I thought I heard multiple sets of footsteps outside, so maybe someone else is coming that this Death Eater will need to deal with. On the first hand, I don't have a wand. So I'm pretty useless unless somehow the first Death Eater gets disarmed. Moreover, I am a time-traveller from what is now shaping up to be another world entirely. Even if I could get back there, which now seems quite impossible, I'm not sure I'd like to—I think I'd rather have a world where the Death Eaters are defeated. The world that this version of me has somehow found it in himself to fight for. He's not a time-traveller at all, and he isn't going to grow into me because I'd remember this battle, which I don't. This is his world. He belongs here.

Of course, if I had time to sit down and make a list, the curse would have hit him before I'd made up my mind.

But I think I still would have done the same thing.

My Quidditch instincts propelled me into the path of the curse. The Death Eater gaped and, as I'd feared, reached to fire off another curse. But before he could get it out, someone cast a jinx at him, and he whirled to duel whoever it was.

I caught a glimpse of Luna, who glanced at the first Death Eater, who was by then saying something I was in too much pain to make out, at Oliver, who was still facing the first Death Eater and barely knew what was going on, and at me, writhing in a pool of my own blood with a horrendous pain in my stomach, before she wandered off without a word, still dueling the second Death Eater.

The first one must have said something, because Oliver was now speaking. "No," he said. "I don't know who you are, or where you got that wand, or what you're doing here, but I don't care. If you're going to keep doing what you're doing, locking people out of school—and of Quidditch—and of the whole magical world, just because of who their parents were—then it is you who don't belong."

I'd told my Quidditch class once that lots of really important magic came down to will. That was what it looked like. Because as the other version of me stood there, his arm trembling but unyielding, the white ball began to fall down the gold beam the Death Eater had cast. The gold color was replaced by more of that piercingly bright white light, until it was all gone. Then the Death Eater began to look concerned.

The white light continued on, seemingly burning the wand itself away. When the light reached his hands, he looked pained, then dropped my wand entirely and ran off. There was a flash of light, and then my wand had disappeared completely, all the beams were gone, and Oliver stood alone.

Well, there went my hope of getting my wand back. Not that I felt like I could have stood up any time soon.

Oliver whirled around, catching sight of me and the gaping wound in my chest, and ran over. He cast a couple healing spells, but they didn't seem to help—I hadn't expected him to be very good, and that had been quite a dark curse.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"No," I rasped. I couldn't tell him, didn't know how to find the words to explain. That I was him, and yet not—he didn't have to worry about growing up and turning into me, with both of us helpless. Better if he never knew.

I saw him glance down at his wand. No, no, he could not put it together.

"Who are you?" he repeated. "Legilimens!"

No way. There was no way he could be good enough at Legilimency to find out, now, I'd never gotten a chance to practice.

But had he?

For the second time in a matter of minutes, my Quidditch instincts came through again. Because what I was doing was a defense, of sorts—not the kind I could use my body for, I was past the point of being able to move anything. But somehow, my mind shot back, our wills—my will twice over, in a way—collided, and instead of him reaching into my mind, I saw his.

I saw him gazing at a two-way mirror that Angelina, who had never given up on him, left behind. I saw him hearing that the battle was on. I saw him reuniting with Angelina, Fred, George—Katie and Alicia too, as nervous as he'd ever been but ready to make a stand. I saw further back, to memories we shared—he lifted the Quidditch Cup, on his last chance, and tears streamed down his face.

He was not me, just as I was not him—I'd seen his memories, his alone, and knew that his past was his own. And his future would be his own too, the future in the world where he belonged.

That would have to be enough. Leaning against the floor, I closed my eyes and let go.