4. Founders Cross

o o o

4.01

NO DATA   UNKNOWN

I was aware of nothing at first — a vast eternal emptiness — that evolved into a feeling that there was indeed something around me — a white fog, perhaps, but without the damp coolness of normal fog — as if it was waiting to become something else — the fog of infinite possibility. I assumed I was lying horizontally. There was just enough visibility to perceive a curving crystal ceiling high above me. I rose and saw myself — that I needed clothing — and suddenly I was wearing a pale shimmering jogging suit. I probably should be careful about what I think about, realizing that it could instantly appear.

Even though it was expected, the whimpering, thumping noise sounded so plaintive that I had to look closer at the small flailing bundle that had appeared on the floor, next to what looked like a glass wall —no, a railing. I had to pull myself away, knowing what it was, fighting the urge to help, or retch.

"There's nothing you can do for it, I'm afraid, Harry." The real Albus Dumbledore was just as I expected, twinkling eyes and all.

My thoughts were a little slow catching up, and as my awareness grew, I began to panic. "Professor, I'm not supposed to be here yet, am I? Have I ruined everything?"

"Relax, Harry. You have no need to be concerned. And it's good to see you, too."

"Of course, sir, I'm sorry. It's great to see you again, altogether whole and all… your hand, it's healed!"

"Why, so it is," he mused, holding his hand out, inspecting it. "I suppose I should thank you for that, because you are responsible for my physical appearance in this place."

"I am?"

"Yes, Harry, this is your party, so to speak, and where I am currently does not have the same restrictions on the body's physical form that I had in my previous life. Now, we may be limited in our time together, so I believe something had you quite troubled?"

I shook my head, filing all this away to ponder later. "It's just… I thought that I had to be killed by Voldemort's hand, or… I don't know… something wouldn't work out properly."

"You read the seventh book, Harry?"

"Yes… Wait, you already know about the book?"

"Of course. I hope I get to read it myself someday. I see quite bit of the mortal world — my usual view is actually quite nice — but, my word, this space is quite magnificent. Where are we exactly?"

I shuffled my feet. "In the book, my mind created a nicer version of Kings Cross station. I guess I wanted to see what would happen… You know that I had that other life, and the last time I came through London I was in this place. It's the new passenger terminal 5 at Heathrow, at least it will be in another decade."

"Amazing! It certainly seems large enough for airplanes in here…"

I laughed. "Yes, it does, but this is just for people. The planes park outside. There's supposed to be ticket kiosks and baggage check stations…" I gave him a brief overview of what I could remember since it fascinated him almost as much as it would Mr. Weasley, who loved Muggle technology with the passion (and naiveté) of a child.

"Sir, what happens now? Do I wake up in 2007 as James Whittle with a bad headache and vague memories of this incredible dream of being Harry Potter? Or do I go back to where I just was, and what happens to the protection that everyone was supposed to have? Voldemort was supposed to try to kill me —"

Dumbledore interrupted my verbal diarrhea. "Harry, what did the book say about your thoughts as you approached Voldemort in the forest?"

"I knew I was… about to die. It seemed so… final."

"And what did I say to you after you discovered that you had not died after all?"

"That I had intended to die, and that's what did it."

"Yes! If you were to face Voldemort today and stand defenseless as he cursed you, would you expect to die?"

I was beginning to understand. "No — the intention would be missing. So, if I know he can't kill me, then I cannot make a true sacrifice, and the protective charm won't be duplicated." Frustrated, I leaned my head back and dragged a hand through my hair. "And I have no idea what to do now."

"What do you suppose would have happened had there been no protective charm in the story?"

"Voldemort would have been in full control with his spell power intact, and we may never have been able to force the final showdown. Many more would have died."

"Are you expecting a similar situation now?"

"No, I don't want to endanger anyone… Oh, you're saying that the charm is not necessary?"

His eyes were twinkling again. "There are many ways to ensure safety for others, Harry."

I smiled back. "Such as eliminating the threat entirely."

o o o

4.02

1120 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

It was some time later — by my reckoning anyway — when I felt as if I had a real body again, a body that felt the pain of having been body-slammed to a stone floor. I groaned as I stretched my arms out, trying to decide if anything was broken.

Ginny was at my side. "Harry?"

Then Hermione was there. "Oh, Harry! Are you alright? Bill, was that supposed to happen?"

Bill was trying to see through the girls. "No, I didn't think so; I'm not sure what that was."

Ginny reached for my hand. "Is it gone?"

"Yup," I grinned. "Dumbledore confirmed it."

"Oh, thank God!" she cried in relief, and fell upon me like she was trying to hug the stuffing out of me.

"Dumbledore?" Hermione said, confused. "What are you — Oh!" she suddenly gasped, brushing my forehead with her fingertips.

I could hear similar exclamations from the others still standing.

"Blimey, Harry," said Bill, " you never do anything by halves, do you?"

"What are you all on about?" I said.

McGonagall conjured a mirror and held it before me, and there on my forehead, my famous scar from Tom's attack so long ago was no longer a lightning bolt. How did this happen?

"Look — on the dias, Harry!" Hermione urged.

I stared at the founders' relics that sat where I had placed them, except Gryffindor's sword had fallen so that the pommel rested just below Ravenclaw's diadem, and the cross guard of the hilt was perfectly aligned with Hufflepuff's cup on one side, Slytherin's locket on the other, and the blade was down, pointing toward us. In essence, it formed a beautiful crowned cross with all three freshly purified founders' relics on the points — a Founders Cross — and that same image was now outlined on my forehead.

"How…? I don't —"

"Shh, Harry," soothed Ginny as she pulled my head back into her lap, running her fingers through my hair and caressing my forehead, and a dull pain that had been there for as long as I could remember finally started to ease away. "The way I see it, you did this rite of purification in a Holy Place, and the evil that Tom marked you with all those years ago was forced out of you, and he no longer has any claim on you, because you've been claimed by another, higher power."

"The cross?"

"I think it's a symbol of that claiming, yes."

"But my relatives hardly ever took me to church, and I don't think I'm good enough for —"

"Harry, God loves us, not because of who we are, but because that's who God is."

I gazed into her eyes, glistening with love and compassion, and I felt like heavy chains were slipping off me into nothingness, and another feeling overcame me — strange, light and breathy — and I could only call it freedom.

I wept.

o o o

4.03

1200 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

Lunch in the Great Hall was a very unusual atmosphere — light banter and joking had replaced the somber faces and dark moods during the last meal I had eaten here. And there was something else, an awareness of the proximity of success and victory — a joy welling up from hope, things that had been missing for several years now.

"We used to go to church in the village," Bill was telling the others, "until one day the vicar was preaching about the apostles arguing over which among them was greatest, and suddenly there was this kerfuffle in the congregation — people murmuring, even crying out. I looked up at the stained glass windows, and the figures of those same apostles were brawling, just as in the vicar's story. Mum was having kittens that the twins had broken the Statute of Secrecy, but we later discovered it was Ron's accidental magic — he was only about 5 at the time and just wanted to watch it acted out. Dad couldn't decide whether to be furious or proud, but the obliviators from the ministry 'suggested' we worship at home in future."

Ron chuckled sheepishly while everyone else was in stitches. Hermione was trying to control herself by laughing into Ron's shoulder.

Ginny must have noticed my mind wandering. "You OK?" she asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, this is all great, but I'm still worried, to the point where Tom attacked me in my dreams last night. In my other life, one thing we couldn't figure out was what kept Harry — me — from dying in the Forbidden Forest that night. Was it because I had one of Tom's soul pieces to die in my stead, or was it my blood in Tom's veins that acted as a soul anchor for me? I no longer have the soul piece, so I may not have that protection, and I can't risk another killing curse; I may not survive this time."

"Harry, there is an easy solution to that."

"Yeah?" I asked, hopeful.

"Don't get hit, silly."

I laughed.

o o o

4.04

2200 THURSDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

"Dobby, I gotta say, this is totally awesome."

It was like watching a projected pensieve memory, floating in front of us as we sat in my bedroom, the one which used to be Dudley's second room, and still had some of his broken discarded toys in the corners.

"Dobby thanks the Great Harry Potter," he said excitedly, "Dobby was very careful, too, never to be seen."

"Excellent job, buddy. Now that we can see him in his own room, your surveillance shows that he will not be going out again, that's the pattern? No one ever bothers him after dinner?"

"This is true, master Harry Potter."

I checked the time on the desk clock. "Then it's time to commence Operation Ferret."

I slipped my invisibility cloak over the both of us, and with a crack we disappeared.

o o o

4.05

2205 THURSDAY WILTSHIRE

We reappeared in a huge bedroom — really a suite — that featured a large four-poster bed at one end and a lounge area at the other, situated in front of a bay window. That was all I had time to process because the blond guy sitting there had jumped to his feet, waving his wand wildly in my general direction.

"Expelliarmus!" I yelled from under the cloak, and I snatched the wand flying towards me as I whipped the cloak off. Dobby had already disillusioned himself.

"Potter?! What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here?"

"Hello, Draco," I returned, inspecting my prize. "Nice wand. Hawthorn, isn't it? What's the core now?"

"Why should you care?" he cried. "Are you mad? And you didn't answer me — have you come here to finish the job you started a few weeks ago?"

Unbidden images of the Malfoy heir nearly bleeding out in a Hogwarts bathroom almost caused me to lose my composure, but I soldiered on.

"Draco, Draco," I mocked, "as much as I dislike you, I have come to realize that you might actually be useful for something. Rumor has it that your family is less than pleased at the treatment you have received from your most notorious guest."

A horrified expression was quickly replaced with stiff indignance. "Have you no sense of subtlety or decorum at all?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift."

He snorted. "You know nothing."

"So I suppose our lost Muggle Studies professor wasn't hanging around here before she was swallowed up into the darkness?"

Draco paled, obviously haunted by witnessing Charity Burbage's death in their own dining room and having to watch Tom's snake enjoy a human-size snack.

I leaned in closer, sneering, "And I also suppose your father just misplaced his wand, then? How on Earth will he be a useful servant without the proper tools? Hmm... Well, I suppose robe hem-kissing doesn't require any magic after all…"

"Why are you here?" Draco seethed. "What do you want?"

"I'm just here to chat, Draco. Sit down," I said, indicating the plush settee that he seemed to prefer. "I'm going to tell you a story."

"A story? You are mad…" he grumbled, reluctantly returning to his seat.

I sat in a high-backed chair facing him. "Once upon a time there was a girl named Merope, barely of age and barely a witch, youngest of the Gaunt family — I'm sure you've heard of them — proud of their heritage but hardly model citizens — too many marriages between cousins apparently, barely scraping out a living in a dirty hovel — father, son and daughter. With me so far?"

He nodded with a scowl.

"Young Merope developed an infatuation with a local Muggle boy who was handsome and wealthy, and through use of illegal magic, probably a love potion, forced him to marry and impregnate her. She then stopped the potion or whatever it was, and the Muggle boy left her, disgusted with what she had forced him to do. Merope then fell into a despair so deep that by the time she gave birth in a Muggle orphanage, she was knutless and barely alive. In fact, her dying words were to name her son Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom Riddle after the father that ran away, and Marvolo after her own father.

"Tom grew up in that same orphanage, but he didn't like his situation. He dealt with it by exerting his will over others; he enjoyed bullying — even torturing — the younger and weaker children. Since he was magical, at eleven he came to Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin. Tom quickly learned that different techniques would be needed to succeed in a school full of wizards. Extremely gifted in both magic and intelligence, he became a model student, excelling in his studies and exceeding the teachers' expectations, earning prefect and eventual Head Boy. These privileges gave him the freedom to follow his own secret agenda, which included terrorizing the school, murder of a fellow student and framing another for it, and teaching himself the darkest of magics. He sought out his family and was rebuffed by the Riddles once he found them, so he murdered them all — his father and grandparents — and framed his wizard uncle for the deed, sending him to Azkaban for his the rest of his life. His Muggle heritage was buried and gone. To convince others that he had a noble background, he invented a new name that was merely an anagram of the one he was born with.

"So you see, Draco, Tom was a true Slytherin, full of ambition, and his ends justified any means. His greatest desire was power — powerful magic, power to draw people to him and bend them to his will, and the power to torture them when he was displeased with them."

Draco's eyes widened in comprehension.

"Yes, Draco, this pretender is the same Dark Lord that you and your father have sworn allegiance to, that has tried and failed to best me on seven different occasions, and that I intend to destroy.

"I have come here to give you an opportunity, Draco, not because I like you, but because I know what you have had to deal with. Remember that second broom with Dumbledore's on the tower that night? That was mine. I was there, Draco, and the only reason I wasn't cursing you was because Dumbledore's last spell was to petrify me there. But I saw, and I learned."

He scowled, saying, "Why would I be interested in anything you had to offer?"

"Because," I said, "I have a way out for you and your mother. She was a Black, and I feel some kind of responsibility for her since I will be rising to the position of Lord Black soon."

I tossed a packet on the coffee table while he stared at me in astonishment.

"Passports," I announced, "and vouchers for Muggle airline flights, to anywhere you and your mother want to go. I recommend Canada, the States, or Australia since the language and culture are similar. You can give yourselves any name you want on the passports — disappear from Britain — if I don't defeat Tom next time we meet. If I win, then you have no need of this stuff; toss it in a fire."

"And you are giving us these documents out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?"

"No, Draco," I grinned slyly. "I may not be a Slytherin, but only because I asked the Sorting Hat. No, I need information."

o

4.a

A /N: Before any sticklers-for-detail call me on it, I am aware that Terminal 5 did not open until 2008, but I hope you will indulge me on this slight inconsistency, because I was mightily impressed when I first saw it and I am sure that Jimmy would have been as well, so I wanted to include it in the story.