AN: The last piece of this story arc. Enjoy!

Chapter 17: The Boys of the Prophecy

27 May 2019, Kriváň, former Slovakia

Evenings in the mountains were a tranquil affair. The sun was long gone behind the peaks and the forest around him seemed to have settled down for the night. There was still plenty of light left though, and the birds were singing loudly, almost obnoxiously so.

The pyre in front of him was dying out. It wouldn't be long before it's all over.

It was down to one surviving flame now. Neville watched the blue fire spit for the last few times, each flicker weaker than the previous; and then it was no more. The embers were turning to ashes right in front of his eyes, the magic of the fire speeding up the process. It was Harry who had conjured it. Neville hadn't even known a spell existed for such an occasion. He was glad Harry knew better. The magical flames didn't let them see any of the gruesome details, making the whole thing more dignified. Yes, Neville was glad.

Cremation wasn't the wizarding tradition but Bill had left clear instructions. Neville always respected his friends' wishes no matter how strange they were. He wouldn't expect anything less from them in return.

The ashes rose from the stone bed where Bill's body had lain a moment ago. Neville surged ahead in a panic—he couldn't let the wind get hold of his friend. His wand and eyes lifted up, only to notice Harry waving his own wand; he was conducting the ashes, ordering them to drift slowly into an open urn in his arms. Oh, alright.

He guessed that was it, then.

His eyes skimmed over the rest of the funeral party, his neck stiff from staring still for such a long time. George and Teddy stood next to Harry, the ghost of Fred floating behind their backs. Gregory and Annie stood by Neville's side, their arms barely brushing his. Their muggleborn guard remained respectfully aside, all seven of them watching from afar. And that was it. Both healers had gone back to their normal lives. No one else got invited. There weren't many others who knew that Bill was inside the Empire and they'd decided to keep it that way.

Neville could feel Annie glancing at him through the corner of his eye. She and Gregory had arrived at the safe house in the early afternoon, weary after their long trek through the mountains. He knew they would want to talk soon, with the funeral being over now.

The moment the ashes had all disappeared in the urn, Annie spoke up. "What are we going to do now?"

She wasn't wasting any time. Neville looked at her expectant face, and then at Gregory who was eyeing him back with a slight frown.

When he didn't reply right away, she added softly, "There's no point in carrying on to Britain without a curse breaker."

Neville glanced over the stone pedestal where Harry, George and Ted still stood in silence.

"Neville?" she urged in a whisper.

He finally turned to her fully. "We'll stay the night and make a decision in the morning."

She frowned at his answer but nodded in acceptance.

He left them with that and walked around the pedestal to join Harry and the rest.

Harry placed the closed urn on the singed stone. "He told me he'd like to rest at the Shell Cottage," he muttered towards Neville. "He wanted his ashes to be spread there, that's it. Didn't want to turn the garden into a graveyard. This was the compromise he came up with."

Neville felt a cold shiver ran up his spine. "He told you that? Did you… did you speak with him just now?"

Harry shot him an exasperated look. "No. He told me so twenty years ago. Have his wishes changed?"

Neville quickly shook his head. "No. He gave me the same instructions."

"In that case, I'll take him there tomorrow."

Neville hesitated. That was supposed to be his task. He considered arguing the point but then thought better of it. It was safer for Harry to go. Neville knew he could trust him to do it. And Bill probably wouldn't mind.

Decision made, he nodded in gratitude.

"Someone should write to Fleur," Harry said next. "I can make sure the letter gets delivered, but it probably shouldn't be me-"

"That's right," Neville mumbled, wincing. He looked down at his hands. "I'll do it."

"And are you…" Neville started a moment later, only to swallow the bulb in his throat and try again. "Are you going to? You know—speak to him?"

Harry raised his hand to stop him, glancing at the muggleborns standing nearby, probably listening in through their solemn silence. "That's hardly a discussion for the here and now."

Before Neville could answer, George moved. He whipped up a privacy ward around the four of them, encompassing the ghost inside it, too. "Well, then." He stared at Harry expectantly. "Are you?"

Harry heaved a sigh and relented. "I wouldn't recommend it; not this soon. I've made that mistake in the past. It's... healthy to wait; let the new situation sink in."

"What if I need to speak to him?" Neville asked with sudden urgency. "To ask for directions?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not how it works, Nev," he said gently. "The shade's not able to make any decisions for you."

"He can still give advice though, can't he?"

"It can't give you anything else than what's already in here," Harry said, poking Neville's chest. "And right now, your emotions are running high. You'd get a very skewed version of your friend like that."

"Your friend, too."

That came from Teddy. Neville glanced at the lad sharply. He was staring at the urn with empty eyes but he was obviously talking to Harry. His tone was full of accusation.

Harry hmmed. "I suspect Bill might have something to say against that assessment."

"But why?" Teddy pressed.

Harry didn't offer any reaction to that.

Neville realised he was probably the only one besides Harry who knew the answer to that question. He considered the wisdom of mentioning anything about Fleur and Victoire to Harry right now and reached the conclusion that there was most likely none.

They stood in silence for another tense moment. To hell with it. What other time than now?

"He was on his way to forgive you, you know," Neville whispered. "Actually, I think he already has. Forgiven you, that's it. The way he flustered around this whole situation... that was just him coming to terms with having you for a friend again."

Harry snickered. "Then, it's a real pity I got him killed before he got there, isn't it?"

"You know, Nev?" Teddy asked over Harry's mumblings. "You know what happened between these two? I've been trying to force it out of Harry for years."

"That's it, lad," George spoke up. He slunk one arm over Teddy's shoulders. "Let's get drunk together somewhere else and leave these two to talk."

Teddy looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "Bill was your brother! Aren't you at all interested?"

"I spent less than two days with Bill in so many decades. I'm not going to act like I was more important to him than either of these two," he said firmly. "They obviously have issues. And it seems like we can't move forward with anything unless they talk them through. So go on, talk," he commanded, glaring at Harry when he said that.

Harry only chuckled dryly in response, not affected by the glare at all.

George humphed in exasperation but didn't push Harry further. He walked away, dragging Teddy with him. The ghost followed, leaving Neville alone with Harry.

Neither of them said anything at first. Then the silence dragged into an awkward one.

As far as Neville was concerned, he had said his piece, shared his observations. It wasn't his place to pry or preach to Harry about his personal life. There was very little he knew about it anyway.

He glanced at him through the corner of his eye; Harry stood staring at the stone pedestal he had conjured for the occasion, his face devoid of any emotion.

Neville took a deep breath. There were other topics that he'd postponed addressing throughout the day, given everything else that had happened.

"So," he started softly. "Master of Death. Sounds awfully ominous."

Harry let out a long breath but otherwise stayed silent.

When he continued to ignore the prompt for another long minute, Neville decided to let him brood in silence for now and have this conversation later. He made to leave.

That was when Harry finally decided to speak up. Neville heard him mutter something unintelligible before he raised his voice and called after him. "Would you like to come over for a cuppa?"

Neville turned back, one eyebrow arched.

Harry glanced at the singed pedestal grimly. "Or maybe something stronger?" He offered his hand. "It'll be a bit of a bumpy ride, though."

Neville eyed the hand for another moment before he lifted his eyes to stare at Harry's frowning face. And then he grasped his arm, blindly trusting Harry to apparate him once again.

Harry wasn't exaggerating. The side-along took a long time and felt even more suffocating than your usual apparition. Neville could sense them halting a few times, as if the rubber tube they were being forced through was blocked at several places. Neville recognised the pauses; they were going through powerful wards, Harry navigating them through one set at a time.

When Neville finally opened his eyes, he immediately decided the journey was worth it. Harry seemed to have apparated them up in the sky.

That was his first impression. A moment later, he noticed that he was standing on a tile floor. Other than that, the world around him consisted of twilight clouds, and not that far below them, peaks of mountains. The setting sun was still very much visible in this new place, bathing the view in warm tones.

He blinked the haze away and looked around properly. They appeared to be standing on the top floor of a house, built on top of a mountain. There were no walls to hinder the magnificent views, not even a roof: just four columns in the corners of the floor. There were wards in place, though: they stood out in the open and yet, they weren't exposed to the elements. Neville couldn't feel the wind that must have been biting this high up, nor the coldness of the thin air. Strangely enough, he could feel the warmth where the tired sun touched his skin.

He shuffled to the edge of the floor and leaned over, only to straighten up instantly and stumble back. The ground below was awfully far. The house must have been built over the rim of the mountain; nothing but air stretched for what seemed like a whole kilometre between Neville's feet and the water's surface below the mountain range.

Neville heard Harry chuckle behind him. "The wards won't let you fall. Well, not unless you want to."

Neville spotted a broomstick braced against the closest column, and hmmed unappreciatively. He stepped closer to the column. Gripping the stone tightly with one hand, he looked over the edge again.

"What lake is it?" he asked, looking at the vast stretches of water that disappeared behind the curve of the mountains tens of kilometres away.

"It's the sea, actually. A fjord. We're in Norway."

Neville turned around to look at his host. He took the rest of the room in, too. Or was it a terrace? No, it was a bedroom—there was a king-sized bed in the middle. Harry was standing next to it, swishing his wand around. Neville's eyes followed the effects of his charms—the cover on the bed wriggled, tucking itself in, leaving a pristinely made bed where a mess of sheets had been a minute ago. The books and newspaper issues scattered around the bed now stock up on each other orderly, landing on the bedside table in one precariously high tower. Parchments and parchments with notes scribbled on them folded themselves into a notepad, landing on top of the tower of books. Piles of clothes swished down the staircase on the left. The few dirty dishes disappeared the same way, to whatever space lay below them.

Neville took that all in and made an easy assumption. This was Harry's home.

It wasn't an office, nor another safe house. It wasn't a place with facilities to entertain guests or allies, either. This was Harry's personal space. Apparently, not even his house-elf had permission to enter.

The invitation was as surprising as the place itself, and the significance of the gesture didn't pass by Neville unnoticed.

"Right," Harry spoke up when the frantic movement of the clatter around him ceased. "I'm going to have a look at what's in the kitchen. Make yourself at home."

He gestured at a solitary wing chair by the edge of the floor and quickly descended the stairs, moving out of Neville's view. Neville decided not to point out that Harry could have summoned anything from where he stood.

He didn't sit down right away. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he went snooping. His eye immediately caught a detail he had missed before—the side of the column facing inwards was covered with pictures. There were dozens of photographs pinned to the stone along its entire height, with some newspaper cut-offs scattered in between them. He glanced at the other three columns and sure enough, they too were covered by photo clippings from top to bottom.

The newspaper cut-offs were portraits mostly; Neville recognised some faces right away, like Kingsley Shacklebolt or Madam Bones; some were only vaguely familiar, or not at all. There was one that stuck out, a slightly bigger frame with Harry, young Hermione and Ron Weasley. Harry was leaning against Ron's shoulder, whilst Hermione lay curled on Ron's other side with her head resting on his lap. Harry's and Hermione's eyes were closed, but Ron was glaring something fierce at whoever had taken the photograph, his arms protectively wrapped over his friends' shoulders.

Neville remembered the day the picture had been taken; he'd recognize the wallpaper behind their backs anywhere. They had just lost Hogwarts and evacuated the few survivors; only to be detained at the international port and left staring at its hideous walls for hours whilst the French Ministry had debated whether they would grant them asylum.

That hadn't been a good day. Neville quickly looked away.

His attention was quickly stolen by the colourful photographs. They had been taken at Hogwarts, at happier times, and showed Neville's old classmates. Most pictures depicted the Gryffindor common room and its inhabitants, but there was the occasional shot from the Great Hall or the Quidditch stadium. He leaned closer to look at the half-forgotten faces: Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Ernie McMillan, Oliver Wood.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard clinking noises. Harry was coming back with a bottle and two glasses in hand.

"This is Colin Creevey's old collection," Neville noted with certainty, astonishment creeping into his voice.

Harry nodded. "I had Denis gave it to me before the Bombing; that's why it survived."

Neville shook his head in fond remembrance. "Oh, how he used to bug me with that camera."

"Oh, trust me; it wasn't only you. Now, of course, I could kiss that boy for leaving all of this behind."

Neville raised his eyebrows in a question, but didn't voice it. There was no need to push Harry for answers. Harry had invited him here, which meant he was willing to talk. Neville was going to let him do it at his own pace.

Neville took the seat, while Harry conjured an identical red and gold armchair next to his. He placed the bottle on a small table between them. Neville eyed the golden liquid with a suddenly dry throat.

Harry poured them a finger each. "To Bill?"

Neville raised his own glass and repeated the toast. He closed his eyes and added in a whisper, "May he rest in peace."

The sun was setting down behind their backs, reflecting from the patches of snow that covered the landscape in front of them. They sipped their drinks in silence, looking at the unforgiving slopes below.

"He is in peace."

Neville looked up at the certainty in Harry's voice.

"There aren't many things in life I'm sure of, but this is one of them," Harry added a moment later. "Wherever he went, nothing can touch him there now."

Neville frowned, confused. "But your ability-"

Harry nodded sharply. "My ability is the reason why I'm sure of it. Even I can't touch the spirits that have moved on, and I'm pretty sure the Hallows got further to achieving that feat than any other magics. It's somewhat comforting—to know that we'll get a true break in the end."

Neville tried to let Harry's absolute certainty wash over him. It only provoked his doubts further. "He could be in peace from this world but he might still be suffering. Or he might turn to nothing. You've just said it; you have no idea what happens after death."

Harry shrugged. "I chose to believe that nature's not cruel. The other option would lead to fear. And I refuse to be afraid of death."

They fell silent again, Harry's last resolute statement hanging in the air between them.

"So what are these 'shades', if not the spirits called from the dead?" Neville asked when Harry let the silence drag for too long, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Harry fished a rolled joint from somewhere in his pockets. Neville watched as the smoke got whipped away almost immediately after exhaling by a non-existent wind, leaving only clean air in front of Harry's face. He shortly marvelled at the personalisation of the wards around this place; Harry must have put a lot of thought and effort behind them.

"Do you know Beedle the Bard?" Harry finally spoke up, in between his sixth- no, seventh and eighth puff. "And his book of tales?"

Neville frowned at the non-sequitur but obliged him, anyway. "My grandmother used to read them to me as a child, yes." Only then he remembered Teddy mentioning a Tale last night. He wrecked his brain to recall a story that would contain three Hallows.

"He wrote a tale of three brothers, each of them receiving a gift from a character called Death."

Oh. That did sound familiar. "Can you remind me?"

"Three brothers wanted to cross a river, and they escaped its mortal dangers with magic. Death got peeved about it but as it was a cunning creature, it decided to give them three gifts. Gifts that were meant to backfire."

"The Hallows," Neville checked.

Harry nodded. "I believe the tale is an allegory. Beedle probably heard the old wizarding legend of the Deathly Hallows and made their creation into a story. There's very little written about the Peverell brothers beside Beedle's account of events, so his tale became the main source of information. A children's story. Makes their reputation even more fantastical, wouldn't you think?"

"Peverells?" Neville repeated, trying to remember if he had heard the name before. He didn't come up with anything.

"Powerful wizards and sorcerers, as far as I can tell," Harry supplied. "They must have kept to themselves, though; and probably destroyed all their research notes before the last of them died because I couldn't find anything. And trust me—I looked everywhere. Anyway, their three greatest creations survived them."

Neville frowned in concentration, remembering the Tale. "The wand, the stone and the cloak," he listed with some difficulties.

Harry's face remained impassive, staring at the fiery landscape below them. "I inherited the Cloak of Invisibility from my father. The Potters are descendants of the youngest brother and the Cloak has been a part of the family heirloom throughout all these centuries. Dumbledore… found the Stone and gave it to me in his will. He also had the Elder Wand, since his victory over Grindelwald in 1945. He lost its mastership to Draco Malfoy of all people, seconds before he died. I overpowered Draco in 1998 and the Wand recognised me as its rightful owner. It took me a long time to actually get my hands on it, but yeah, since then, I haven't been defeated in a fight. I had to surrender on several occasions, sure, but I've been careful to do so on my own volition: the Wand has not deemed it necessary to change masters. For more than twenty years now, I've had the mastership of all three Peverells' Hallows."

Harry's voice stayed devoid of any emotion throughout his whole account, but the last statement still rang through the room without walls with powerful significance.

Neville remembered what Teddy said last night. "And that makes you the Master of Death." He pronounced the title tentatively, doubtful of the pretentious sound it made. No matter his common sense though, the name still echoed through his mind like a wisp of a long-forgotten fear.

"So the legend says." Harry casually gestured with his joint, the fiery point leaving red marks in its wake. The lines stayed hovering in the air, forming a triangle cut in half. Harry paused then and put the cigarette back to his lips. He exhaled a perfect ring of smoke. This time, the smoke didn't get whisked away by the wards, but joined the symbol already floating in the air; completing an image Neville safely recognised.

A cold feeling settled at the bottom of his stomach, seeing the symbol here. "That's Luna's necklace."

Harry nodded. "It used to belong to her father. Xeno was a strong believer in the Hallows; he was the first to explain the legend to me all those years ago."

"Does Luna know?"

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Harry's careful mask slipped away. He looked genuinely unsure. "I really don't know. We've never spoken about it but she makes me wonder sometimes. You know how she leads a conversation with creatures and things that were never meant to converse? Well, sometimes, she says something that sounds like it was meant for me."

Rather than being enraged by Harry's clear confession that he had spied on his wife, Neville nodded slowly in acceptance, filing his confirmed suspicions for later on in the conversation.

"So, you've gathered all the Hallows," he gestured at the symbol floating ominously in front of them, prompting Harry to get on with his story.

"Yes. Back then, I believed in the legends, desperate for a way to get the Wand from Riddle; to have the promised powers of the Hallows at my disposal."

Neville was remembering those times, too. Something clicked. "You snuck into Hogwarts for the wand in 2002, right? That was the unauthorised mission that got you kicked out of the Resistance."

"I didn't even care back then. I had the three Hallows with me, I thought it was all over."

"You thought the Hallows would help you overpower Riddle?" Neville guessed when Harry had fallen silent again.

"...Yes. I hoped they would be strong enough to break his magic."

Harry was taking his time telling the story, his long pauses making Neville fidget irritably in his seat. "But they weren't?" he prompted again.

"They are strong aplenty but they're just not the right tool for this particular problem of mine."

He paused again. Neville might have huffed out loud.

Harry glanced at him. The corner of his lips twitched slightly. "I'm not very good at this, am I? Well, for my defence, I'm very much out of practice."

"Out of practice of sharing?" Neville supplied dryly. "Yes, I'd say so."

"Well, it's been my default for quite a while, to guard everything closely. If you remember, I was still quite adamantly against telling you any of this only yesterday."

It was painfully clear to see what had changed since yesterday. "Bill?" Neville asked softly.

Harry nodded sagely. "Bill."

He refilled their glasses.

"I try to learn from my mistakes. It's rather clear Bill wouldn't have tried to protect me if he had known it was perfectly safe for me to walk out of that office alone. But because I treated your lot the same way I treat everyone else I work with, Bill's dead. I didn't account for how much he'd still cared."

He shot his drink down and Neville followed suit. The conversation turned difficult with all this fresh pain.

"You and I've never been that close, have we? And still, I suspect you'd have done the same thing Bill did. Just because it would have been the right thing to do. I wonder why's that, actually," Harry's voice turned distant, his mind obviously having wandered off. "We've got plenty of things in common, we could have been great friends quite easily."

Neville's eyebrows rose at the strange statement. "Do we?"

"Oh yes, there's the-" Harry stopped himself. "I mean," he started anew, "look at our lives: we were born almost on the same day, grew up without parents, spent most of our time in Hogwarts together, and then five more years in the same barracks. Afterwards, you got dragged into doing the right thing at work and everyone hated you for it. And I- I got dumped with a task that forces me to do things people hate, too."

"What I'm saying is that I've always considered you my friend but I don't think we've had a one-on-one conversation like this since our fifth year, when you told me about your parents."

Neville shrugged. "You've been surrounded by your friends, and I had mine. That's all."

"Hmm," Harry replied. "Never mind. As I was saying, I still suspect you would have done the same thing Bill did if you had been in his shoes; simply because it would have been the right thing to do. That's another thing we have in common. I also try to do the right thing. What was it that the old man used to say?" Harry raised his voice and turned to look over his shoulder. "To do what's right, not what's easy?"

Neville started to wonder if Harry was getting drunk, or finally stoned. His concentration was slipping and Neville was getting worried he wouldn't learn anything lucid from Harry tonight. He probably needed to stick to yes or no questions from now on.

Harry was talking again, having gone back to staring at the clouds in front of them. "I remember now what a man you'd grown into. I realise that more effective than hundreds of promises of loyalty would be to convince you that following my orders is simply the right thing to do."

"The problem is, you remember me from before, from when we were kids. And I do, too. I've let my guard slip around your lot and you found what you saw lacking. No matter how hard I'll try to assert some respect back, you won't respond to shows of authority."

Neville's mind flashed back to last night, to the persona Harry had changed into when he talked with the French healer. Was Neville being recruited now?

"It seems that the only way for me to gain your respect back, is to let my guard even further down and show you the rest. That's what I'm trying to do here. But you have to understand that this is highly unusual for me. It seems my natural defense mechanism is to evade and stay off-topic. I'm still willing to give you special treatment. But-" Harry's voice turned stronger and Neville found him staring straight into his eyes, Harry's hard as steel, "in return, you'll sit tight, listen patiently and do your best to weave the important stuff from the bullshit I'll apparently be spitting at you. Are we clear?"

Neville blinked, the scolding coming out of nowhere. Harry's eyes were still locked onto his face, glaring at him until Neville nodded.

He refrained from his previous observations. Harry was lucid, alright. Actually, Neville didn't remember seeing him more focused than this. He also seemed genuinely annoyed. Probably as much with himself as with Neville, according to his little rant just then.

Neville leaned back in his chair and inwardly vowed to reign in his tendency to control the conversation.

Harry drew in a deep breath. And then slowly let it out. "Maybe it'd be better if I just showed you," he said, his voice calmer even if still irritated.

He reached his arm over the table between them. Neville looked at it dubiously. "Are we apparating somewhere?"

"No."

Neville clasped Harry's hand without further questions.

Only to let go of it almost immediately. There was something solid and cold in between their palms once again and it instantly brought him back to Popovic's office in the Slums. He turned Harry's palm downwards but he couldn't see anything on his fingers.

"Was that the Stone? Where is it?"

Harry frowned at him in obvious annoyance. "I'm not going to let you see it. A clear image can be more powerful than hundreds of words, and much harder to Occlud for it. I'm not risking the knowledge of the Hallows more than I need to."

Neville scowled back with disappointment but he understood the precaution and stoved away his curiosity. He still eyed Harry's hand with doubts though, and didn't make for it.

Harry must have recognised his hesitation. "It won't feel anything like during the wand registration. I just want you to see what I see."

Neville took the hand gingerly.

"Look around, Nev."

He did.

Seamus Finnigan was leaning casually against the nearest column, looking perfectly unharmed although he had been dead for the last twenty years. The barely grown-up Colin Creevey was hovering in the air in front of them, lying on his back on the shaft of a broomstick. Dean Thomas was sitting on the floor, his legs hanging over the edge. Behind Neville's back, Ron Weasley was lounging on the bed, his limbs sprawled in all directions.

Neville heard himself gasp. His hand twitched to cover his mouth, but Harry didn't let go off him, grasping his palm firmly.

"You won't be able to see them if you let go."

Neville could only stare at the boys in answer, his heart pounding in his chest.

"This bunch is my usual guard. They always have my back," Harry kept talking. "Well, Ron does. I suppose Colin has my front and Seamus and Dean got the sides. They're the reason I'm aware of everything that's happening in some hundred metres radius. They're pure magic, their senses too, you see—so I can make them much more perceptive than what we could ever be."

Vaguely, Neville was aware of Harry staring at him, pausing for a reaction. He might have even offered a soft whimper but his mind was mostly blank, his eyes frantically jumping from one dead friend to another.

Harry was speaking again. "When the going gets tough, I even let them control my body. You saw it in the Library when I was casting from two wands at once. It took me ages to learn and it still creeps me out most of the time. Feels too much like a split personality if you ask me."

"Can they speak?" Neville asked breathlessly, his voice rough.

Harry chuckled. "Oh, they speak. Sometimes even too much."

"We can also hear you, Harry," Ron's voice drifted from behind their backs.

"Were just giving you a minute, mate," Seamus said from his right.

"Didn't want to overwhelm you," Dean added from the left.

Neville's head was whipping from one side to the other, following their voices, the movement making him dizzy. A noise escaped his mouth, something that sounded embarrassingly close to a sob.

It woke him up from his daze.

"If you're not calling them back, what are they?" he asked softly.

"They're part of you, Nev," Harry said gently. "They've always been. The Stone just makes them exist outside of your mind for a moment."

Colin smiled and waved at him from his broom. Everyone else stayed blessedly silent.

"How?" Neville breathed out. "How's it possible?"

"Everyone you've loved, hated or felt strongly about leaves an impression on you. That impression moulds you, your personality, sometimes even your soul; and such becomes a part of you. And once that happens, the imprint is independent of the fate of the person. It's yours."

Harry squeezed his palm tightly. "People say that our loved ones watch over us. Well, they stay with us for sure."

At the edge of Neville's vision, Dean was nodding enthusiastically.

"So-" Neville cleared his throat, "-it's not really them?"

"They're the memory you hold dear, Nev. For you, they're as close to the real thing as it could ever get."

"How can you be sure, though? How can you know the Stone is not pulling anything from them back here? Isn't it called the Resurrection Stone, after all?"

"There are many misconceptions surrounding the legends. I've had the Stone in my possession for more than twenty years. I've done my share of experiments." Harry paused for a moment. "Take the difference between the shades and a ghost. A ghost is a part of a soul that was left behind. It exists independently of anyone's memories; it can create its own ideas and store new memories."

"And the... shades can't? Can they think for themselves?"

"...To some degree, yes. They can make an observation, sometimes even reach a conclusion. That's why they're good guards, or spies: I don't have to judge everything they perceive, just their… well, reports, for the lack of a better word." He paused to take a breath. "But the important thing to remember is that the impulse, the decision to act, the opinions behind the observation—they always come from you."

Harry winced. "I once called up Snape for a guard. In hindsight, I realise I was fully expecting him to make my life difficult. And sure enough, he failed to mention the black powder someone stacked into the cigarette. But that wasn't Snape's spirit bugging me from his grave, those were my own low expectations of him." He paused. "I've been using only the shades I fully trust for guards since then. And I roll all joints by myself."

"Bill heard you talking to Ron when we were on the road," Neville recalled. "We've all heard you mumbling. Is that… have you been talking to them the whole time? Have they been around us the whole time?"

"As I said, I always keep a guard around, although it's not always this bunch. I have a roster, of a sort, because… because that's the healthy thing to do." Harry paused and when he spoke up again, Neville would have sworn there was a tint of embarrassment in his voice. "I don't usually slip like that. But… being around you, around Bill, brought a lot of memories back. Made me agitated, and made the shades around me rather vocal with useful suggestions."

"We were only concerned, Harry," Colin quipped in.

Neville looked at the teen hovering in the air. He could still see the silhouette of the mountains faintly through his body; he wasn't entirely solid. But he was more substantial than a ghost, his skin and clothes having some resemblances of colours. He seemed somewhat younger than the Colin who had fought and fallen next to him in the Battle of Hogwarts. "If he's indeed a part of me, how can you make him spy on me?"

"Because I'm the Master of Death."

Neville frowned at Harry whilst his eyes stayed glued to the apparition, not quite willing to look away from his long-dead friend even for a second.

Luckily, Harry for once deigned to continue without being prompted. "The shades are created from strong emotions. Love, hate, pain—but especially love. These are some of the most powerful forces in the world. The Peverells managed to tap into that power with their Hallows. When I gathered all three of them, it further enhanced their abilities. There's also the fact that I've always had a knack for this type of magic. There's this room in the Department of Mysteries back in Britain-"

Harry paused. "But that's a story for another time. Back to your question: the Stone works differently for me than for your average wizard. It creates the shade as a magical entity that's mine to command. A concept of the deceased person, if you'd like, which consists of all the impressions that person left on this world: on people, on paper, on whichever medium you can think of."

Neville frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Take Dumbledore, for example. He's been loved and hated by many people. His shade allows me to perceive what's happening around each and every one of them. If you want to get to the bottom of it, it's a combination of mind and soul magic, because the Stone invades both. And at the same time, Dumbledore's shade can recite his thesis on the twelve uses of dragon blood to me, although I assure you I have absolutely no personal recollection of it, as I've never read it."

Neville finally tore his eyes from the teenager and looked at Harry, incredulous. "You've been taking lessons from dead people, haven't you?"

"I bet you wished you had your camera now," Seamus smirked at Colin.

Colin sighed dramatically. "Your face right now is sure priceless, Nev."

Harry ignored the exchange between the dead people in the room. "I've drained some of our professors from every little piece of knowledge they deigned to write down, yes. You'd be surprised how little it was. There's almost no focus on publishing in wizarding academia. Fortunately, all professors taught some really clever wizards in their times. Some of them are still alive and even remember their lessons. It was their recollections that my shades have been drawing knowledge from."

There was something off with Harry. He didn't even once glance at Neville throughout his explanation. Instead, he was staring ahead at Colin with almost the same fascination Neville guessed was adorning his own face.

"What is it?" he gently prodded.

Harry sighed tiredly and gestured at the shades surrounding them. "I don't normally see them looking this bright. That's all you, touching the Stone."

"How do you normally see them?"

Harry didn't answer right away, and when he did, Neville had to lean in closer to understand him. He heard rustling of the sheets behind their backs—Ron was leaning in, too. "Your impression of someone is never permanent. Newer memories overwrite the old ones, powerful emotions make you forget the little moments. For the past twenty years, I've been seeing my friends and family as shades almost every day. I barely remember them from when they were alive."

"Oh."

"They fade away for me, their shape becoming blurry, their speech repetitive, the bodies more transparent. Or flat."

Seamus jerked his head upwards, drawing Neville's attention to the column the teen was leaning against. Realisation hit him. "That's why you have the photos."

Harry nodded.

Neville almost wanted to ask Harry to let him see. He ignored his morbid curiosity. "I'm sorry," he offered softly instead.

Harry shrugged. "We all have a price to pay for our choices. The shades fade slower to me than they would to others. As I said, I have a roster in place, changing this bunch for someone else every couple of weeks. I'm doing fine."

Harry's sad eyes were telling a different story but Neville let it be.

"What of the other Hallows?" he asked next, moving on. "Did they become more powerful, too?"

His palm was getting sweaty in Harry's, but he didn't let go.

"The Cloak did. It's the definition of undetectable now. I barely have to hide with it anymore but I store things in it all the time."

Neville chuckled softly at the sacrilegious use of the priceless artifact. However, it would explain how Harry never seemed to carry anything on his person but always readily provided everything that was needed. He'd probably had the Cloak with him even throughout their road trip. It would explain his unwavering confidence if he'd kept his wand within reach the whole time. Selfish git.

"The Wand… well, it was already more powerful than any other so there wouldn't be much point in exaggerating it. It seems more loyal, though. I suspect I would have lost mastership over it on several occasions if it hadn't thought me more worthy for having the Stone and the Cloak, too. I'm mighty glad for that; the Wand proved invaluable when it turned out it can fool the Registry and all the other Army scans."

They sat in silence for a bit, lost in their own thoughts. Colin made a lazy somersault in the air.

The sun didn't seem to have moved much, although it was getting really late. Harry's house must have stood quite far up north, then. It made Neville think of his own home in Finland—it'd be still light there too, even if it was fast approaching midnight.

A sudden sharp bout of homesickness made him cringe. An idea entered his mind and he saw Colin smile at him encouragingly, as if prompting him to voice it.

He turned to Harry. "Can you tell me how's Luna doing?"

Harry smiled gently and beckoned him to look back at Colin.

"She's positively glowing," the teen burst. "The little bump is only now starting to show but she's been talking to it nonstop for weeks."

"Pregnancy really suits her," Dean confirmed from Neville's left.

Neville closed his eyes, sagged lower into the chair, and let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Is she… are they safe?"

"She moved to a safe house the moment you were captured on the border. And so did the Weasleys," Neville heard Colin say in a reassuring tone. "They didn't stay long, though—the first thing next morning, Luna proclaimed the place too dreary for a pregnant lady. She dragged everyone to Hermione's right away."

"The company will do 'Mione only good," Ron commented from behind their backs.

Neville sighed again and let the last lingering worries be washed away with the warm air leaving his body. Hermione's dead zone was one of the best guarded places on Earth. His family was safe there.

He finally opened his eyes and addressed his dead friends directly for the first time. "Thank you."

They all smiled at him warmly.

"You'll be a great dad, Nev," Ron said. "No need to worry."

Neville wondered if the impulse to say that came from him or Harry. After all, they both had their hands on the Stone. He soaked it in, either way. He looked around at his friends one more time, the company taking him back to another tower in another lifetime.

He blinked the gathering moisture in his eyes away and printed their smiles into his memory.

And yet, underneath the absolute wonderment at this impossible reunion, Neville also felt a pang of disappointment. He realised he'd been hoping to see Bill.

He flexed his fingers in Harry's hand. "I'm ready."

Harry nodded and let go of his palm. The shades quickly faded away into nothingness, leaving the place suddenly bare. Neville noticed Harry wince but he quickly schooled his expression back to careful neutrality. The morbid curiosity to see what Harry saw was back but Neville once again stoved it away.

"You tired?" Harry asked.

Neville shook his head resolutely. "No. They were rather distracting. And I have more questions to ask."

Harry chuckled dryly. "I figured."

"I wouldn't mind something to eat, though," Neville added, realising he'd only digested two glasses of Firewhisky throughout the whole day and nothing else.

"That's a good point," Harry muttered, his tone turning rather sheepish. He reached into his breast pocket and took out an honest-to-god plastic lunch box. He opened it only to reveal four more lunch boxes that expanded the moment he took them out and placed them on the table between them. They each had a label on their lid: breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner.

Neville watched the whole proceeding with a raised eyebrow. "Really?" he asked when at last all boxes were open, attacking his senses with many different smells.

Harry shrugged unabashedly. "I keep forgetting to eat. This is one way to keep track."

Neville noted that all boxes were full, although it was already late evening. "Winky?" he asked.

"Winky," Harry confirmed and gestured for him to dig in.

Neville immediately reached for the meat pie. As the tantalizing smell promised, it was still warm, as if just taken out of the oven. For a moment, they ate in silence.

"Go ahead, then," Harry said then.

Given the fact Neville's mouth was full of meat by then, he assumed Harry wasn't talking about food anymore. He quickly swallowed his bite, pondering which question to ask first.

"Do you know who ordered the Betrayal Bombing?"

Neville watched as Harry stopped crunching on his toast momentarily. He got back to it a second later, only with much less vigour.

"No."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't. I looked everywhere, I tried everything and I still don't know for sure."

"You killed the muggle leaders, didn't you?" Neville asked with sudden certainty.

"I wish I had; I might have gotten some clear answers from their shades then. But no. I was lost deep in the Himalayas when the camps got bombed and it took several days for the news to reach me. By then, they had already been lynched and the tracks had run almost completely cold."

"What does it mean?"

Harry swallowed the rest of his toast, sliding the box away from him. "There's still a chance I overlooked something and the muggles were influenced somehow. But all modesty aside—I'm usually quite good at digging up information. The fact I haven't found anything even after seventeen years of looking into Death Eaters' minds and following Tom even when he goes to take a piss, rather suggests there's nothing to find."

The sharp pang of disappointment that pierced through him surprised Neville to the bone. For seventeen years he lived with the certainty of the muggles' guilt but apparently, several days of doubts were enough to spark an inordinate amount of hope in their innocence.

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. What was it that Harry had said in the caravan? Muggles have suffered enough no matter what one of them decided years ago.

He opened his eyes and looked at Harry levelly. "Boxers or briefs?"

Harry frowned at him in confusion before he registered the meaning of his question. He smiled next, something akin to pride flashing through his eyes, in what felt like the first completely unguarded show of emotion he addressed to Neville since they met at Hermione's months ago.

It was gone an instant later. Harry proceeded to dramatically scrounge up his features into those of long-suffering. "Neither, Nev. Neither."

"Why this farce, Harry?" Neville asked calmly several minutes later when Harry had cleaned the empty dishes away and reached for the bottle of Firewhisky again. "Why do you pretend you didn't know about our mission?"

Harry didn't pause and continued to pour, showing no overt reaction to Neville's accusation. "What finally gave me away?" he asked a moment later.

Neville let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, relieved that Harry wasn't going to be difficult and deny what Neville now knew to be the truth.

He shrugged in reply. Harry's casual tone kept him calm, too. "It's been slowly sinking in, the fact that you couldn't have possibly been ignorant of our plans; not with your ability to spy on us. But it all finally clicked last night when George tipped me off."

He watched Harry's eyes going distant and he assumed he was looking back at Neville's past interactions with George. In the spirit of the honesty Harry was offering, Neville decided to spare him the effort. "He mentioned the capsules with Polyjuice potions. He made it sound like it was his invention but I've heard of them before, on the other side of the Curtain—the Resistance gave us the same capsules with an antidote to the Draught of the Living Dead, so we could cross the Curtain unnoticed and wake up on our own thirteen hours later. I thought the chances were rather low that two wizards would make the same discovery on both sides of the Curtain at the same time. More likely, someone gave the Resistance George's recipe."

"Oh. Well spotted. I'd appreciate if you didn't mention to George that I've been giving away company secrets, though. It's safer when he doesn't know about my dealings across the Curtain."

Neville wasn't in the mood to give promises. He chose not to react to Harry's request. "I still had some doubts, not knowing whether you can spy on people through the Curtain. But you've just cleared them all away when you told me you'd been watching Luna. I figured you probably hadn't been spying only on her."

Harry smiled cheekily. "I check on you all once in a while, yes."

"Why, then?" Neville urged. "Why did you pretend you hadn't known about our plans?"

Harry stared at him knowingly, his lips sealed. It wasn't in a rejection, though, quite on the contrary—he looked almost encouraging.

So Neville ran his last sentence through his head again. A thought occurred to him. The moment it was out there, he immediately knew it was right.

"It was your idea," he said with absolute certainty. "This whole mission, it was your plan all along."

Harry grinned at him. He raised his glass in a mocking toast. "Fifty points to Gryffindor!"

Neville was left staring, completely speechless for a moment.

"Why, then?" he barely managed to choke out. "Why this sham?"

Harry exed his whole glass and poured himself another. Neville's lay forgotten.

"I'm not the only one who's been keeping tabs on his enemies," Harry said, bitter. "I might know that Tom walks around commando but you can bet Tom gets reported the colour of your precious leader's morning piss."

"Are you saying Riddle has spies in the Resistance?"

"Why so shocked, Neville? How else would he know to catch you at the Crossing?"

Neville's eyes narrowed. "You had known we were going to get captured."

Harry nodded readily. "I wouldn't have been able to pull that rescue mission otherwise. It took me weeks to mould the dead zone."

"You let us walk into a trap," Neville hissed.

He jumped from his seat to confront Harry straight on, his palms clenched firmly. "Why?" he spat out, squinting at Harry's silhouette against the red sun.

Harry sighed calmly in the face of Neville's anger. "I did my best to keep the mission secret from Riddle but he got a whiff of it anyway. Not the detailed plans, nothing about Annie and thank Merlin nothing about my involvement. I had two options: either I'd let you carry on with the plan and let him capture you fully under my control; or I'd change the plans-"

"Under your control!? Nothing's ever under control in a dead zone!"

Harry carried on as if Neville hadn't interrupted. "Or I'd change the plan and make him aware I'm watching him and control you. As the latter would have been a complete disaster, I obviously chose to do the former."

Harry paused to take a sip. "I smuggled some people across the Curtain so you'd learn I'm alive. I let you approach me on your own, I let you walk into that trap at the Crossing, making sure you wouldn't be killed when it inevitably sprang. I got you out with a plan that seemed to rely on pure luck. I took you to hide in the wastelands, vulnerable without magic but in a place Riddle thought me wallowing in self-pity. All of this to assure him this plan was bonkers from the start like the rest of them and it survived this long on chance and good luck only—because that's what he needs to keep thinking my modus operandi is!"

As Harry's voice rose, Neville's own anger abated. This was too important. He lifted his arm, palm up, to stop Harry right there. "Let's back up," he said, voice cold but even. "Who talked?"

"About the mission?"

Neville's eyes closed in horror at the thought of what Harry was implying. "There were more traitors?"

"Of course there are. Tom understands the need to always cross check his intel."

"You knew about them and you let them spy on us?"

"Yes," Harry confessed unapologetically. "Sometimes, I fed them the reports myself."

Neville felt like cursing if he had to repeat that word again, but Harry gave him no choice. "Why?"

"Don't play stupid, Nev," Harry snapped in annoyance. "That's the only way to control the flow of information. Trying to stop it completely would only attract attention."

Neville let out a long sigh. "Then who?"

"I'm not going to give you the names of the mules. You'd only treat them differently and they'd be rendered useless."

Neville might have growled. Harry rolled his eyes at him, unaffected. "The guy who slipped my attention was Doge," he finally disclosed. "Somehow, he got Confunded without me noticing. I first thought he was acting up because of his bad health. By the time I removed him from the headquarters, he had already displaced several memos."

Elphias Doge. He had the highest clearance for a clerk in the Resistance, working alongside Arthur Weasley. Neville remembered arriving at the headquarters a month or so before the mission, and learning Elphias had been on sick leave. Was that what Harry meant by removing him? The more important question was, who got him with the Confundus? It had to be another spy stationed outside the Curtain. How many of them lived in Finland?

And why had Neville naively thought that all the people there would be loyal to the Resistance?

"Who else knows you're behind this plan?"

"No one."

Neville's eyes bulged open. "Not even Jensen? You Obliviated him?" Jensen organised this whole thing, there's no way he would have missed Harry's involvement.

Harry scoffed. "Obliviation's messy, and detectable. No, I merely suggested the plan to him several months ago, anonymously."

"Mind-fucking someone isn't much better than wiping their memory."

"Prejudice doesn't suit you, Nev," Harry snapped back at him, annoyance breaking through his nonchalant mask. "The fact I'm a Legilimens doesn't mean I invade minds every time I want to propose an idea."

"Then how?"

"I merely arranged a meeting with your boss, dressed as an over-achieving clerk to some muggle politician. I pointed out the provisions in the Peace Treaty that would bound the ICW to intervene on behalf of muggles and asked him if he had a way to bring down the Curtain. He laughed into my face. A week later, I made him stumble upon a UN budget meeting for their weapon programmes. It took him less than a month to infiltrate their facilities with muggleborns. I'm sure he now knows more about their weaponry than they do. And voilá, the plan was born. He required very little steering from me after that."

"What other 'steering' did you do?"

"Like I said, almost none. He'd been considering what to do with Annie for years. I knew he'd plan the mission soon after she'd reach majority. Gregory would be the logical option for her guard; they practically grew up together. And of course, he needed his best curse-breaker to bring down the Curtain. Naturally, Bill wanted to have you by his side. I barely had to intervene to form this team."

"You wanted us specifically," Neville summed up. "Why? Because you can spy on us?"

"That was one reason, yes," Harry confirmed, obviously unconcerned about the accusation in Neville's tone. "We share a lot of dead friends. Apart from Annie, I can watch over all of you easily. That was crucial if this was to work."

"What were the other reasons?"

"We have history. Tom wouldn't find it suspicious if I stepped out of my self imposed exile to save your lot."

Neville felt his temper rising again. He couldn't help but attack. "Because he would find it odd if you helped a stranger?"

"Yes. After all, I didn't help anyone who came before you."

That gave Neville a pause. "What?"

"The Crossing's been open for five years. You didn't really think you were the first ones the Resistance sent over?"

Neville returned to his armchair, crashing down onto the seat. He reached for his half-forgotten glass and downed it at once.

"They were other missions?" he asked when he was ready. Frankly, it wasn't that shocking. He didn't have high enough clearance in the Resistance to know about all their plans. More unsettling was the fact that he didn't hear anything afterwards. It meant the missions had failed.

"Intel gathering mostly," Harry supplied. "They've never actually managed to send back any messages, though."

"Who was it?"

Harry shrugged. "No one you knew well. They hid among wizards who accepted the Empire's invitation to return."

Neville recalled the letter that had arrived at their house in Finland a month after the Crossing had opened. He could still recite the official pardon word for word, and the invitation that came with it, to return home. He also remembered the contempt he'd felt towards the wizards who had accepted it.

He felt shame now, for the words he had said to some of them.

Wait a sec- "Gregory's grandparents," he said with sudden urgency. "They left for the Empire. Were they spies?"

Harry nodded.

"Does Gregory know?"

"Does he know that his Gran and Grandpa weren't deserters? Yes, he's always known. They were allowed to tell their families under oaths."

"What happened to them?" Neville breathed out in fear of the answer.

"They got converted."

That gave him a pause. "Riddle didn't kill them?"

"Oh trust me, he was considering it. But the magic of the pardon prevented him from hurting them for their previous crimes. And since they never got a chance to send any information across the Curtain, they didn't commit any new ones. So, he let them live. Under close scrutiny, sure, but he let them live."

Neville's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Even through the information overload, he was starting to recognise a pattern between what Harry wasn't saying and the way he operated. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to recognise some pieces of the old Harry Potter he'd used to know. "Were you the reason they never got a chance to send any information across?"

Harry tilted his head at him, surprise clearly written over his features. Bingo.

"Impressive deduction, Nev." Harry let out a tired sigh. "The Resistance was prudent enough to send purebloods. Tom's been hesitant to waste magical blood lately. I knew they'd be discovered but there was a good chance he'd spare them if they didn't make him angry."

"So you saved their lives by thwarting their mission. Did you tell Gregory that his grandparents are alive?"

Harry nodded.

Finally, some show of sympathy. "What was his reaction? Is he going to run after them?"

"I highly doubt so. Your precious Resistance succeeded in brainwashing Gregory rather spectacularly. His sense of duty is as exemplary as your every other child soldier's."

Neville grimaced at the clear jab but this wasn't the time to argue about the necessity of their methods.

"So, to sum it up, you've been feeding Riddle's spies information from the Resistance but you stopped any information going the other way. You can travel through the Crossing to do grocery shopping for Hermione, but you've never bothered to stop by Finland to share any intel with us."

"Riddle would find out I cooperate with you, and to what purpose?" Harry argued calmly. "The Resistance couldn't have done much with the information even if your spies had risked their lives to send it over."

Neville didn't say anything to that. He reached over with his empty glass, in need of some liquid to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth.

By the time Harry refilled it, Neville had forgotten about the drink once again, his mind occupied with another question. "Why didn't you tell us your plans when we'd crossed the Curtain? We talked for hours in the caravan, far away from anyone listening, but you carried on pretending you weren't part of this plan."

The last few weeks were coming back to Neville, painted in a very different light. Harry's questions about Neville's life in Finland, his interest in Annie's abilities, his insistence to know their mission plan: all false, all pretense. Harry must have known it all.

"You didn't trust us?"

"I knew you wouldn't spill my secrets," Harry contradicted him casually. "Well, not intentionally. But we act according to what we know; that's how most secrets are discovered. You don't need to read one's mind to guess what drives their decisions; sometimes, it's enough to observe them. I should know, I do it every single day," Harry added. "The plan was always safer when you didn't know."

"That's why you were avoiding us lately," Neville further deduced. "You knew we'd put two and two together soon."

"I know you're many things, but stupid isn't one of them," Harry grumbled in agreement.

Neville let out a long sigh.

"You are an excellent liar, Harry," he noted a moment later. He didn't stop the contempt seeping through.

Of all the insults he had thrown at Harry tonight, this one finally provoked a reaction.

"I have an Empire against me, Neville," Harry intoned darkly from beside him. Neville felt his harsh glare but he didn't turn to meet it. "Not just a Dark Lord and his group of sycophants. A whole fucking Empire. I can't afford to do things halfway."

Neville got up and walked away from his chair and from Harry. He braced himself against the nearest column, the abyss behind him momentarily forgotten.

The colours of the whisky changed as he swirled the liquid around in his glass. The sun was completely hidden by now but the warm light lingered, orange and pink spilled over the skies.

Neville turned to look back at Harry. The wizard was seemingly lost in his own thoughts, lounging in his chair, wide eyes turned towards the sky.

His jaw was clenched, and his leg was bouncing again. He was tense and probably watching Neville's reaction carefully.

"What are you terrified of, Harry?"

Harry's eyes flicked towards him whilst his face stayed turned upwards. "What are you on about?"

"You've gone to extreme lengths to ensure that Riddle keeps a very low opinion of your abilities. You want him to see you as a depressed burnout, at odds with his former allies, hiding in the wastelands-"

"I get to save the occasional muggle or muggleborn. He finds my samaritan tendencies within character, and quite entertaining."

"Okay," Neville nodded. "So you allow yourself to help openly once in a while. But what would happen if Riddle found out that your influence stretches much further than that?"

Harry's eyes looked at him as if the answer was obvious.

"No," Neville resolutely shook his head. "This goes beyond some strategic advantage of your enemy underestimating you. You haven't only taken measures and precautions; your entire plan revolves around keeping Riddle ignorant of the power you hold. What happens if he finds out?"

He watched as Harry's nonchalance disappeared and he levelled Neville with a cold stare.

Good. He was done denying this.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I have gone to extreme lengths to ensure Riddle still takes me for a misbehaving child. All the more reason not to discuss it now. Or never."

Neville didn't waver under Harry's glare. "You wanted to convince me that following your orders without questions is the right thing to do," he reminded him. He raised his chin in a challenge. "Now's your chance."

Harry's frown deepened as he continued to glare. Neville weathered it with his back held straight, determined not to back down.

He watched as Harry's eyes flickered over his shoulder before they returned to his own. He inclined his head slightly and Neville wondered if he was listening to someone Neville couldn't hear.

A moment later, Harry's shoulders slumbered and he sagged deeper into his chair.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I forgot how self-righteous you can be."

Neville let him grumble; he knew he had won.

Harry let out a long, shuddering sigh and looked back at Neville. "The simple truth is-" he started softly, his tone devoid of any of the previous harshness. He simply sounded tired now. "Well, if Riddle finds out what I can do, he'll inevitably figure out how I do it. And then he'll easily cut me off. And I won't be able to stop him." He let out a long sigh. "I don't hold many advantages over him; I can't afford to lose any of the very few I've scrambled together over the last few decades."

Neville took that in with a contemplative nod. He suspected something along these lines.

"Are you talking about the Stone?" he asked although it didn't feel right.

"No. The Hallows are mine and mine only to command. I have safeguards in place, even if Riddle should capture me."

Neville stayed silent to give Harry the time to elaborate and offer the real reason. But he wasn't surprised when Harry didn't. Neville had already pushed him further than he had obviously been planning to reveal tonight. The fact that Harry gave at least part of the truth had to be enough.

"I'll need that memory back from you," Harry said next.

"Huh?"

"You've already assigned it a lot of importance. It'll be ringing like a gong through your mind, easy for any Legillimens to pick up. I can't have that."

"Are you seriously suggesting to Obliviate me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "That would defeat the purpose of this entire conversation, wouldn't you say? Just give me the thought as if you were putting it into a Pensieve."

"That won't take it away."

"No, but it'll mull it somewhat. I take what I can get. And rest assured, you're never getting Legilimenced ever again. I'll make sure of that."

Neville remembered Molnar who had killed herself before her interrogation could start. He wondered if he was also getting his own fake tooth with poison soon.

One minute later, Neville watched as Harry took the extracted memory from the tip of Neville's wand. A flicker appeared and then the silvery wisp caught fire. Harry shook his wand—the Elder Wand—impatiently as if extinguishing a match, until there was no more smoke.

"What happens now?" Neville asked then.

Harry reached into his pocket and took out a rolled wad of papers. He handed it to Neville.

Neville straightened it out and immediately recognised the Daily Prophet. Oh. Right. He had completely forgotten about Riddle's anticipated reaction.

A teenager was staring at him from the front page. Beauxbatons' Golden Boy Predicted to Win the Triwizard Tournament! The third task is rapidly approaching and the goblin bookies are giving three to one odds...

He raised his eyes from the article back at Harry, surprised. "Riddle's trying to cover it all up?"

Harry shook his head. "Turn the page."

Ah. Here it was. The Library in flames was covering one corner of the next sheet. He quickly skimmed through the article that accompanied it.

Budapest's Library Burnt to the Ground! ...unknown assailants… believed to belong to an organised group of rebels... military operation… forty-six wizards dead… thorough investigation… under control.

"It's not the front page," he commented. "Was that your contacts' doing?"

Harry shook his head. "No. They had to mitigate some, but the second page was on Riddle's orders."

"What does it mean?"

"It could just be that he's trying to downplay the whole thing, showing to the public that we're not a serious threat. Or he's confident he'll deal with us without outright war. Or, it's a part of a plan I don't see yet. I'll have to observe his next steps to know whether any of this is correct."

Neville looked at the article again. 'The safeguards were triggered and all original tomes were Portkeyed to safety in time.'

Good.

He turned back to Harry. "He still openly acknowledged you as a threat."

"That he did."

"You're not just an annoying brat anymore."

Harry let out a short laugh. "Oh, I think I'll always be that."

Neville pressed further. "Your strategy needs to change."

"That's always been the plan. It was imperative that it happened when we were ready, though."

Neville was beginning to understand. He was becoming aware of the net Harry was weaving. He didn't know many of its specifics but he could see now that their mission was just a small part of a bigger plan Harry was following, and that it was all coming down together now.

He nodded resolutely, as much to himself as to Harry. "What will you have me do now?"

Harry raised an eyebrow as if that question surprised him. "You'll get Annie to Britain."

It was Neville's turn to pause. It took him a moment to clear up his confusion as to why. The sting of disappointment guided him; he realised he had started to harbour hopes Harry's real plan would be different than the idea he had sold to the Resistance.

"You really want to bring the Curtain down?" he asked to be sure, his doubts seeping through his tone.

Harry grimaced. He inclined his head upwards, gazing at the stars which now started appearing on the darkened sky. Neville absently wondered if they would get to see the Northern Lights tonight.

It took Harry a long time to answer.

"I'll do whatever it takes to sort out this mess. I thought that would be rather clear by now."

THE END
of the second part

AN: There you have it, another milestone reached. Hurray!

Thanks a lot for all the support you keep showing to the story. And special thanks to those of you who spread the word further and recommended the story to others: that's the best way to keep my motivation to write alive.

What comes next? More. More magic, more wizards, more bad guys. Neville's cursory view of the world will widen, now that Harry will keep him closer. The focus will shift: from a mystery driven narrative to actual plot advancement. I'm finally done setting up the scene (after some 120,000 words, yay!) now's the time for the end-game.

It was always meant to be Harry and Neville's game. Hence the name of this chapter. Did you see it coming, the degree of Harry's involvement, or did I surprise you? What do you think of my take on Harry's 'Power the Dark Lord knows not'? Stay in touch.

Yours, Bobika.