The Dream Trilogy Book Three: What Dreams May Come (A Harry Potter FanFiction)

Chapter Sixty Three

Just a quick author's note:

This is essentially the end of book three, the big climax.  What comes next will be a ten part 'Epilogue' to wrap everything up.  If you want to talk with me about what happens as we finish up the trilogy, you are more than welcome to contact me on here via the comments or PM service.  Alternatively you can find me on Facebook under 'The HP Dream Trilogy', or on Tumblr where I'm @thehpdreamtrilogy.  I'll be posting a lot of extra bits and pieces on those sites today as well if you want to come check out the new art work and trivia etc.

Okay, that's enough from me, time for the end...

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Chapter Sixty Three

   Harry's wand jerked towards the sound of the voice, but it spoke again before he could cast any magic. "Uh uh uh," it said, stepping out of the shadows, and Harry stopped.

The first thing he was able to take in was that the other person's wand was pointed right at Alex, who was folded, barely conscious on the snowy ground about ten feet away. Harry would never be able to get a shot off before Alex got hit, so he stalled.

The second thing he realised, was that he was looking at himself.

"Hello Harry," the mirror version of himself said. "I'm quite surprised to see you."

"Voldemort," said Harry tightly. This was too early, he hadn't been given enough time, he didn't know what had happened to the Horcrux. He glanced at Alex, shuddering and pushing himself up slowly from the ground.

"That's quite far enough," said Voldemort, using Harry's voice, even easing his glasses back up his nose like Harry always did as he lazily swished his wand and slammed Alex into the nearest gravestone, wrapping chains around him like a boa constrictor. "Lower your wand, and I won't damage your friend too badly."

Harry glowered, his blood boiling in his veins, but he did as he was told. Where were the Vikings, or the Romans, or anyone who wasn't a Rhansyk? But it felt like that battle was happening a hundred miles away now, and they were all alone.

Voldemort stepped closer to him, and Harry saw a flash of red through his green eyes, like the sheen of an oil slick. "You took my body," he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes!" said Voldemort cheerfully. "Honestly I had no idea if it would work or not, but I really didn't think that this would be the result." He approached Harry and looked him up and down in fascination. "You've been evicted, haven't you?" he said, his mouth twitching with a smile.

"Let my friend go," said Harry as calmly as he could. "This has nothing to do with him, it's between you and me."

"Oh how clichéd," Voldemort scalded with a tut. "You couldn't come up with something a little more original?"

Harry had never seen (or rather heard, as he was effectively looking at himself) Voldemort so cheerful. It gave him a deep, dark sense of foreboding.

"Kill me if you want, but he's a Watcher, you need him don't you?" argued Harry, remembering what the others had said about the Watchers being locked up in that ballroom. "You need him to keep my universe functioning."

Voldemort bobbed Harry's head. "Yes, but he doesn't necessarily need all his limbs to do that."

Harry inhaled and threw a look at Alex, who was awake, more or less, but very pale.

"And I can't kill you, Bellatrix and I have had a think. We need you."

Harry scoffed. "Do you now?" he said, scathingly. "What more can I possibly give you? You have my body, you don't need me."