It was eerily quiet in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, even though it was supper time and every
student was in the hall. In fact, the house tables seemed nearly empty, with half of their occupants missing. Some had been
killed, for not even the innocents of the world were safe in this war, others had been withdrawn both from the school and
the magical world it belonged to by parents scared of dark magic, dark wizards. The places were left there, empty, a memorial
to those gone before them, who had given their lives for the cause.
All of the tables were subdued, even the Gryffindors couldn't seem to muster the loud uproar and chatter of previous years
and the youngest of them were silent, determined figures among battle-scarred warriors.
Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the school and the leader of the forces of the light sat at the center of the head
table. He appeared old, weary, showing every one of his many years. There were harsh lines in his face of guilt, stress, anger
and sorrow. The twinkle that had once filled his sparkling blue eyes was gone, even those who had found it infuriating mourned
its loss and felt that something had broken when it vanished. There were twice the number of occupants at the staff table,
with seats along both sides now, since a team of Aurors was now permanently stationed at the school.
At the far end of the Gryffindor table, separated from their housemates, five students sat, huddled over a sheet of parchment
on the table. Harry Potter, now a seventh year, sat at the head of the table. He was taller now, in his seventh year, his
face showing signs of stubble that he hadn't bothered to get rid of. His hair was as messy as ever and his green eyes seemed
stern and unforgiving below his constant frown. The curse scar he had worn engraved on his forehead since that fateful Halloween
blazed a dark red, swollen and painful He didn't wear school robes any more - those had gone long ago in favor of Auror style
battle robes and under them they all knew his body was covered with other curse scars, accumulated over many battles. He was
the figurehead of the light and knew that he could be called to join the fight at any moment.
To one side of him sat his constant companions from his school years, Ron Weasley and his girlfriend of a year, Hermione
Granger. Like him, both showed the signs of their struggle and were quite clearly adults, not the teenagers, children they
would be treated as in the Muggle world. Both kept glancing suspiciously around the room, always alert for possible spies,
potential danger that could threaten their work.
On the other side were Neville Longbottom and beyond him the only sixth year of their group, Ginny Weasley. A far cry from
the nervous, fumbling boy of his childhood, Neville was tall and muscular, his skills honed with hours of training and his
face lean and harsh. Ginny, beside him, was thin and tough as steel wire. Her red hair was cropped close to her head: there
was no place for vanities in battle.
The parchment in front of them was a rough sketch of Hogwarts. They did have the Marauders map but that was now considered
too precious to risk its capture by bringing it to a public place. That was now securely kept in the Order Headquarters. All
five of them were worried. Voldemort had made no move for over a month and nothing had been heard of his plans or his location
from even the best of their spies. There had been no news of an attack or planned attack for many weeks, but, instead of alleviating
the concerns of the command team of students, it only made their apprehension greater. They knew from past experience that,
the longer the wait, the more terrible the consequences were likely to be. And what could be more ambitious, more terrible,
than a strike at the stronghold of the light: the school itself. Contingency plans were already in place, the defenses were
being added to every day by every wizard or witch available. If Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, they would fight to the bitter
end.
Later, no one was able to say exactly why they looked up the next time a boy entered the room but indeed, all but the command
squad of students had glanced at him as he stood framed in the doorway.
There was nothing remarkable about him. He was of average height, appearing to be a sixth or seventh year and wearing the
Slytherin crest on the Hogwarts robes that most students still clung to as a sign of security. The matching tie was neatly
knotted and precisely regulation length. His hair was black, neatly combed and flat on his head. His eyes were a dark hazel
in colour.
However, the Slytherins looked at him and no one, not even the seventh years, not even Professor Snape himself seemed able
to recognise him. Professor Dumbledore, who had once boasted that he remembered every student he had taught, could not call
a name to mind, though he watched the boy with the feeling that this was a pupil he should know. The Auror on duty at the
door swept his wand down the boy's body, a standard check for traces of dark magic. When there was no resounding beep, he
waved the boy through.
He stood there nervously, just inside the room, for a long moment, glancing around as if looking for something or someone.
At last, he seemed to make up his mind and started to walk slowly towards the Gryffindor table. The teachers slipped their
wands into their hands but a quick gesture from Dumbledore kept them in their places. This was Harry's to call.
However, Harry didn't even seem to notice him approaching. Ginny Weasley turned in her place to look at what had caused
the disturbance and sucked in a breath, her wand instantly coming into her grasp as she stood and prepared for a fight. The
others followed her lead. Only then did Harry stand, putting a restraining, reassuring hand on her wrist and stepping past
her.
They looked at each other for a long moment. They were remarkably similar, even more so when one knew the similarities
in their backgrounds. Even their physical appearance was alike, though with marked differences. Everyone was watching them
now, a deathly silence hanging over the hall as they strained for their every word.
"So you came," Harry said at last,
quietly, his voice echoing slightly. He knew all to well how much pain his counterpart and opposite would have gone through
to stand before him like this. The reversal of the mutations that had allowed the monster known as Voldemort access to the
darkest of all dark magics had only been reversed once before. In that attempt, the subject had gone mad before they finished.
They stood there now though: day and night, light and dark, the hero and the villain of a never-ending story.
"I did."
"Are you ready?"
"Are you?"
"Of course."
"Then what more is there to say? I am here and understand
what we must do, as do you. What more is necessary?"
Harry smiled slightly, understanding the sentiment perfectly.
"Let's finish this then," he said.
"After you."
"Ever courteous," he said, smiling wryly, then his
face went perfectly blank as he raised a hand and held it palm up in front of him. The other's came to rest lightly on it,
and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, spoke the opening words of a ritual that dated back to the beginning of time, bowing
his head slightly to the boy who stood before him.
"Prince of Darkness," he chanted, his voice ringing in the still
air.
"Prince of Light," his opposite responded in kind.
"King of Shadows," they chorused together, obviously
shaking with the magic streaming through them. An orb of swirling black and silver light burst from their joined hands, effectively
hiding them from view.
When the misty light cleared, there was only one man standing in the exact center of the Great Hall that stood at the center
of the school that was called the center of magic in Britain. He looked, if anything, a little bewildered. He was of average
height, his hair waving slightly but still neat, his eyes a vivid green. He was wearing rich black robes covered by a silver
cloak, showing no signs of house affiliation whatsoever.
The others in the hall stared at him: some in amazement, some in shock, many in horror. Who was this man? What had happened
to the boy who had been born to save them all? As they watched, his face slowly broke into a relieved smile. Twirling a wand
in each hand, he turned towards the head table.
"The war will end now," he said calmly, as if he alone could make
it happen just by saying the words. It wasn't a question. They all stared at him, wondering if he was mad or just foolish.
Dumbledore stared at him suspiciously, the habits of a lifetime of war kicking in.
"Who exactly are you?" he asked
reluctantly, unwilling to admit to his ignorance.
"I'm sure you can figure it out," the man said smugly, daring him
to inquire further. Dumbledore couldn't quite resist it.
"I saw Harry Potter and I saw a boy who resembled the younger
self of Tom Riddle," he elaborated. "You however are quite obviously neither. I demand an answer from you!"
"Well,"
the man drawled. "You are completely wrong there. If you really must call me something, you could try Thomas Potter. You see,
I am both Harry Potter and Thomas Riddle, or at least, I am all that remains of them. At present, however, I would ask that
you refrain from asking me any personal questions - I have acquired two sets of memories, neither of them happy or pleasant,
and at present I don't believe I'm quite sure who I am. Severus, your arm please."
There was a long pause. Severus Snape, bane of potions students at Hogwarts for over twenty years, stood up slowly and
reluctantly and walked around the table, rolling up the sleeves of his robes as he did so. Hesitantly, trying very hard to
forget that Potter was in there, he bowed deeply, making clear his refusal to kiss his master's robes. He held out his arm,
the Dark Mark black and clear on it.
Thomas Potter supported it carefully with one hand.
"Don't worry Sev," he murmured so that not even the other teachers
could hear. "Whatever happens, you're safe. Trust us . . . me."
Then, narrowing his eyes in concentration, he touched
the index finger of his right hand to the brand. Severus dropped to his knees, face twisted in silent agony.
Someone screamed.
Twelve students burst into flames and flared until only ash was left. Hufflepuff was, miraculously, the only table left
untouched. Even Gryffindor, noble as its reputation was, had lost three students.
There was a long silence even more complete than the one before it. Thomas Potter lifted his finger to reveal white, unblemished
skin beneath it.
"All those who have unrepentingly done atrocities in the name of the Dark are dead. Mark their passing
but keep in mind that those remaining are not to be punished. However," he said, smiling slightly as he helped Severus Snape
to his feet, "A good deed done in the name of the dark is still a noble act. Light and dark are flip-sides of the same coin."
Then he looked at the table again, towards Remus Lupin. The werewolf considered him thoughtfully, then brushed the hair
away from his forehead, brushing it so that a crimson phoenix appeared. He stepped trustingly forwards and smiled slightly
as the finger of the other hand brushed his head.
Those members of the light who had thought themselves safe held their breath.
There was a pause and a trace of phoenix song danced through the hall.
Lightning bolts struck down three of the Order members and two students, incinerating them in the same way as their Dark
counterparts. None of them were DA members or teachers at the school.
Thomas scanned the hall seriously.
"Just in the same way as the Dark can be noble, the Light can be cruel. An atrocity
committed in the name of the Light is still an atrocity. Now, it is done. My work is over and I can rest."
He stepped back from the table, raised a hand in salute, turned and saluted the students then vanished completely, with
no regard for the anti-apparition wards whatsoever.
"And so passes Thomas Potter," Severus Snape said into the silence.
"Prince of Darkness, Prince of Light and King of the Shadows between them."
"What do you mean?" Albus Dumbledore asked,
sounding completely dumbfounded. This hadn't been part of the plan at all.
"You mean you don't know, Albus?" Severus
said, sounding surprised. "It’s a truth that Mr Potter has had to live with all his live, that I have known since my
adolescence."
"What?"
"Without darkness, there can be no light, and only a man who knows both can rule the
shadows between."
