Dead. And at that angle? Alive.

A single misstep

When I was girl, I dreamt of standing in a room, looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl who was and was not myself. My mother took this as a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.

Depending on the possibility something had, has, or would have to happen, one can surmise it has, is, will be happening. The nature of reality is the possible and therefore, all possible define a reality. Muggles have been investigating this conundrum in recent years under the Theory of Multiple Universe.

Archimage Quentin Addendum

** * **

The rain was rattling outside, but he'd long gone past noticing. A thick humidity was chocking his lungs, clamping his skin cold and running sick under his cloths. It stuck the grim and mud of the little cell, driving the place into his mind and bones. A tangible remainder to his withering mind he was ...

Prisoner.

All it had taken was a moment of weakness. A moment of doubt and despair. Facing the man, the monster who kept dragging himself back from the tomb to hunt him like a famished dog of nightmare, his hope had wavered. Cedric was dead. Voldemort was back into his power.

Oh, he had gathered his courage, fought in the mock duel passing as his execution that Voldemort had been so glad to stage. He had fought tooth and nail for his survival. But when their wands had connected, and he'd lost control of his magic, he had panicked. One moment of panic and despair had been enough for one of the beads of light coursing the link between their two wands to pass from Voldemort's wand to his.

One, tiny, difference.

Water had infiltrated the cell now and was dropping slowly on the stone floor. The drip was maddening, regular, but not quite. Unseeing green eyes bore on the slowly glowing puddle. He blinked once, twice, and some kind of realisation slowly wormed its way.

It was dark outside. Even his cellmate's ramble had died down by now. He ought to try and sleep.

Not that he'd succeeded in getting any real sleep since they'd taken him to Azkaban.

***

The crowd, the music, the cheers... Too much, too loud. Don't they see? Don't they realise??

Harry felt like a griffin had ripped his chest open, cradling Cedric's body and hanging on desperately to the dead boy like a drowning man to a lifeline.

'He's back! Voldemort's back.' He cried. 'Cedric, he asked me to bring his body back. I couldn't leave him, not there.' He sobbed brokenly.

'It's alright Harry. It's alright, he's home, you both are.'

Harry whimpered as the nightmare assaulted him, knowing in his unconscious the events that were about to unfold. His body twisted in a desperate attempt to wrench free.

But there was no escape.

'Let me go!' He screamed to the top of his lungs to the two aurors manhandling him. He could hear the mad laughter of the man that had passed for his defence professor echoing against the stone walls, mocking him. 'I'm innocent! It was Voldemort! He is back! He killed Cedric! Let me go!'

'Enough!' Fudge snapped. 'Silence him! We do not want to start a panic.'

One of the aurors let him go only long enough to charm a gag on his mouth, before proceeding to drag him away.

'Fudge, this is completely unacceptable.' Dumbledore stated in a dark, authoritative tone. 'Harry is a student....'

'Suspected of the murder of one of his classmates.' Fudge interrupted sharply. 'His wand has provided evidence! One of the last spells he casted was the killing curse and that's evidence enough to take him in custody.'