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"Here," Harry said awkwardly, handing Luna the delicate white flower in the bright blue pot.
"It's beautiful," Luna told him dreamily, holding it close to her chest.
"Thanks. I grabbed it from Neville's greenhouse that time, remember?"
"Oh, Harry. Is that why you were late back? Hermione was frantic that you were behind schedule. She thought the Death Eaters had caught you."
"I didn't mean to worry anyone!" he replied defensively. "It's just that you said white orchids were your favourite, and Neville was stopping by the greenhouses anyway because we were running low on potions ingredients. I didn't expect an orchid to be so hard to find, Neville really sucks at giving directions. I wanted to be able to give you something for your birthday. It's not like we can just step out and go shopping."
"I know Harry. It's lovely. Mummy always said that orchids keep the Harkfests away. If I had been a boy, I would have been called Orchid, you know?" Luna ran a fingertip lightly over a petal.
"I can't picture you as anything but a Luna," Harry told her, slightly at a loss for what he was supposed to say. He often felt that way around her.
Luna laughed at him. "And you'll always be just Harry." She kissed his cheek and moved to the windowsill, where the orchid was carefully set down. He knew they would have to move again soon, before the Death Eaters found them in their little holiday cottage, but for now it felt almost like home.
"No!" Harry screamed, clutching the dying girl to his chest. It had been simple, routine. They had been shopping for food, there wasn't supposed to be any risk. Neither of them had expected the Death Eater, and Luna had Apparated away just a fraction of a second too late.
Neville and Hermione came running out of the tent. Neville took one look at the gaping wound on Luna's chest and ran back to get his medical supplies. Hermione rushed over with her wand drawn, trying desperately to heal the girl was getting pales by the second.
Luna grabbed her hand. "No," she whispered.
She turned to Harry. "Death is a powerful thing, Harry. You know that. And souls are very real. They can be ripped apart, they can be stolen. But Harry," her voice was barely a breath, hardly audible. "They can be given."
She pressed her dry, cold lips against his. For an instant, a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then he was filled with warmth and colour and light. Bright, swirling, silver and yellow and gold. Laughter and fun and fear and loneliness and a deep, enduring hope. Fun and capriciousness and teasing joy. The love of a family and the agony of loss. Bitterness and anger shoved away, hanging on the edges, friendship and loyalty pulled closer and wrapped around his heart. He was Luna, and Luna was him, and for a moment he thought, yes. This is right.
Then he came to himself again, in the middle of a muddy field, holding the corpse of the girl he had only just realised he had loved. The girl who had died for him.
This wasn't supposed to be the final battle. They had got a call from Madam Malkin, saying that the Death Eaters were coming down the Alley, that they were shouting about shopkeepers who were sheltering 'undesirables' and she was afraid they would find the Muggleborns hiding in her backroom, or realise that the assistants weren't actually half-bloods. He, Neville and Hermione had come running, hoping to smuggle them out before the Death Eaters reached Madam Malkin.
They were greeted by a Death Eater with his wand to Madam Malkin's throat. Behind him, the group of Muggleborns huddled together as another couple of Death Eaters laughed, and lazily cast jinxes at them. Helpless to resist with the lives of the hostages in the balance, all three of them allowed themselves to be searched and stripped of weapons. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't notice the emergency kit on any of them. It was hidden in an Undetectable Expansion Charm, cast on the tiny pocket created by a ripped seam.
They were marched out onto the street, where the Death Eaters had created an empty space in the middle of the sea of people. They were shoved into the middle, like competitors in an arena. People were silent as they watched. The Death Eaters cursed anyone who talked. For a moment they simply stood there in a silent tableau. Then the burning in Harry's scar almost drove him to his knees.
He turned and saw Voldemort, in all his hideous inhuman glory. Only Neville's arm around his shoulder kept him upright.
"Harry Potter. I'm so glad you could make it to my little show. The filth should be grateful. Few deaths are witnessed by such impressive people as ourselves. This is quite an event, is it not?" His voice was low and mocking.
"I won't let you hurt them!" Harry yelled defiantly, fighting past the blinding pain in his head.
"Oh, I won't hurt them, Harry. You will."
With that, Voldemort pressed his wand to Harry's forehead. He was burning, disintegrating. No one could survive pain like this, it wasn't possible. He could feel Voldemort in his head, searching, hunting. He could tell when Voldemort found the Horcrux Hermione had worked out must be inside his head; for a moment the pain stopped and he could breathe again. That moment was all he needed. He had an advantage now. He called Luna to him, that sense of warm joy and total faith. Gathering up his determination and steadfast belief, his conviction that Voldemort could not beat him, he corralled the Dark Lord inside his head. For a moment, he considered destroying him. Casting him out, allowing him to return to his own body, would doom them all. They couldn't fight him and win.
There was a sense of distress from Luna. Even against her enemies, she hated the thought of murder. Another idea came to him. Souls could be transferred, and he was already a Horcrux. He felt Luna light up again, determined. They would keep the Dark Lord here, forever, helpless. He could not beat them.
Voldemort panicked as he felt them closing in. He had fought Harry before. He had been certain that he could win. The boy had seen death, and despair. He had lost his friends, through death and betrayal. There was no way his love was pure enough now to drive him out again. But he burned brighter than ever, and there was another presence here, one he didn't know how to counter. Here, in Harry's mind, he was weak. He lashed out at Harry's mind, attacking furiously, feeling it shudder before him, barely aware of the body that housed them all writhing and screaming. But he was only a fraction of a soul now. Two brightly burning souls, strong with that most awful of powers, were too much for him. For the first time in his life, he felt regret, as he felt his very being shredded and scattered among his enemies mind.
"The body," Harry gasped. "Destroy the body." His eyes slid shut as he watched Neville throw WWW's Magical Construct Deconstructor on the Dark Lord's body, and the crowd began closing in.
Three weeks later, Harry was sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, trying not to cry. They had won. Voldemort was dead. Most of the Death Eaters who had been presented that day had been killed in the rush to fight, when everyone realised that Voldemort was dead. Neville had been cut down seconds after destroying Voldemort. He supposed that they were both the children of prophecy.
But Voldemort wasn't gone. He wasn't nearly as present as Luna, who was a constant warm glow in his mind. He was there in little thoughts that didn't feel like his, a burning anger with reporters and well-wishers, a condescending sense of superiority when Hermione spoke to him, an irritation with those who were still mourning. It was awful and insidious and he couldn't tell what emotions were his own. He wasn't safe to be around the Magical World anymore. He hadn't dared to tell Hermione what he had done. She had been horrified enough to learn that he was a Horcrux, disgusted to realise that Luna had willingly given him her soul. He wasn't sure he could handle it if she rejected him for this.
So he was leaving. He was moving into the Muggle World, going to Muggle University. Completely erasing Harry Potter, so that he could start a new life as the new person he had been forced to become. His first stop was the Potions Emporium, which had stayed open throughout the conflict. Cosmetic potions weren't in high demand, so Harry was limited in his choices. His hair was easy. He wanted to be blond, in memory of Luna. The closest they had to her dirty blonde colour was a bright, blinding white, which apparently came out occasionally with purple undertones. The shop assistant was very obliging when he told her that he wanted to be able to look different, just so he wouldn't be attacked by any Death Eaters who were still free when he went out in public. Still, he grabbed all four colours on offer, so she wouldn't know exactly what he looked like.
At her advice, he also looked at the eye colour potion. They not only changed the colour and shape of your eyes, but fixed any vision problems as well. Harry hadn't been willing to consider them before, because of his love for his mother's eyes. Now, he curiously browsed the selection. The browns wouldn't look good with his new hair, the orange would clash with his purple undertones, and he teared up when he looked at the blue. Seeing Luna's eyes in his face every day would be too much for him to handle. The only colour left was a dusty bottle at the back.
"Not very popular, that one," the assistant said cheerfully. "Purple and Japanese isn't a common mix, and most people aren't fond of looking foreign anyway. I don't know what Bob was thinking when he made it."
Harry grabbed it from the shelf, as well as a green that was similar to his own and the bright orange.
The last thing he needed was language potions. They gave you a complete understanding of another language, but you could only take one in a lifetime. Harry took French, German, Italian, Spanish, Japanese and Russian. Together, the total came to 15 galleons, which was rather exorbitant, but Harry paid without protest. It wasn't like money mattered to him at all.
The next stop was Madam Malkins. She had been in charge of the evacuation of Muggleborns, so she had been the one to sort his request when he had owled her. She met him at the front of the shop and immediately ushered him into the office. Unlike everyone else he had dealt with, she got right to business. He didn't hold her betrayal against her – she hadn't had any other options – but the easy camaraderie they had developed during the war was gone.
"Here you are. One complete Muggle wardrobe, and all the Muggle papers you need. There's a passport, a driver's licence, records that say you were -, hospital records that match up to your injuries, everything. Just tap the papers with your wand and tell it the name you want on them. Be careful – you can only do it once, and then it's locked in. Take the photo you want on the document and lay it in the space where it should be, it'll be incorporated. Again, you can't make any mistakes."
"Thank you," Harry said, taking the package. "What do my medical records say?"
"You have a history of migraines. You got stabbed through the arm when you were messing around with friends, you broke various bones through common accidents – you fell downstairs and broke your arm, you crashed your bike and broke your leg. Nothing dramatic."
Harry nodded, thanked her again, and left for Gringotts, the most problematic stop. He was escorted in by an armed guard the second his foot touched the steps.
"Mr Potter," the goblin he was led to sneered.
"I'm leaving the Wizarding World," he said without preamble. "Half my gold and any of the goblin made artefacts in my vaults to Gringotts as an apology, and everything else to Theodore Lupin. Is that possible?"
The goblins were amazingly obliging after that, and the paperwork was soon drawn up and filed. With that last chore done, Harry left the bank and Apparated back home.
He looked through the papers he had been given. His parents, Mr and Mrs Insert-name-here, had delivered him in a home birth and had raised him largely outside of society. He had been home-schooled. They had died in a car crash. There was a note assuring him that the corresponding papers had been filed officially, and the names on them would change with his paperwork. According to his passport, he had never left the country.
He decided to see what he looked like after the potions, before he chose a name. Half an hour later, after trying not to throw up the truly foul concoctions, he looked in the bathroom mirror. His hair was still short and messy, but it was now bright snow white, with the promised purple shading. His eyes matched, being a bright purple. The new shape of his eyes, Harry decided, was going to be the hardest thing to get used to, but with those two potions he no longer looked anything like Harry Potter. Luna gave him a warm rush of approval.
He needed a name to go with his new look. His first, bizarre instinct was to call himself Dandelion, because that was what he looked like. He immediately discarded the idea, but flower names were his mother's family tradition, weren't they? So, he needed a flower name, suitable for boys. Probably in Japanese, because of his eyes. With a sigh, he left the house again. There was a bookshop not far away, so it didn't take him long to pick up a half dozen baby name books.
He didn't have to look far. He was only in the B's when he found it. Byakuran. White Orchid. He felt Luna glow with happiness, as he remembered that warm afternoon, and the flower on the windowsill. They had been forced to leave it behind when they moved, and Luna had cried. She had sung to the flower every day.
He pulled the papers towards him, and tapped on the space where his name should be. He felt kind of stupid.
"Byakuran?" He felt a questioning from Luna. "I guess so."
He watched as the papers filled in, and closed his eyes when he realised they weren't stopping at Byakuran. He prayed that he wouldn't be stuck with 'I guess so' as a last name forever. Luna must have been asking about his plans for a surname. He opened his eyes to see what the damage was.
Huh. His new name was now Byakuran Gesso. It could be worse.
It was easy completing the rest after that. His father was James Gesso, and his mother was Yuri Himura. His photo was quickly taken and applied. Everything was sorted and official.
He took the Japanese language potion, pleased that it seemed to give him the ability to read as well as speak Japanese. Then, he left to find a library. It was time to look for universities.
University in Japan was a lot of fun. He had decided to study philosophy. The twisted way of thinking that came easily to Luna, and Voldemort's unique perspective, helped. When he had realised that he was dealing with souls, he had sought out every book he could find about it. Not wanting to go too deeply into religion, he had instead looked to philosophy. Hermione had scoffed, calling it as woolly as Divination, but Harry had been fascinated. Every town they had passed which had a library, he had gone searching for new books on philosophy, not just those that dealt with souls. It seemed that his reading had allowed him to pass the entrance exam, with allowances made for his gaps in other areas because of his 'home-schooling'. He had settled into university quickly, and felt free for the first time in his life, despite the truly terrifying amount of work he had to do to keep up with his classmates.
His life changed again when he was walking back to his apartment. A red-haired boy with his arms full of papers came careening into him, sending them both to the floor and scattering the paper everywhere. Byakuran laughed as the boy babbled apologies, trying desperately to gather his work before it all got blown away. Once the two of them had everything sorted out, they climbed back to their feet.
"I'm so sorry! I'm Irie Shouichi," he introduced himself. Byakuran grabbed his shoulder before he could bow.
"Be careful, Shou-chan! You don't want to send those papers flying again, do you?" He laughed again at the blush on the boy's face. It almost matched his hair.
"You can always get coffee with me to make it up to me!" he chirped. Something about the boy made him want to channel Luna, even as he enjoyed watching him squirm awkwardly.
"I'm kind of in a rush," Shouichi said, clutching his paper.
"Of course! There's a cute little café near here that serves the best cakes, the one with the bright blue sign?" he waited for Shouichi's nod. "I'm there every day at five. Come find me!" With a happy wave, he strolled off, trying to ignore the headache that was building.
He collapsed as soon as he got through his front door, images rushing through his head. He was playing guitar in a band with Shouichi, he bumped into him when he was shopping. He was the heir to a Mafia Family, his parents were assassinated. He ran away to open a bakery, he was holding Shouichi's hand as they waited for the ambulance. He had a baby sister, he had loyal friends, he was shot in the stomach and left bleeding out in an alleyway. He was a model, he was famous, he was a writer, he was a painter. He lived in a mansion, in a laboratory, in a slum. He had a boyfriend who he loved, a girlfriend his parents chose for him, he had vowed celibacy. Shou-chan, Erica, Alex, Haru. He was everyone and no one all at once. Unable to take the flood of information, he passed out, letting everything slide away into darkness.
It took a week for him to get his head into some semblance of order. He called in sick to his classes. Luckily, his migraines were a part of his medical history, so most of his tutors were very understanding. In all the lives that Byakuran Gesso had lived, it seemed that this was the only one where he had been born as Harry Potter. He wondered how he was able to connect to these people. They were all the same person, leading different lives in different worlds. The fact that they shared a name and an appearance couldn't be enough. It was spooky enough that he had happened to choose the right potions to make him look identical to his other self. Maybe it was fate? Maybe it was his destiny. Whatever it was, he wanted it to stop. The worlds were too different, they were flooding him with information every second, and it felt like he was living, and had lived, a hundred thousand lives at once.
The only way to make the chaos stop was to make every world the same. Make his position in every world the same. That would be a monumental task, but at least it was a goal. With that in mind, he was able to separate himself from the thousands of other selves whirling in his head. He clung to Luna, embracing her warmth, and her joy at the strangeness of this new development. In all the other worlds he had seen, no one else had a Luna.
He met Shouichi in the café the first day he was able to drag himself out to face the world. He was surprised to see the redhead sat at his usual table when he went to choose his cake. The girl behind the counter, who knew him by sight, smiled and winked when she saw where he was looking.
"He's been in here every day for the past week. I told him that you were normally in every day, and this wasn't like you. He's a dear, just sits and works and orders coffee without even thinking about it. We served him seventeen cups yesterday – he's almost as good a customer as you are," she whispered conspiratorially. Byakuran grinned at her.
"I'll have two slices of that marshmallow fudge cake, the chocolate layer cake, and the strawberry and white chocolate tart. And two cream puffs, please." He hadn't been able to eat cake all week and he was going into withdrawal.
Shouichi jumped in shock when he set the loaded tray down on the table. He obviously hadn't noticed Byakuran come in.
"How much cake do you need?" he blurted out, before blushing again. "I mean, I… It's nice to see you again."
"It's good to see you too, Shou-chan! I've had the most awful migraines for the past week, but I dragged myself out of bed just to see you!" He pulled his chair round so that he was sitting right next to Shouichi, at a distance that would make most people uncomfortable. Messing with him was just too much fun.
"I hope you're feeling well. I really like this place, it's very quiet," he said.
"It's a good place to study, isn't it? What are you taking, Shou-chan?" he asked, peering rudely at the redhead's notes.
"I'm studying robotics. What are you taking?"
"Philosophy! It's fascinating, Shou-chan," he purred, wanting to see if he could make his new friend blush.
While Shouichi tried to collect himself, Byakuran grabbed his slice of strawberry tart, sliding the other one over to Shouichi.
"Try it! It's delicious," he ordered.
"Thanks, but I'm not really fond of sweets," Shouichi told him.
"But strawberry is a fruit," Byakuran pouted, inwardly shouting in triumph when Shouichi grinned at him reluctantly, and tried the cake.
That was the start of a beautiful, if bizarre, friendship. Meetings at the café turned into study sessions at his apartment, and at the end of the year, Shouichi agreed to move in with him once the contract on his current place was up. They played games – chess, go, backgammon. But they soon got bored of them, and spent many long nights developing their own. It was the best time Byakuran had ever had.
It was strange. In every life every Byakuran had ever lived, there was a Shouichi. Sometimes friends, sometimes lovers, sometimes enemies or casual acquaintances. Shouichi was more of a constant for him than his own parents. He wondered if that was what tied him to the other Byakurans. They all had a Shou-chan. He enjoyed learning about his Shou-chan. How he dealt with the most awful stomach aches when he got nervous, so he was able to sympathise with his migraines. How he blushed easily, and it made his freckles stand out. How his grandmother had been British and he had inherited her colouring, and his mother had had to bring a photo of her into school to prove that his hair was natural and he wasn't dying it. How he blocked the entire world out when he was designing something new, and he had a friend called Spanner who he had met at a robotics competition in High School. He had a mother and a sister, and it was so frustrating for him when they couldn't understand what he was talking about, or why he was so excited about his new invention. He had wanted to be a musician, but there was no money in it and he needed to do something practical. Every little secret about his Shou-chan, he set himself to discovering with an intensity that shocked him.
Soon, however, not even Shou-chan was enough to block out the other worlds. They were too loud, too overwhelming. He needed to make them all the same, to make them cooperate. The only way that he could ensure that was to rule them. If he wasn't in charge, he would be subject to the whims of other people, and things could change. It would be easy, he realised. He could look into every world and choose the best bits. New medical technology, economic theories, sources of energy. There was nothing to stop him from becoming ruler of this world with all his knowledge. He just needed a way to spread it to his other selves.
Another piece of the puzzle came when Shou-chan left a small data stick on his desk. Byakuran was going to return it, but curiosity overwhelmed him. It wasn't like Shou-chan had any secrets from him. He loaded it up, and stared in awe at what he saw.
With the knowledge of the future, it was easy to draw up a plan of action for every parallel world. If he could just communicate, rather than simply looking in, he could rule them all. It would be so simple. It was becoming harder to keep his Shou-chan from noticing that he was distracted, and he actually lost a game of Choice. In all the worlds, Shou-chan was the only one who can match him. His precious, precious Shou-chan.
It took a few months for him to figure out how to connect to the other worlds. He chose one that was similar to his own, so very close. The only difference was that he and Shou-chan were in Robotics together, and he never took philosophy. He focussed on that world, on the details of it. How the world smelt and tasted and felt, blocking out all of the others. He lay down in bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was in the middle of a lecture. He could follow it easily; after all, he knew whatever his alternate selves knew. But this was so boring. The world was the same, the people were the same. They were like characters in a game, programmed to live out the same boring lives over and over. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again, and woke up in bed.
The final tool he needed came on a sunny afternoon, when he was walking home from the library. Two women in hoods stopped him, and handed him a box. When he opened it, seven rings glittered at him. He thought they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. They look like tiny snitches. Luna's curiosity was burning in the back of his mind.
"What is this?" he asked.
"These are the Mare Rings," one of the girls told him.
"Mare Rings?" The name sounded familiar to him. Then again, most things did.
"We've finally found the rightful bearer of the Mare Ring. You are fit to bear the treasure of the world, the Mare Ring."
"And who are you?" he asked politely. This sounds like a joke, except that everything in him is thrumming in anticipation, telling him that this was important.
"We are a thought in your life. We bring revelations to the chosen."
Byakuran couldn't help it. He tipped his head back and laughed out loud. This was too funny.
"What's so funny?" the other girl asked. If Byakuran had to make a guess at the emotion lacing her monotone, he would have to say that she was offended.
"Took you long enough," he said. He had been waiting for the tool that would let him put his plan into action for over a year now. It had been too long, but he knew that in his hands, he held the final piece of the puzzle. Soon, he would have peace throughout the multiverse.
"I've been waiting for something like this to happen," he told the girls, "since I lost faith the real world long ago. I've never been able to stand the life of a human being." When you live a hundred thousand lives at once, you realise how insignificant people are. Nothing they do makes a difference. They're like extras, adding background texture to the film that is his life. His Shou-chan is the only other one who matters, the only other human with value.
"Everywhere I looked, people and society were but a backdrop," he explained to them, remembering long days sat in lectures that he had heard before, in other lives, surrounded by dull people who had never been, and could never be, anyone important at all. "It became clear after I travelled to a parallel world a few days ago. I'm just a mind that's trapped in a game."
"You're free to think what you want," the girl said. How very patronising. "Do you have the resolve to bear this Mare Ring?"
Resolve? If there was one thing that he had never lacked, it was resolve.
"Of course," he told them. "I'll take any key item that makes this world more fun." The world was a game, and he was going to play it with any advantage he was offered. If you were offered the cheat codes, there was no point in not using them. "By the way, I'll be making full use of this ring."
He thought for a moment. "I might even dabble in nonsense like global war and world domination. Will you punish me?" It was only fair to give them a warning, after all. He didn't particularly want war, but he needed to rule, and change never came without sacrifice. He didn't want to start using the ring, and then find out that there were conditions attached.
"We will never interfere. However, if you consider this to be a game, there are two other elements of Sky besides that Ring. In other words, don't forget that there are two other players."
"That's great! This wouldn't be much of a game if I didn't have any rivals," he cheered. The war in England had only been exciting because Harry and Voldemort were both strong competitors, after all.
The two women left him alone in the street, and he carried the box home. He had a game to play.
He moved quickly. He pulled all the small families he could find, using his knowledge of the other worlds to help, into his newly formed Gesso Family. They grew quickly in size and influence, and began chipping away at the larger Families, weakening the Cavallone and the Vongola without them even realising it. The Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi, would be one of the other players in his game, but he was too weak yet to be any fun.
The other worlds were quickly conquered. With the Ring, he could travel to them easily, finding enemies, removing competition. The details of his victory changed, but not the fact. Within two years, his was the only world not conquered. At last, there was peace in his mind.
It bored him. He had grown used to the chaos without realising, and now it was all the same there was nothing to do. With a sigh, he turned his mind to his own world. In every other world, the third player, Yuni, had managed to ruin his plans. By flinging herself into danger, she had made the Arcobaleno Pacifiers useless to him. In this world, he was determined that she wouldn't be able to. He would control every part of the Trinisette, and win the game. That was his only goal now.
His plan was simple. First, he put pressure on her Family, the Giglio Nero. Then he tracked down her swordsman, Genkishi. As he had thought, he was dying here in this filthy tent. A vaccination was simple to produce; he had made sure that the Gesso labs were the best in the world, and no medical discoveries were hidden from him. It was so easy to secure his loyalty. He was always amazed that these people thought their lives were important, that they would betray people they had sworn themselves to for something so meaningless as life. Still, one injection and he was Genkishi's God. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
From there, things played out like he knew they would. The Phantom Knight faked a loss against the Vongola's swordsman, driving dear Yuni into his arms. He looked into her eyes as he dosed her with the drug that would keep her compliant as the Millefiore Family took over the world.
Harry screamed in the back of his own head as Luna's capriciousness and Voldemort's lust for power laid waste to the world. All he could was pin his hopes on Shouichi and pray.