Gabriel was looking back and forth between Michael and the spiral staircase behind him. It was hard to say which one he was more fearful of at that moment. Considering what he knew about Gaia, he decided to settle on Michael. Not necessarily fear of him, but fear for him.

"Michael, are you sure you want to do this?"

Michael was currently scribbling away on his own notepad.

There was no answer as he worked. So Gabriel just looked back at the office on the viewing screen to keep watch over his charges.

~==(oIo)==~

Harry found himself merely staring at Mal. She had her arms rested on the back of the couch, her head resting on them as she stared out the window with a small smile on her face as she watched the cosmos in action. The feelings he felt upon first seeing her never left, but he managed to push them back for a time.

Now, staring at her, they were coming back with full force. Every so often, he found that he'd somehow moved closer to her. He never moved his body, so his magic was pulling him closer to her. He wanted desperately to be closer to her, to touch her. He was okay with it not being sexual, just as long as he was closer to her.

Hiding this reaction was getting harder. If he pushed himself away, she would have realized he'd drifted closer. He also didn't want to push her away. It would hurt him considerably to do so. He also got the feeling she would be hurt if he suddenly pulled away, and he couldn't bring himself to hurt her.

He'd looked away from her, taking deep breaths to try and control himself and his magic. It had been a long time since his magic had gotten away from him here. He usually had better control over himself and his actions.

Never, in all of his lives, had a woman done this to him. He wasn't sure how he should feel about that. On the one hand, he was elated that he found someone he could connect with like this. There was a chance for him to have something, the kind of relationship his parents had. On the other hand, she wasn't from his world, and he knew Michael well enough to know that it would take a lot for him to deviate from his set course of keeping souls in the worlds where they were born.

Harry was sure, no matter how much he argued that he'd fallen in love with Mal, Michael would forbid it. He would probably argue that falling in love with someone you just met was impossible. But as he looked up and saw she'd turned to head to look at him, he knew he was lost to this woman.

She had been staring out the window. The urge to paint coming back with a vengeance. While she would never proclaim to be a masterful artist, she did consider herself a mediocre artist. She had such vivid images in her mind, but her ability to transfer that to paper or canvas was lacking. It was depressing her that she might not even remember this view enough to try.

So she looked back at her companion in this place. Harry Potter. The actual thing. Not a story, or an element of fantasy, the real deal. That he was real in some world opened up enormous possibilities. While many had her excited to think about, there were a few; she was desperately trying to ignore.

The view helped for a while; now, she needed a more active distraction.

He'd somehow drifted closer without her noticing. She wondered if he was aware of how close he'd gotten. When he looked at her, she smiled at him.

"If I may," Mal said, causing his heart to skip a beat. At least, that's what it felt like, as he was made of soul, instead of matter, there was no way for his heart to beat. Maybe his soul pulsed? "You look similar to what I thought you would look like."

"Oh?" He asked, amused. "Did the actor for my character not match this visage?"

"Not at all." She laughed. "His hair wasn't dark enough, not to mention," She looked up into his eyes, "he didn't have the emerald jewels that you do."

He had to gulp at that. His eyes had been called many things to his knowledge, but no one had ever said that to him. He knew his previous wives might have said something along those lines, but once the potions left his system, any conversations he had with them, and others, seemed like a blur. He knew in a general sense what was spoken but not word for word what was said.

Before today, he felt like his eyes were a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they came from his mother, who threw out the supposed laws of magic to find a way to protect him. She succeeded, and they were a remembrance of her. On the other hand, they were the same color as the blasted killing curse. The very same curse that took his parents from him and so many others were lost too.

When people mentioned his eyes, it was to point out either of those facts. However, when she said that, it felt like a compliment. A rare and sincere compliment on the color, with no comparison to his mother or the killing curse.

"Thanks."

He did look exactly like she imagined, tall, black hair, emerald eyes. Though his physique was filled out, he had an athletic swimmer's body, and he didn't have his glasses.

"Did you really need glasses?" She found herself asking, "Or was that because of the Horcrux?"

"Combination of the Horcrux and limiters that Dumbledore placed on me." He sighed, answering honestly. "So, at least as far as appearances, I would essentially be a carbon copy of my father."

"I suspected as much." Then she realized the exact wording he used at the end. "Does that mean you're a metamorphimagus, or did Dumbledore lock a glamour on you as a baby because you were a perfect mix of your parents, or because you looked more like Lily?"

"You ask pointed questions, don't you?" Harry huffed.

He regretted those words immediately as she dropped her gaze.

"Sorry. Sometimes I tend to ask before I think." She mumbled. "I won't make that mistake again."

"No, Mal, it's fine. I just," He ran his hand through his hair and wished she'd smack him, "I was an arse then. I'm sorry. I'm not good with questions about myself."

She looked up at him and sighed. "Neither am I, to be honest. I should have realized that you were probably the same and been more respectful."

He realized then that he had to share some of himself if he wanted to know more about her. It was the way things worked. Since she'd asked the question, he didn't have to worry about if he started moving things forward. All he had to do was answer the question honestly.

"I have no idea about the metamorphimagus thing. There are some things that I can only learn as a mortal, apparently. Or circumstances must be dire for me to learn about them here. But given that I am descended from the Black family as well, there's a chance that I might have the powers." He shrugged. "From my understanding of it, I was a perfect mix of my parents, but Dumbledore somehow locked me into a carbon copy of my father. Maybe it was glamour; maybe I am a metamorphimagus, and being that young, he locked me into form." He shook his head, "I have no idea."

She straightened up and faced him completely, "Would you indulge me here for a moment?"

I would indulge you for as long as you let me. Harry's thoughts screamed; he only managed to save himself the embarrassment saying aloud by croaking out, "Sure."

"Magical healing is a lot more advanced than muggle healing, right?"

"From what I've managed to learn and retain, yes."

"Then how come your father needed glasses?" She asked, confused. "Wouldn't magic have been able to heal that, and yours as well?"

He smiled softly. "I remember now; I asked a similar question when going over my contract with Gabriel. I wanted to be in perfect health. There are several ways that I can, but without my asking, nothing can be done."

"Did he explain why?" Mal asked softly. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to or if you don't have an answer."

He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and gently kissing it. "Gabriel was able to explain some of the why."

Mal felt her cheeks start to burn, but Harry's eyes remained on their joined hands.

"My father was involved in an accident as a child." Harry frowned. "Apparently, he was in the potion's lab or something, and he had a bought of accidental magic and got an experimental potion in his eyes. Whether it was truly an accident to an attempt on his life was not explained to me. They managed to save his eyes, but something was permanently and irreversibly damaged, and thus he was forever in need of glasses. Similar explanations were made in my case when people asked Dumbledore about it. As he's my magical guardian, it would have needed his final approval before I could undergo any magical treatment that was not an emergency."

Seeing that he looked forlorn, Mal decided to change the subject. Going for a little humor this time.

"Hey, not to be racist," Harry's eyebrows quirked at that, understanding nothing good followed that statement, "but later blogs and a few fanfictions have Hermione has as a werewolf, sometimes as a Nekomimi," at his confused look, she explained, "cat ears and tail with the senses of a feline." Mal paused for a moment, then met his eyes, "Is any of that even remotely true? Her being a werewolf because Remus bit her in 3rd year, or half-cat because of the Polyjuice potion?"

"No." Harry laughed; he couldn’t see Hermione as the Neko-whatever Mal mentioned. Though he stopped and thought about it, remembering something, "I think, if we hadn't immediately gotten Hermione to Pomfrey that night and waited as she wanted, it would have been a permanent change. However, if that happened, she would have been expelled and sent to the DOM."

"Sorry, peoples," Mal mumbled to herself. At his confused look, she shrugged. "People wanted her to be a werewolf or a Nekomimi so that she would advocate for the rights of other "beasts." She sighed and looked at him, "What did she look like, and Ron? Did their actors do them justice? Wait, have you ever seen the movies?"

"Yes, I was curious, and Gabriel indulged me. It left me wanting as far as the storyline goes. It was close, but as you can imagine, the real thing was a much different experience." He took a breath and recalled the people who played the golden trio in the films.

"Ron's actor was spot on for the most part. He was taller than me or at least bound and weakened me. If my true self had been allowed to emerge, I would have been taller than him. Height and red hair were about all the actor had going for him. I believe a certain singer, Ed Sherman or something or another, comes close to the true Ron's facial features, but only if you were comparing cousins whose fathers are brothers and look very similar."

"So, he was rather cute looking?" Mal couldn't help but ask. Remembering a friend from work had a crush on the actor for Ron.

Harry shrugged. "I guess so; I'm a bloke; I don't look at men that way."

"A thousand theorists just died in agony." Mal muttered, still Harry, and chuckled. "So if Ron was rather pleasant looking, how come he wasn’t more popular at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled fondly at her, "I'm sure you have theories."

"Actually, I do." Mal nodded, "To be blunt, it's because of his terrible eating habits, total lack of social grace, and horrible personality. You can have a pretty face, but if that's all you've got going for you, that's not going to get you far in life."

"It's almost as if you were there." Harry nodded in agreement. "As for Hermione, no, the actress and the real thing were completely different. I will say this for the actress; she was much better looking than Hermione was, even when they were both starting our first year. Now, Hermione wasn't ugly; neither was she a sensational beauty. In school, she was a little above plain looking. After becoming adults, through liberal use of potions and cantrips, she became a beauty."

"So, she used potions on her hair, I'm guessing, and the cantrips were for everything else. Glowing skin, twinkling eyes, and sparkling teeth, am I right?"

He nodded.

"Okay, so before we move on, just how busy was her bushy hair? Are we talking beavers' nest here or the '70's afro hairstyles?" Mal quickly held up her hands. "Which were beautiful, by the way. I had a friend once who loved that type of style, and she was gorgeous."

He snorted, then shook his head, "The first film got close to the hair, but not bushy enough. I'm not sure what a beavers nest looks like, so I'd say maybe a blackberry bush?"

"Okay, clearly, you are intimate enough with the pop culture of my world to understand our entertainment. So, let me ask, have you, by chance, seen a music video called Lady Marmalade?"

Harry threw his head back, laughing, realizing where Mal was going with this, "Yes!" He finally managed. "Yes! That's exactly what Hermione's hair was like, but brown instead of blonde."

Mal shook her head, "To have the curse of that kind of hair as a young child, no wonder she had self-image issues."

"Anyway," Mal mentioning glowing skin reminded him of something else. "Hermione was significantly tanner than you are. She loved the idea of having a slight bronze tinge on her skin. So she tanned a lot of the time. Through magical and muggle means."

"Again, sorry, peoples, and forward thinkers." Mal sighed at yet another quizzical look from Harry. Mal sighed again, "People began to say that she was black or of African descent."

He shook his head, "Nope, she wasn't black. Another thing worth mentioning, she also had freckles. Far more than Ginny, as a matter of fact."

Mal nodded. "Ah," then she looked at him, skeptically, "Freckles?"

"Yeah, everywhere." He assured her.

She got the feeling that he didn't want to talk about Hermione anymore; there was a bitterness in his tone that was unmistakable. Like the one, she got when talking about her ex-husband. As much as she wanted to know, she was able to hold back from prying. There was a story there. One that she got a distinct feeling that she wouldn't like.

"Tell me about your lives; what was magic like? How does it compare to being a muggle?"

Harry looked at her, amused. Before he could answer her questions, a mortified look came across her face, and she scooted back a bit, waving her hands vigorously.

"I am so sorry!" She just thought that he didn't want to talk about women, and he likely didn't want to talk about his lives, and yet she blurted out those questions. "Just ignore that; we don't have to talk about that."

It was clear that she asked because she was eager to know, and with the magic of Purgatory, she couldn't keep the question contained for long. Harry understood how she felt and wondered how long he would manage to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself.

She didn't move that far away, but you could fit a ruler between them, and Harry didn't care much for that. He watched as she turned back to the window and went back to staring at the cosmos with a soft sigh. And again, he found himself captivated more by her than the view beyond the window.

Her hair was a deep midnight purple when she'd been alive, but upon her arrival, it started to turn back to its natural burgundy color slowly. Thankfully, it kept the same shape that it was when she was alive. Thick, falling in a series of waves and ring curls that he found mesmerizing.

He remembered that his two wives were never satisfied with their hair. Ginny kept trying to achieve the hairstyle that Mal seemed to come by naturally. In contrast, Hermione spent several thousands of galleons taming her hair. With the hope that she could have straight hair. He found it ironic that he had fallen for a woman who had achieved a look they were desperate for naturally.

More than the hair issue, they lacked the beauty that was Mal. Perhaps others would call her great looking, but it was the confidence she wore that made her more attractive. She didn't try to fight her looks, alter her hair, yes, but not her looks. He noticed that unless she was working in mortal life, she didn't wear makeup.

He couldn't help but smile at the thought that she looked utterly at home in her full-length white maxi dress, he believed it was called, with thin straps over her shoulders and crossing each other on her back to hold up the top part. The top was tightly sewn with what appeared to be stretchy cords to support her ample bosom.

By Mother Magic, he wanted to strip her down and taste every inch of her. Given what she was wearing, it wouldn't be that difficult. He quickly turned his thoughts away from that line of thinking before saying something like that out loud. Though considering she worked as an exotic dancer, it would probably be something she'd heard before, and he didn't want to sound like those men from her world. Like, all he wanted from her was her body. Not when it was the soul and everything that came with it that he wanted.

Still, he couldn't fight the thoughts for long, and the time between their popping up was getting shorter and shorter. More often than he'd care to admit, his eyes fell to her chest. For the first time in his soul's existence, his mind went utterly blank when staring at a woman's breasts.

His teenage years didn't count, that was natural, and it was rare to see a developed chest at Hogwarts because their robes were not flattering.

He enjoyed breasts; he was male after all, but Mal's were the biggest Harry'd ever seen, and he'd seen Susan's double-D's back in Hogwarts when he'd walked in on her and Neville naked in the greenhouse once.

Mal's was creamy white cleavage taunted him, and his mouth went dry. Remembering that he'd seen her in the shower after watching her perform only made the situation worse.

Still, he felt that all of that paled in comparison to her eyes. Looking at her eyes, he could easily forget about her body and that it made him ache for his mortal form back. Those ice-blue jewels made him think he could stare into them forever and never get bored.

He knew that questions about himself were inevitable; their past conversation was proof of that. He was looking for an opportunity to ask about her lives and her experiences as well. He never expected that she would immediately backpedal and apologize when she took the step to ask for more details.

At that moment, he knew what to do and how to get the conversation up again.

"Why did you dye your hair?"

Mal looked at him, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Your hair was a dark purple in life, and just before you came here. Now it's back to its original color. I'm just wondering what prompted that?"

She sighed and looked back out the window. "It's not a good story."

"I'd still like to know."

"You have been answering my questions." she conceded. "It's not fair to ignore the ones you ask when you do."

He settled back, knowing she'd answer in her own time.

"My sister was killed. We were very close, and her death cut me to the core. I survived my marriage falling apart, but it felt like my sister's death would be the thing that broke me." She sniffed, but still, a few tears fell. "We always talked about dying our hair odd colors. So when the chance came, I jumped on it. There's also the joke that depressed people dye their hair to cope with their trauma. I guess it satisfied both things at once."

His heart broke for her. He thought about how he felt after losing Sirius, then Remus. He understood exactly how she felt. Throwing caution to the wind, he scooted over, closing the remaining distance between them. He gently took hold of her chin and tilted her head up so she looked at him.

"I'll tell you about me, all of it."

"If?" She might be naive at times, but she wasn't stupid; she knew there would be a price for his tale. But staring up into those emerald green eyes that seemed to glow slightly, she didn't care what it was.

"If you tell me about you."

"Are you asking that we purge with each other as sounding boards?" She couldn't help but ask, remembering their previous conversation.

He nodded. "I suppose that is what I'm saying. But as well as that, we ask our mutual questions along the way. What do you say?"

Still lost in his eyes, she nodded. "Yeah, sounds fair. But where do we begin?"

Harry sighed as he released her and sat back a bit. "I guess we start with the beginning. Each of our lives, the how's, and what our deaths were."

"Makes sense, but who goes first?"

Harry sat back with a smile. "I guess a good place to start with my parents."

Mal sat back, getting comfortable. Knowing, somehow, they were going to be at this for a while.

What details Harry did know, he knew through what little people told him in mortal life and what Gabriel was able to confirm in Purgatory after his deaths. Naturally, the story began with a young eleven-year-old James Potter and how he met Sirius on the train. While the two had met before at important social events, this was the first time they could converse freely without adult supervision. While they liked each other's company in the past, they began forming a bond that would seem them as brothers for the rest of their lives.

James first saw Lily shortly before the sorting, and he thought she was beautiful. However, as time went on, her brilliant mind cemented him in the knowledge that he was madly in love with her. It would never diminish. No matter how angry she got or how much she declared she hated him. His love never wavered.

Eventually, Lily and James did come together. In front of half of the school, Snape's declaration that Lily was a worthless mudblood was the final straw for her.

"If I may," Mal interrupted, "there were a couple of fanfictions that had James going up to Lily and apologizing and had him even attempting to apologize to Snape. Is that what happened? Because it seems like a decent ice breaker to me."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

By the end of their sixth year, James and Lily were a couple. By the end of seventh year, they were engaged. They married in a small but formal ceremony at Pottermore. They and his grandparents then went and fought in the war. While Lily worked on her potions and charms Mastery, and her creations and breakthroughs going to help the war effort, James was on the front lines as an Auror. With Sirius at his side. Remus worked in the shadows following Dumbledore's orders to recruit werewolves or, at least, keep them out of the fight. Pettigrew was another who worked closely with Dumbledore, and Harry had no idea what the rat did for work.

Things for the Potter's came crashing down when James' parents were killed in an attack in Diagon Alley. While James and Lily helped with the actual fight, the elder Potter's helped politically. They were very active, but what movements they fought for, Harry had no idea. All Gabriel told him was they were fighting in the political sense.

This loss shattered James, the supposed loss of Pottermore devastated James and Sirius. When Harry was an adult and learned about Pottermore from the goblins, it was standing and just fine. But something, or someone, had convinced everyone that Pottermore was lost.

Shortly thereafter, Lily found out she was pregnant. Not long after that, Dumbledore told them the prophecy; they went into hiding at the cottage in Godric’s Hollow and remained there until their final days.

"My first death," He said slowly, "happened, as I'm sure you can imagine, that first time I faced Voldemort. Who will henceforth be called Riddle for obvious reasons."

Mal understood. Riddle was the identity that he tried so hard to hide with the monarch Voldemort. Abandoning that scared little boy, he was for the power that he fought to gain. Calling him Voldemort merely empowered the maniac more. She could respect that even in death, Harry didn't want to give that man any respect.

She supported his choice in that, but there was something in what he said that bothered her. She was sure she knew where he was going with this, but she sincerely hoped that she was wrong.

"The end of your first year? I thought Quirrell couldn't touch you."

"Not then. That wasn't my first time meeting the bastard. The first time was October 31st, 1981."

She closed her eyes for a moment, biting her bottom lip. She had been right.

"Tom Riddle came after me, as you know, because of the prophecy. After he "dealt" with me, he was going to go after the second choice, Neville, and kill him, so the prophecy was void no matter what, and he could continue with his plans. As you know, Riddle cast the famous killing curse at me. However, he cast it as the first in a spell chain. Do you know what that is?"

She nodded. "Two or more spells cast simultaneously after the other in quick concession, where one spells wand movements end, the other begins, to weaken an opponent."

"Very good. However, as you can imagine, with Riddle at the wand, it was meant for deadly purposes; he wanted to ensure that I was dead and stayed dead."

"For that purpose, I would assume that the spell chain would be something along the lines of killing you, destroying the evidence, then casting his famous Dark Mark."

"Well, you got some of it right. The spell chain went the killing curse, the cutting curse, and Fiendfyre. He cast all of them within seconds, so while my mother's sacrifice helped the Killing curse rebound onto him, the cutting curse and Fiendfyre hit home. The whole cottage was destroyed, taking the bodies, and even Riddle's wrath form with it. However, with the Horcruxes still out there, he still had the means to return."

"The fanfictions," A few tears fell at the images he invoked in her mind causing her to pause for a moment before she tried again. "Since the canon wasn't all that clear about your mother's sacrifice, the fanfictions, and fan theories, are that your mother dabbled in sacrificial magic so that in giving her life for you, you would be spared. One of my favorites had you immune to all mind magic, and that's basically what the killing curse is. It wipes the brain clean of all functions, even those automated ones that keep the body running." She met his eyes, "May I ask if that's the case with what actually happened?"

Harry grinned at her, amused. "That I was immune or my mother practicing sacrificial magic?"

Mal wiped her tears and smiled inspite of herself. "The sacrificial part, obviously, you wouldn't have been immune if the killing curse worked."

He couldn't help but admire her knowledge of his world. "Yes, my mother did perform a ritual based on self-sacrifice. In a way, Dumbledore was right that it was my mother's love that saved me, as she would have to love me deeply and died willingly in my place, for the ritual to work, but he was wrong about the specifics." His face and tone took on a dark undercurrent. "Not that the old wanker was one to shell out specifics."

For a moment, he worried that Mal would become afraid of him, but instead, she bobbed her head before nodding. "Yeah, the old man did like his secrets even in canon. Many fanfictions were not nice to him at all."

"You have to tell me about them."

She grinned. "Well, there was one, where through some magical chicanery, Dumbledore was put into the tournament instead of you, as was Riddle, and Riddle came back as a squirrel rat hybrid. Eventually, it was through magical chicanery and the fact that they were very, very, drunk that they were married by you, and Riddle was a lovesick puppy and lusted after Dumbledore. And Riddle was very active in showing that to Dumbledore. In the end, they were forced together, even in death, because of how their vows were worded."

He lost it. He could picture it so clearly that he fell off the couch and laughed till he was crying. Even then, he couldn't stop. What a perfect fate that was for the old man.

Seeing that this was doing him a lot of good, she continued. "There was another that Riddle used Ron in the ritual instead of you, and Riddle came back obsessed with the same things Ron was. Eventually, he went to the castle looking like a human football and begged Dumbledore to kill him so he could resurrect himself again and not be like he was. Only for a very gay Dumbledore to strip down and try to seduce Riddle. Dumbledore was waiting all those years for Riddle to come back and stop seducing Dumbledore; by that, I mean his plots and actions to take over the world and just, as you would say, bugger Dumbledore senseless. Apparently, all of that was foreplay for Dumbledore."

Harry was rolling back and forth, crying with laughter.

She watched him with a smile on her face. "I'm glad I could help improve your mood. I wish I could have been there with you through it all. I would have helped as much as I could. Rules of time and space be damned."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked away. She didn't know if he heard her; regardless, she said the words that been on her mind since she learned who he was. She wished she was a member of his world, a constant in his life. She would have helped him, stood by him. Mal wasn't sure how she would get along with Hermione, but she was sure she wouldn't have gotten along with Ron depending on his attitude.

Eventually, Harry managed to stop laughing at the idea of Riddle's and Dumbledore's torment at the hands of the other. Filing that knowledge away for another time, he sat back on the couch and looked at Mal expectantly. She drew a shaky breath, knowing what that look meant. It was her turn now.