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Spells fly around you, your friends try to crawl away from the battle, their hands still tied, their mouths still gagged. You dive behind the archway in space that is the way out, dragging Arty with you.
“Weasley!” You shout at Mr. Red, who is on the floor, his face on his hands. “You wanna know what happened to your niece? You wanna know what happened to <span class="mu-i">Lily</span>? He killed her! He tortured and killed her! I never lied! He’s Salazar Slytherin, and if he gets to that basin he’ll become more powerful than Voldemort ever was!”
You struggle against Arty’s bindings as you shout, but he doesn’t seem to hear you, holding his head with force, as if trying to claw his way into his own skull, as if under tremendous pain.
“It’s- It’s not real!” He shouts, shaking. “It- It never happened!”
“It happened! It happened and time changed! But here you can remember!”
“I- I can’t-”
Brighton slams a rock over his head and he crumples on the floor.
“Brighton!”
He picks up Mr. Red’s wand and runs to you, looking like he’s also in pain. He waves it at Arty’s bindings, but only the tiniest cut appears on them, wordless spellcasting with someone else’s wand being far too difficult in his condition. He pushes the wand into your hands and you manage to cast the spell well enough to release him.
“My head,” he says as he pulls the gag out of his mouth, voice strained. “Feels like it’s going to crack open.”
“Mine is not so good either,” Arty says. “But it’s bearable. I… I remember Lily. I remember her! And her memories are trying to push through the old ones.”
“I… I used to play with her,” Brighton says. “When we were kids. We weren’t best friends but-”
“The more memories you had with her the worse it is,” you say, suddenly understanding. You had been protected from the change by Ancient Magic when the shift happened, so your mind had time to fit both timelines together with some elegance, and even you had your moments of disorientation. Theirs was suddenly being forcefully flooded with their original memories. “No wonder her uncle was like that. Can you two fight?”
“Yep,” Longbottom nods, voice strained. “Just need a wand.”
You look around, searching for the man who had your wand, and also for Linda and Apollo. You find them taking cover behind one of the great glass-like stones, which from the amount of blasts they’ve taken are anything but glass, desperately trying to find a way of cutting the magical knot-less ropes that bind them.
[Cont.]
