Chapter Text
—Chapter.1—
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
....
Harry Potter summoned every ounce of strength to bellow the counter-spell.
The collision of the curses was blindingly brilliant, the light seeming to devour the entire world.
Instinctively, Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the sounds–the spells colliding, tearing, annihilating each other. He could feel it:his will, his magic was winning. The prophecy was fulfilling itself, the connection was working. He had something Voldemort lacked–a choice, resolve... and that soul-deep tether binding them.
He was alive. He felt his heart beating, felt the scorching dust and the coppery tang of blood in the air as he breathed. Was this... victory?
He snapped his eyes open.
He was still at Hogwarts, surrounded by shattered walls and rubble.
But Voldemort was gone.
In his place stood another figure.
Standing mere steps in front of him was a face etched into his very bones, someone he'd never dared imagine truly touching in the real world.
James Potter.
A living, breathing James Potter. His hair was the same untidy mess Harry had seen in photographs, but his handsome face was now contorted, his hazel eyes blazing with an emotion Harry couldn't decipher–intense grief and burning fury.
He was looking at Harry, but it was not the gaze of a father looking at his son. It was the look reserved for an enemy.
This isn't my father. Harry thought. It seemed neither he nor Voldemort had truly won the duel. Harry couldn't fathom why Voldemort would transfigure into his father's likeness; the realization ignited fresh anger within him. Instinctively, he raised the wand in his hand—
—And found nothing.
Draco's wand was gone.
Harry started, but what came next was even more shocking.
"Looking for this?"The man's voice cut through the silence, laced with deliberately forced lightness and underlying rage. His voice was hoarse, strained, pitched high but forcibly restrained."Harry, were you going to try hitting me with another Killing Curse?"
His own wand was pointed steadily at Harry, but in his left hand, he held a holly wand.
Harry couldn't mistake it. It was his wand, the one that had been his companion for seventeen years. But just moments ago... hadn't that very wand been broken?
And what did he mean by another Killing Curse?! Harry didn't know the Killing Curse.
Harry was already realizing something was profoundly wrong."What—?"he stammered.
The man pressed the accusation:"Harry! Why?! Why in Merlin's name would you do it?! What could Peter have possibly done to deserve you selling him out to the Dark Lord?!"
What the bloody hell?! Harry screamed internally.
What was any of this?!
If Peter meant Peter Pettigrew... well, Harry could probably name quite a few points.
Harry suddenly noticed the James Potter before him looked older than the man in his photos, as if aged by over a decade.
An absurd, yet undeniably fitting explanation exploded into his mind—
—This was not his world.
He had travelled. He had crossed over.
Harry forced himself to stay calm, attempting an explanation:"Wait, I think something's happened—"
Before he could finish, the all-too-familiar sense of emptiness washed over him again. His words were choked off mid-sentence as consciousness fled.
The surrounding darkness gradually softened, replaced by a gentle, sourceless white light.
Mist. White mist again.
He was lying on the impossibly clean floor of King's Cross Station, a platform bleached of colour, existing in boundless silence.
The afterlife? Had he returned here once more?
An indescribable tearing ache throbbed deep within his soul.
"Harry."
The voice was gentle, familiar, imbued with the wisdom of ages. It pierced the uneasy quiet. Harry sat bolt upright, his heart lurching violently.
Not far away, a figure materialized from the shimmering white. Albus Dumbledore emerged once more, clad in his deep-purple robes embroidered with silver stars. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes shone with a complex mix of deep concern, compassion, and a flicker of... strange anticipation.
"Professor?"Harry's throat felt tight, his voice dry."Am I... dead again? Or...?"
Harry scrambled to his feet, the confusion about his father, the accusation of"another Killing Curse,"the utterly ludicrous betrayal of Peter all boiling up inside him, desperate to spill out.
"Back there! I was dueling Voldemort! And then... I saw my father! But... he hated me! He had my wand! He accused me of betraying Wormtail! Did I... arrive in another world? Where's Voldemort?! What in Merlin's name happened?!"His words tumbled out frantically.
Dumbledore raised a hand gently in a calming gesture."Peace, Harry. Please, gather yourself first."His eyes were misty."Harry, you triumphed."
Harry instinctively corrected:"We did. Wait—Voldemort is dead?"
Dumbledore gave a slight nod."It seems undeniable that you overcame him."
Harry:"But what happened just now? Voldemort vanished, and suddenly... my father was standing there!"
"This touches upon the deepest mysteries of the soul and the scars of war. Time, or perhaps Fate itself, has just experienced a rare... interweaving,"Dumbledore said.
"A uniquely liminal space, Harry,"Dumbledore continued, stepping closer and coming to a stop before him.
"Somewhere between life and death. Or perhaps more precisely, between'here'and'there,'between'consummation'and...'renewal.'Your souls resonated."
Harry frowned, his hand instinctively rising to touch the lightning-bolt scar that no longer hurt but remained a presence. Resonated? With whom?
It was as if Dumbledore had read his thoughts."With another Harry Potter who hails, like you, from the year1997."
"You–you, and the other'you'–your souls, already fundamentally entwined with You-Know-Who through a fatal tether, were utterly pierced by the unbearable rending force unleashed at the absolute peak of your respective final battles. The annihilating vortex created by the colliding curses ripped open a fissure connecting to another parallel soul–like two sides of a coin flipping under immense pressure. In the end... you swapped places."
"...Another...'me'? I just... stepped into another Harry Potter's body?"Harry felt the absurdity wash over him.
"Precisely. You exchanged souls, in the instant your curses were unleashed. You each stepped into the critical battle moment of the other's timeline, inhabiting the other's physical form."
Harry felt like a punctured ball, all the air rushing out.
Another battle moment... another timeline?
His mind buzzed, recalling the bizarre encounter. If that world had a living James Potter... that implied...
"That world..."Harry's breath came fast and shallow, an expression of incredulous and desperate hope flaring in his eyes."That world... are my parents... are they both alive? Sirius? Remus? You... Professor, are you alive?"Each name felt like a searing brand against his heart. He dared not hope, yet couldn't suppress the yearning.
"So far as I perceive—"Dumbledore seemed to choose his words carefully, his eyes filled with distinct sorrow and a touch of regret."In that parallel reality, Lily and James Potter survived the night of October31st,1981."He didn't mention the other names, but the implication was vast enough.
Immense joy and euphoria surged through Harry like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. They were alive! They were alive! A world with parents! A childhood not completely torn apart by Voldemort... It was the dream he'd clutched at in the darkness of the Dursleys'cupboard, before the Mirror of Erised, in moments of utter despair, in the empty rooms of Grimmauld Place...
This ecstasy lasted mere seconds. The bubble of bliss was brutally punctured.
Harry tried hard to keep any hint of envy out of his voice:"Oh, that's... nice—I mean, the other'me'has it pretty good."
Dumbledore smiled gently at him.
Harry felt strangely uncomfortable under that smile and was about to look away when Dumbledore spoke, his voice calm yet possessing a peculiar intensity:
"I am glad to see that world seems agreeable to you, Harry. Then, would you... wish to remain there?"
"Wha—!?"Harry jumped, stunned. He stammered:"Why would you ask that..."
Was Dumbledore secretly some kind of"If you like it, I'll take it and give it to you"sort of evil mastermind?!(Delete that thought!)
Dumbledore explained:"Because this exchange is not transient. It is a journey through time, without a known return ticket. You are only here temporarily. You–both of you–may well have permanently swapped souls, arriving not just in another world, but in the year1995of that other timeline."
"—1995?"
"The year it all truly began,"Dumbledore's voice deepened, weighted with significance."The year Voldemort publicly returned, the year the Prophecy was laid bare, the year you first shouldered the true burden of the fight... the year Sirius departed from us."(Harry's heart clenched painfully at the name.)"Moreover, it is the year when the critical turnings occurred in each of your soul's journeys, when your deepest fractures first began to form."
"So then... the other me... does he know?"Harry asked haltingly, his voice trembling."Does he agree? To just... swap? To let two souls inhabit each other's past bodies?"
The crux lay here.
Because in that other world, everything he cherished most–his parents, his godfather, Remus–were alive. That place was his heaven, the shore he had fought and bled and died to reach.
"Why would he give that up? Why would he willingly go to my world–a world of ruins, a pile of corpses, a world without parents?"
Harry couldn't comprehend it. Why would someone holding his own deepest redemption in their grasp willingly throw paradise away to fall into the hellscape he'd just left behind, soon to be consumed by death and pain? It defiedlogic...
Dumbledore's expression grew graver."He... harbors no objections. The truth is, his relationship with his parents is precisely as you witnessed moments ago–catastrophically damaged. Filled with misunderstanding, hatred, violence, even mutual threats."
"That world, for the other Harry Potter, lost any sense of meaning long ago. It became a battleground only for internal ruin."
"Harry, wounds inflicted upon time and the soul cannot be healed by the will of one alone. The other'you,'fractured and darkened... his soul bears cracks and shadows far deeper than you could fathom. His place is already scorched earth to his spirit, holding nothing but hollow hatred and a vortex of self-destruction. For him now, leaving that battlefield, leaving that hostile'home'... to journey wherever fate takes him... offers a form of release, however chaotic."
He paused slightly."He chooses surrender, or perhaps... a flight into the unknown. But you, Harry, are different. The love within you has never truly died. You have known profound loss, and because of that, you understand the incalculable worth of redemption. That is why, ultimately, the decisive choice rests here... rests with you, in this moment."
"Your souls are shattered, and love holds the power to mend them."
Dumbledore slowly extended his hand–not a physical touch, but a gesture of profound, ritualistic invitation.
"Harry, this is more than just a solution to a problem–it is the only path to life, the sole opportunity for two fractured souls to rediscover wholeness. The price is immense:You will leave the world you have fought so hard for, you will leave behind your familiar friends. You will be reborn, in a way, in the year1995–a time heavy with old wounds for you. But you will awaken in an unimaginable life, in a complex and likely hostile family, burdened by chains you must learn to bear. You must struggle to survive, attempt to comprehend the'other side of the coin,'... to try and mend those fractures with love."
"You asked me if he consents? His'will'... is abandonment. Your will... is the key."
"Harry, will you exchange souls with yourself?"
The question hung suspended in the pure white void.
Harry seemed to hear the voices of all those lost to him–Sirius's bark of laughter, Remus's calm counsel, Dobby's high-pitched earnestness... He saw again those hazel eyes, so like his father's yet filled with hate, the rubble, and that place that should have been paradise, yet was steeped in loathing—Hogwarts.
"Your souls are shattered, and love holds the power to mend them."
Harry looked deep into Dumbledore's eyes. There was no pressure there, only waiting and implicit trust.
1995...
Harry drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then, slowly, with unwavering conviction, he spoke:
"If..."His voice was rough at first but quickly firmed."If this is truly the only way... If it offers a chance..."He straightened his spine, summoning the resolve he'd faced Voldemort with time and again, readying himself to meet whatever unknown future lay ahead. His emerald eyes held anguish, sorrow, and profound reluctance, but far greater was that bone-deep, indomitable determination.
"...Then all right, Professor,"Harry's voice settled into calm acceptance."Send me through."
He didn't plan to ask more questions. Everything seemed to have an answer, already waiting in the silence.
Just as he wouldn't question the fractures in his own soul.
A look of mingled relief and profound sorrow flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. He said no more, but gave Harry an ancient smile, encompassing all understanding and blessing.
Suddenly, to Harry's left, appeared a magnificent mirror set in an ornate gold frame.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
The Mirror of Erised.
No words were exchanged, yet it felt like a preordained ritual. Harry walked towards it. Just as he was about to step into the glass surface, a voice came from behind him.
"Harry, I must impress this upon you:Fundamentally, you are the same person. The same core soul, caught and splintered into two divergent streams by a brutal fate."
What?
A tiny, brilliant point of gold flashed at the very edge of Harry's vision–swift as lightning. Instinct honed by a Seeker made Harry snatch at it almost reflexively.
It felt cool, solid, familiar in his palm.
He opened his hand.
A single golden Galleon lay there. He recognized it as a D.A. coin.
The coin was smooth, warm, landing Heads up.
"Two sides of the same coin,"Dumbledore's voice resonated.
"Every coin has two sides."
Harry clenched the coin tightly and stepped into the mirror. As he touched the surface, the glass shimmered like water, rippling to envelop him. At the same moment, the mirror flared into life, its surface revealing an image of eternal solace:
In the distance, framed by the ruins of Hogwarts, stood all those lost to him. James and Lily embraced, smiling. Sirius stood with his characteristic effortless grace. Remus heldTeddy's hand, Tonks beside him, leaning against her husband. Fred made one of his trademark funny faces. Dobby gazed out, eyes filled with pure freedom... They were bathed in a light of serene peace, as if the traumas of war had finally healed. Joy radiated from their gathered forms.
The image dissolved slowly, like gentle ripples fading away, leaving the mirror cold and blank, returning to pure, silent white.
...
...
...
Consciousness once more plummeted into the chaotic torrent of space and time.
——————
“Avada Kedavra!”“Expelliarmus!”....
His eyes snapped open. A profound sense of eerie unfamiliarity flooded 「Harry」’s entire being.
A moment ago, he stood on a battlefield woven with blood and curses. The wand that should have stolen his father James Potter’s life glowed with an ominous green light in his hand—he remembered screaming that deadly incantation with a twisted, all-consuming mixture of vindictive glee and profound agony. And now...
The acrid smell of cheap cleaning solution assaulted his nostrils.
He found himself standing in a small, obsessively tidy living room. A long-faced, horsey woman stared at him in horror, as if she’d just seen some unspeakable creature crawl into her kitchen. Beside her stood a man—「Harry」 had never imagined a human could balloon to such grotesque proportions—bloated, his face purpling like an overfilled bladder, layers of fat on his neck nearly swallowing his tiny chin. Now, his piggy little eyes were bloodshot with rage, spittle flying as he roared:
“What did you do to Dudley?!”
At his words, the woman let out a sudden wail. 「Harry」 noticed then a boy, similarly porcine, sitting beside her, looking pale and dazed.
Before him, the man raised his fist.
“I told you—! No! More! Of your freaky tricks!!! Especially on Dudley, d’you hear me, boy?! Look what you did! Filthy tricks! Freak! Throw that bloody wand away! NOW!”
「Harry」’s mind worked with icy clarity.
This was not Hogwarts.
He didn’t know these three people, and his current impression of them was decidedly negative.
James and Lily, even at his most rebellious, when he’d flirted with the darkest edges of magic, had never shrieked at him with such vitriolic, degrading insults. This raw, ignorant hatred, based purely on disgust, was both a novel and deeply offensive experience.
He felt no anger, only profound absurdity.
Plucked inexplicably to a strange place. Forced to face strange people.
He didn’t know where he’d been “Apparated” to.
“Silence.” 「Harry」’s voice wasn’t loud; it wasn’t the frustrated yell of a teenager, but the commanding tone of one used to giving orders, used to controlling life and death.
The air froze solid.
The long-faced woman gasped sharply, “How dare you speak like—?”
Suddenly, an owl flew into the dining area, dropping an envelope at 「Harry」’s feet before swooping back out.
“Another—another one of those blasted birds! Don’t! You dare pick that up!” the man bellowed. 「Harry」’s gaze slid over the quivering mounds of fat and the terrified, horsey face without a flicker of emotion.
He bent down with natural, unnerving elegance and picked up the letter. The ornate calligraphy and wax seal on the envelope felt vaguely familiar.
Ministry of Magic.
He tore it open impassively, pulling out the letter. The couple stared at the document in his hand as if it were a lit bomb.
「Harry」’s eyes scanned the contents swiftly:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-one minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.
The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August the twelfth.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda HopkirkImproper Use of Magic OfficeMinistry of Magic
「Harry」: ?
He’d never heard of the Ministry expelling students. And besides, he was an adult, wasn’t he?
He tilted his head towards the trio nearby.
His gaze settled on the boy who seemed to be school age. “Your surname is Potter?”
「Harry」 felt like he was suddenly struggling to read English.
“Are you mad? He’s Dudley Dursley! Dursley!” the woman shrieked.
Dursley? That sounded vaguely familiar…
「Harry」 drawled a slow, deliberate “Oh,” looking back down at the letter. “Well, that’s a relief – to hear I have no relative sporting pig’s blood.”
The man looked as if he’d been mortally insulted, his face purpling even deeper – strange, it was just the truth – like he was about to explode. “How dare you insult Dudley, you freak! You and your freakish kind! I knew all Potters were as cracked as your father—”
“Silence.” The wand in 「Harry」’s hand lifted, its tip unwavering, his green eyes glacial. “Say that again.”
The man swung a meaty hand, trying to knock the wand aside, but 「Harry」 evaded it effortlessly. The man kept ranting, “Think I didn’t see what that letter said? Expelled! Never using that twig again! Think you can scare me? You motherless little shit! No wonder your mum’s not—”
The woman seemed to open her mouth, perhaps to interject. But 「Harry」’s sharp incantation cut her off.
“Flipendo!”
CRACK—!!! CRASH—!!
The man was thrown backward, flipping violently until he crashed hard against the wall behind him. Plaster cracked under the impact. Picture frames fell with a clatter.
The woman emitted an ear-piercing scream. 「Harry」 merely flicked his wand—“Silencio”—forcing her mouth shut.
The scream died instantly in her throat, replaced by terrified, muffled sobs that echoed grotesquely in the small living room.
“What did you mean about my mother?” 「Harry」 said, his voice dangerously soft. He commanded, “Tell me.”
「Harry」’s expression was stone, his fingers tracing the wood of his wand. “I trust you realize my curses are significantly faster than any Ministry representative likely to arrive. Now. Answer my question.”
“......”
Thankfully, it was an unbearably hot day on Privet Drive, all the neighbors shut up inside seeking the cool. Otherwise, they might have witnessed the utterly bizarre scene inside Number Four.
Vernon Dursley, grossly obese and obsessively conventional about appearances, lay sprawled pathetically amidst dust and cracked plaster, his face purple with a mixture of agony and utter humiliation, wheezing and unable to form words. Dudley, the hopelessly indulged, bullying boy, seemed comatose, beads of sweat rolling off his brow. Petunia Dursley pressed both hands desperately over her mouth, tears streaming down her face in silent rivers.
The inconspicuous, skinny boy—said to be the "no-good poor relation on my mother's side"—stood opposite them with unnerving indifference.
The boy who should have been fifteen looked wiry but tough, his clothes ill-fitting and ragged, as if he’d been through a fight. His gaze, unfamiliar and lethally focused, locked onto the family huddled before him.
Slowly, 「Harry」 raised his wand, its tip now aimed directly at Vernon’s throat.
“Final chance,” 「Harry」’s tone was flat, conversational, belying the dangerous glint at his wand tip. “‘My mother is not here’ – what does that mean?”
Vernon didn’t respond, just groaned on the floor, shock and pain apparently rendering even a weak curse impossible. Petunia stared at 「Harry」, a flicker of disbelief in her tear-filled eyes.
“Since he’s chosen to be mute,” 「Harry」 didn’t turn his head, keeping his eyes on Vernon, but his command was clearly for Petunia, “you tell me. Now. I dislike repeating myself.”
He gave two sharp flicks of his wand. Vernon’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped unconscious.
Simultaneously, the Silencing Charm lifted. Petunia gasped in a ragged breath, nearly choking on spittle, her voice raw and broken with terror: “Ungrateful brat… freak… don’t you know – Lily’s dead! Been dead for years! With your good-for-nothing father!”
“Dead?” 「Harry」 repeated.
His eyebrows rose slightly, a minute tremor seeming to ripple deep within his green eyes, but it wasn’t heart-rending grief or fury.
He stated calmly, “How. Tell me.”
“By… by that…” Petunia’s eyes darted fearfully between 「Harry」 and her unconscious husband, then quickly away. Her lips trembled. “That person… murdered! When they were in hiding! To protect you!” Her words tumbled out, incoherent, years of tangled emotions crushed by sheer terror into desperate survival instinct. “She was killed! By… by those things… that… magic!”
The last word burst out like a confession wrung under torture, a mixture of pure hatred and terror directed squarely at 「Harry」. “You can’t hurt us! Your… your Ministry! It protects our kind! Against yours!”
“‘Protects’? Let me confirm, you are Muggles, correct?” 「Harry」 actually laughed, a short, humorless bark. “The Ministry will be deeply touched by your faith. That level of trust isn’t common, I imagine.”
「Harry」 raised his wand again, then seemed to recall something. He glanced at the crumpled Ministry letter at his feet and shrugged. “... Might as well make it official. Won’t make much difference now.” He aimed his wand at Petunia:“Legilimens!”
Memories flashed.
—A scrawny, younger boy being shoved into a dark cupboard under the stairs, the door slamming shut.—Countless cold refusals. "No."—Fists. Belts. Contemptuous stares.—Magic. Muggle.—Bullying. Resistance.—Happiness. Misery.
「Harry」 finally glimpsed a faded, dog-eared photograph. Two little girls stood side by side, their shoulders touching. The smaller girl had a mass of flame-bright red hair that burned vividly even in the washed-out picture. Her grin was wide, carefree, sunshine seeming to cling to her.
Beside her stood a taller girl with straight black hair, her posture rigidly upright, though a hint of a smile touched the corners of her tightly pressed lips. Through the lens of Legilimency, 「Harry」 sensed Petunia gripping the frayed edge of this photo, a maelstrom of emotion swirling within her – affection, jealousy, alienation, helplessness, hatred, grief…
A massive shove threw 「Harry」 forcefully from Petunia’s mind. He stared in astonishment as she crumpled to the floor – she had forcibly ejected him from the Legilimency. Petunia seemed unaware of her feat, hands pressed over her face, wracked with sobs.
But the greatest shock wasn't her resistance. It was the undeniable realization that he was in another universe. A universe where his parents were dead. And it was 1995.
1995…
「Harry」 let out a soft, incredulous chuckle. He looked down at the weeping woman.
No wonder the name 'Dursley' had sparked recognition. His mother Lily’s sister had married a Dursley. The families hadn’t spoken since Ken, Lily’s other son, was five... after that incident.
“My apologies, Aunt Petunia. That was rather uncivil of me,” he said, offering a polite smile as he leaned forward, as if to help her up (though Petunia flinched away violently, scrambling backwards like she’d been scalded). “It’s been on my mind to meet you. Under better circumstances, perhaps.”
Petunia’s face contorted as if she were wrestling with primal fear, forcing herself not to provoke the lunatic standing before her. Her thin lips quivered. “…The window…”
“Hmm?” 「Harry」 turned. A barn owl perched on the kitchen windowsill. He walked over, unfastened the window, and took the new letter. The paper was smudged, the handwriting rushed and sloppy.
Harry—Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.—Arthur Weasley
This, perhaps, was the most unbelievable thing in the entire, unbelievable room.
「Harry」 read and reread the scrawled note. The individual words made sense, but assembled, they were utterly absurd. If his comprehension hadn't deserted him completely, the message was clear:
—Dumbledore was helping him.—The implication was a close, protective relationship between this universe’s Harry Potter, Dumbledore, and the Weasleys.
How unlike him, 「Harry」 thought grimly. A sudden, unsettling suspicion crossed his mind: This other version of me... what if he's just like Ken?
That would be dreadful.
He urgently needed a mirror, some space to see himself alone. He turned towards the stairs.
“Dudley... Dudley and Vernon...” Petunia’s voice trembled, thick with tears and the look one reserves for the demonically possessed. “When... how are they? You... you must fix them.”
“They’ll wake up tonight.”“Tonight? Oh... And you?” Petunia blurted.「Harry」 looked at her, puzzled. “What?”Petunia seemed disconcerted by being questioned—that hadn't been allowed before—she compressed her lips again: “Your... your condition? When will you be... well?”
“......”
Silence stretched between them.
「Harry」 finally replied, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “Tonight... or never. Who knows? Ah, one more thing. Which way to my room?”