One Week Later

24 June 2028

It irritated me to no end that Albus Dumbledore's portrait did not show any sign of surprise whatsoever at my reappearance. I felt like I'd been to hell and back in the last week, and my eyesight is good enough that I knew I looked it. My hair was not only untidy, but I hadn't washed it and my scalp crawled; nor had I shaved. I got perverse satisfaction from Professor Macmillan's mild look of disgust.

"I'll do it," I said, throwing myself onto the Headmaster's chair. I stuck my feet up on the desk. I'd never wanted to be a teacher, but it was a bit of a rush to be in this position.

"I knew you would," he said.

I pulled a face. "Listen--"

But he interrupted me. "I have had almost four decades to consider this matter, namesake. I knew you would because your task is not yet finished. It made the way I died far more bearable," he said. He paused for a long moment, as though weighing his words carefully. "You have yet to make the power terrible, you see."

"Wait, wait, wait," I rocked back in shock, nearly toppling the chair. "What the hell do you mean, make the power terrible? I don't want to do that! What the hell?"

The portrait just stared at me. I almost decided right then and there not to go through with it. I could have someone Obliviate me. I had a choice. But I couldn't get the image of a building being attacked with Fiendfyre; people I loved were in it. My Grandma. My uncle. Sirius Black. Their screams echoed in my ears, and it was as if I had done the murder and not Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. I'd been dreaming of it six times a night since I'd returned to the present.

"How am I meant to do that?" I asked.

"I've no idea," said the portrait.

The silence after that was more than a little uncomfortable. It hacked me off that he basically ordered me to go to the past, and he didn't even have a plan. Nor did he know what I was meant to do. Make the power terrible. This was Albus effing Dumbledore here; why didn't he know?

"So," I said flippantly. "Should I just head off now? Jump into a memory and hope for the best?" I contemplated my scar, and I used my wand to trace it. "Are you picky about which particular memory?"

"Namesake," his voice cracked like a whip, and I almost forgot that he was not even alive, was just a painting. "This is going to take care and preparation. Do not even think about getting near a Pensieve until we both agree that you are ready."

I couldn't help but feel slightly relieved.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

18 September 2028

"Mum?" I asked softly. We sat beside each other on the overstuffed sofa that Dad had bought ages and ages ago. She had the newspaper spread out over her lap. I forced myself to keep my breathing even. You're just asking an idle question. Relax, Al, relax.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"How did you and Dad and Uncle Ron do it?" I asked. "The Tears of Merlin, I mean."

She turned slowly and looked at me, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. None of us had asked before; Hugo used to hint that he knew, but I rather doubted that the anus from a purple crocodile had anything to do with it. I knew that whatever was done had to be pretty difficult; the universe did not let people travel through time like they were on a jaunty holiday. Each new moon, my scar burned ferociously, and I knew that someone had to be pretty desperate to try the methods. Except for Time-Turners. But they were so pathetically limited that it was barely even time travel. I've become a bit of a snob, I thought.

She studied me for a good minute. I tried to look as openly curious as I could.

"Not planning on using the knowledge, are you?" She asked. Under the dry humor, I could hear a genuine question.

"Of course not," I lied easily. "Why in the name of Merlin would I? I was just"--I softened my voice--"thinking about Dad. You know I joined the Department of Mysteries partly because of him," I continued. It was even true. I kept my eyes fixed on hers and was careful to blink a normal amount. "And you, of course. But I just... I want to know everything."

She melted. I hid my triumphant grin.

"Oh, Al," she said softly. Her eyes pooled with tears. "I miss your dad every day. It's so good to hear you talk about him, I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm doing all right," I squirmed. "I just want to know everything about his life and who he was. I never got a chance to get to know him as a man," I gave a pained sort of grimace that was trying to be a smile. "And combined with my job... you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Mum," I reassured her. I lowered my eyes to my hands and plucked at the material of the sofa. I felt a bit guilty for manipulating her like this. I didn't often use my Slytherin wiles, but when I did...

I returned to the Headmaster's office next day, armed with knowledge that made me feel slightly ill and more than a little afraid.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

05 November 2028

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You want me to Obliviate my dad?"

"Yes," the portrait said gravely.

"Right after he's just defeated Voldemort the first time?"

"Yes."

"You want me to make him think that the Deathly Hallows saved his life, and not Grandma Lily?"

"That is correct."

"He'll think that he's got to die," I pointed out the obvious. I was too rattled to attempt subtlety. I did not like this idea. Not at all. It made me feel sick to my stomach, the same way thinking about what they had done to use the Tears of Merlin made me ill. "Albus, I thought I was just going back to help ease the way a little, get them to trust you, and tell your portrait how to advise them. 'Don't try to change too much, namesake,'" I mimicked him. "'Be the butterfly, not the hurricane.'"

He pretended that I hadn't spoken. "And then, namesake, your final task is to Confund the rest of the world into believing that the Deathly Hallows are real."

"You have got to be shitting me!" I said loudly. My mind raced. Why in the name of Merlin would he want that? What purpose could that possibly serve?

"Yes," he said. "That was my little joke. I see by your face that you are not in the mood, yes?"

"I'm going to find the biggest, meanest portrait I can, and then I'm going to stick it in here with you," I said. This was not the first time I'd threatened this. I really meant it this time, though. I was almost inarticulate with rage. "I'm not going to make my dad think that he's got to die!"

"How many people died after he got struck with the Killing Curse?" Albus asked. "Your Uncle George. Ten Aurors. Your father would be the first to think that a little dread was worth saving their lives."

I said nothing.

"You have not yet learned that sacrifice is sometimes necessary," he said in a low voice. "Your father knew it. I knew it. I was tortured to death because I kept you a secret, namesake." His voice was like thunder in my veins, and I suddenly felt ashamed of myself for even arguing with him. "In this case, your father's intent to sacrifice himself will be what truly matters. He does not actually have to do so. But if he thinks he does, he will place his protection on those he loves. A sacrifice isn't a sacrifice if it isn't a sacrifice at all."

"You're using Slytherin wiles on me," I said weakly. And I couldn't help but be pulled under. He was right. Damn it. "You were in Gryffindor. That's cheating."

He said nothing.

I tripped over my thoughts, my brain was working so fast. "I'm not going to Obliviate him," I said. "I'll use another means... the Oblivion Potion, or... the Forget-For-Now Potion. Yes, that would probably work best. If I do this," I swallowed hard. I didn't want to. I really didn't. "I have to make sure I get it right. And if I take away his knowledge of his mother's blood saving him, he'd feel disoriented every time someone mentions the Deathly Hallows."

"Excellent," Albus said. It helped that he didn't sound or look enthusiastic. A look passed between us; we were like puppeteers, playing with Dad's life and thoughts. But it really was for the greater good...

"Do I want to know why you know so much about memory charms and potions?"

"I think I want to know a lot of things," said a low, dangerous voice. "Albus Severus Potter, what the hell is going on?"

My stomach dropped. The moment suspended horribly, and an awful silence pressed down on me, like the calm before a storm that tore up trees and destroyed houses.

Mum.

Shit.