Snape was the reason his parents were dead. The reason Sirius went to prison. And yet . . . without Snape's protection, he would've likely been killed. Snape was the reason Voldemort would eventually lose.

When faced with the choice to potentially forgive Draco for his actions over the years, Harry had struggled with whether it was enough for the boy to simply want to be better. Even if he decided it was indeed enough for Draco, by comparison, Snape had spent twenty more years being cruel; the same logic could hardly apply.

Snape was hated by most students, admired only by the Slytherins whom he gave special treatment. The question was, to what extent had he chosen to be a miserable, unlikeable person, despite everything that had happened in his life? And what was more important, the quiet sacrifices he made to protect students, or the outward way he treated them on a daily basis?

Harry's strongest feeling was pity from knowing how lonely and self-destructive it must be to lead two opposing lives. Both Snape and Draco were skilled at Occlumency, but that seemed to be because of an ability to compartmentalize, to favor self-sacrificing over joy and compassion. His pity for them was mingled with anger, disgust, and hope, which were all constantly shifting in scope.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been abandoned by his parents and rejected love to seek glory. Severus Snape had been abused by his father and sought redemption in the memory of love. Harry had been neglected by his aunt and uncle and sought love over the promise of fame and wealth.

Draco and Snape had feelings for a Gryffindor and lashed out against them; Harry and Snape both hurt the person they weren't aware they had feelings for, which altered their lives forever; Snape created the time curse and—as the Half-Blood Prince—the spell that Harry cast against Draco.

Snape had only said why he created the curse, not how to end it. There was still no obvious reason it would have continued longer than a day, which was all it had taken for Harry to avoid casting Sectumsempra. If the time loop had worked for Snape and one day reversed, he wouldn't have called Lily a Mudblood.

What would Snape have done with more time? In six months or more, maybe he would have renounced Voldemort. In a year, his entire worldview would have changed significantly.

Or not. Whatever happened to Severus in his past, however terrible his home life had been, whatever had driven him to crave power and dominance, it had to be so deep-rooted that only tragedy could have changed his motivations. Harry hoped Draco's fear for his father's life could change his path, that the power he wanted could be fulfilled in some other way other than advocating for blood purity, let alone supporting Voldemort.

"You're starting to see how it's all connected, then?" asked Luna, after he relayed most of his scattered thoughts to her the next day.

"I think so. Thank you, I know I haven't been coherent." Harry dropped his head into his hands. "You've always been able to help me. You were the first person I wanted to talk to."

Luna lightly patted his back and said, "I wish I could remember everything. We've become great friends, haven't we?"

Face still concealed, Harry replied, "Yeah. Weird, isn't it? I mean, it's weird that I remember and you don't."

"What if the time loop ended and suddenly everyone could remember everything?"

Harry was so shocked by this idea he nearly toppled over in his chair. "D'you think that could . . . ?"

"Hm, though if that were the case, why did Professor Snape try to reset time in the first place? It's more likely that this entire thing has been taking place inside your head, and you're in St. Mungo's."

He laughed, even though her theories terrified him. "Do you ever feel you want the opposite things at the same time?"

"Maybe they're not as opposite as they seem."

"Maybe."

"Harry, you should ask Snape about how to end the time loop. It may be the only way."

"Okay. Yeah. I'll get around to it."

Harry dreaded facing Snape again. As he processed what he'd learned, he was more prepared to confront Dumbledore about his reasons for keeping Snape's motivations secret, so he went first to the Headmaster's Tower. When he arrived, Dumbledore had not yet returned to his office—there were about twenty minutes of variation between when he was in his office in the afternoon.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry went to the cabinet of memories and peered more closely at some of the labels, but the handwriting took him too long to decipher. He tried to open another cabinet, which was locked. He tried a couple more, without any luck, but found the top drawer of Dumbledore's desk unlocked. In it was Marvolo Gaunt's ring, which rolled to the front of the drawer when Harry pulled it open.

He carefully picked up the crudely constructed ring. Was this small thing really so important that it was worth killing for? Immortality for the cost of human life—

Harry looked up. Cedric Diggory stood on the other side of the room, staring at him.

"Cedric! What are you—how . . . ?" Cedric was just as handsome as he had been before he died, and apart from his translucency, looked just as he did before he was killed. "Did the ring do this?"

"The stone in that ring is a tether, I think, to the world of the living."

"Are you a ghost? Oh god, will you be like this forever?"

"Only as long as you're holding that stone. You can tell me to stay or to leave, and I will."

Harry crossed the room to him, everything he had felt since fourth year flooding back. "I'm so sorry, Cedric. It isn't fair, what happened to you. If I hadn't forced you to come with me, or if I'd only figured out it was a trap, you'd still be alive."

"Only Voldemort and his supporters are to blame, Harry. If you hadn't stopped Voldemort as a baby, he would have killed even more people then."

"I can't take credit for that. I just got lucky, which is why your death . . ."

"My death is not your fault," finished Cedric.

"Hang on, do you know everything that's happened since you . . . ?" "Some of it. Whomever I cared about the most while I was alive, I know the most about."

"So there's an afterlife?" Cedric's smile faltered. "I only know about the living. Maybe there's something more . . . I can't remember. This is the warmest I've felt in a long time . . . Most people never leave here . . ."

Shivers crept up Harry's back. "Do you know I'm trapped?"

"How do you mean?"

"Trapped in time."

"Hm. This is the first time you've called me here?"

"Yeah. Maybe in the afterlife, time works differently." He breathed in, and then slowly breathed out. "You should be alive now. Your family and friends didn't deserve it, and I'm trying to make it right for you, for everyone who cared about you. I wish we'd—we could've been friends."

"Me too."

Almost against his own will, Harry blurted, "I think I fancied you."

"What? Er, I'm not . . ."

"No, no, I know." Harry wanted to take back the shock in Cedric's features. "I mean, I assumed. I've found out about who a good number of people are, who they like and I didn't think . . . I didn't expect anything."

"How did you find out about these people?"

"Noticed things. Overheard conversations . . ."

"Conversations that people intended to be kept to themselves, you realize. Do you know about Cho?"

"What do you mean?"

Cedric shook his head. "It's not your place to dig into other people's business."

Harry held his tongue, because part of him knew it was true that he had crossed lines that should not have. Despite his shame, he wanted to know what Cedric knew about Cho that he didn't.

"Will you let her know I love her? And I hope she can find joy and meaning in her life. She deserves happiness."

"Now that you're here, you can tell her yourself! I can go get her . . ."

"No. No, that would be too hard on her. It's best—an even cut. Besides, she wouldn't remember." His tone softened. "Out of everyone you lost, you summoned me here."

"Out of everyone, I wanted you to know we're close to defeating Voldemort."

Cedric smiled. "You're brilliant, Harry. Take care of yourself, will you? If anyone gives you a hard time about who you are, just—you have to really think about whether you want them in your life. There are plenty of people around, you know, who will accept all of you, not just the parts of you that are convenient, easy to like."

Through Cedric's body, he saw Dumbledore, and in his shock, he dropped the stone, causing the figure to disappear.

"You should have asked permission," he said, bending to collect the ring and returning it to the drawer, which he appeared to magically seal.

"I'm sorry." Harry cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "I only—I wanted to see the ring again."

The cabinet filled with memories was still ajar from when Harry had been peering more closely at some of the labels. As soon as he glanced at it, Dumbledore did the same.

"Did you use the Pensieve?"

"No, I didn't. I was just looking around."

"Can you swear you have not viewed anything?"

"No. I mean, yes, I can swear." Harry rarely saw Dumbledore appear this close to anger.

"I would appreciate if you left my office. We can discuss the Horcruxes tomorrow if need be."

This interaction with Dumbledore made him think the Headmaster was hiding something important. Despite Cedric's warning that he ought to mind his business, the mystery allured him.

The vials in the cabinet were organized with tiny coded labels that obscured the date and subject matter they contained. Oddly, a few were unmarked. Choosing a memory that lacked a date among an otherwise meticulously organized section, he poured it into the Pensieve and lowered his head.

Harry appeared in a field. He surveyed the area; behind him was a group of homes that were magical judging by the physics-defying architecture. Harry spotted two boys farther down the field, past a grassy slope, and headed in their direction.

The boys were probably eighteen years old and lay side by side on a large blanket, books piled around them like the walls of a fort. Just before Harry managed to get a closer look, sparks shot up into the air from the boys' wands. Instinctively, Harry stepped back, relaxing as he realized they were practicing wandless magic.

The pieces came together at once; the smirk, the bright eyes, old-fashioned clothing . . . it was Dumbledore. He was much younger, but it was him. Harry didn't recognize the other boy, though he glowed with a confidence that made Harry think he should know him. He was blond and arrestingly handsome.

As Harry finished assessing the two, Dumbledore leaned over and kissed the other boy.

A hot wash of embarrassment flooded through Harry. Still, he was unable to pull his eyes away.

"Ah." The other boy averted his gaze. "I thought you might have feelings for me." He sat up.

Dumbledore studied him, waiting. Harry found himself holding his breath, too.

The boy turned so he was facing Dumbledore, then reached over and brushed the hair out of Dumbledore's eyes. "You are intelligent, incredibly gifted, and your companionship has been very important to me. Only—only I cannot return your feelings. I care for you deeply; I love you, but not in the way you love me."

Dumbledore sat up, eyes shining. "I see. I supposed, maybe, since you never expressed interest in women, that you might feel the same way. I'm sorry, Gellert, I—"

"There is no need to apologize," said the boy Gellert, sighing, as though annoyed. "I'm flattered. So you know, if I were not so invested in our mission, I may well be interested in women. But romance is a distraction from the larger mission. Friendship is not harmful—in fact, it is helpful—but romantic love is a weakness, you see."

"I agree." As Dumbledore averted his gaze, the scene sped away, and Harry lifted his face out of the water.

When he turned around, he found the now much older Dumbledore in the doorway, staring at him, eyes sharp. "Harry. What are you doing here?"

Harry's heart pounded, and it took him a second to think of an excuse. "I, er, I came to talk to you about something. To check your Time-Turner."

Dumbledore looked at him strangely, but crossed to the cabinet containing his Time-Turner and opened it. He glanced up, eyebrow raised. "I presume you know what this means?"

"That time is frozen. I know, I've been living the same day over and over for months. So I came to look in the Pensieve, to see if there's anything I could find out."

"I am sorry, Harry. No doubt I have expressed that before. But looking in my private memory stores—Voldemort could access your mind, find out what I have tried to keep secret for good reason—"

"I have nothing else to do! You told me to find out about the Horcruxes, and I have! But there's no use in explaining that now. I just want you to tell me what the memory I saw means. You were, er, with a boy."

A shadow passed over Dumbledore's face. "Show me the vial."

As Dumbledore rushed to see what the memory was, Harry said, a bit panicked, "I-it's okay, sir. I'm not . . . it's not unnatural to me."

Dumbledore read the label and looked back at Harry. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him, the lines on his face carving valleys in his skin. "I was a boy. A foolish, misguided boy, Harry."

Harry blinked, confused. Was Dumbledore referring to the fact that he had fancied a bloke, or something else?

"Are you aware of who Grindelwald is?"

"The name's familiar."

Dumbledore slowly returned to his desk, sitting down with a sigh. "When I first became Headmaster, I instructed Professor Binns to teach about the Global Wizarding War without focusing on the man responsible for it. There are parts of my life I have kept private, and for many reasons. If the Ministry learned of my past, they could weaponize it against me. It is also too shameful to dwell on, let alone speak about. I fear your opinion of me will be irreparably changed, almost more than I fear Voldemort will somehow access your mind and my past."

"Sir, I'm sure you have an explanation for whatever you did in your past. And as for the second thing . . . I'm better at Occlumency than I was before, and there's a chance we'll be able to take down Voldemort before he can find anything out."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "In that case, I will share with you what I can. That boy . . . was Gellert Grindelwald."

"What? Didn't you say he started a massive war?" Harry stopped talking because he saw Dumbledore already regretted having said anything.

"As a young man, I had feelings for Grindelwald, as you saw, and was more inclined to his ideals because I thought it would allow us to be together. After what you witnessed in the memory, we grew apart and I overcame my emotions."

"And . . . ?"

"That is all."

"If I went through your other memories, I wouldn't find anything more?"

Frustration flickered in Dumbledore's face. "I must ask you to respect my privacy."

"Well, you won't remember I've done it before. Besides, I would prefer to hear it from you. And I'd much rather you explain now or else I'll have no choice but to jump to conclusions—"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "If I tell you more, I may expedite the end of the time loop. But I advise you, Harry, to not become accustomed to manipulating others, or you may in fact leave the time loop at a greater disadvantage than when you entered it."

A familiar shudder passed through Harry, the feeling he had whenever something outside the realm of his expectation occurred.

"I grew up in Mould-on-the-Wold with my two siblings, whom I loved dearly: my younger sister, Ariana, and my younger brother, Aberforth." He hesitated, took his glasses off, and rubbed his eyes. Speaking more to himself, he said, "By telling you this, I am saving you from hearing this in the words of another." He put his glasses back on.

"When my sister was six, three Muggle boys assaulted her. After the attack, she was no longer able to control her powers. My father flew into a rage and attacked the boys. He went to Azkaban for what he had done, and would die there not too long after."

"I'm so sorry . . ."

"Thank you, Harry, but I must say my story will worsen before it improves. To avoid the judgment of the wizarding community, we moved to Godric's Hollow, the same village in which your parents would eventually live. My mother was left to raise Ariana when Aberforth and I were in school. The only details I have to impart to you about my school days are that they provided me more freedom than I had at home, and I excelled in my studies.

"After leaving Hogwarts, I planned to travel with my friend Elphias Doge. Before we left London, I received word that my mother had died, killed by one of Ariana's outbursts. I returned home to take care of Ariana and Aberforth, almost against my will, so I resented them and was bitter about the state of my life.

"A boy my age, Gellert Grindelwald, had moved in with another resident of Godric's Hollow, Bathilda Bagshot. We quickly became friends. Both of our magical abilities were unusually powerful, and our personalities complemented each other; I the passionate, quietly self-assured type, he the driven, charming type. He was unlike anyone I knew at Hogwarts, and it was natural that we should become fast friends. Indeed, our friendship ultimately developed into something deeper.

"I believed, misguidedly, that the wizarding world deserved to rule over Muggles, that it was our birthright. Grindelwald and I had plans to subjugate the Muggles, to create a society in which wizards ruled." Dumbledore paused for a long time, gazing across the room at the Pensieve. "I cannot absolve myself of responsibility and say he seduced me, or that I did not truly have faith in the principles we created. For two months of my boyhood, I devoted my time to the study of power and how to obtain it."

"Why?" There was nothing else Harry could think of to ask.

"I wanted glory. We were able to justify ourselves, so we thought. At that time, nearly 1900, Western European Muggle countries were colonizing the rest of the world, abusing entire peoples, and were not as technologically advanced as they are today—"

"But you would've colonized the Muggle world!"

"We did not see it as a colonizing mission, although now it is clear that is an apt characterization." Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Harry, then took a breath. "While at the time I already had many awards to my name, I was only seventeen years old. I found myself at the crossroads of who I would be for the rest of my life. I argued that our control was 'for the greater good,' but that was merely an excuse. It was never about the world, it was about our own selfish desires."

Harry felt his entire body tense up, as though clinging to the space around him. Dumbledore seemed pitiful, insignificant, ordinary. Harry had looked up to Dumbledore, had expected him to be a guide, to be right—how could he expect that now?

"You must understand, Harry, that the ideology Grindelwald and I shared developed at a time I felt most fragile. My mother had died, I was expected to take care of my siblings, and I had begun to learn for the first time of the Ministry's laws governing homosexuality. The world, I thought, had treated me unfairly and I felt as though I no longer had control over my life."

Harry nodded numbly. He wanted to understand—he had understood Snape and Draco, after all—but couldn't bring himself to do so.

"Of course, once Ariana was killed, I renounced the Dark Arts."

"Like Snape?"

Dumbledore was roused from his solemnity. "Have you learned of his reasons for changing sides?"

"Yeah, he told Voldemort about the prophecy and then tried to save my mum. Is that why you trusted him? Because you could relate?"

"You may be right. I believed for some people, change is possible. Severus was young, only a few years older than you, and I could sense his conviction. Love is a powerful force, Harry. Ultimately, it won over my hate. If Grindelwald and Voldemort had the capacity for love, they would not have followed the dark path they chose. It was the death of a loved one that changed our hearts and minds."

Harry new he could overstep his bounds at any point, but felt confident enough to venture another question. "Sir, how did your sister die?" The air seemed to cool around the desk, and goosebumps rose on his arms.

"It was my fault. It was—a spell I cast in a battle between Grindelwald, Aberforth, and I—it struck her, accidentally—she died—and after that—I could not forgive Grindelwald."

Harry's sympathy for Dumbledore's despair overwhelmed any judgment and shock he might have felt.

"We dueled again, later in life. Grindelwald had become the most dangerous wizard of all time, some would say. He had raised an army, built a prison he named Nurmengard, murdered many people. I waited so long to face him because . . . I believed he knew which one of us killed Ariana, and that knowledge, combined with the memory of the duel itself . . . Once again, I was selfish.

"When we faced each other again, I won. Peace returned, and the shame of my past faded. Since his imprisonment, I have not seen him." He touched the injured part of his hand, lost in thought.

"Sir, why Grindelwald, of all people? I mean, I know you regret it, or whatever, but what about afterwards?"

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "Youthful delusion. Uncommon intellect met fellow uncommon intellect. In the years since, I have chosen not to let my feelings for another individual blind me again. Perhaps for that I am a coward, but after becoming used to this way of life, it is not as lonely as it may seem."

Harry considered this, but was too caught up in what he wanted to confess for it to sink in. "Sir, I-I have feelings for someone I think I shouldn't, and I don't know how I should feel. It could be like you and Grindelwald."

Dumbledore studied Harry. "Any time you fall in love, your feelings are the result of a combination of who you are at that moment, what you want in life, and any previous experience you have had with love. I have told you—or at least suggested—how these things led me to develop feelings for Grindelwald. I cannot give you the answer, it is something you must discover for yourself."

A chance to tell Dumbledore about Draco after he confessed to Harry about his own past love might not come again. "Sir, if I tell you who it is—will you at least give me some direction?" When Dumbledore nodded, Harry said, "Draco Malfoy. And I know he's trying to kill you, and that he's a Death Eater."

"As do I." Dumbledore's expression was that of pity, though at first Harry took it as disappointment. He could tell the man was comparing their situations. "I do not think Draco has close to the capacity for evil that Grindelwald has. He is cowardly, perhaps, but not irredeemable, and is immature enough in his youth to change. I have never felt certain that the prejudice his parents have taught him would last into adulthood. Hatred is a convenient tool for him, a privilege. Perhaps he and my younger self have more in common than him and Grindelwald."

Harry exhaled, breath shaking. He hadn't realized until that moment that he deeply cared what Dumbledore thought, perhaps more than anyone else.

"However, I would advise you to be careful. You should not commit your feelings to him until he has changed. Like his father after the first war, he could merely change sides for his personal benefit." Dumbledore hesitated. "Is he capable of returning your affections?"

"He fancies me, if that's what you mean. Dunno if he'd want to . . . well, I found that out, but it's tied up with a lot of other sh—stuff."

"Be certain, if he should tell you he feels the same way, that it is for the right reasons. You have a tendency to run headfirst into new situations, so attempt to self-reflect."

"Mhm."

Dumbledore studied Harry. "There are two other memories I would like you to see, in the hopes that they may help you. As long as you promise not to search in my memories again."

"Okay. I won't."

"You should also know that it is painful to share these things with you, and I can only tolerate my shame by knowing I will forget having told you."

"Right." Harry was nervous now as he followed Dumbledore to the Pensieve. The Headmaster retrieved two vials from the cabinet and poured them into the water, then motioned for Harry to step forward.

Harry dove in once more. The scene that appeared to him must have been in Dumbledore's home, in a small room with a sloped ceiling. Every available space was crowded with artifacts or piles of books and papers.

Dumbledore reclined on his bed, reading. He looked the same as in the previous memory, though perhaps more unkempt. At a tap from the window, he looked up, grinning instantly.

"I knew you would be awake," said Grindelwald as he pushed the window all the way up.

Dumbledore shut his book and helped Grindelwald inside. "You flew up, I imagine?"

"Yes." Gellert smiled, illuminating his handsome features. "So far, I am only able to get in the air if I jump. Give me another few weeks and I will have mastered it."

"You make it seem easy."

"Surely it is easier than domination over all Muggles, though."

Dumbledore laughed, sending hot currents of anger through Harry. Was he this blinded by love?

Dumbledore ran a hand through his auburn hair, still watching Grindelwald, who removed his coat and sat down on the edge of Dumbledore's bed. There was an obvious awkwardness between them.

"More and more, you have kept your distance from me since the other night," said Grindelwald, studying Dumbledore, who kept his gaze fixed out the window.

"I know. It will likely be a few more weeks before I can return to how I used to be."

"That will not be possible. You and I are driven by passion." Gellert reached for Albus' hand and clasped it firmly. "I know you, Albus. You have the ability to create strength from your affection, where I cannot. You can maintain your rationality and sensibility, the latter of which could be my downfall." He brought Albus' hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.

The hairs on Harry's arms stood up instinctively. Was he feeling . . . apprehension? Transfixion? Desire? Their interaction was off. They both wanted something from the other, something that could be written off as solely romantic at first glance.

"I am unsure of how much I can give you now." Gellert turned fully around so that he faced Albus, both of their hands clasped. "That is only before our revolution, however." He placed a hand on Albus' face now, thumb running over his jawline. "We shall be unstoppable together."

Albus shivered at this, then wrapped his arms around Gellert. "That is what I want most."

Harry watched the scene slip away from him.

Dumbledore sat at a desk in a different room, perhaps in his friend's home, writing on a long piece of parchment.

Grindelwald entered the room, holding two steaming cups, one of which he set down in front of Dumbledore. He placed his free hand on his friend's shoulder, peering to see what he was working on.

"Oh," he purred, setting down his cup, hands free to settle across Dumbledore's chest as he rested his chin on his head. "You have been working so diligently on our manifesto."

Harry moved to get a better view of Dumbledore's face, which brightened with pride. "It is necessary for us to explain the core reasons for the inferiority of Mugglekind if we wish to convince others to join our cause."

"You have hardly slept in the past few weeks, and it is beginning to affect your mental faculties. I can find . . . two words you have misspelled on this page alone."

"It is only a draft. You told me it was important we finish this by the end of the month, and—"

"Albus." Grindelwald's hand clasped over his mouth. "You can continue working, if you manage to relax." When Dumbledore nodded, Grindelwald ran his fingers across his cheek, into his hair. "Have you written anything about their religious wars?"

"That is next, I am writing about their diseases now." Albus shivered as Gellert ran his fingers down his back.

"Read it to me."

Albus set his quill down and held up his writing. "'Without magic, Muggles live in filthy, uninhabitable squalor. Slowly, they have developed technology to circumvent their evolutionary deficits, but despite improvements, they suffer from ailments that kill them at alarming rates. An elderly Muggle can sneeze one day, only to be buried in the ground the next. Their most beloved cities flow with their waste, and the smoke from their factories pollutes the air.'" He faltered as Gellert leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "'Th-their problems reflect a pattern at the heart of Muggle society, in which any so-called advancements lead to larger, more lethal problems.'"

"Good." To Harry, Gellert's motions were serpentine, his whispers like the venomous hiss of a cobra. At least, he thought this until Gellert took Albus' face in his hands and looked at him with an affection that was so open and warm it had to come from a place of real sentiment. "You remind me why I believe in our cause."

The scene dissolved just before they kissed, and Harry lifted his face out of the Pensieve. He found himself unable to meet Dumbledore's eye. "Sir, why did you show me those memories? I already knew about you and Grindelwald."

"Was there anything that unnerved you about our interactions?"

"Well, Grindelwald couldn't feel the same way, right? I wasn't sure if he—or you—thought he'd change his mind."

"There was a time when he loved me as I loved him. However, his love came with a price. He was the type to give affection when he had something to gain from our collaboration. Although I convinced myself it was unintentional at the time, Grindelwald withheld things from me when he wished to punish me, or bring me to his point of view. When I did something of which he approved, he rewarded me. His greed and self-absorption ultimately destroyed our relationship and only escalated as bested him as he tore the continent apart."

"So . . . you're saying . . . Draco is taking advantage of me like Grindelwald took advantage of you. But he has no idea I'm helping him!"

"That is true, for now. However, once the time loop ends and he learns what you have done for him and why, he may come to the conclusion that the way to get what he wants is to unfairly use your affection to his benefit, as he has with his friends and his parents. I know there is not the same capacity for evil in Draco as there was in Grindelwald. I simply wish to caution you against a relationship in which Draco only takes and you only give. A relationship in which you symbolize something he desires, as I symbolized Muggle domination and power to Grindelwald."

After his conversation with Dumbledore, Harry kept flipping between irritation and doubt. While he was irritated, he thought Dumbledore was a hypocrite, an ignorant part of the time loop. When he was in doubt, he saw the flickers of Draco's desire for him transfigure into ugly attempts at finding a savior.

Maybe he wouldn't tell Draco how he defeated Voldemort, or what became part of his motivation. Except, if there was any hope of them being together, the circumstances of the past several months were too significant to keep from Draco.

He had two choices: try being with him or don't try. Or rather: instead of presuming what may be impossible anyhow, to tell him how he felt or not tell him. As he struggled to fall asleep, wrought with worry, he decided he had nothing to lose. After all, the greatest obstacle to his happiness was Voldemort. This was trivial. If he didn't fight for the chance at having love in whatever form it may take, what reason had he to fight?

Even if there was a chance Draco would use him, Harry had already done the same. There was one final way he wanted to appropriate him for his own ends: for the first time since the loop began (he estimated the beginning to be a year ago now), Harry took Polyjuice Potion to become Draco.

Before any Slytherins woke one morning, he snuck into Snape's office. Using Snape's store of Floo Powder, he put his head in the fireplace and said, "Malfoy Manor."

After a few minutes staring into an empty room, he heard footsteps and Narcissa Malfoy entered. Her pace quickened when she saw who was in the fire.

"Hello, Mother. It's good to see you."

"Draco." She hesitated, eyes searching him. "Confirm it is really you, love."

Harry should've prepared for this. After what he thought must have been a minute-long pause, he said, "Father used to conjure the night sky before I went to sleep. I appreciate those times now more than ever."

Narcissa closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, she looked behind her, and back at him. "Is something wrong? Your father and I have not heard from you recently." Even through the flames, Harry could tell that Narcissa's face was weighed down by stress.

"Dumbledore drank a fatal potion I gave him last night. He won't wake up."

"Are you certain he drank the potion? You aren't underestimating him?"

"I'm certain. In a few hours, if he's dead—what shall I do then?"

"You will meet me in Hogsmeade, and we will escape to the manor."

"What if I'm caught?"

"The Dark Lord will protect you, Draco. Once he prevails . . ." She lowered her voice. "We have our home in France. I want you to be safe, love."

Goosebumps crawled up Harry's arms. He hardly ever envied Draco, but being spoken to as though he were her son . . . the closest comparison he had was how Mrs. Weasley treated him. "I have a way to lure Harry Potter to the manor."

"Draco, the task at hand is more than enough, you should see it through."

"This will be very simple. You just have to tell me one thing. Is there a special cup at home? One the Dark Lord asked you to protect?"

The fire sputtered, and Narcissa looked around. Turning back to him, she said, "Yes, I love you too. I have to go. Goodbye."

Her emphasis on the "yes" had to be a veiled response to his question.

Harry put out the flames and let out a shout of triumph. Had he done it? This was the last piece of the puzzle, assuming Nagini was a Horcrux. He still had doubts, though: why would Voldemort trust the Malfoys with a Horcrux, especially after the diary was destroyed? Could it be another test? If the Manor was being used as a base for Death Eater operations, it may offer extra protection, but ran the risk of more people knowing about such an important object.

Without waiting to transform back, Harry ran to Dumbledore's office. Just before entering, he decided to pretend to be Draco, just to see what would happen.

"I see you have let yourself in."

Harry did his best to imitate Draco's posture, the nervous cracks in his behavior as of late. "There's no sense in dragging this out. I want to tell you that there's an object of importance at my home—a special sort of cup."

"Why are you telling me this, Draco?"

"Because no one has to know I told you. I have experience with Occlumency; I won't be found out. And I assume your powers are far greater than mine."

"This cup . . . do you know what makes it significant?"

"Only that the Dark Lord asked us to keep it safe until he constructed a safer place to conceal it."

"What does it look like?" "It's—I'm not sure."

Dumbledore studied him, not bothering to hide his suspicion. "Why should I believe you are telling me the truth?"

Harry set down his wand. "I've helped you, haven't I?"

"This plot is much larger than you, Draco. I understand you wish to right your wrongs, however, your family's loyalty to Voldemort will directly result in the deaths of people, including not only strangers for whom you care nothing, but also loved ones for whom you care dearly. Your detachment from this reality is quite despicable."

Harry looked upset without putting on an act, since hearing this from Dumbledore reinvigorated his doubts about the possibility of Draco becoming better.

"If you truly have come here to repent and right your wrongdoing, then perhaps there is hope for you."

"I don't think I can do it. Go through with what he wants. I had convinced myself I could, but now that I'm so close . . ."

Dumbledore softened his tone. "I will protect you, Draco. If you truly wish to rescind your mission, you will be protected."

"And my family?"

"Your mother and father can likely get immunity for providing information."

Harry didn't have to feign relief. "And the Unbreakable Vow—if you don't die, will Professor Snape be killed by the enchantment?"

"In theory."

"Is there any way to stop it? Keep both of you from dying?"

"There may be a way. You cannot know."

Harry sighed and relaxed his posture. "I'm not Draco, sir. I just drank Polyjuice Potion to look like him, I'm actually Harry."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "You transformed into Draco to find out about the cup, and the potion's effects have yet to wear off. The subtleties of your impersonation leave me with no doubt that you are indeed Harry."

"Draco doesn't know about Horcruxes. I got that information from Slughorn by taking one of his memories; we watched it together."

"To be certain, I must choose what to enquire. In your first visit to my office, what caught fire?"

"It was Fawkes! Your phoenix, it was his Burning Day, and I was scared you'd think I'd gone and killed him . . ."

Dumbledore smiled at the memory. "Very well, Harry. Why the theatrics? Why risk coming here as Draco Malfoy?"

Harry sat down, knowing it would take at least twenty minutes to rush through the story of the past year, leaving out his feelings for Draco. By the time he had finished, he was back in his body.

". . . Given how close we are now to destroying the Horcruxes, I think I'm going to ask Snape if he knows how to end the loop."

Dumbledore sat down heavily in the chair at his desk.

"Yes, I think it is due time." He rubbed his beard. "Harry, it is likely I could have ended the time loop much sooner than I led you to believe."

Harry shook his head. "No, you told me didn't know how. None of the professors could help me, either."

"It would have occurred to me that your situation would provide us an opportunity to find the Horcruxes. Rather than try to help you, I hoped you would make a breakthrough and we would have a crucial advantage . . ."

"But you wouldn't have figured out how to end the loop in just a day."

Dumbledore looked at him, face weary. "I knew that Severus tried to reverse time. Very early in his tenure as a professor at Hogwarts, he discovered my Time-Turner and attempted to use it. Fortunately, I prevented him from doing so, and upon questioning him, he told me what he had done as a teenager. It would not have been difficult to put the pieces together."

Harry stood up. "Do you have any idea what you put me through? How much bloody time I wasted—you couldn't have helped me find the Horcruxes at the very beginning?"

"The Horcruxes are only part of the key to ending the time loop. There is no use in telling you anything beyond that . . ."

"What do I have to do?"

"If I am correct, you are incredibly close. It could be tomorrow, it could be in a few days. If it persists, you may have to find the exact location of the cup."

"How do you know?"

"I only have a theory."

"You owe it to me to tell me."

"Unfortunately, telling you would not help the matter. Listen, Harry, I owe you the truth about something else." He pulled back his sleeve to reveal the burns crawling up his arm from his hand. "The curse from the Gaunt ring will eventually consume my body and my mind. It will kill me within the year, Harry. There is nothing that can be done."

"No . . ."

"You had a year more with me than you would have had otherwise. I know I have caused you a great deal of pain over the course of your life, and I do not expect your forgiveness. Knowing I be alive for Voldemort's final days is enough."

Harry let out a quavering breath, vision blurred with tears. "Can't you do anything about the curse?"

"It is time death caught up to me. I am truly sorry, Harry. I had not intended to tell you to undermine your anger with me."

When Harry returned to the common room, eyes red from crying, Ron and Hermione were talking at the foot of the stairs to the boys' dorm. Everyone else had left for breakfast.

Hermione hurried over when she saw him. "Harry! Where were you this morning? Are you okay?"

"I have to tell you something." He went over to the couch and sat down. "First, we now know the location of all of the Horcruxes. And second, I wanted to know what happened to Dumbledore's hand. And I found out—he's dying."

Ron paled. "No, not Dumbledore! There's still a lot he hasn't told you, he wouldn't be dying anytime soon."

"He told you this?" Hermione's expression was frozen in disbelief.

"Eventually, yeah." He was ready with a false story. "First I found a memory in his Pensieve where he told Snape he was dying. When I asked him about it, he admitted that he didn't have much time left."

Ron and Hermione sat in stunned silence.

They both waited for his reaction, though their own eyes had filled with tears.

"Harry, I-I'm so sorry," said Hermione finally, voice breaking.

"Yeah." He couldn't bring himself to speak, as his throat was constricted.

"If—when he dies, no one will be standing in Voldemort's way," said Hermione.

"But at least you know how to stop him!" said Ron, suddenly remembering the good news.

Harry chose to pretend as though the time loop hadn't happened, since Dumbledore's mortality would be enough for Ron and Hermione to process.

"Harry, I think there's something Dumbledore isn't telling you about your connection with Voldemort." Tears still ran down Hermione's face, but she ignored them.

"Like what?"

"I think there's something more. Whatever it is, it's probably important you know."

Harry gritted his teeth. They all had already grown accustomed to jumping over the grieving process to what they could do to prevent more deaths. "I think it's better, knowing he's going to die, as much as I dread the idea. If he could only live long enough to see Voldemort defeated . . ."

Hermione placed her hand over Harry's. "He's the greatest wizard in the world for a reason. You will both see the end of this, I'm sure of it."