A/N

This will probably be my last chapter before the holidays. But it's a big one, and one a long time coming. I hope everyone likes it. I'm lightly terrified. Okay, hugely terrified lol.

I'll pick up posting again after the holidays, if I don't manage to sneak another in before the new year.

Thanks to Happily for the fantastic beta! Thank you to Ingpient for the AMAZING ART! Thanks to Keri for listening to me talk about this chapter for literally like three months. That's how long I've been stressing over this lol.

Someone asked me if I had a Kofi. My answer was huh? But they showed me, so now I do! Just in time for the holidays!

/amandafayebooks

Harry

Even to a meeting with the Headmaster, they won't let me walk alone. Hermione is holding my hand, her other holding a book. She has a modified bubble shield encircling us, using a set it and forget it method of casting that's more standard with semi-permanent silencing spells and the like. It's not as strong as a traditional shield, but excluding an unforgivable or something especially nasty, it'll hold up against the first barrage of an attack, and that's all we need. The only reason they were able to lay fingers on them last time was that it was from behind. We won't be caught unawares again.

Ron and Nev are chatting about the new levitation spell Nate gave us to practice this afternoon, their eyes constantly scanning the hallways for danger. Draco and Theo are taking up the rear, talking quietly with their heads together as if they were alone in the world.

We've taken to wearing our cloaks around the castle, even in our muggle clothes, to better conceal our weapons. We look ridiculous, I'm sure, and it's muggy and hot for a September night in the highlands. Worse yet, I feel like a prat, like Malfoy of all people, crawling through the castle with guards. I'm really getting tired of walking around with an entourage.

"Be nice tonight," Hermione admonishes me when we reach the bottom of the headmaster's staircase.

"I'm always nice," I reply, and half a dozen different faces give me identical disbelieving looks. "Mostly," I add petulantly.

"Send a Patronus when you're done, mate," Ron says, clapping me on the back. "Nev and I will be back to get you."

"I don't know how late it'll be," I remind them, trying to beg off. Ron just tightens his eyes in irritation.

I lift my hands in surrender.

"Will do," I assure him, and drop it at that. After what happened in the hallway earlier this week, we'll all be walking with an entourage until the war is over. Maybe even longer than that. I can't imagine a time I'll feel comfortable with Hermione wandering about Diagon Alley on her own.

We're not the only ones moving through the castle in packs these days either. It's not uncommon to see groups of seven or eight roaming the hallways, older students allowing one or two younger ones to ride their coattails under the guise of protection.

All except for Cassandra, the Seventh-Year Gryffindor girl who participated in the attack. To hear her tell it, she thought it was going to be a prank, irritated that we'd caused such a ruckus in the common room. Stealing her thunder as it were, her last year at school. We didn't even get the chance to retaliate.

Unaware of the damage they wanted to cause or not, actions have consequences. I've learned that lesson more painfully than most.

Word of her betrayal beat us back to the common room that night, and by the time we were ready to confront her, she'd been cursed, hexed, and banished. We found her crying in the hallway, locked out of the dorms. Hermione added the word TRAITOR in boils across her face, just because. Now Cassandra can't walk more than a few feet without a tripping jinx or some other hex bringing her to her knees.

The inter-house table is a busting success too. Groups of co-mingled students are not only at the inter-house table for meals, but at every table except the green and black. Again though, I'm worried that all we've accomplished in trying to assist with inner house unity is to strengthen the divide between us and them . Riddle's followers, and everybody else. Even at the Slytherin table, there's a clear distinction between those that have already fallen in line and those that are standing back to watch how it all plays out before they pick a side.

None of my previous experiences have prepared me for guerilla warfare in the castle.

I'm nervous about tonight. More than nervous. I'm not scared, but my stomach is in knots, and my hands are clammy with sweat. I wipe them down the sides of my jeans, and it does little good in calming my nerves. I'm wearing a standard chest wand holster, minus the Sword of Gryffindor. I feel naked without the weapon now. It's probably one of the reasons I feel so off-kilter.

I say the password for the gargoyle to step aside before I can change my mind or storm in with wands blazing. The sword is in our dormitory for just that reason.

So I don't react in anger and regret in a cell in Azkaban.

You'll be fine, Hermione breathes into my mind. I love you.

The knots in my stomach loosen just that much.

I love you too.

She leans up on her tiptoes to place a light kiss on my lips, then together the five of them turn to leave. Neville's vigilance doubles with the removal of my presence, his fingers caressing his wand and his eyes darting everywhere. I continue to watch as Ron drapes his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and I huff to myself when she tries to shrug him off, not realising he was keeping her walking in a straight line. It's a good thing too because almost immediately she trips over a cat wandering the hallway, and at the amused laughter from the four boys surrounding her, allows Ron to pull her close again.

Her nose is back in her book.

Merlin, I love her.

Wiping my hands one last time, I turn and begin to climb the spiral stairs to reach my destination. I knock firmly on the door.

"Come in," the Headmaster calls from the other side of the wood.

I take a deep breath and enter the painfully familiar office. Portraits of previous headmasters are lounging in their frames, silver instruments puffing away on the desk. I still have no idea what most of them do. The pensive is in the corner, liquid swirling in the bowl.

I wonder what memory he was looking at before our meeting tonight?

"Good Evening, Professor," I say, walking towards the desk. I try to keep my voice calm and even, and hide the trepidation I feel. Dumbledore is sitting in his throne-like chair, his hands linked on top of the table.

He grins at me, as if our last few meetings didn't end with one or both of us livid with the other person. I can't tell if he's putting me on, or is actually happy to see me, and it's off-putting to no longer know where I stand with the man.

"Harry, my boy. Sit down, sit down. I do hope you've had an auspicious start of term."

I take the seat across from the Headmaster and try to muster a smile. I sit on the edge of the seat, but if Dumbledore notices my need to flee, he doesn't point it out.

"Yes, sir," I confirm easily. "We have. It's OWL year, so you know how it goes."

Dumbledore smiles softly at me, his blue eyes twinkling in a knowing smirk.

"I've heard little else but talk of your squirmish in the hallway on Wednesday. It seems to have done wonders for the interest in the defence club. You'll be happy to know that Mr. Montague won't be suffering any lasting physical effects from your run-in in the hallway."

I scoff loudly.

"You mean his attack on my wife?" I clarify harshly.

"More so that he survived your demonstration after the fact," he says with a soft smile.

If Dumbledore expects me to squirm under the sly admonishment that I broke the wanker's face—among other things—he'll be sorely disappointed.

"I was curious, however, if you knew anything about the fact that Mr. Montague can no longer perform magic? It's the oddest thing, actually. Poppy has run every test on him she knows, and he's since been sent up to St. Mungos. But it seems, somehow, he's become a squib. Strange, isn't it?"

I keep my face as blank as I can. Who knew having a Slytherin bannerman would come in so beneficial. I finally got to use my knowledge of the Slytherin dungeons again, and Draco finally got to see the inside of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Bizzare," I say blandly. "It seems to be a side effect of swearing yourself to the Dark Lord. Perhaps the Ministry should put a warning in the Prophet."

He tightens his lips over his teeth, his eyes sparkling merrily.

"Rumour is running rampant, as it is prone to do in the castle, that to rouse your anger is to risk losing one's power."

"Better than their life," I shrug.

Dumbledore doesn't blink.

"Some — most , would disagree with that sentiment," he says quietly. "To a wizard who has known no other way of life, there is no point of living without their magic."

Good. The punishment reflects the crime then. Another lesson I've learned the hard way. There are things so much worse than death.

"Then perhaps they'll think twice before threatening the people I love. Not that I had anything to do with poor Montague's present circumstances. But much like the Shrieking Shack, the aura of perceived danger can only do me good at this point, I think."

The silence between us thickens, and I clear my throat before attempting to bring this topic to a close.

"Thank you for your understanding about the incident in the hallway. I hope you'll also acknowledge my restraint. I was well within my rights to cause lasting bodily harm. Instead we left every combatant intact."

In body, if not in mind.

Dumbledore nods his head in agreement.

"As for the defence club, we're going to have to hold it on multiple nights, it seems like, for different skill levels. Almost half the castle has reached out to say that they'd like to join." Hermione's voice, the one I've always heard, even since before our bonding, prods me to acknowledge his part in it. "Thank you again, sir, for allowing us to form the club. I think it's important that we give the students as many skills as possible."

"As do I, Harry. Please let the staff know if the student turn out is more than you and Mrs. Potter-Black can handle on your own. Several of the teachers, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick for instance, have advised that they'd be more than willing to assist."

I don't bother to tell him that I'm sure the student participation would drop by half if one of the regular teachers were running it. Part of the fun last time was that we were doing it on our own, without the teacher supervision.

But still. I can't teach hundreds of students at once by myself.

"Professor McGonagall mentioned it to me as well," I confirm for him. "I'm sure we'll take her up on it."

"I'm pleased to see that the news of your bond has had a positive response from the rest of the castle. From the entire world, it seems like."

He doesn't mention Riddle, and Snape, and how the news of our Bond cascaded into the break-in of Azkaban and a dozen plus deaths.

My heart thuds painfully in my chest, before regaining its usual rhythm.

Snape, who is now missing an eye.

"Yeah." I confirm tightly. "I've had an owl from Augusta letting us know that several dignitaries from outside governments have requested meetings with us. What for, I couldn't possibly imagine. Kingsley, too, says that the fan mail, for lack of a better word, has been almost overwhelming to manage, but also mostly positive. The few hexes sent our way have been neutralised and the senders dealt with."

The headmaster runs his fingers over his beard.

"I, too, have received several owls. Should you look, you may find a strongly worded letter in the editorial section in next week's Prophet warning of the sanctity of the castle, and our determination to protect the privacy of its charges. You timed the announcement of your bond well, though. By the time term lets out, much of the hubbub will have died down."

"I didn't choose to announce anything," I snap at him, then take a calming breath, feeling my fingers tingle with agitation. Several sets of eyes from former headmasters narrow in my direction at my tone. "But I concur." Or Hermione does. "I mean, I doubt the 'hubbub', as you put it, will ever really die down. Previous experience has taught me that when it comes to the way the public perceives me, I'll always be front-page news. But, hopefully, by the time Hermione and I try to show ourselves in Diagon Alley again, some of the mania will have died down."

He doesn't say anything else, and I can taste the air shifting, adjusting, as his small talk has reached its end. Silence falls heavy between us, as I wait for him to make the first move. I can feel my magic straining just under my skin.

"So, Harry," says Dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. "You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these—for want of a better word— lessons?"

Merlin, the déjà vu makes me dizzy.

"Yes, sir," I reply, trying to keep my face blank.

Dumbledore sits up straighter in his chair.

"Well, I have decided it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fourteen years ago, for you to be given certain information."

I blow out deeply, remembering my promise to Mi not to let my temper get the best of me. But I can't do this. I can't pretend to make small talk and gobble up any dropping of information Dumbledore seems fit to dole out while trying to fight a war on both fronts. I can't fight a war with one hand tied behind my back, and that's what I'm doing playing Dumbledore's game. I clench my hands on my knees, desperate to keep them from trembling.

"I can't do this."

I push up from the chair, shaking out my arms. Adrenaline is coursing through my bloodstream, the instinct for fight or flight leaning heavily towards fight. I turn my back to the headmaster, and step away from the desk, giving myself space to move before I face him again.

"Can't do what, Harry?" Dumbledore asks softly, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands over his front. He's so calm. So serene. It's infuriating.

"I can't sit here and pretend, Dumbledore," I whip around and snap at him. "I don't know why you want to have these farce lessons, because we both know I already know about the Horcruxes."

The headmaster stares at me over his half-moon spectacles, and I'd give anything right now to be able to read his mind. I push on anyway.

"The only reason you're even telling me about any of this now is that I pressed your hand to admit the prophecy at the end of last term."

Dumbledore gives me a tight smile, but I can't read his face beyond that. It may be the first honest expression I've ever seen from him. It's better than the bland serenity he's always displaying at any rate. He knocks his knuckles on the table.

"Indeed you did, my boy. Quite nicely too. I almost cringe to wonder what lessons life impressed upon you that made you so reliant on witnesses." He says the word witnesses like it's a mythical being.

"I learned from the best," I tell him snidely. "You. I was brought up in front of the entire Wizardgamaunt on charges of underage magic use and of breaking the statute of underage secrecy. I was attacked by Dementors at the park by my aunt and uncle's house and saved my cousin Dudley. Since you'd had people spying on me, Old Figg was able to testify on my behalf, though I still don't think she saw anything. Fudge was ready to snap my wand before she showed up to my trial. He'd already had me expelled from Hogwarts. It was a tense summer."

He gives me that bland, fake smile again.

"Dementors in Little Whinging? How delightfully horrifying. But you'll have to forgive me, Harry, as I have no recollection of this."

I scoff at his feigned aloofness and run my hand forcefully through my hair.

"Drop the act, Dumbledore. We both know Snape went right from my kitchen to your study last weekend. I'm not sure what you were expecting to happen when you forced my hand like that, but I can't think it was Snape running pell-mell to tell you that I was ranting about being dead. Surely though, that was merely confirmation that I had died and come back from the future, rather than raising your suspicions. You've known almost from the start."

Dumbledore racks his knuckles on the table again, as if coming to a decision.

"I've suspected," he says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "No more than that."

"Suspected," I say, not bothering to contain my venom. I turn away from him to gather my temper back in hand before facing him again. "I died," my breath catches in my chest and I jam my finger onto his desk, "over, and over, and over again. Hermione died because you sent us on some fool's errand with only half the information we needed to succeed, and now you sit here like it's no big deal you sent me out to be killed."

I want to scream at him, but I can't muster the strength to do it. Instead, my voice comes out in a strangled hiss. "You manipulated me. Made decisions for my life from the background from the moment you heard Trelawney utter the bloody prophecy! Like some sort of spider casting their webs, safe from being caught in your silk."

My anger is like its own being, twisting and turning in my chest until it breathes fire. I want to grab the old man by the front of the robes and scream into his face. But no matter my ire, and the justification for it, it seems I'm all screamed out. My hands tremble, my face burns, but my voice won't rise above the low grumbling scowl.

"You abandoned me with half-truths and unknown secrets with the future of the entire wizarding world resting on my shoulders! You tell me to destroy the Horcruxes, but don't tell me how. You drop clues of the Hallows into our laps, but without the resources to find or use them. Now, with the knowledge that I failed—that you failed in your mission , you decide to repeat the process all over again? I thought you were supposed to be smart!"

My chest is heaving like I've run a mile, and Dumbledore looks unnerved. He takes a calming breath before responding, his hands out in a playcating manner.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say to you, Harry. You are the only one who knows our future here. I thought, in giving you this information now, much sooner than I feel comfortable in burdening you with it, that I was making the correct choice. Obviously I have not."

"No. You haven't." I step closer to his desk until I'm towering over it. "But even that's not the entire truth, is it? Are you intending to tell me about the Deathly Hallows, and how at this very moment, I carry one on my person? Are you planning to tell me that I'm a Horcrux, Dumbledore, or allow me to stumble along with the delusion that I could fight him, and win, and go on to live some semblance of a life afterwards?"

Dumbledore looks genuinely disconcerted, his face pale and his eyes drawn. He leans away from me, in an automatic response to coming under attack.

"My sacrifice would be worth it though, right? For the Greater Good? "

"So you know," he sighs, weariness coating him like a second skin. He doesn't ask for confirmation, simply states it like a fact. The old wizard deflates, there's no other word for it. Diminishing to half his size, the sad, painful hue to his magic nipping at my skin.

I shake my head slowly, sadness weighing my shoulders down with lead.

"I know nothing, Dumbledore. That's the point I'm trying to make. You told me nothing. We realised the Sword of Gryffindor could destroy Horcruxes by chance and circumstance. Everything I learned about the Hallows, I learned from a children's book, willed to my wife at your death. Everything I've learned about you , I learned after your passing, from second-hand sources. Even that wouldn't have mattered, the ignorance of your life, if you'd given me the information that did. What do I care about your youth, or the people you chose to gift with your love? You were a good man. That's all that mattered to me. Are a good man. You did everything you could to protect the wizarding world.

"Just not everything you could for me."

He rises in his seat, leaning forward and reaching out his hand. His eyes are pleading, and I feel some small smidgen of myself desperate to accept his unspoken apology and to go back to the way things were before. When I trusted him with my life.

"You must know that every decision I've ever made I made with your best interest at heart. If I had one flaw, it was how much I cared for you. It would have been so much simpler if I never really knew you at all."

I laugh, even though that's the least funny thing I've ever heard. I lift my fingers to my face, to find that my eyes are wet.

"That's what everybody has always told me. How much you loved me. How fond you were of me. How much you trusted me..."

I scoff, my anger catching in my throat. I turn my back on the headmaster, so he can't see the tear that leaks from my eye.

"I do, Harry! If I were to have ever had a son, I imagine he would have been like you. Bright, brave, inquisitive. Impetuous."

"Stop," I beg, lifting my hand in the air. "I don't want to listen to this. I'm tired of the lies." I can feel him rise from his chair, pleading with me to listen to him.

"I've never lied to you Harry," he insists. "Not once."

I whip around to face him.

"But you haven't told me the truth either!"

I slam my fist down on his desk, toppling several of the decorative items over on their side. Dumbledore startles at my outburst, but doesn't move away.

"You claim to love me like a son, but I don't know you! You confided in Gellert Grindelwald more than you ever confided in me."

The blood drains from Dumbledore's face, leaving him pale and sickly looking. Then fire flares behind his eyes.

"Yes, Harry, and forgive me for being so blunt, but look where that got me!" He slaps his hand down on the table next to my hand. "Atrocities of the highest order being committed around the globe by the man I loved using the mantra I gave him! You'll understand why I'm wary of sharing my thoughts with others. You are not the only person who's learned to keep their mind closed and their mouth shut in a rather painful manner!"

He collapses into his chair, the strength leaving his body in a wave that reminds me of the day he died. He takes his glasses from his face, tossing them uncaringly on his desk. He rubs the heel of his hands into his eyes, then slips his glasses back on his face. He peeks at me from over his fingers.

"If you don't mind me asking, at what age were you the last they sent you back?"

I hesitate for a moment, but there's no point in holding onto the information.

"Seventeen."

Dumbledore's jaw drops and his eyes go wide in shock.

"Merlin, that's it? I imagined you much older than that, with what you know, and the anger you harbour. You are jaded for one so young."

I feel like I'm a hundred.

"There was a lot of pain shoved into a short span of life, Dumbledore. A lifetime of abuse gives a man an attitude problem."

I give him a pointed glare.

"If we're going to continue to fight, I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Albus. Even after all these years, shouting at me with my surname gives me flashbacks to when I was a student walking the hallways of this castle after curfew."

I jerk at the change in his tone. Soft, weary. Tired. I sit automatically, then flick the clasp on my cloak and let it slide from my shoulders to drape over the chair. He doesn't say a word about the fact that I'm armed to the teeth, my weapons bare for him to see.

"We don't have to fight, Albus. That's completely up to you. I told you before. You tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine."

Dumbledore twirls his hand in the air, and a flagon of mead and two goblets appear on the table. Rosmerta's finest, if I'm not mistaken.

"My sin has been the sin of omission, and I see now it has been a grave sin indeed. I can't change what happened before, but I can strive not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Why else do they send us back but for that lofty goal?"

Us. Offering support, or the beginning of a confession?

"A quid pro quo?" he asks, lifting his goblet.

"I told you months ago, Albus. You tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine. Though you know most of mine already, and you're still an enigma to me."

Dumbledore gives me a small smile.

"It's amusing to me, to hear Hermione's manner of speaking through your voice." I huff out a quiet laugh, and his chest rises in a great sigh. "I suppose that means I must go first. Or perhaps, you have already shared your quid. Either way..." He takes a sip of the goblet in front of him, before seeming to gather his courage. "I have died four times. My death's name is Paddy. A delightful fellow, although he was rather upset that Gellert had killed me twice. By the same manner both times, apparently. Needless to say, once I retained my memories, I did not make that same mistake again."

"How?" I ask, not thinking about the discourtesy of prying.

Albus flushes lightly, and it takes me completely off guard.

"Something quite mundane I'm ashamed to admit. He disarmed me, then used a simple swelling spell to explode my heart. Fitting, he thought, since I had destroyed his. Gellert was always a melodramatic sort."

"You were lovers?" I ask, skirting well over the lines of propriety. But...

"Soulmates," he confirms sadly. "I'm sure Hermione has shown you the stories of what happens when soulmates fight." He shudders uncontrollably. "Nasty business that. I recommend staying on her good side."

I don't know whether to offer him pity or laugh at the acknowledgement that Hermione is scary on the best of days, and those that end up on her bad side often have the scars to prove it. Instead, I laugh in a way that sounds like a whine, and Dumbledore's eyes sparkle.

"Quite," he agrees, even though I didn't say anything. His breathing stutters before he speaks again. "You know everything, I assume. Or enough to be getting on with. Your anger is quite justified where that is concerned. Gellert Grindelwald. You've no idea," he pauses and smiles and shakes his head sadly. "Or maybe you do, now . Now that you've experienced love, and loss, and desire deep in your soul. You can understand how his ideas caught me, Harry. How he inflamed me. And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us!

"You know the secret of my sister's ill health, what those Muggles did, what she became. You know how my poor father sought revenge, and paid the price, died in Azkaban. You know how my mother gave up her own life to care for Ariana.

"I resented it, Harry."

Albus states it baldly, coldly. He looks over my shoulder, staring into a past best left alone.

"I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory. Do not misunderstand me," he says, and pain crosses his face so that he looks ancient again. "I loved them, I loved my parents, I loved my brother and my sister, but I was selfish, Harry, more selfish than you, who is a remarkably selfless person, could possibly imagine.

"How the Hallows fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone—to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.

"And the Cloak...somehow, we never discussed the Cloak much, Harry. Both of us could conceal ourselves well enough without the Cloak, the true magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others as well as its owner. I thought that, if we ever found it, it might be useful in hiding Ariana, but our interest in the Cloak was mainly that it completed the trio, for the legend said that the man who had united all three objects would then be truly master of death, which we took to mean 'invincible.' Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me.

"And then...you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth and seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.

"The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana...after all my mother's care and caution... lay dead upon the floor."

I can see it happening, in slow motion. His shoulders slump, his face flushes. I have no more power to stop his tears than I did my own last week. I reach for him and take his hand in mine, doing the only thing I can do to support him while he cries for the family he's lost.

It takes him several long minutes to gather his emotions back under his command, and several more after that before I feel comfortable enough to speak again.

"Was it hard? To fight him?"

Dumbledore looks me in the eye, and I swallow back the need to apologise for asking the question. Storms roil behind his irises, and I realize what a stupid question that was. Could I duel Hermione? I do it almost every day. But not with the intent to do her harm. That I couldn't do. Easier to let her kill me.

"We'd taken a vow, a blood vow, to never raise a wand against the other. I did the exact opposite of everything you have done. Another sign, as if I needed it, that you are the far better man. I delayed breaking the blood vow. Avoided our meeting. I was afraid. Afraid to duel the man I love, for I love him still. Not the man he became, but the man he could have been. Afraid to discover which of us cast the curse that killed my poor sister.

"You, who have sought an end to Riddle at every turn no matter the cost to yourself, would never understand the sort of fear I felt at facing Gellert again. Then, because I could not bring myself to raise a wand against him, I let him kill me twice. Eventually, I won." He lifts his wand and bounces it between finger and thumb. "Together, you and I own two of the three Hallows, Harry."

My eyes snap to the wand, and a shiver runs down my spine. I can taste my heart in the back of my throat when I realise what he's said.

"You've had it? All this time?"

The older wizard gives me a tight smile.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Harry. I won it in the duel with Gellert. Imagine my surprise, a hundred years or more after I gave up my quest to unite the Hallows, when your father showed me the second had been under my nose the whole time. Passed from Potter to Potter, used to terrorize the school. But I was only worthy to own the cruellest of the Hallows. The most brutal."

He barks out a tight laugh, but there's no joy to be had in that sound.

"I do not necessarily hold to the notion that this wand is any more powerful than any other. But others subscribe to that line of thought, and that was enough to keep it with me and keep it safe. If I die, without having been defeated, the power of the wand dies with me."

I swallow thickly, then take a large swig of mead, still cool despite its long neglect.

"You didn't die undefeated though, at least in my previous life. Snape killed you himself. In front of me, I might add." Albus's face transforms, his irises darkening and his shoulders straightening. I can see it behind his eyes, the way he processes through the information he has and the knowledge he's gaining through me. "Riddle cursed Draco with the task of ending your life. Snape did it instead." My tongue darts out to wet my lips. "Ron thinks you asked him to, and though I'm loath to admit it, that sounds like something you would do. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps you realised that Riddle would not allow you to live, one way or another, and wanted to spare yourself a more uncertain end. But Snape took your life."

Albus gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"If there were one man I trusted to do what needed to be done, no matter the cost to himself, it would be Severus."

"Why do you trust him so much?" I demand, barely before he's even finished speaking. "He's a horrible person. Surely you see that. He treats his students like garbage. He told Riddle about the prophecy."

The headmaster rubs at his eyes, his frustration raw on his face.

"He's horrible to you and yours, I'll concede. No matter how many times I tell him he shouldn't punish the son for the sins of the father."

I flush horribly, remembering the memories I saw of my dad tormenting Snape when they were children.

"But you and I are sharing our own secrets tonight, and the story of Severus Snape is not mine to tell. That you do not know it already, is enough to make me hold my tongue. What I will say is that he came to me of his own accord the moment he realised Riddle intended to go after your mother in order to get to you, and has done everything in his power since then to make up for his mistake."

"He can't," I say harshly. Dumbledore's mouth softens into a sad smile, his fingers drumming lightly on the table.

"Funny," he says, looking me in the eye. "You and he finally agree on something."

Hermione presses against me, soft and warm like a cat rubbing her fur along the inside of my soul. She's not watching, not listening. She's not sharing my eyes. But reminding me that she's there if I need her. Sending me her love.

As if reading my thoughts, Albus continues.

"I will tell you, however, there is no need to fear for Hermione's safety while she is in his care. He would happily die before allowing anything to happen to your wife. Maybe, especially, because she is your wife. A muggle-born in love with a Potter." Albus slinks backwards in his chair with a sigh, and I can't read his expression any longer. "I'm not asking you to like the man, Harry. But he has proven his worth to us over and over again, whether you realise it or not. He knew it was you the minute he heard your voice in those obliviated memories, and he kept it to himself. He could have saved himself a fair amount of unpleasantness, not to mention his eye. But he didn't. And he's a skilled enough Occlumens that Riddle still doesn't realise he knew it was you at the prison before Riddle himself did. Trust Severus, if not to have your best interests in heart, to at least keep you alive. And please, do try to stay out of detention."

"Did you give him a similar lecture?" I ask blandly.

"Merlin, yes!" he says loudly, and I laugh outright at that.

I sober quickly enough though. I'm tired, the revelations of the night taking more out of me than hours with the sword can. But I still have questions I need answered.

"Can we talk about Sirius?"

Albus flinches.

"Must we?" he cringes, refilling his goblet.

"I think so," I confirm, with a small smirk on my face. "Just wondering if you have an explanation for why you allowed him to lounge around in prison for over a decade."

He roughly clears his throat.

"I have discussed this with your Godfather, you know. He does not need you to defend his honour."

"Humour me," I prompt anyway

The old man shrugs in a careless sort of way.

"I admit, I thought him guilty. Lounging at the pleasure of the dementors felt too good for him by half. He had betrayed your parents, you, me, and everything he claimed to stand for. Plus, as you so succinctly pointed out earlier, there were a plethora of witnesses to back up the claim that he had committed that horrible crime. I watched them drag him to the Dementors and wished him well of it."

"And once we knew he was innocent?" I ask, my voice as calm as I can make it.

He lifts one shoulder again.

"Who would believe us? You freed him. It was the best we could do at the time. There were other battles to fight. Sirius understood that."

He would, too. It sounds just like him.

"So that's why you let me stay in the home of a family that abused and despised me?"

Albus doesn't even blink.

"And I'd make that same choice again, presented with the same facts and situation. You were attacked within months of re-joining the wizarding society, Harry. You were not safe in our world. I could not risk you, or any family that offered to raise you as their own. Better you were raised away from us by people that mistreated you, than raised in our midst, and risk not living at all."

I think of all the times the Weasley's home has been attacked, simply because I am who I am. I give him a shallow nod, conceding the point to Albus. He lifts his goblet in return. I let the silence sit for a moment, gathering my thoughts and sipping on the mead. Albus is quiet as well, content to allow me to lead our conversation.

"When did you begin to suspect I was a Horcrux?" I ask him.

Hermione and I have talked about it for hours. He had to know. The question is when he knew it. He told me, us , about the Horcruxes, so that by the time I faced Riddle, I'd be the only one left. Either Voldemort would kill me, most likely, and he'd finally be mortal. Or I'd kill him, and the last of him would die when I did.

"I suspected the day I lifted you from your cradle," Dumbledore confirms. "Dark magic leaves a mark, Harry, and I'm not simply talking about that extraordinary scar that rests on your forehead. I knew for sure the moment you handed me Riddle's diary. When I saw what it was, I knew what you were. But that didn't mean I loved you any less. From that moment on, my entire life's mission was to develop a plan to see you through its removal and Riddle's defeat and see you alive on the other side."

I take another sip of the mead, letting the alcohol calm the anger licking along my nervous system. I drum my fingers on the table, trying to settle my thoughts.

"I've died five times, I think?" He lifts his brow, and I give a sheepish shrug. "My death was rather narked at me and didn't have the best disposition. Honestly I stopped listening. Four of them, though, were while I was under your supervision." My eyes narrow in irritation. "I thought, at the time, that you trusted me. That I owed you thanks, for letting me figure things out on my own. For allowing me to try out my strengths. But you raised me like a lamb to slaughter, Albus. It's for the greater good all over again, only instead of sacrificing muggles you were prepared to sacrifice me. Imagine how that feels, for a moment, realising that the person who you trusted most in the world, outside of the two people at your side, was, in reality, leading you to be killed."

Dumbledore reaches across the table and grabs my hand in his.

"Harry, my boy. I do not know what happened, and the choices I made in your other life. I can only tell you what has gone on in this one. I was, yes, already forming a plan to rid you of the Horcrux I was sure you possessed. It was my intention to destroy as many Horcruxes on my own as I could, and prepare you for the battle you still had to face."

He squeezes my fingers in his hand.

"I don't mean the battle of good versus evil. Light versus Dark. You were already well prepared for that fight. Had been fighting it, without any help from me. I mean, of course, the battle against yourself . That intrinsic instinct inside each of us to live at all costs. It's built into our very beings. It's what kept the human race alive all these thousands of years. What man could walk up to another unarmed, knowing it will be the end of their life?"

I swallow thickly, knowing that I would have, and still will, if that is what's required to keep Hermione alive.

Even before , it wouldn't have been the world I thought of when I walked into that final confrontation. It would have been of Hermione, and Ron, and those few people I love.

"My hope, Harry, my greatest wish was that when Riddle finally hit you with the killing curse, he would kill himself instead of you. That he'd kill that piece of himself that has clung to you these past fourteen years. I didn't raise you simply to die. I raised you to be brave enough to meet your death head-on, with the hope that your braveness would be rewarded with your life. There is a method to my madness."

He squeezes my hand again and uses the other to wipe at his face.

"But when you reappeared after the final task, bloody and clutching an unconscious servant of Riddle, I knew right then that the Horcrux was gone. I knew by the end of the night that the man that came out of the maze was not the same boy that went in. I don't know what my plans have been. To keep you safe, to keep Riddle from becoming too strong. To do everything in my power to see you live a long and joyous life, out from under the shadow of evil. I do know that every clash we've had since you emerged from the maze has sent me in a different direction, trying to stay two steps ahead of the game."

He swallows harshly, his throat visibly constricting, and looks me in the eye.

"But yes. I was prepared to sacrifice you. Especially if it meant the survival of everything else. I admit, the Bond with Hermione was unexpected, and it gave me hope that it wouldn't come to that. Whatever else could 'power the Dark Lord knows not' be, if not the love of a good woman? But I would have done what was needed, to ensure the survival of us all. As will you, I am sure."

There it is. I was expecting it to ignite the rage bubbling inside me, but the opposite happens instead. Calm rushes over me, at hearing the truth at last. I swallow back the last of my goblet, and push it forward to be refilled. Dumbledore does so without a word.

"It was a good assumption, Albus." My hands move, trying to indicate everything and nothing all at once. "The whole, sacrificing myself scenario. You were correct, as usual. My personal death, Mortimer, who is an absolute git, by the way, said as much. Tom and Bellatrix killed me together last time. He hit me with the killing curse first, then she hit me with the killing curse immediately after. Otherwise, hear Mortimer tell it, I would have simply climbed right back to my feet. But the Horcrux is gone now, as is my get outta jail free pass. Next time Riddle hits me with an Avada , that's all she wrote."

Until they send me back to try again. But that's not guaranteed.

"Then we must ensure he never gets another chance. I can't exempt you from your schoolwork. But seeing as this is your second time through, and now you have Hermione's extraordinary brain to help you, that shouldn't take too much of your time. I can, however, lend my expertise to your training regime. I have a few tricks up my sleeve that may come in handy. Since learning about Riddle's history won't be necessary, I can take a firmer hand in your education, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Albus," I say sincerely. "I'll take any help you're willing to give. So long as there are no longer secrets between us. I need you. Almost more than any other person, I need your help to defeat Riddle. But I have to trust you, and if you're keeping something from me, for the greater good, then I can't. And we'll do it without you."

Dumbledore's aura flares, determination coating him like a second skin. Sparks burst along my fingertips, reacting to the strength of the man in front of me.

"That won't be necessary, Harry. If it is within my power to tell you, ask and you shall know. I have dedicated my life to fighting the Dark. I don't intend to stand this battle out. I will fight it at your side, if you will let me."

My throat closes up with some unnamed emotion, and I nod my head sharply. Dumbledore claps his hands, rubbing his palms together.

"Time has gotten away from us, as it is want to do, when one is confronting one's own mortality. Let's do business, unless you would prefer to pick this up another day?"

I sit up straighter in my chair, shaking my head and lowering my glass.

"No, I don't. The longer it takes to destroy the Horcruxes, the more time Riddle has to cement his foothold. I do want to talk about the connection between Riddle and I, but that's a conversation for another night, I think. Hermione should be involved in that one."

"Well then," he says, leaning forward with his arms on the table. "What have you done, and what is left to do?"

"First and foremost," I take a final swig from my goblet and push it to the side. "About the raid in Azkaban this week. How we knew that Snape was in trouble." I take a fortifying breath. "I did dream about it. The raid at least. But that's not how we knew about Snape. We bugged Malfoy Manor with listening devices."

His lips part in surprise.

"How?" he demands with wide eyes and an awe filled voice. "However, did you manage that?"

"We placed almost thirty total. Invisible, hopefully, but disguised as buttons in case they are found. The Malfoys haven't warded their home against non-bonded elves."

Dumbledore's face is the picture of incredulity.

"That, and Draco has an elf still living in Malfoy Manor that is bonded to him and not the family. Or, she was living there. We pulled her out this week. Winky, Dobby, and Draco's elf Missy worked together. They went in the night before the Prophet's announcement and placed the buttons in the entire house, minus Riddle's private wing. Even so, we didn't learn about the Azkaban raid this week until about an hour after it happened. Riddle isn't the sort to announce his plans ahead of time unfortunately. We listened to the aftermath, though and it was—" I don't want to talk about that. He knows exactly what it was. I have to clear my throat before I can continue. "I can have a copy of the ledger made and given to you. Who knows what you'll catch that the rest of us miss."

"But how?" he asks again.

"The twins," I tell him and Dumbledore's eyes sparkle with understanding.

"I will speak with them tomorrow, then, with your leave."

I give a tiny nod.

"Three heads are better than two. They've developed a plethora of new things for us this summer. I'm sure they'd love your input. As to the Horcruxes, you know there were six? Seven, if you include me."

Dumbledore runs his fingers over his beard.

"I have suspected, but have no proof either way. I've been collecting memories of his past since he tried to steal Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone. It is slow going, however, as I'm sure you know."

I nod at him, confirming I already know this.

"There was the diary, which you already know about. The snake, which I killed during Riddle's resurrection."

Dumbledore startles at that announcement.

"The snake? Really? How fascinating. I hadn't yet considered that."

I grin at him ear to ear.

"Yup. Riddle was furious. I'm sure he thought it was just a coincidence, and he didn't realise I knew I was removing one of his Horcruxes."

Dumbledore shivers involuntarily.

"I'd agree with that assessment. I'm told his rage was something to behold. He was beside himself in fury not only that you escaped, but that you killed his familiar. His slaves…" He stops and stutters, feigning confusion when I bark out a laugh. "Excuse me, his followers he was disappointed about. Good help is so hard to find. But Nagini's loss was a particular blow."

That doesn't surprise me in the least.

"He could control her, to an extent. More so than you or I could control our familiars, even one as connected to you as Fawkes is. We had an incident, before, or after I guess?" I shake my head in confusion of where things lie in the timeline. "Where the snake was, well, basically wearing a deceased person like human skin. Bathilda Bagshot actually. We went to Godric's Hollow looking for the Sword of Gryffindor. It was…" a shudder rips through me unbidden. "Unpleasant."

Dumbledore looks rather nauseous.

"Indeed. Another time, perhaps, but I would very much like to see the memory of that."

I feel sick just thinking about it.

"Sure," I sigh. "I'll get Mi's version too. She was there as well."

"Thank you," he says solemnly, giving a dip of his head.

I puff my cheeks out in a slow exhale, trying to get back on track.

"There was Hufflepuff's cup, which was in the Lestranges Vault. You destroyed Marvolo Gaunt's ring in the last timeline. Slytherin's locket." I grin at him, finally able to give some lighthearted news. Lighthearted-ish. "You'll never guess where the locket was the entire time." Dumbledore leans forward in his seat. "You are not the first to learn of Riddle's Horcruxes. Sirius's brother Regulus, did as well and died stealing Slytherin's locket from its hiding place. The locket has sat undisturbed in Grimmauld Place since then."

"Surely you jest," he puffs, eyes wide in disbelief.

"It's true. It was—" I remove my glasses and rub at my eyes. "It was a whole thing. By the time we realised what it was and where it had been, the locket had been stolen and ended up around Dolores Umbridge's neck. Funny how no one noticed she'd been wearing a Horcrux because she was so unpleasant, to begin with. I'll tell you the story sometime, but not tonight. Luckily, in this timeline, it was just sitting there, waiting for me to grab it. I've destroyed all those already."

"How did you get into the Lestrange vault?"

"Last timeline we didn't. We died beforehand. I hadn't fully realized the reason Bellatrix was torturing Hermione was that she'd thought we'd been in her vault. It didn't occur to me until weeks later, after we'd been dropped in the past and when we were in the bank. THIS timeline, I simply asked the Goblins."

"Come, Harry," Dumbledore smiles, giving me a shrewd expression. "It took more than that."

I slip my glasses back onto my nose.

"There's a reason your singing hat wanted me in Slytherin," I say.

"There is a fine line between Slytherin and Gryffindor," Dumbledore confirms with a smile.

"I may have mentioned that Dark Wizards were manipulating the Goblins because they felt the Goblin nation beneath them, or something along those lines, and that if they were to look, they'd find dark objects dangerous to the Goblin Horde being stored in the catacombs. They looked, I proved I could identify said dark artifact, then I stabbed it with the sword. I suggested they call me should they find any others. I was really hoping Ravenclaw's item would show up that way."

"It hasn't?"

It's not a question, but a statement.

"Not yet. It's the only one in which I don't know the location. That and the ring. I didn't learn about the ring until after you had destroyed it. I don't know where it's located. Only you do."

He taps his fingers on the table, pulling memories from his mind before letting the silver mist float into oblivion.

"I do? How interesting."

"It's hidden in the ruins of the Gaunt house."

His eyes widen in understanding.

"Ah. When did I destroy it then?"

"The summer between Fifth and Sixth Year. You were, as you told me, 'desperately injured' in the process. As I'm sure you can imagine, the Horcruxes don't go down without a fight."

Dumbledore chuckles ruefully. "And I am not as young as I once was. Reflexes are a young man's game I'm afraid."

"It doesn't matter," I say. "We can go now. I left the sword in our room at Hermione's request. She was afraid I'd let my temper get the better of me and accidentally kill you."

"Remind me to thank her," he tells me dryly.

I smirk at him.

"Let's go grab the sword, unearth the ring, stab it, and then we can concentrate on finding Ravenclaws artifact. Riddle won't go down without a fight, with or without the Horcruxes. Whether we find the final Horcrux next week or next year, we need to spend the intervening time planning the final confrontation so that it's when and where we dictate it."

Dumbledore removes his glasses with one hand and rubs at his eyes with the other.

"I'm afraid we can't, Harry. At least, we can't go get the ring. I don't know where the Gaunt house is. At this point, you're working from more information than I have."

I startle at his proclamation. Somehow, that hadn't occurred to me.

Albus twists his wand, and a plethora of glass vials appear in a row. He taps himself on the forehead.

"If you would be so kind as to share our previous lessons with me, I believe I have some studying to do."

I bring my wand to my temple but lower it without pulling out any memories.

"That reminds me. Hermione wants copies of your memories too. Everything you've learned of Riddle so far, and a copy of the prophecy she can study. Winky found us a pensive this summer."

The headmaster smiles at me knowingly, and the vials on the table triple between us. With a swish of his wand, vials from the pensive cabinet fly our way, and Dumbledore begins the process of duplicating the memories for my wife.

With a sigh of exhaustion, I lift my wand to my temple, and begin the tedious process of syphoning out my memories, one by one, to bring Albus Dumbledore into the future.

"Oh!" I say with my hand on the door. I turn back to Dumbledore, who is already preparing his pensive. Ron and Nev are at my side, despite the fact I obviously woke them up with my Patronus. It's well after midnight by now. Ron is in his sleep pants, a knife tucked into the elastic of his trousers. "I almost forgot. Hermione and I need to leave the castle tomorrow. Just for a few hours."

Dumbledore gives me his full attention, a lilt to his brow.

"As a lord, and married, you aren't privy to the rules that bind the other students to the grounds, as you well know. But what, may I ask, pulls you away so soon into term?"

A flush colours my cheeks, and I push my glasses up further on my nose.

"Eye surgery, actually. Kingsley breaking my glasses during training this week just confirmed that they need to go. Sticking them to my face won't be good enough. Hermione arranged for one of the Healers from St. Mungos to do it at the townhouse. I'll still wear the frames so that people don't realise I've had it done, but the glass will be clear. Hermione has a whole list of spells she wants to perform on my frames. Disguise checkers and something or other. But they won't be necessary for me to see anymore."

Dumbledore grins ear to ear.

"She's turning your glasses into a weapon?" he asks with amusement.

"A tool, she'd say, but essentially yes," I confirm. Dumbledore shakes his head with a smile.

"Wonderful," he says with enthusiasm. "Please, tell her to send one of the elves to me when she is ready to begin her charming. I'm already brimming with ideas."

Ron meets my eye, and shrugs through a yawn.

Merlin.

I've just lost my wife to Albus Dumbledore.