Just want to reiterate that not everything in the story is going to line up with canon stuff here, as should be obvious based on some other things we've seen thus far. In other words, when a certain spell effect happens in this chapter, I already know that's not how it works in canon. (According to the Harry Potter Wiki anyways, maybe some tweet from Rowling completely changes what's in the books and makes me right lolol)

Also, to be honest, this is the first time I'm uploading a chapter where I don't already have the next 1-2 chapters fully written, my enthusiasm for writing this has died down a little bit, but I'll try my best to keep going.

Harry drummed his fingers along Dumbledore's desk. He'd been waiting for the headmaster to show up for what felt like years, but was probably only an hour or two. The portraits hanging on the wall were silent, but he could almost feel their stares boring into him. Fawkes was stepping back and forth across his shoulders, demanding his attention but content not to peck at him for it.

He'd come back for Dumbledore's meeting with Snape, even if he hadn't had a proper sleep since his handless stay in the medical wing, but neither one had shown up thus far. His eyes were dark and sunken with bags, it looked like he'd taken a punch to either one. When he dropped off Luna, he'd his manticore cloak behind as well, but the enchanted robes that normally laid beneath it were with him and glowing in the twilight.

Luna had gone to meet with her parents. She was bound and determined to ensure Harry made good on his word to go out and look for whatever creatures she claimed were real, and as the greatest (and only) expert on such matters, her father was going to give her direction. Harry had at least made sure she knew that taking on Voldemort was his first priority, but that didn't stop him from fearing what sorts of jungles and tundras she would drag him through on what would more than likely be wild goose chases.

There was a knock at the door.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Come in."

Snape entered the room, and his brows shot up the sight of Harry rather than Albus. To his credit, the boy turned and shut the door, then filed forward into a chair with his arms folded on top of his lap without revealing any more surprise on his face. Harry cast his usual privacy charm to ward them against the portraits' prying eyes and ears.

Snape looked a bit worse for wear compared to the last time Harry had seen him. He had bags under his eyes almost as bad as his own, and it looked like he'd slept in his robes. His gaze darted back and forth around the room.

"Apparently 'Uncle' Albus hasn't woken up yet," Harry said. "How much did you pick up from my memories?"

"Enough." Snape was trying to put up a bold front. "I know you're from the future, or at least convinced you are. The memories you injected into my mind were like… Like I was really living through them. Every thought and inclination you had during the fight appeared to me like they were my own. Everything that would've popped up into your consciousness appeared in mine."

Well damn. That was a lot different than the usual legilimency memory or pensieve trip. It seemed Snape had literally walked a mile in his shoes.

"I don't recall having any thoughts about my parentage when I was smacking Morgana around."

Snape shrugged. "It might've just been a passing thought to you, nothing noteworthy, but it was quite the revelation for me. Was that the real Morgana you were fighting?"

"Either that or some witch both crazy enough to claim the name, and powerful enough to back it up," Harry said. "You're being surprisingly civil, considering how much you hate my father."

"I'm not an idiot." Snape's face was a stoic mask. "And I'd certainly have to be if I couldn't be polite in front of a man who made Dumbledore cower."

"I seem to remember you doing most of the cowering."

"Perhaps if you had some semblance of sanity you would—" Snape stopped himself. "Your memory isn't the best, as you pointed out earlier."

Harry's eye twitched. At least he knew for certain the boy was just pretending to be polite now. "Be glad I'm 'sane' enough to not go through with my initial plan and just off you to be done with it." Snape paled. "Have you gotten my message to Tom yet?"

"I thought you would've preferred I stayed as far away from him as possible, given what I know."

"I also told you to get one of the other death eaters to pass on a message."

"I'm not a death eater," Snape snarled.

"Not yet." Harry waved his hand. "Unlike normal teenagers, you've not taken well to being rejected, have you? You've all but joined a terrorist organization who doesn't even like you, and only keeps you around because you're useful, and as soon as you stop being useful, they'd put you down for having a muggle father.

"You wanna know how it ends? You betray Lily Potter, Tom kills her and my father, accidentally kills himself trying to kill me, and then you spend the rest of your life as a miserable, bitter, and greasy double agent who eventually gets killed off because you became more useful dead than alive to your precious dark lord."

Harry took a deep breath. "And you kill Dumbledore too."

"Oh good." Harry turned to see Dumbledore had arrived. "And here I was worried that this meeting would be too dull."

"You know." Harry stood so that the headmaster could have his proper seat. He stepped away and leaned against a wall. "You're a lot more sarcastic than you were back in my time."

"Or perhaps I just had more patience for you when you were a teenager." Dumbledore settled himself in. "Would you like to tell Mr. Snape the specificities of why all of those things took place?"

"I already did, poor life choices and insecurities."

Dumbledore sighed. "You know, you were a lot less sarcastic to me in your memories."

"I had more respect for you back then." Harry was sleep deprived, sobering up from the earlier tequila, and just tired of being nice. "You turn out to be quite a manipulative man, Albus, and not a particularly effective one at that."

"And because you couldn't take it out on me, or even Mr. Snape here, in your own timeline, you're making up for it now?"

"You try going from being the most powerful, wealthy, and famous wizard in all of England, if not the world, and then having to go back to being nice to everyone around me." Harry rubbed his eyes. God he was tired. "Or if not nice, then having to actually ask for things instead of just telling those around me what to do and when to do it."

"Well, I don't know about wealthiest, but I think I had a fair claim to the former and latter things you listed," Albus said. "In theory I could still have the latter, but that's it. I asked you what we should do next to help stop Voldemort, and you blew me off. Do you think I can't at least empathize with the issues you're describing?"

"Fine, fair enough." Harry jabbed a finger at Snape. "I want him to get a message to Tom in order to draw him out into the open. Then I'll duel and defeat him. After that, I will start capturing the death eaters who are most likely to have been given one of the horcruxes to hold on to.

"I'll ask nicely, then not so nicely, until I get what we need. From there, I hope you can understand that I can't exactly guess where all the objects will be hidden away." Wait. "Actually, I do know where one is, the diadem."

"Yes, I remember it appeared to be somewhere in the school," the headmaster said. "Though I haven't been able to find such a massive storage room."

"It's a secret room, I know where it is."

"Can we go back to the part where you still expect me to get a message to the dark lord?" Harry and Dumbledore turned to Snape. "If what you're saying is true, I want no part of this."

"Unless you're an even better potions master than I give you credit for, and can brew up some polyjuice in a day or two, you don't have an option." Harry ran a hand through his hair. He really needed a haircut. "I don't suppose you know when the next little meetup will be, do you?"

"I already told you I don't want to help."

"I'm afraid we must insist, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore said. Harry turned to him with a cocked brow. "These are matters of the utmost importance, and we must all do our part to assist. Harry shall insure your safety."

Well, Harry didn't know about that, but he wouldn't actively try to kill the man. Not yet anyways.

"Listen," Harry said. "Here's what we're going to do."

Severus strode down Knockturn Alley, even as every fiber of his being told him to turn the other way and run. He had his apparition license, he was of age, he could just pop back to where he and Lily had grown up and live out the rest of his life as a muggle. Grow into some bitter, old man like his own father had been. Like the younger Dumbl—, no, the older Potter had said he would.

'You're the reason Lily died,' echoed in his mind. 'It's all your fault.'

Of course, the terrifying wizard hadn't actually said it in those words, but nightmares have a way of making things clearer than they normally would be.

There were more shadows haunting the street's corners than normal. The sun hadn't fully set, but everything seemed to be just a touch darker than he was used to. Outside of maybe the first or second time he'd stolen away into this section of Diagon Alley, he'd always strutted about the place like he owned it. Now he looked like a sixteen year old trying to sneak a firewhiskey at a tavern.

Eventually he came to the bar he'd been told to meet the others at, The Dead Finger's Itch. He steadied himself, straightening his cloak and raising his head. 'Impress them, Severus,' he thought. 'Even if only to survive.'

He entered.

The place was filled with smoke, pouring from pipes and mugs alike. The place was lined and built with wood that must've started rotting long before he was even born, and he doubted anything besides magic was keeping it standing. People were scattered about, but a large group in the corner caught his eye. He made it three steps before someone came up to stop him.

"Beat it kid," the bartender, Severus presumed, said. "This ain't—"

Severus drew his wand and pointed it at the man, pressing it hard against his throat. He stepped forward and the man stumbled back until they were up against the bar. The bartender's hands were up, and Severus drew some strength from the fear he saw in the man's eyes. He opened his mouth to cast a spell. He couldn't afford to show any weakness.

"Severus," a voice called. "Leave the mudblood alone, the master wishes to see you."

'He really is here,' Severus thought. 'So much for hoping for otherwise.'

He withdrew his wand after making sure to give the bartender one last dirty look then pocketed it. It was now or never. He turned and did his best to appear undaunted as he made his way over.

The group shifted about so that he would have a spot to sit. He recognized Malfoy and one of the Lestranges, Bellatrix. Crabbe and Goyle were as easy to pick out of a crowd as giants. A handful more he vaguely recognized, and many had resemblances to other classmates. The only one in the crowd whose face was completely hidden sat across from him. He settled in and bowed his head.

"I presume you are our dark lord?"

"Indeed, young Severus." The man's voice was rich and smooth, his S's extended. "Your peers have spoken well, in regards to your skills."

"I am honored." Severus bowed his head again. "However, I must confess that I have come here with a request from someone else as well."

"Oh?"

"Albus Dumbledore's nephew." The air fell still. No one so much as blinked. "He requested that I start by offering you a gift."

It was almost surprising how still his hand was when he reached into his pocket, the opposite side of where he'd stowed his wand. He drew out a velvet bag.

"He told me not to open it myself, but if you would like, I will in case its trapped."

Perhaps he could've gone into acting, the way he'd memorized and repeated the lines Harry had fed him. He held out the parcel with head bowed, careful not to make any eye contact with 'One of the few wizards who can pop a hole in your mind better than I can'.

"Open it."

Severus undid the strings as he was bid. He made a show of looking tempted to peek inside, but bit his lip and instead poured the contents out onto the table.

Two, nearly-identical halves of a whole diadem fell onto the table. Severus cocked his head to the side, probably a bit too far if he was critiquing his performance, and stared at them unabashedly even as the other Death Eaters took notice of their lord's rage.

"He said it was some artifact that you'd find interesting, said it might've belonged to one of the founders of Hogwarts." Severus kept on staring at the broken shards, intentionally ignoring the fear rising around him. "And that he hoped it would entice you to be willing to meet with him."

A part of him mused over the fact that he was killing his chances at ever becoming a Death Eater by acting this dull. The rest of him was more than willing to act the fool for survival's sake. Severus continued to gawk at the pieces, and it took all his restraint to not breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the dark lord reach out for them.

'That's it,' he thought. 'Take the bait.'

The hand stopped. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"No." Severus shook his head. "I don't even know how he knew that I was in contact with our brethren. He'd asked me a couple of times to contact you, but I figured I shouldn't until he said this was something precious that you would find interesting."

"Is that right."

Then the dark lord reached out and grabbed hold of one of the pieces. He vanished with a crack. As soon as he did, Severus launched himself forward, grabbed hold of the other, and disappeared as well.

Harry's wand hung limp in his hand. He'd been waiting for nearly an hour out here in the field that he once dueled Morgana in. The space had been repaired, it was a wizarding training area after all, and the wind left the grass swaying back and forth. He was well rested compared to this morning in Dumbledore's office, but he probably wasn't at quite one-hundred percent.

'This is it,' Harry thought. 'Round… 5? 6?'

It was hard too keep track of how many times he'd gone toe to toe with Voldemort when you counted all the little squabbles.

There was the time when he was just a year old. When he was a first year, and grappled against the shade who'd overtaken Quirrel. In his second year the diary. The fourth year, he'd escaped with his own life but not Cedric's. Dumbledore had taken the blows in his fifth year, and his sixth year had pressed him against the workings of the amulet horcrux's protection but not the man himself. In his seventh year he'd done battle with the dark lord, and in a tournament setting he might've lost, but he stole a win in the end.

Now it was time once more to fight against the man who'd ruined his life.

Voldemort appeared, his wand already half drawn. Harry took a step to the side and launched a fire curse which would eradicate anything in its way. He grinned as Voldemort shot into the air as a dodge.

The two did battle. His opponent preferred 'true' magic, curses and jinxes which would've had supernatural effects like splitting his bones apart or rupturing his internal organs, all of which were intermingled with avada kedavras. Harry tried to keep his smile up, tried to inflate his excitement with promises of glory, but none of it elevated his mood beyond disappointment.

Outside of the rare cruciatus curse, almost all of the dark lord's spells were visible and thus easy to dodge. Even those that came in triplicate were shieldable. It was hard to deny Voldemort's spell variety and knowledge, but it felt like the power behind them all was lacking.

This was the man who'd terrorized the wizarding world for years on end? The man who'd slain Lily and James Potter? The man who feared no one but Dumbledore? Even Morgana could've put him down.

Harry stepped away from another green lance of magic and slid his wand back into its holster. He had to dodge two more spells without firing back before they stopped coming in.

"I'm disappointed, Tom!" he called out. "You're supposed to be better than this."

Voldemort was panting. Harry wasn't sure if the man wasn't as good as he used to be, or if The Boy Who Lived had just eclipsed his former nemesis. He'd have to run his memory of Dumbledore dueling the dark lord by the headmaster, alongside this one, and see what his thoughts were. He couldn't avoid killing him to wait and see if he'd grow stronger some day, but he was done pretending like this would be a challenge.

Voldemort landed. Harry would have to figure out how the man managed to fly like that; he could approximate it by using some wind magic, but the stillness of the other wizard's robe told him there was another way. "Who are you?"

"Harry Dumbledore." He gave a mock bow. "Half-blood wizard, and obviously your superior."

"Do you expect me to believe that goat-fucker Aberford actually bred with someone?" Voldemort asked through gritted teeth. "Who are you?"

Harry smiled. 'Let's have some fun.'

"You don't believe me? Why?" He prepared his tongue. "Can you really not comprehend the thought of a wizard more powerful than you being born from the light?"

The dark lord's eyes were little more than slits the way his face contorted into a disgusted glare. "How—"

"So many questions, so little time." Harry pointed his finger at the dark lord. "Good bye, Tom."

"What do you expect to do without a wand in hand?"

Harry pointed the finger up into the cloudy sky. Voldemort's neck didn't get halfway up before a bolt of lightning tore through him, unshielded. Unlike a natural bit of electricity, the bolt hung in the air and fried the man for several seconds. When it finished, Harry cast a basic water charm to put out the fire left behind on the corpse.

"Accio Diadem."

The piece of the broken horcrux came flying towards him. Harry drew his wand and began the process of modifying the portkey to 'free' Snape. He was almost tempted to leave the man there, at least for a day or two, but he supposed that Snape had earned some leeway for his part in this little fiasco.

Crack.

Snape stumbled out of the air and landed in a heap. His robes were in disarray, his skin was a motley hue, and Harry smelt rather than saw the vomit.

"Have fun?" he asked.

His only response was another round of puking.

"You've got to work on that habit." He cast a quick cleaning charm, probably too strong of one based on the way the man winced and his skin took on a red tinge. "Honestly that's, what, the third time you've puked in front of me?"

"Second." Snape stood and tried to straighten his robes. "And you left me endlessly falling in some sort of magical dimension. Is he dead?"

"You puked twice in Dumbledore's office." Harry gestured. "And see for yourself."

Snape turned and nearly fell backwards at the sight. Harry supposed it wasn't too pretty of a scene. Voldemort's corpse was still smoking, the eye sockets were empty, and he looked more like Harry remembered his post-revival self, the way his features were bald and missing. If it weren't for the fact that he was a crispy, brownish orange, a squint might've tricked him into thinking they were identical.

"I told you," Harry said. "He's no match for me, sad as I am to say it."

"I see."

They stood in silence for a while. A part of Harry, the part that Snape had accused him of having long before it was true, enjoyed the shock and awe of someone seeing his handiwork. So often during his own time, his adventures and misadventures had been state secrets or otherwise blown out of proportion. It was nice to actually bask in his glory, even if the battle had been anything but glorious.

"Except he's not actually dead, is he?" Snape asked.

"Nope." Harry stopped himself from wandering over and kicking the corpse. "His spirit's reforming as we speak, and likely to find the nearest legless reptile to inhabit. In the mean time, I'm gonna go death eater hunting, and torture them until I get what I want."

"What happened to asking nicely?"

"How likely would you be to answer my questions if I asked nicely?"

"Fair enough." Snape stepped over to his side. Harry still couldn't get over the strange camaraderie the boy was trying to force on him. "We'll be going then?"

"We will, if you include that hunk of flesh over there."

Snape swallowed. "I… Alright."

The man drew his wand, and Harry was tempted to let him take on the task. "Nah, don't worry about it."

He moved over and hefted the husk over his shoulder. Snape's cheeks went green once more at the cracks and oozing that accompanied the corpse's movement. Harry turned and smiled at his younger companion.

"We gotta make a display out of this. You said it was the Dead Finger's Itch, right? Not the Dead Man's Soul?"

"Yeah." Snape turned away. "They were very clear on that."

"Right then." Harry straightened up, the corpse on his shoulder sagging rather than bouncing. "You apparate back to the Three Broomsticks. I'll pick you up once I drop this off."

"You're sure about this?" Snape reached out an arm, but stopped, no doubt due to disgust. "You're just gonna… leave it there? What if they bring him back to life with it?"

"Let 'em," Harry said. "To be frank, this was child's play. If it makes his resurrection easier, it makes no difference to me."

Crack.

Harry was surprised at how quickly he had to throw up shields. What would the idiots here have done if Voldemort had returned like this? He took his time plopping the dark lord's corpse onto the nearest table. Various curses, jinxes, charms, and transfigurations rebounded away from him, and it was almost impressive how much it drained him just to keep up his shields. Hell, he'd had less trouble fending off Voldemort's…

He froze.

It was hard to make out much behind his magical shield, it was a bit like looking through fogged glass to start with, and now was rippling with every blow. He scanned around the room, and quickly found the source of most of the spells. It was impossible to identify who it was, but Harry just knew. He drew his wand once more.

"Ventus crepitus!"

An explosion of wind tore through his shields and sent bar stools and death eaters alike flying, the only one left standing was him and the man he'd been staring at.

"Gotta admit," Harry called. "Wasn't expecting this."

Voldemort sneered back at him. "We'll see how 'superior' you are now that you're facing my true self, rather than just one of my pawns."

Interesting. Harry dodged away from a bolt of green energy. So the man had seen, or at least heard, everything that had happened with the fake dark lord. A cruciatus curse actually caught him, but the adrenaline protected Harry long enough for him to fire back a distracting bolt of fire. Perhaps Voldemort had been possessing whomever it was and had them drink a polyjuice potion beforehand. Harry's soul magic knowledge wasn't anything to brag about outside of horcruxes, so it was possible.

The battle continued on. This was what he'd been looking for. He was having to weave physical dodges between shields, diverting bursts of magic, and the occasional attack when he could squeeze one in. Every once in a while a spell from the side lines would come flying towards him, but they were pathetic enough to all but ignore.

He stumbled backwards as some pustulating curse caught him in the ribs. His skin began to boil. Harry growled out a freezing cold water charm to drench himself with and put an end to the pain, just in time to roll away from a pair of intertwined snakes aiming for his throat.

Everywhere he looked there was smoke, blood, and debris. It seemed his opponent wasn't any more concerned with the collateral damage than he was. At least it was just Knockturn Alley, anyone who was out here at this hour probably deserved to catch a stray bludgeoning charm to the skull. He reared back his wand.

"Stupefy!"

The entire bar was cast in gold light when Harry's stunner met in midair with Voldemort's avada kedavra.

Nostalgia rushed into Harry as the spells began to meld. Unlike last time though, it was from his wand the first spirit crawled out of. It was… Hell, what was Bellatrix's husband's name? Rudolph? Something like that. He must've been the one pretending to be Voldemort. Or possessed by him, whatever it was.

More apparitions floated out of Voldemort's wand. There was no one Harry recognized, probably just some poor muggles or muggle-borns who had the misfortune of being in his war path, too unimportant for history to remember. One looked a bit like one of his classmates, a Hufflepuff a year or two above him, but that was about all he could make out. The seventh one to appear came from his own wand again.

It was a man the size of a child. He had a face like an ogre, stubby arms and legs, and even now Harry almost winced at the glare he got from the spirit. It was a warlock he'd had to put down, born a squib and sold his soul for the ability to cast magic, only to turn around and use it to attack his countrymen off in Russia.

Harry usually tried to avoid killing, but the Russian delegation had been very clear with their request to the Ministry, and the Ministry had been very clear to him in regards to what would happen to his payment if he slipped up even the slightest bit. There was the tiny amount of guilt buried within his conscious over the more-than justified murder, the warlock had killed dozens if not hundreds of people, but he'd long since drowned that guilt in enough alcohol to literally drown in.

Sick of this game now, Harry forced every ounce of his willpower into his spellwork. The golden beam between them began to strain against the power he generated, nearly blinding him with the amount of arching lights shooting off it. He nearly concussed himself against the back wall when it exploded and sent everyone flying, but a last minute wind spell saved him.

Voldemort hadn't been so lucky. He was stumbling back to his feet when Harry launched another bolt of lightning at him, directly from the tip of his wand this time. After all, if it ain't broke, why fix it? The electricity struck his foe, but within a second the man apparated away. Harry extended his magical consciousness outwards, caught hold of the trail, and apparated with him.

He bounced around several locations, some of which were warded, on his hunt. He caught sights that would've warranted exploration if he weren't in such a hurry. The dungeon of some ancient, oriental looking castle. A moonlit glade where the air smelled of blood and rot. A cave that Harry almost didn't recognize, until he spotted the half-filled lake infested with inferi.

More and more scenes flew past him, until he nearly couldn't get through to the next location. It took more magical energy than he was truly comfortable with spending to break through the wards, but eventually he broke past it.

Voldemort spun on his heel to face him. Harry smiled but didn't draw his wand, not yet. For the first time since his duel with Morgana, and for the second time since a long ways before that, he was having fun.

They were in some gothic mansion. The walls were largely unadorned, but there was the occasional portrait or sconce to give it some colour. The floors were made of silver and gold tiling, and the whole place smelled of some floral fragrance that he couldn't name. All in all? Not a bad place for the dark lord to die.

"Well?" Harry said. "You said we'll see how superior I am, do you see now?"

Voldemort practically snarled before roaring, "Who are you?"

"I've already told you, Tom, I am Harry Dumbledore." He smiled. "Why can't you accept that?"

"Because you're too powerful," Voldemort said. "You're a parseltongue, only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself can claim such a feat."

"Wrong." Harry gave a dismissive wave. "You're the one who came up with that idea, or at least spread it around. Herpo the Foul, for example, predated your ancestor by quite a bit."

"So you're his descendant then?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "God, you really do believe all that nonsense about blood purity, don't you? Even despite being a 'filthy half-blood' yourself."

"Avada—!"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

Harry might not've been a quick-draw champion, or at least, he hadn't participated in any competitions, but he wasn't about to lose to his rival at it either. His spell sliced through the air and severed the dark lord's wand arm. The man stared at the stump dumbly, and Harry's smile turned blood thirsty.

"Tell me, Tom, 'what do you expect to do without a wand?'" He laughed. "Sectumsempra."

Voldemort's other arm fell away with another spurt of blood. Harry stepped forward until he was within, ironically enough, arm's reach.

"You're pretty damn calm," he remarked. "Just so you're aware though, Tom, I know about the other horcruxes."

Voldemort's eyes widened, but there was no time for a more drastic reaction before Harry's wand cut through the air with another sectumsempra, and the man's head fell to the ground with a thump.

Harry rolled his shoulders and neck back and forth with a series of pops and cracks. The fight might not've been on par with his duel against Morgana, but it was certainly more impressive than his first outing against the faux-Voldemort.

Unlike the last time he 'killed' the man, a wave of sickly, yellow light emanated from the corpse. It formed into a hazy ball, then shot off through the air and straight through the walls of wherever he was.

"Bye, Tom," Harry said. "See you soon."

He knelt down and scooped up Voldemort's head. With a crack, he reappeared in the Dead Finger's Itch. A man he didn't recognize scrambled to his feet and was in the process of drawing his wand when Harry tossed the head at him. Perhaps the death eater was a quidditch player at some point, because he caught it with practiced ease before realizing just what it was he had snatched.

"Tell your friends that your boss is dead," Harry said. "And tell 'em that I'm coming for their heads next."

Without waiting for a response, he apparated away to the Three Broomsticks where Snape was no doubt impatiently waiting for him.