CHAPTER 57: What We Leave Behind (Part 1)

Somewhere in the North Sea

January 1st, 1996

3:45 a.m.

"FALL BACK!"

The words went into deaf ears as everyone continued fighting for their lives. The Ministry had long left them, surrendering Azkaban to Voldemort's control after a feeble attempt to halt the siege. While not a surprising move, in his opinion, it was still frustrating and left them in a terrible spot. Given how the Aurors had begun to try and breach the wards from the south, the distraction allowed the Order to sneak in from the top and attack them from both fronts.

It divided the dementor forces and split the cascade of curses that had begun raining on both groups from high upon Azkaban tower. It had quickly become clear that the fortress had been taken. With Voldemort sighted and having had easily overpowered all the defences that had made Azkaban an impenetrable fortress in the past, the continued effort was not to take the tower back. Voldemort alone would have had no issue with slaughtering each one of them in a matter of seconds.

However, Azkaban's wards were one of the reasons why the fortress had been so renowned for its protections. The large Kraken and entire dementor population that was tethered to the island and the Ministry's commands were rarely needed to stop any fool attempting to break into Azkaban. Only somehow, the Death Eaters had befouled them, turned them so that they would follow their commands and keep anyone from interrupting their siege.

If the wards could be brought down, and they could manage a quick retreat, it would hurt Voldemort's efforts and serve as incentive for the invaders to leave. A massive Azkaban break-out would be the largest security breach in Magical Britain's history. For the Death Eaters to outright occupy the fortress and use it as their new base of operations would prove catastrophic for the war to come.

It had been nearly five hours since they arrived at the siege. Five hours in which they were trying to bring down the powerful wards all from a poorly made stronghold they had to improvise that had to be maintained with all the damage the Death Eaters were doing to it. The packs of dementors had to be driven away by Lupin, McGonagall, and Sinistra - who were barely managing with the onslaught. And throughout the night, various members had been forced to be taken back to Grimmauld to deal with the injuries they sustained while protecting Aberforth, Elphias, and Hestia as they worked on dismantling the wards.

But with every passing moment, things only worsened. The curses from within Azkaban were coming in more often and in a larger quantity. Shacklebolt, both Weasley boys, Tonks, Diggle, and Fenwick had all been sent to Grimmauld for Andromeda and Ted to attend their injuries. Leaving only half a dozen Order members to protect Aberforth, Elphias, and Hestia while also repelling the Death Eater and dementor attacks and maintaining the stronghold so that it wouldn't sink, and they wouldn't drown.

His boots were filled with water, his clothes covered with muck and grime, and his wand arm was sore and dealing with the effect of catching a stray blasting curse. But most of all, they were getting overwhelmed. And with the prison now fully secured and order established inside the tower, Moody watched as four boats filled to maximum capacity quickly began to head towards them.

"Fall back, I said!" He growled once more, pulling the Delacour girl away from a freak curse that set ablaze the spot in which she had been standing at.

"We almost got it," Hestia gritted out, her brow sweating and eyes still on the myriad of runes in front of them.

"Only a few minutes now," Aberforth said.

"They're sending reinforcements." Moody barked. "If we do not leave now, we're all dead."

"Then you leave," Elphias snapped. "We almost got this. We're so fucking close."

"We can't stop now, Alastor."

An explosion rocked the stronghold before it slowly began to tilt to the side. Fire rained down on them and began chirping away at the walls protecting them.

"Don't play the hero, Aberforth." Moody snapped. "We've lost. Retreat now, that's a fucking order!"

"Alastor-"

"We're cutting our losses here," Moody said firmly.

Suddenly, a curse pierced straight through the wall and hit Hestia. She gave out a little gasp before she was sent flying across the room, crashing on the ceiling before landing back on the ground.

"NOW DAMMIT!"

Reluctantly, Elphias and Aberforth let go of the wards and immediately popped away, along with the Delacour girl, Vance, and Podmore. Remus, McGonagall, and Sinistra held off the dementors above as Moody limped upon the sinking fort and knelt down in front of Hestia. There was a burnt-off spot on her clothes and the flesh where the curse hit was quickly turning into a sick, rotting green. He growled, picking up the woman before looking back at the three left.

With a nod, he ordered them to leave before immediately apparating away. His feet barely hitting the ground again, he pushed open the door to Grimmauld Place and entered the chaos inside. People running from room to room, the entire house was filled with shouts and overlapping voices.

"Andromeda! Ted!" Moody shouted, leaving the door open as he hurried into the house. "Hestia needs medical attention!"

"What happened?" A voice asked as a short, old woman rushed over and began inspecting the woman in his arms. It took him a second to recognise her.

"Dark curse." He growled.

The woman paled before nodding shakily. "I'll take her to Andromeda. She's fixing up Fenwick as we speak."

"Thanks, Poppy," Moody nodded before catching Remus, who was darting towards the kitchen. "Everyone made it out?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "Sinistra and McGonagall headed back to Hogwarts, apparently the new mediwitch there has a stash of chocolate. They're bringing enough for everyone."

"Good," Moody nodded before he began sprouting out orders at people who were passing by. "We need someone at the DMLE. They may have rescued their prisoner's, but they're going to be useless without their wands. We need to get ahead of the press, begin informing everyone we can about the break-in and the Voldemort sightings; otherwise the Daily Prophet will keep printing their same old bullshit. Someone contact Albus, his holiday has come to an abrupt break. We need him here and we need him now! And where the fuck is Snape! Has anyone seen the slimy bastard!?"

"I called him," Ted Tonks told him, leaving one of the rooms with his head covered in sweat. "Earlier. Told him to come help us at Grimmauld in case any of you got too badly injured. I didn't hear from him after that."

"He didn't make it here?"

"I never saw him."

"Homenium Revelio!" A white flash exploded before it began expanding to every corner of the manor. The silhouettes of everyone inside began appearing, all blinding white, slightly more than two dozen of them. His magical eye began going through each of them, identifying everyone in the house who he immediately knew were not Snape. His attention was soon brought downwards towards the basement where he recognised the form of the Potter boy, who was writing on the ground, as a tall, lanky figure hovered above him.

His eyes widened in fury as a snarl left his mouth. "Aberforth!" He shouted. The two began working on the wards at the door that, while stronger than the average, were quickly taken down one by one. The boy's scream's suddenly echoed around the manor as the silencing wards were dispelled, and soon after, all the wards protecting the door were soon banished. With a strong kick, the door flew open, and he immediately began climbing down the stairs, with Aberforth and Lupin in tow.

"SNAPE!" He howled, launching a binding curse at a blind sided Snape. An iron-made collar flew from his wand before it collided with Snape's throat. The slimy Death Eater was sent flying across the room before he crashed on the wall, where the collar latched onto, pinning him with his feet hovering above the ground. "You no-good bastard!" Moody ran up to him and sucker-punched him in the face before grabbing Snape's arm and gripping it tightly until he dropped his wand. After kicking it behind him, Moody punched him again. "You knew of the siege, didn't you? You kept your mouth shut and while we were out there, trying to fix your fucking screw-up, you were down here torturing Potter!"

"Alastor!"

"NOT NOW, ABERFORTH!"

"It's the boy," he said.

Moody growled, launching one last punch at Snape and spitting on his face before he turned and entered the cell. Potter was lying in Aberforth's arms, the boy was nearly catatonic. Eyes rolled to the back of his head, his eyes were bleeding tears, and he was foaming at the mouth. Remus was calling his name, but Potter was completely unresponsive. "What did you do to him, you sick bastard!" Moody roared at Snape.

"My duty," Snape sneered.

Moody turned back to Potter, sparing Snape a glare as he tried to pick the boy up from Aberforth's hands, only for him to immediately twitch and spasm as his face contorted in pain.

"What the-"

"Take his shirt off," Moody commanded, but Aberforth had beaten him to it. Using his wand to rip his shirt off, Aberforth quickly tore it to its sides before carefully turning Potter on his back and finishing removing the shirt. All three men paled as they watched the burning red injury, a large gash covering the entirety of his upper left back in the shape of an M. It looked fresh, a complete contradiction to any lack of blood sprouting from it or to the fact his shirt was intact.

"ANDROMEDA! TED!" Remus called out, his voice shaky as he couldn't stop staring at the scar.

"Did you do this to him?" Aberforth asked Snape brusquely.

"Am I wielding a knife?"

"Then how did he get this?"

Snape shrugged, his face blank and entirely remorseless.

"What happened?" Poppy said, descending the stairs before she stopped completely as she saw Harry's scar.

"We- we need to treat him." Remus said. "F-Fix him. What do we need to give him?"

"No!" Poppy nearly shouted. "How did he get it?"

"The fuck does that matter for?" Moody barked.

"Just- answer the question."

"We don't bloody know. But it very well looks new!"

"Potter's been here for over a week." Aberforth said. "If Snape didn't do it, then who could have?"

Moody's eyes immediately snapped to Remus.

"I-I didn't do this." He stuttered. "I swear. I- this wasn't me. I would…"

"The wound looks fresh. It must have been done in the past hour, at most."

"Lupin!" Moody barked. "Search the bastard for a knife." Remus stood up, nodding unsteadily. "Have you seen anything like this, Poppy?"

"Once," she said. "But the wound kept expanding. In less than a day, it… it killed someone."

"What did you use to treat him?"

"The wound was littered with dark magic," her voice was turning monotone. "We never found out an actual cure for it, but I started treating it as a normal wound."

"Snape's clean," Remus said. "He doesn't have a knife."

"Take him upstairs," Poppy said, finding her voice once again. "Don't give him anything for the back injury, I want it under observation. I'll start my analysis on… everything else."

"Let me help you," Remus said, gently picking up Harry and carrying him in a way where he wasn't touching the scar on the back.

"Aberforth-"

"I know," he said. "I'll go contact Albus."

Deep Within Harry Potter's Mind

After a lifetime filled with a myriad of agonies, there was a certain perspective they brought them. A tutelage to pain most people would never begin to comprehend. They each had their own flavours, their own sensations - and if he would get entirely too philosophical about it, their own character to them. And while it also brought a sense of indifference to what could be considered minor aches in the grander scope of his experience, it had also taught him that specific types of pain - the ones you would never forget - could not be classified.

To distinguish a definite form of torture as the one that brings the most agony is a naive train of thought used by those who had been exempt from any real hardships. For when you're living them, in that very moment, nothing feels like it could ever compare to it. A cursed knife that would leave an ever-tearing scar, a tainted diary fixated on possessing its user by breaking their spirit, being forced to revisit your parent's murder over and over again until you can tell all the major beats and tiny little gestures to the very second. Watching your girlfriend get murdered by a man you foolishly chose to spare in exchange for a clear conscience.

Each had their own flavour, each a different type of pain… but each, in their darkest moments, brought him the worst type of misery in his life. And each left him with a permanent brand he could not get rid of - their own personal souvenir. The constant pain in his back, the never-ending nightmares, the scent of the very person he had murdered as if she was still right beside him. There was no comparing them, no ranking them as if they were some unremarkable experience from long ago.

Getting his mind torn apart to its core by a Legilimency master like Severus Snape after confessing his part in being the arbitrator to every bit of his suffering was a worthy new type of agony that would haunt him just as much as the others. To be forced into every one of his memories, from his birth to his stint at Grimmauld's cell while feeling as if his very mind were being shredded, only to be put back together and repeat the process, while his body was dragged, beaten, bruised, stabbed, and cursed along the way… it was nothing compared to anything Snape had done in the previous Occlumency lessons.

He hadn't realised just how much Snape had been holding back, just to give him the moment's chance to stand still and gather himself as he witnessed the memory. There was no focus on learning new information, not even a passing interest. It quickly became clear that Snape's only goal was to cause as much pain and suffering in as little time possible.

And he'd done it. Every moment of his life that had ever made him feel sad or scared, every single day of his stay in hell, every one of his crushing defeats literally coming back to haunt him and beat him with their mere existence within his memories.

Every one of them, over and over again, until it felt he'd lived his entire life ten times over. Every time each painful memory turned even more painful with every time he revisited it, and the few - exceedingly few - happy memories he had, they brought him no solace. No comfort or anchor to grasp, only a reminder of what had been ripped from him. By Graham. By Tom. Every other person who had spit on his face, turned his back to him, left him alone in this rotten world in which he had been forced to fend for himself.

And throughout this, his head began palpitating. It was dizzying, nauseous, and with every second, it got worse. And as the pain kept rising, and he was brought to his knees by the torment - feeling how his brain was on the verge of a colossal explosion, everything began turning fuzzy. He felt the taste of copper in his mouth as his nose began dripping. The urge to scream became too overpowering and soon enough, he was rolling, kicking his feet and wailing as he wished for the pain to stop. For it all to stop.

And then, with a sobering feeling similar to being abruptly slapped, it all went away. Enveloped in darkness, almost floating but still feeling the cold ground beneath him, he barely had time to let a breath out before his stability was ripped from under him. The darkness surrounding him began dripping like a tarnished painting as he began falling deeper into the void. A cacophony of voices suddenly erupted inside his ears, the sheer volume made him shut his eyes and grit his teeth before, suddenly, the sound of a loud curse echoed in his mind and all the voices stopped. And at that moment, Harry heard a crash that took his breath away before he landed on the floor.

"Agh," Harry groaned, twitching in the ground as the pain in his back quickly caught up to him. His breaths came out in short pants, and he kept his eyes shut tight as he tried to ignore the pain. He could move, and though his back seemed fine as he did, he still felt the pain of the fall. A trick his mind was playing on him.

Turning on his side, a whimper unwillingly left his lips as he forced himself to stand by pushing himself off the ground. Only for his head to crash against the ceiling before he had even fully stood up. "What the fuck?" He opened his eyes and in that instant, the pain faded to the background as he recognised the small cupboard he used to call home.

How he had ever been able to live in it, he had no idea. Barely large enough to fit a small, single bed, three barely put-together shelves near the door where a bunch of the old and broken junk he'd inherited from Dudley was stored, and a faulty light that began fluttering when it had been turned on for more than fifteen minutes, he couldn't even move without bumping into something. In the darkness, there were rays of extremely dim, purple light that helped him find the door, and he took no time before he pushed it open and stumbled out of the room.

Number Four Privet Drive. A house filled with many ghosts of his youth, ghosts that have been made nearly irrelevant and almost amicable given everything that had happened after he left. He'd never seen the house so vacant. There were no lights turned on, not a single soul could be felt in what was usually a booming house. Only a purple aura of dim light coming in from outside the windows.

Apprehensively, Harry walked across the hall before peering open the curtains to the outside. The normal street that was Privet Drive was completely gone. There were no other houses or anything past the Dursley's fence - leaving the house floating on its own island. The skies were all purple and blue, in constant flux, intertwining with each other in what was a mesmerizing sight. And surrounding the island were thousands of crystals floating easily. Within each of them he saw small scenes. In some, he recognised the people in them - Theo, Snape, Lupin, Pansy, Warrington, Granger - while in others he noticed the places - Hogwarts, his current room at the Dursley's, Parkinson Cottage, the Ministry, the park he used to spend his afternoon's at.

The Dark Lord has been known to enjoy delving into his victim's minds, he heard Snape's voice inside his mind. Using Legilimency to utterly destroy even those of capable Occlumens, rendering them into nothing but dribbling meat sacks with only slightly more brain signals than a victim of a dementors kiss.

So, this is what it felt like. To have his mind completely torn apart until he was locked away in its dying ruins. If he was honest, it was more underwhelming than what Snape had described it as. While not knowing what to expect, and the process being far from a walk in the park, it somehow didn't live up to the expectations he had made to such a feared fate. And now, as he was faced with death and the knowledge that it was just a few feet away from him… it didn't bother him as much as he would've thought.

Snape had been expecting him to fight. To do whatever it took to assure his survival and to get out from such a situation. To prove him right in that his abuse was justified, that he was better for it, that he would entertain his little games for… what? What exactly was waiting for him outside? Nothing but pain, misery, and death. Nothing but a continued suffering for the amusement of others, for his life to be scripted and played around with as if he were nothing than an overtly large puppet.

"Fuck that," Harry spat. His words feeling like shit in his mouth. "Fuck him."

He was done. So fucking tired. Let them all go to hell, let them all burn, so they could feel a small glimpse of everything that had happened to him in his lifetime. Let them go through years of unending suffering and see if the bastards remained as righteous and uppity as they were now. Let them be broken by a shred of what had forged him. He was only sorry he wouldn't be there to see it for himself.

"What an arrogant way of convincing yourself that you aren't giving up," a smooth voice spoke from behind him. Harry's eyes immediately widened, his hand going to his side as he quickly turned to face the man in front of him. Sitting in Vernon's old armchair, wearing black formal shoes and dress pants, with an iron white shirt and a green tie, the young man was looking at him with an eerie air of calmness to him. And Harry couldn't help but gape at the ghost in front of him as his hand hovered by his side, itching for his absent wand. "Are you truly that desperate to avoid embracing the truth that has been haunting you ever since the first night we talked - truly talked?"

Harry shut his mouth, gritting his teeth as he could do nothing but stand unarmed against his old friend. "Graham." He bit out.

"Tell me, Harry…" Montague smiled at him. "Is it really so hard to finally admit to yourself how weak you really are?"

Nurmengard Castle

4:30 a.m.

The years had not been kind to his old friend. His skin stuck to his bones, face so gaunt his eyes were almost popping out of his skull, and over half of his teeth missing. His trips to Nurmengard were always painful ones, ones he took out of necessity rather than pleasure, and seeing the person he used to consider his closest confidant so frail and utterly broken by his own prison, the one he had locked him in, was something that never failed at evoking a deep sadness in him.

Most of all, it was the lack of bitterness from Gellert. Always polite and well-mannered, even after being incarcerated for half a decade, it was more common to see him with a smile than a frown. The horrible things he had done were unforgivable, it was the reason even now as a harmless old man the ICW remained steady in their decision to have Gellert locked up for the rest of his life. However, he couldn't help but wonder if he could have been redeemed. If given the chance to change his ways, to atone through servicing the society he nearly destroyed, wouldn't it have been more productive? More humane?

He and Gellert hadn't been dissimilar, after all. At one point, they walked the same path. They shared the same values and view of the world, the same ideas and goals, the very prison in which they both sat presently was a very conception of his mind, one which he designed with Gellert. At one point… they planned to be the heroes of wizard-kind - together. A naive and arrogant idea, one that eventually drove them apart. However, he had changed. He was given a chance to atone for his sins, to redeem himself from his failures and hubris of youth.

He wondered what would have happened if he had never been faced with that turning point. If he hadn't seen the error of his ways until it had been too late. Would he have been sent to spend the rest of his days in a cell, thin and sickly and entirely useless to anyone? Would it have really been better in a grander scale to appease social discontent by sacrificing all the discoveries and contribution of value he could have made?

He had never met a person smarter and more accomplished than Gellert. What would the world have been if he had been given a chance to repent rather than be condemned? Was it more just to suffer for your crimes than to pay society back for them? Would Gellert have even been willing to let go of his anger and arrogance and actually atoned?

"Something on your mind, old friend?"

Albus looked up and met Gellert's eyes as he sat on the hard, damp bed. He hesitated for a moment, before giving a sad smile. "Only pondering our regular conundrum."

"Ah," he gave an easy smile. "Who's to muse of your worries now, Albus?"

"Harry Potter…"

"You've never mentioned him before. New kid?"

"Not entirely," he was ashamed to admit it, but did it regardless. "Merely someone I had overlooked in my growing concern over Tom and Neville. Someone I trusted an associate of mine to take care of and washed my hands away of the responsibility. I fear my actions may have driven him down the wrong path."

"And now you're seeking to redeem him?"

"He's just a boy," Albus said earnestly. "One who has made plenty of mistakes. But one, who, ultimately, can still change."

"He reminds you of him, doesn't he? Of us?"

"Only too much. Too many similarities to ignore, and with every day, I can't help but to see more of them. He's just as impressive as he was in his age - as we both were - I can't help but think I've let history repeat itself."

"You can't keep blaming yourself for Tom," Gellert said sincerely. "You did your best, you were there, more than his own Headmaster or Head of House. If it hadn't been for the war…"

Albus smiled sadly. "If it hadn't been for the war. How a simple sentence can cover so many things. Unfortunately, I fear I may have grown more negligent as my years passed. All the times I looked down upon Dippet and Slughorn, and now I've done exactly what I used to abhor about them. In my obsession with fixing my failure with Tom - to atone for what I did with you… I lost sight of who I vowed to help in the first place."

The silence that met the statement only made his heart sink even further. There were no words of encouragement or support, for they both knew his words were true. It was a mistake, one that was proving too costly with every passing day.

"When is it too late to change?" He asked. "When is it that you've done something so unforgivable… you're beyond redemption."

"It's never too late to change," Gellert smiled. "To put an expiration date on it would be to succumb to our demons. But change and redemption are two wholly different things. A man can change for the better - and change a lot - and still not be redeemed, just as much as a man can be redeemed without doing much change. You, better than anyone, my friend, should know that not even redemption can be something as simple as black and white. Only we can know when we've beaten our demons, when we've done enough to counter all the pain and suffering we have wrought. If someone never gets to the point where they believe that, no matter how much good they've done and how much they're praised, they will never be truly redeemed. Not where it matters."

"And you… do you believe you've found redemption?"

"I've found peace, old friend. And in my position, that's as good as I'm going to get." He smiled. "I'm only doleful that after all you've done, how hard you've worked, how much of yourself you've given away, you still haven't found it."

Albus sat there for a moment, letting the words bounce around his head before he opened his mouth to respond. Only when he did, he was interrupted by a silvery, wispy goat entering through the narrow window in Gellert's cell and crossing the bars to stand at his side.

"Azkaban has been seized," his brother's voice spoke. "The Dark Lord has taken control of the dementors and the Death Eaters have taken residency inside the fortress. Oh, and Albus… something happened with Harry. He needs you. Now."

With a final nod, the goat began dissipating away, leaving Albus staring emptily at the place where it used to be. He gave out a heavy sigh, one that came from his very soul, before he stood up from his conjured chair. "Peace is something that's not in the cards, for me, I'm afraid."

"Albus…" Gellert called out to him as he was about to leave the room. "Consider what I said. Please… just try to forgive yourself. Forgive yourself… for your sins."

"I wish it was as easy as you make it sound."

A glint of sadness passed through Gellert's eyes. "It's the hardest thing in this world."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter you'll see Dumbledore and Snape talk as well as Harry dealing with the unkillable bastard that Graham Montague is proving himself to be

By the time I'm posting this, I'm SIX chapters ahead, and I'm starting to write the next arc titled The Devil's Greatest Trick in which we get to see the aftermath of all the secrets that have finally come to light and how they impact the characters and relationships between them. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)