CHAPTER 58: What We Leave Behind (Part 2)

Grimmauld Place

11:30 a.m.

"Any luck, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked.

His trip from Vienna had turned out longer than anticipated, and the situation at Azkaban had been far worse than anything he could've thought. The fall of Azkaban tower, and all its prisoners, to enemy hands was a massive tactical win for Voldemort. As had the infiltration to the Ministry, where all the wands of the current Azkaban prisoners were stolen while the Aurors had been distracted trying to stop the siege. And with the Ministry's insistence to keep denying the Dark Lord's return and the media's continued attacks on himself and young Neville, Voldemort's name was still absent from the conversation behind this attack. With Cornelius dispelling these events as blatant lies created by himself, while the Daily Prophet claims it was actually Sirius Black who was behind this siege.

Thankfully, there seemed to be no casualties within the Order in their attempts to drive Voldemort away from Azkaban, and the injuries that had been sustained had either been healed completely or would be within the next twenty-four hours. And though Voldemort's ability to take control of the dementors from the Ministry was concerning and an unprecedented feat from any singular man, it's a situation that would be dealt with in the near future. He'd spent enough time in Order meetings and trying to figure out a new course of action with these developments, no more work could be done on that front today.

And while his body was aching for sleep as he had been awake for an entire day and a half, there was still a situation that he had to deal with before he could. One that would have taken priority in any other day had Voldemort chosen to delay his first move after his return. He'd left Harry Potter waiting long enough.

"He still remains unresponsive," Poppy said. "Any attempts to wake him up or even get a reaction from him have failed." Albus walked over to the side of the bed and had to look away when he saw Harry's eyes completely white as they had rolled to the back of his face. "His vitals are steady, and we'll get further details towards his magical core once the diagnosis is complete, but for now, he's stable."

"And the wound on his back?"

"I still need the results from diagnosis, but from an optical inspection, it's identical to the one Graham Montague presented the day after Halloween. Same shape, and though the wound is much less grievous, it seems to follow the same behaviour. Undoubtedly dark magic, though we'll have to wait for diagnosis to discern how the wound acts."

"What have you been treating it with?"

"Nothing. Poppy said, her tone slightly more forceful. "I'm not giving him anything until I know as much as possible about the dark magic that's affecting the wound."

"Would that not risk for the dark magic to spread."

"The wound looks fresh, as if it was done in the past few hours, but it isn't. Snape didn't have any weapon with which he could have done that to Potter, and Moody has cleared his wand from any dark curses. Besides the continuous use of the Legilimency spell on the boy, he didn't use any other type of magic. And given how he's been… detained in here for the past ten days or so, with restricted access and the doors to his cell not even being opened since, this must mean this injury is far from new. With Montague, it seemed as if the dark magic was endlessly spreading even through all the salves and potions I was applying on him, but here it's remained stable - or as stable as an injury like this could be - with no signs of spreading or contamination. Until we know more about the nature of the dark magic, it's best not to touch the wound at all. We don't even know if it's possible to heal it."

"I agree," Albus said hollowly. "Who else knows about this?"

"Your brother, Aberforth, Alastor, and Remus found him like this. Snape was in the room as well. And besides myself, Andromeda, and Ted… I don't think anyone else does."

"It's best we keep it this way. Something so private and personal… it's not a secret that should be exposed to anyone who isn't indispensable. Please tell Andromeda I would like to see her, soon, I'd like to discuss what will be done with Harry once he wakes up."

"She's offered to… talk to him. She calls it therapy, a muggle treatment she claims would have a good effect on someone… someone like him."

"I trust her judgment on the matter, though I will need to research more on the topic, if I'm honest."

"Albus… I know you want to believe that Harry will wake up-"

"He'll wake up." He said firmly.

Poppy's face was strained, the words almost gripping themselves to her lips. "What Snape did… while not completely shattering his mind in an irreversible manner… it's still not looking good. I've never seen such a case like this, for all intents and purposes… Potter already has one foot inside the abyss. And I have no idea how we could even pull him back from it."

Dumbledore's eyes turned back towards the boy. In the few times he'd seen him over the years, he could never recall a time when he looked so peaceful. All the anger and rage, the baggage and hurt, they were all gone from his face. He looked just like all the other children he'd watched across his years, as they'd go to his school and he'd witness how they grew from the boys they were in their youth to the men that would shape the Wizarding World.

"Where's Severus, Poppy?"

"In the basement," she said coldly. "Locked up in Potter's old room."

"That's quite alright," he said. "Harry won't be staying there anymore."

Poppy gave him a curt nod before stepping out of the room. She had agreed to stay on the room next to Harry's rather than head back home, so at least she would be there if there were any immediate or concerning developments. And while the Tonkses had left a few hours ago, they would be back in a couple more hours to continue their work with Harry and the other Order members who were injured.

The world around him began fading as he stood beside Harry, his foot rooted in place as everything began to feel so far away. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting himself feel the gravity of the situation for a moment before it was once again locked away. And after giving Harry a final glance, he turned away and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He'd put this off for far too long. More than any fear in facing the person he thought he could trust, it was the shame that came with it. The shame he felt for entrusting a young and innocent soul into the care of Severus Snape. For naively believing that Snape's love for Lily, the very thing that made him betray his master and everything he grew to believe for a better part of his life. It was a foolish thought, an old man wanting to believe that Severus Snape had actually changed, had earnt his redemption through his many contributions towards the Order during the first war against Voldemort.

Never again would he be too quick to trust Severus like that. Never again.

The basement was as cold and dark as the last time he'd been there, and seeing it returned to its original state before he had fixed it up for Harry made him believe, if only for a second, that there was a sense of fairness in this world. But as he looked at Severus, his pristine robes filled with mud and grime as he sat serenely on the floor, his face completely unfazed by the situation, he knew that to be a lie.

"Good morning, Severus."

"You're late, Albus." Severus said, standing up and scrubbing at his robes. "I don't appreciate your flying monkeys holding me hostage inside this cell."

"You think I'm here to release you?"

"After the Dark Lord's attack last night? You need me, Albus. I expected the posturing to end with the dunderheads upstairs. You're so much smarter than this."

"You don't get to tell me what I am," Albus said coldly. "Not after I let you lie straight to my face for the past fourteen years."

"I never lied," Severus said with an unbreakable vehemence.

"Did you not? You asked for Harry, for the chance to redeem yourself from your sins and to make sure the boy was safe. To make sure that no one would be able to hurt him. So that he grew up strong and was never in the same position James and Lily were. Those were your words."

"And that's what I did. Everything I've done, since the moment I held Lily's body in my arms, has been for Harry Potter. Half of my life devoted to that brat, to keep the promise I made to my old friend. You don't get to come down here and judge me for how I do that. Not after you abandoned the boy. All the interest you showed, the effort you made to integrate yourself with James and Lily to the point where James trusted you enough to allow you to borrow the Potter's old family cloak. And the moment Longbottom proved himself to be the boy the prophecy spoke of, you turned your back on him. Washed your hands from the responsibility as soon as I offered myself and didn't even bother to look back. After being the only one who was constantly paying attention to the boy when you left him to rot… none of you get to come down here with your patronizing glances and horrified looks. Because we both know if Potter died on the pavement before he ever made it to Hogwarts, none of you would have so much batted an eye at him."

"I've made my fair share of mistakes with the boy," the words scrapped out of his throat. "But at least I never tortured him with Legilimency. You knew, didn't you? About his wound, the injury. You knew the moment he got it."

"I did."

"And you did nothing?"

"I taught him a lesson. I made him strong."

"You tortured him!" Albus roared, and Snape's eyes turned panicked for a moment. "What else do you know? What else have you been keeping secret from me? All the times I left him to your care, when you guaranteed you'd look after him after he was nearly possessed, during his encounters with the dementors. You didn't do anything, did you?"

"I made him strong," he echoed. "That boy upstairs. That's a survivor. That's someone who will do whatever it takes to win, to fight, to survive. Can you say the same thing about Longbottom? How you've looked after him when no one is looking at you, all the plans you undoubtedly have for him. Can you tell me that after all the attention from the Great Albus Dumbledore, that he is ready to take on the Dark Lord - or even his Death Eaters? Because while your prodigy was barely keeping himself alive during an ambush where he wasn't even the target, Harry Potter took care of the six men sent there to kill him. While Longbottom and his friends were near death in that inn, Potter was the one that saved them. I made sure I kept my promise to Lily… I made that boy the man he is today."

"You're sick, Severus. What you're doing isn't helping Harry. It's hurting him."

"I'm sick? Black beat the boy, locked him in this cell and snapped his wand for no reason and yet, he's disturbed. It's not his fault, he's been through so much. Lupin stood there and watched as his friend did that to an underage boy, even held him. But it's not his fault, his disgusting illness has taken a toll on him unlike anything we could ever imagine. But when I spend my entire life dedicated to the boy, teaching him invaluable things, taking the blame for his mistakes, and ensuring he won't depend on no one once he grows up and has to face the very real war that's brewing outside… and I'm the sick one. Because I didn't coddle him or treat him like a child. Because I focused on making sure he was strong rather than happy."

"He's fighting for his life upstairs," Albus said coldly. "On the verge of death, there's no guarantee he'll survive from your attack."

"He will… because unlike all of you… I know what he's capable of."

Deep Within Harry Potter's Mind

Harry jumped over the final two steps of the stairs, dodgily landing on his feet. He was panting, his heart racing, but nevertheless undeterred. Even after going through every corner of the house, trying to open every door, break every window, even tear out the very walls that kept him prisoner, he was still not stopping. With a huff, he headed towards the door, making sure to keep his eyes fixated straightforward and avoid the living room.

"You can't ignore me forever, Harry."

The taunting words that had been following him around, a constant reminder of the futility of his actions. Montague had remained in Uncle Vernon's armchair, making no move to attack or even leave it. His eyes never failed to stalk him, never sparing his snide remarks as he laced them with a clear, twisted amusement. And his hopes for Montague to get tired of the quick routine they had adopted had gradually faded as he'd lost track of how much time he'd spent inside his mind.

He gripped the doorknob tight and began turning it, trying to overpower its jammed force. Stronger and stronger, the door began shaking as he pushed and pulled it while trying to unlock the knob. And when it became clear it would not budge, he let the handle go before he began kicking the door. Once, twice, three times before he let out an impotent scream and dropped to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Montague scoffed. "You've been at this for hours, surely you didn't think this would finally be the miraculous time when the door opened for you?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and began to count to ten. How his body ached to respond, it was making him physically ill to keep everything he wanted to say inside. But he knew Montague, and if this shade of the bastard he knew was anything like the original one, he wanted the satisfaction.

"Oh," he laughed. "I think I see what's going on. It's finally happening… you're finally going mental. I mean, it's completely understandable, Harry, you've lost everything at this point. Your wand, your freedom, your friends - few as they may be - and now even your sanity. Besides your name and the filthy clothes you've been wearing for the past couple of weeks, you don't have much left, do you?"

Harry walked over to the living room and glared directly at Montague, finally addressing him after hours of ignoring him. "Ooooh," the bastard smiled, but Harry kept his mouth shut. Grabbing the lamp and yanking off the cord from the outlet, he turned around and headed straight towards the nearest window and began banging it with the lamp.

"I must say, I really like this Black character of yours. If I were to have it my way, he would've been my Godfather rather than yours. He went about all of this exactly right! Don't… don't give Harry bloody Potter the chance to use his wand against you… don't be an idiot and fight him straight on. Take his wand away… and he's nothing more than a malcontent little brat. It's actually the easiest thing in the world, I told you this, Harry, I fucking told you this, mate. You don't understand what being a True Slytherin means - you never did! Try as you might, pretend all you want, but you never truly understood, and you never will. Which is why, no matter how hard you try, how many times you beat your head into the wall, you will never win."

He felt something snap inside him, and as if possessed by his raw hatred of the bastard, Harry turned around and launched the lamp at Montague. The boy seemed ready for it, easily standing and stepping aside, causing it to crash onto the armchair with enough force to push it down to the ground. Montague began walking towards him, a sick smile on his face as his eyes glittered with delight.

"All of this. Ending up alone, rotting in a cell with your wand snapped, and your mind fried… all of it is happening just like I told you it would. And you can try to ignore me all you want or launch as many lamps at my head as you please, but nothing will ever change that fact."

"You're dead," Harry whispered. "And you know what… I will happily die knowing I was the one who killed you."

"Am I?" He smiled nastily. "Dead? Because, as I stand… I have never felt more alive."

"Give it time."

"Because you're planning on… letting yourself die, right? All that resentful fire that has kept you alive for so long, and now you're using it to die. The same delusions that have driven you for the past four years. If that isn't poetic, then I don't know what is." Montague laughed, shaking his head. "Still so consumed with your past, you let it steer you. So focused on your suffering, you resort to making every decision based on whatever you're feeling at the moment. And still, you don't learn. Even after every rash and unthinking decision you've made has led you right to this moment."

"I do learn."

"No, you don't! Worse, you regress. You go backwards. You're the first person I've ever met that has become dumber with experience."

"Why are you here, Montague?" Harry asked, fully exasperated. "I mean, what the fuck are we doing here? Can't I just die in fucking peace without having to listen to your bullshit nonsense about being a True Slytherin and whatnot? For all your grand talks about it, I don't remember that helping you when you were wailing and weeping as I carved your face up."

"And look at all the good that brought you. Tell me, was it worth it? Being forced to watch as your girlfriend was murdered right in front of you, being locked up and having your wand snapped, becoming the school's number one pariah, being abandoned by Theo and Pansy and everyone you thought were your friends."

"They didn't abandon me."

"Oh, come on!" Montague shouted. "They left you to rot! What, you think they're searching for you right now? Wasting their time worrying about a waste of space like yourself? Don't tell me you're starting to buy what the old man is saying about you as well?"

"Of course not."

"Well, at least you haven't gone entirely mental, I suppose. The man must be suffering from dementia or something because who in their right mind would think you of all people are the saviour of the wizarding world? The man who will finally take down Lord Voldemort. Give me a break," he rolled his eyes. "You couldn't save Susan, couldn't even save yourself. But you know that, don't you?"

Harry didn't answer, his eyes remained fixed on Montague's, his lower lip shaking slightly, but he didn't say anything.

"It's fun, isn't it. Talking again, like old times. You have no idea how much this intrigues me. Of all people, why do you think it's me here talking to you? Why did your demented mind choose me - out of everyone else - to torture you? Does this mean I'm still your worst fear?"

"You're not my worst fear, Graham." Harry said, feeling a slight sense of elation as he could finally say it and feel it to be true. "You're not even close."

"No, you're right. I mean, the Dursleys, Tom Riddle, the Dementors, Dolohov, Sirius Black, Severus Snape. Everyone who has torn out a piece of your soul and chipped away at your very spirit, the architects of your suffering… it's a lot of competition. And that's without even mentioning the biggest one of all… because when it comes to torturing you, Harry, no one could ever reach your heights."

"That's enough," Harry gritted out, turning around, walking towards the door. "You're not real."

"But unlike with the rest of us, Harry… you can't exactly carve out your face and call it a day, can you?"

His blood was boiling, his heart trying to tear itself out of his chest. And when he reached the door, all the anger he felt powered his leg as he kicked the door, and it blew open before his world was enveloped in pure white.

Azkaban Prison

8:45 p.m.

The Azkaban courtyard was vast but empty. It was a place he never had a chance to visit during his short stint within the prison, but one he had heard of through talks of the other inmates. It had been the perfect place to do the Dark Lord's bidding. Seeing all the prisoners rounded up in the courtyard was a sobering sight, a mirror into what would have happened to him had his mother not followed through on their arrangement.

Everyone who had been prisoner longer than a year was, at the very least, partly insane. Their eyes unseeing as they mumbled to themselves and refused to stay in the same place for long. Just talking to them and getting an answer was hard enough. And it was much worse with his old colleagues, the ones who had been locked up in the two upper levels.

If he wasn't privy to the project the Dark Lord was working on with Circe and Clotho, he would have thought this siege to be a dead end. An inefficient way to execute their opening move in the coming conflict. And while the project was one which had no precedents and was still in its infancy stages, he believed in the Dark Lord. Not just his capabilities to meld his mastery on the subjects of Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Potions, and the Dark Arts into a single undertaking, but to have the foresight to not make his first move unless the success of the project was all but assured.

The recruitment had gone better than expected, with around eighty percent of the Azkaban population pledging their loyalty to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters in exchange for their freedom. And though there were various people who vehemently declined, it was expected. He respected them and their decisions, taking part in a war was a gruelling task, and fighting for the future of wizard-kind was not for everyone. He merely wished his colleagues saw it the same way.

The Dark Lord had a rather effective way of dealing with people who chose not to stand with him and to reward those who chose to follow them, even if their intentions were as impure as they could be. On a logical standpoint, it was effective, if a little immoral. But there were no rules to war, and to think people who truly believed in their causes would limit themselves by the opposition's definition of morality was as idiotic as it was naive.

That didn't mean he enjoyed watching the results. Hearing the cries and whimpers from those who refused as the most sadistic members of the Death Eaters took their pleasure in slowly torturing them until they fell dead was not easy nor gratifying. But the Dark Lord had commanded him to watch over the Death Eaters as he delved into Rookwood's mind to seek out any information on his loyalties. And he was not one to disregard a command of his master.

"Oh, don't look so dour." The ginger man laughed, shoving him playfully as he took a break from torturing the poor girl on the ground. Her skin littered with bruises and gashes, bones broken so hard she looked like a twisted puppet on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

Antonin Dolohov. If there was a physical embodiment of everything he detested about the Death Eaters, it was him. A psychotic murderer, driven by nothing but bloodlust and the need to inflict as much cruelness into the world as possible. The walking reminder of his reputation, of what his father thought him to be after his Death Eater codename was revealed. Ares. The God of War. A title he cherished, as he'd earnt by proving himself to being the most adept dueller in the entire roster of the Inner Circle. A ruthless monster in the worst of situations, and a fierce warrior who had overcome scenarios that would have been impossible for anyone else to accomplish.

But a God of War need not be cruel or callous, for the main objective of war was to find peace.

There were no such values within Antonin Dolohov. No call to action or greater purpose to his violence. Only the need to inflict as much pain and suffering as humanly possible. The Dark Lord had been impressed by the lack of effect the dementors had had on him and brought him onto the ranks immediately. And Dolohov hadn't waited a second before fraternizing with the rest of the Inner Circle, acting as if he'd known them for years, laughing and jeering. Even Hades had taken to teach him the Unforgivable Curses.

"This is wonderful!" Dolohov had shouted when he'd first used the Cruciatus curse on the girl. "Oh, I've never felt so alive!"

Rather than a slippery slope, it had been a complete vertical drop, as Dolohov had long ago stopped using any of the regular curses and instead tortured with the Unforgivables. Whether it was through constant exposure to the Cruciatus or using the Imperius curse to force someone into torturing themselves for his own amusement. Sickening and hard to watch, he had no idea why Dolohov had decided to stick so close to him for the entire time they'd been at the courtyard.

"Learn to have a bit of fun, will you?" Dolohov whined, shoving his shoulder slightly. "We won! It's time to celebrate!"

"You and I have very different definitions of fun." He said curtly.

"Oh, come on. Surely, there must be some way to take that sour look from your face. Who do I have to murder to see you smile?"

"Needless murder won't solve any of my problems."

"Oh, but it's so much fun!" Dolohov grinned. "Don't you ever do things just for fun?"

"No."

"God, you're boring." He rolled his eyes. "What's going on through your closed off little mind? Go ahead, tell good old Dolly what ails you."

Fuck, this arsehole was annoying. He turned to glare at him, but Dolohov only smiled earnestly at this development. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he finally relented. "Just thinking of an old friend."

"You don't seem like the friendly type."

"I didn't think you'd noticed," Barty said coldly.

"Well, who is this mystery man?"

Barty gave a low chuckle. "He's still not old enough to be considered a man, I'd say. Even if he's already more impressive than most."

"A kid, huh?" Dolohov wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "How fun."

Barty's head snapped towards Dolohov, and he had to restrain himself from cursing the man. "He's a protégé of mine, nothing more."

"Duly noted." He said, a smile still on his face.

"It's been around six months since I last saw him… I don't think he's the same person he used to be… or that he appreciated learning who I really am. I tried reaching out, but… kids, you know. They just don't understand. But Harry… he's a smart one… he'll understand… eventually."

"Harry?" Dolohov said suddenly, his grin evaporated as he looked at him hungrily. "You can't possibly mean Harry Potter."

"How do you know him?" Barty asked, suddenly on guard.

"Ohhhhh," a low cackle turned into blown out laughter as Dolohov began pacing in front of him. "You've got to be shitting me! Oh, you've seen it, haven't you? The power, that strength in him. Oh, I see it now. Of course, he would turn out the way he is if he was trained by the Great fucking Ares."

"You know him?" He repeated.

"Know him? He's the reason I'm here. He's… he's the one I've been looking for. A person so unlike everybody else. Someone who truly understands how the world works, just like I do!"

"You were with them, weren't you?" He asked, his voice laced with a cold warning that would have scared any other Death Eater. "You attacked him that day at the Three Broomsticks."

"We were supposed to ambush him, but ultimately, he was the one who ambushed us!" Dolohov laughed maniacally. "You… you understand, don't you? That… that potential that boy has… he's special. He's unlike anyone I've ever met before. You're- you're going to look for him, aren't you? You're going to try to find him?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my stone-faced man… you and I are going to be such good friends." Dolohov grinned wildly before descending into childish giggles. "We'll find your young protégé… together."

Grimmauld Place

10:15 p.m.

The house was quiet, a complete contrast to how it had been only last night. With everyone reeling from You-Know-Who's siege of Azkaban, as the injured recover and people begin to grasp the reality of the situation they were facing, they had all gone home. Deciding to spend time with their families before getting back on their feet. Besides Poppy on the other room, he doubted that anyone else was even at Grimmauld.

But unlike them, he had no family. His parents long gone, the only connection he still had was with Sirius. And even then, it was a rocky and unstable relationship, one that never truly mended after what Sirius did to him during their fifth year. And now, he couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, especially after last night. With the Grangers staying at Shadowfield and Sirius lurking about the place, there was no sense of welcome there anymore. At least not for tonight.

And though he tried to avoid this room for the better part of the afternoon, he had been drawn to it. Feeling an ache in his very chest by Harry's mere presence upstairs. He'd occasionally wonder around the hall, trying to peer inside and see how he was doing. But it took him until he was sure no one was in the room before he finally had the courage to step inside. Once there would be no one to blame him, to stare at him with the same hatred and contempt he was feeling for himself at that moment.

It was a hard sight to see him like that. The sounds of his ragged breathing was the only thing that could be heard inside the room once he took a chair and sat himself right beside his bed. Hunched over with his hands on his face, the guilt began to consume him slowly. How had he not noticed this before? How could he have stood there and watched as Sirius took everything from the boy laying right beside him? How could he ever live with himself knowing, with absolute certainty, that this was his fault?

His eyes watered, and it became exceedingly hard to keep those tears at bay. Felt shame at crying when he wasn't even the person truly suffering in this situation. Too lost in his grief, he lost track of how much time he'd spent inside Harry's room, and he didn't hear as the door creaked open until Moody's rough grunt announced his presence.

"What are you doing here, Lupin?"

Keeping his head down, Remus avoided Moody's gaze. He couldn't bear to deal with anyone right now, didn't want to talk or even have anyone be with him right now. He would have been more than happy to suffer in silence, but it soon became clear Moody was not going to give him that chance.

"How is he?"

"Stable," grunted Moody. "He won't wake up, but Poppy has confirmed his wound on his back will not spread further, so long as we don't try to apply any medication. She doesn't think there's a cure for it, though Andromeda and Ted are still researching it thoroughly."

"Does she know… how old the wound is?"

"Four years and a little under two months."

"Four years," Remus breathed out. "He… he got that when he was eleven?"

"Not even two full months at Hogwarts if the diagnosis is to be believed."

He could feel his throat burning up as he scrubbed away some dry tears from his face. "I didn't… I couldn't have… I swear, Alastor, I didn't know."

"The wound is almost identical to the one present in Graham Montague's face. You and Black were right, after all, if anything, this is full confirmation that Potter was indeed behind the attack."

"I…"

"Then again, that would also answer the question as to who carved up Potter's back. Not that that matters, of course, you have your answer now. After years of trying to prove Potter was a monster, here's undeniable proof of it. Murdered a boy for revenge, attacked a whole lot of other Slytherins, and framed Tracey Davis. I have Scrimgeour's contact, if you so very wish to reveal this to him. It won't grant you a werewolf pardon, but you'll finally feel satiated, won't you?"

"No," Remus forced out. "I didn't want this… if I had known… if I'd have even a few clues about it…"

"There were clues, Lupin, more than just a few. Clues that, in your hatred for the boy, you chose to ignore. And now you're here, weeping as if you hadn't held the boy as Black beat him and snapped his wand."

"I fucked up." The tears began flowing freely, dropping down his face. "I… I fucked up."

"Yeah… you did."

"I'm a monster." He said hollowly, shutting his eyes as he kept a sob from escaping his mouth. "I… I'll make it right." He looked up towards Moody, who was looking at him with clear revulsion in his face. "I'll do anything. Whatever it takes… I'll make this right. I'll… I'll make sure he's safe. I'll try to find him a new wand. I swear, on my life, I'll make this right."

"I must be fucking hearing things," Moody growled. "You think you can just come up here, give a tearful speech about how sorry you are and how you're going to change, and get a clean slate just like that? After what you did to the boy, supporting Black as he demanded for Potter's head during every meeting and actively participating in Black's plot? That's not how this works."

"I didn't mean… Obviously, I… I just want to make things right."

"There's no making this right. Not for him. Not after everything."

"Then what can I do?" He pleaded, feeling so exposed in front of Moody like that.

"You can start by leaving and stop making what the boy has been through all about yourself." Moody said bluntly. "You're the last person he needs right now."

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

Next chapter you'll see a lot more familiar faces in Harry's mindspace, and in the real world Pansy and Sirius are making a return! Get excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm SIX chapters ahead, and I'm in the middle of 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! :)