CHAPTER 61: The Devil's Greatest Trick (Part 1)

Grimmauld Place

January 7th, 1996

10:15 a.m.

Albus had never been particularly fond of Grimmauld Place. It had always been a place shrouded by darkness, filled with a feeling of hopelessness reminiscent of the worst battlefields he'd taken part in. Even after all the work done by Molly and the children, the building's cloying miasma was ever present. The house was slightly less dim, and no more macabre paintings of slaughtered muggles or trophies dedicated to Voldemort's victories hung on the walls. But that feeling never went away, like a centuries old stain that had poisoned the air.

If not for the need of a headquarters for the Order, Albus would have never step foot inside the manor. And though certainly helpful, and a way to take advantage of what was, objectively, a very useful asset, it still coated all the Order meetings with a sense of restless despair. It was subtle, barely noticeable, in a way that felt more like an inevitability than a possibility. Perhaps it had been this that had driven him to Severus, the reason he had not thought it possible for Harry Potter to reach back from death's door.

It had been many years since he felt as much relief as he did when Andromeda informed him Harry had woken up a few hours before dawn. Other matters had kept him busy for the earliest hours of the morning, but now he'd finally found the time to return to Grimmauld Place. He wasn't surprised when Alastor opened the door before he even had the chance to reach for the knob.

"How's Harry?" was his immediate question as he stepped through the veil of the manor, and the myriad of enchantments crawled up his back like a cluster of spiders.

"Awake," Alastor grunted. "Alive. Fucked seven times to hell. Poor bastard hasn't said a word since he woke up."

"But is he-"

"Perfectly fine - at least physically and magically. Andromeda has given him the green light and stopped pestering him, though she was quite reluctant about that. But like I said - fucked seven times to hell."

While saddening, it was something he had expected once he began looking into everything Severus had done to the boy. The large wound on his back revealed the connection to Montague and answered so many of his questions regarding the events of this past Halloween, but he had never felt more like a failure than when Severus revealed Harry had received it after less than two months at Hogwarts. Even from the very start, he had failed the boy. He knew about Voldemort's diary, and how big an effect it had had on both him and Ginny Weasley, but he had trusted Severus had tended to him as personally and attentively as Poppy had with the young Weasley girl. Of course, if Severus had just forced the boy to shrug off that experience, he didn't even have to ask what he had meant when Severus had assured him he was taking care of the boy after the dementor attacks.

What he feared had quickly proved itself to be true. He was already too late. Not because the boy was born evil or because it was his destiny to turn into who he had been, but because he had failed him. Because he'd trusted the wrong person when they had said they'd take care of him. A part of Albus wanted to excuse himself, to not feel so guilty about it. He couldn't have possibly known how Severus would have thought this was the right way of proving his love for the young Lily Potter. But the truth was he hadn't cared enough about the boy when the war ended. Neville had been the one the prophecy foretold, and Harry… he couldn't even say he considered him a spare piece. He wished he had. Maybe he wouldn't have turned a blind eye and focused so much on winning the war instead of saving the victims.

As he reached the door to what had recently become Harry's room, he saw Andromeda from across the hall. The door to the room she'd occupied and claimed as her own until Harry returned to Hogwarts was slightly ajar, enough room for her to keep an eye on the corridor from the desk she was sitting at. The way she was looking at him, he wondered if he had shared that look the night he kicked Sirius out of the Order.

When he reached for the doorknob, his body stopped, hesitated, and he wondered who he would meet once he stepped inside the room. His conversations with Harry over his first week at Grimmauld had seen a lot of hostility from his part, hostility he no longer saw as unusual or erratic given everything he'd learnt in the past few days. It was easy to face that raw hatred from the boy when he saw his actions as irrational, the screams and rants of a boy with a large chip on his shoulder and a petulant outlook on life.

He never received any condemnation from his and Gellert's victims after the Great War of Europe. He received praise and gratitude rather than the anger and betrayal from the victims of the war. Albus had always wondered what that would feel like. There was a first time for everything, even for someone his age.

When his courage finally won over, and he creaked open the door, he saw him. Back straight and looking away from him, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the pattern in the wall with a cold stillness to his body. He sucked in the heavy sigh his body wanted to give and closed the door behind him, wandlessly placing a few privacy charms on it as he did. He opened his mouth to speak, but he realised he had no words. No matter how long or sincere his apology was, it would never be enough to heal the scars left in his wake. The words would be hollow, not just for Harry, but to him as well.

Albus walked over slowly. He could tell Harry felt his presence in the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the wall. He wasn't moving a muscle, didn't even react when he took a seat on the chair and began studying his face. It wasn't peaceful as it was when he had been unconscious, but it wasn't angry either. The scowl of sheer hatred that had graced his face for years was no longer there. Instead, he was pensive, cold and cautious, though there was a certain air of certainty behind it. He had come to Grimmauld expecting shouts and sneers, but was met with a wholly different beast behind those calculating eyes. No blame. No anger. Only a cool, unreachable distance between him and the boy.

He didn't know which he would have preferred.

"How are you feeling?" Albus asked because what else could he have asked? What could he have said that wouldn't lead to this very conversation?

Harry didn't respond immediately, but even when he did, he didn't turn to look at him. "Tired."

"Perhaps it's best if you took a few more hours of sleep. I can visit you later tonight, if you wish." The words of a coward. What was worse was that it was straight from his heart.

"I can't sleep." He said emotionlessly. "Seven days of it, I think I've had my fair share."

"You came back from the brink. Rebuilt your mind from its very core. That's not something that's easily overcome. Your mind needs the rest."

Harry opened his mouth but swallowed the words with a sturdy breath. "I'm fine. I just… may I please be excused to my room."

"Your room?"

"The basement. The cell."

Albus closed his eyes and looked downwards, away from Harry. "That's not your room. Not anymore."

Harry's head turned with a snap, he almost looked betrayed by the fact. "Why not?"

"Because I was wrong. Because you're not a monster, you're not someone who needs to earn his redemption or be locked up for it." Albus tried to look up and meet his eyes, but he couldn't. "You're just a boy. A boy I failed to protect."

"What about the others?"

"Some will not like the decision, and I'm sure others will avoid Grimmauld indefinitely for a while. But it's my final decision. One I will not change. Besides, most would agree that after what Severus did to you, you're not the one who deserves to be inside that cell."

Harry almost flinched, but before Albus could assure him very few people knew the truth of what had happened, he spoke. "You locked Snape inside my cell?"

"Alastor did." He explained. "Right after he found the two of you in the basement. I haven't released him yet."

"Yet?"

"I wish it were as simple as you'd like it to be," Albus said quickly, trying to appease the concern in Harry's tone. "But the truth is… Severus is a crucial asset to the Order. He deserves to stay there, to pay for what he did to you. What he's done throughout your entire life. I don't like it any more than you do, but there is a very real chance I'll be forced to let him go and have him continue his work with the Order."

"Why?" He asked, more curious than angry. "What convoluted potion did the bastard use to win you over and give him a place in… whatever you people do."

"The Order of the Phoenix is the last line of defence against Voldemort and his armies. With the Ministry failing to come up to the task and Voldemort's large number of followers, it has become the main force against the dark forces that wish to bring chaos upon Britain. Severus is acting as a triple agent for us, our insight into Voldemort's plots and attacks. As much as it pains me to say, he's indispensable to the mission. The information he has brought us has saved hundreds - even thousands of lives. He's saved various of the members of the Order in situations that would have resulted in their deaths. And sometimes, in very few occasions, he's even risked his life by retrieving various dark artefacts from other Death Eaters to reduce their threat level."

"And where was he?" Harry's voice shook as he spoke. "Where was that information when my parents were tortured and murdered by the group of Death Eaters. Black. Lestrange. Crouch. If he saved so many lives, why didn't he save theirs?"

"Severus Snape is the worst kind of monster, I know that now, but he had no idea of the attack. It was a rogue move from a small group of fanatical Death Eaters. And while you have more than enough reasons to hate Sirius, he wasn't there that night. He didn't betray your parents, much less torture and kill them."

"He was there. I saw it. He killed them."

"I believed that too. One of the reasons Sirius was thought to be the one who betrayed the Potters and a Death Eater was that he was seen escaping Potter cottage when the Aurors arrived, there were nearly a dozen witnesses placing him on the scene and even accusing him of attacking the Aurors as he escaped. But I've seen into his mind, I've even used Veritaserum on him. He was framed of that."

Harry turned back to stare at the wall, his hands gnawing at his leg fiercely.

"Sirius has done terrible things, but that wasn't one of them." Albus reassured.

"So if… if you were to keep Snape locked up. What would happen? How would that impact the war?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. There are too many variables to consider. But it would be far from beneficial."

Anger was beginning to creep back into Harry's face, and he began to tear at his leg more and more in what looked to be an effort to keep himself calm. His expression had lost that air of sureness as he began looking more like the boy he met in the cell those nights ago. Before finally, with what seemed like indomitable exertion, he let out a sigh and his face relaxed into a resigned look.

"Let him go."

"Pardon?"

"Get him out of that cell. Out of that basement. Just… keep him the fuck away from me."

Lost for words, Albus could do nothing but stare as Harry stood up and walked across the room, his back to him. Even with Harry's sanction of the decision, it was still one he was uneasy to make. After what he did, it felt wrong. But while the support for the rational decision brought him no comfort, it was what he needed to release Severus. He didn't think he would have been able to do that without knowing Harry would understand the decision.

"So what now?" Harry asked before he could say anything, and for once, Albus was grateful for the change of subject. "Am I returning to the Longbottoms? To Augusta?"

"No," he assured him. "You'll be staying here at Grimmauld for the rest of the winter break before you go back to Hogwarts. In this very room, as a matter of fact. Your trunk has already been emptied, your clothes hung in the closet or folded in the drawers. You'll find everything in here and I assure you no one looked through your stuff, everything was done by Kreacher on my command." Harry walked towards the door he pointed to and opened it, revealing a cluster of white Hogwarts shirts ironed and hanging besides a separate cluster of muggle clothes. "When Kreacher told us you had no ordinary clothes in your trunk, Molly went to London and bought you a set of clothes she insisted you needed."

Harry almost smiled, going through each shirt in an almost reverent manner, before his face darkened and his eyes turned towards his Hogwarts uniform. The white shirts with a green tie hanging from each of them. He looked almost afraid for a moment, as if looking into the eyes of a monster, before he squared his shoulders and his face once again turned resolute. He grabbed the white shirt and green tie before tossing it to the bed without any care for the clothes.

"Moody will be bringing me my food?" He asked, almost casually.

"If you'd like. He and Andromeda have decided to take responsibility of you for the next month, so they'll be living here at Grimmauld as well. The Weasleys are also staying here for the winter break, and Neville and Hermione are sure to visit every other day. You're free to roam around the house, have lunch in the kitchen, study in the library, or just rest in the living room. You're not a prisoner here."

"So I can leave whenever I want?" Harry asked, and Albus immediately heard the sarcasm in his voice.

"Not quite," he tried to smile, but didn't manage.

"Naturally."

"Besides leaving the house, I ask that you be civil with anyone you see around the manor when you're out of your room. No confrontations or anything of the sort. In a perfect world, this is the chance for you and your year-mates to resolve your differences, but I won't force that on you. If you don't wish to see them or talk to them, you don't have to. At the end of the day, this is your home for the rest of January. You can do as you please inside, so long as you follow those rules."

"Fair enough," Harry said without meeting his eyes. His hands hovered on the hem of his pyjama shirt, feeling the flannel for a moment, before he finally grabbed it and pulled it off. Grabbing the white shirt from the bed, he began undoing the buttons as he turned around, forcing the vivid red wound straight into his eyesight. He had never forced himself to see it, had avoided it and claimed the knowledge of its existence was enough. But seeing it made it more real, and gave him no ambiguousness as to how brutal it truly was. He could almost hear the screams such an attack would have forced out of the eleven-year-old boy he used to be.

Albus stood up abruptly, tearing his eyes away from the wound as he walked towards the door. There was still much he wanted to say to Harry - to apologize, to make a hundred promises, assurances, to find a way to begin atoning for the pain he had brought the boy. But he couldn't find the words, and had the feeling that was the last thing Harry wanted him to do. But when he walked to the door and opened it, he stopped before he stepped out of the room.

"Harry…"

He turned to him, face blank. "Yes, sir?"

"Would you mind if I ask you something? Something personal."

After a second, almost reluctantly, Harry shook his head.

"When you were unconscious… inside your mind. What did you see?"

Harry's eyes remained fixed on his, and when he spoke, there was an icy calmness to his voice, as if some divine power had taken over his body and talked through him. "Myself."

Grimmauld Place

January 9th, 1996

4:30 p.m.

Ron had hated Umbridge since the moment she stepped foot inside Hogwarts castle. Everything from her squeaky, forced to be pleasant voice to how she relished torturing Neville for saying that You-Know-Who had returned. But when she'd announced that their winter vacations would be twice as long as they usually were, he began thinking she wasn't pure evil. He hated her, that would never change, but it was hard to get mad at her for giving him a month of extra holidays with no homework. He wasn't Hermione, after all.

Then again, it was too good to be true, and he was beginning to wonder if Umbridge was one of those Trelawney would fawn over for having The Gift. If the extra month of holidays was just a way to make him suffer in a way where he couldn't possibly blame her. With his father's attack, Percy still being an arse, and he and the rest of his brothers being used as overgrown house-elves to clean Sirius' old house. More than half of his day was wasted on that, with the rest being used to shower and eat, he barely had time to breathe. And relaxing? In the same home with seven Weasleys, an insane scarred man, an unknown woman who kept to herself, and a snake roaming around like he owned the place.

Was staying at an Umbridge controlled Hogwarts really the worst thing that could have happened to him?

Neville and Hermione were a big help. They visited almost every day, and though they hated being forced to work on the house as much as he did, it was much more bearable to do it when he was with the two of them. No stupid pranks from the twins or annoying rambling from Ginny. It was why he often wished for school to start, even with how much he hated the actual schooling side of it. He never felt happier than when he was with Neville and Hermione. And though things had taken a dark turn ever since the beginning of last year, and everything was much more serious and less fun, he wouldn't have it any other way.

If only it was just the three of them inside the house. Harry Potter had taken his new-found freedom with stride, walking around the house as if he owned it - watching everything with a set of cold eyes that made the hairs in the back of his neck stand in alert. Moody hung around him, eating with him, as he often ate before or after everyone else. He even began going with him to the Black library and recommending him some books that he'd take to his room and read in secret. Andromeda, the mother of Tonks, had also taken to hang around Potter in an almost motherly fashion. Taking care of whatever he needed and almost escorting him around the house protectively.

And while the rest of them were forced into slavery, Harry was allowed to eat and drink whatever he wanted. And if he was feeling like throwing the entire of the afternoon in the living room as he gleefully watched them clean, no one said anything. Even his mother had come to his defence when Fred and George spoke about him, and was always too willing to help him with anything, even when he rejected all the offers. Ginny too, while not as bad as his mother, had taken to talking to him every once in a while. It was muted and private, and didn't last very long, but they had talked just about every day since he woke up.

He'd come to terms with the fact that Ginny and his mother had taken Harry's side, even had to deal with the fact that that bastard had actually saved their lives back at the Three Broomsticks. But they'd saved his in their second year, so as far as he was concerned, they were even. But as his mother had suddenly gotten protective over the snake and his dad looked like he was going to relapse into unconsciousness every time an argument broke out within the family, he was happy to let the topic go. The bellend hadn't actually started any conflict with him in the past few days, hadn't said anything to the three of them or the twins. So if Harry bloody Potter was willing to let this go and leave him to live his own life, he would do the same.

Unfortunately, just as he wished to be rid of him, his two other friends only got so much more obsessed with Potter over the past couple of weeks.

"I can't believe you're defending him!" Neville shouted at Hermione the previous night as they were cleaning out one of the many empty rooms up in the third floor.

"I'm not defending him, I'm just saying we don't know anything about him, really. You said it yourself!"

"We know he killed Montague-"

"Do we?"

"You were the one who figured it out! We saw him slaughter those men at the Three Broomsticks, it's not like he's above murder."

"He saved my life," Hermione said hotly. "All our lives, remember? I mean… yes, he was a bit-"

"Psychopathic? Homicidal? A deranged monster?"

"Susan was killed in front of him-"

"Fuck, you sound like Ginny," Neville snarled. "He's an arsehole, and he killed Montague. It doesn't matter if you suddenly try to deny it, that's a fact. The Order even agrees with that."

"The Order? Who? Sirius and Remus? Tonks? They beat him up and tossed him into a cell. They snapped his wand!"

"I don't remember you doing much about it," Neville said coldly.

Hermione looked stricken for a moment before her face hardened. "You're unbelievable, you know that? You don't hear me telling you you didn't do much about Cedric and Krum, do you?"

"Don't you dare. That's entirely different-"

"You didn't see Sirius that night!" Hermione shouted. "Pissed off, deranged, and me without my magic. What was I supposed to do?"

Neville hadn't answered, and Hermione stormed off soon after. It wasn't the first argument they had about Harry Potter, and it wouldn't be the last. The bastard just had a way to destroy things even without having to be there. His very name was powerful enough to make the house groan. He was the one who argued with Hermione, Neville had always been the peacemaker between them. He never appreciated how hard the job was until he finally had to swallow every argument he wanted to yell out and tried to make them remember they were supposed to be friends. Ron only hoped he could do that before either said or did something that crossed the line.

It had taken no more than a couple of days after the year had begun for Ron to notice that something had changed with Neville. He'd become so much more hostile towards Potter, to the point that the mere mention of the name from anyone else sent all the blood to his face and shut him up for the next couple of hours. It had taken a lot of prodding before Neville finally revealed his encounter with Eli.

"What was I supposed to say?" Neville whined when Ron called him an idiot for promising to help him prove Harry killed Graham.

"I don't bloody know," he exclaimed. "I'm sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers. Whatever other bullshit people say to people whose brother was brutally murdered a few months ago. Not to pledge an alliance with some arsehole you don't know to bring down a deranged murderer."

"You didn't see how he looked at me, Ron. You don't see how they all look at me. How am I supposed to be their saviour, the person they look up to, if I can't even prove Harry Potter killed Montague. It's basically an open secret, for fuck's sake!"

"I don't know, mate," Ron shrugged. "But it's still a fucking piss poor idea. Just don't trust the bloke, will you?"

"Why not?"

"He's fucking creepy, he is. His brother was a Slytherin, and I'm pretty sure most of the Montagues have been as well. "

"But he's a Ravenclaw."

"The hat could've been wrong." Ron shrugged.

"Come off it," Neville rolled his eyes. "I know you don't like Slytherins and I understand why, but that doesn't mean everyone who has a Slytherin relative is evil."

"I know," Ron said, hating how his mother had begun to recently echo that very sentiment. "But still… there's something about him that gives me the creeps."

Neville had shrugged, and Ron knew his comment had been ignored. As much as he agreed with Neville about Potter, he didn't think Elijah Montague was any better. More than that, he worried how Hermione would react once she found out of the whole affair. He really wished he wasn't there whenever that happened.

Shadowfield Estate

January 10th, 1996

3:45 p.m

The full moon had always brought out the worst of him. Whether it was through the monster he became during that night or the year of the horrible feeling of his body putting itself back together after being stretched and torn apart by the creature inside of him - giving him what must be the feeling of what felt like heavy withdrawals combined with the worst possible muscle aches and an endless void of depression that only got slightly better after the week passed.

Year's ago, he couldn't have envisioned feeling a more bitter agony than that one. That all changed that fateful night when Harry had sneaked into his office and had altered his potion. Nothing had been the same since. While his transformations went back to normal after a couple of full moons, and he managed to once again retain his mind through the use of the Wolfsbane potions Albus still provided him after his resignation from being a teacher, the days after had turned much worse.

The effects had always felt crippling, but while he chose to stay in bed for a couple of days to rest, he had been able to actually walk around the house, prepare himself lunch, and even do a few chores around the house. He rarely did, but was able to push through the pain and do it. That wasn't the case anymore. Whatever Harry had done to the potion nearly two years ago had brought him a world of despair unlike anything he had previously felt.

He physically couldn't move for the next four days after the full moon. Couldn't move his arm more than a few inches before it gave out on him, so he was much less able to stand up and walk to the bathroom before his body shat itself and left him covered in that horrid smell. Couldn't eat without someone there spooning him the food on his bedside. Couldn't do much more than half-opening his eyes and endure a ceaseless agony as his body shat and pissed itself and, more often than not, he vomited all over the sheets.

It wasn't until the fifth day after the full moon that he could actually stand and move, though extremely weakly. It wasn't until slightly under twenty days passed that he finally felt like himself again, though it would not last for more than a week before the effects of the upcoming full moon began to settle within his body. What used to be his weak and battered state became his new normal for three fourths of the month.

Sirius and Tonks had been there for him through it all. Taking care of him on his worst days and pretending as if they didn't happen. They'd be there every day to maintain the charms on the self-cleaning diaper he'd been humiliatingly wearing for the past year, vanishing the vomit that was smearing the sheets and feeding him before he could go starving. It had been a godsend, and he hadn't wished to picture what it would be like if he didn't have them helping him throughout the whole process.

Unfortunately, he didn't need to imagine. Tonks had rarely left her home since the day they snapped Harry's wand, and she hadn't shown up to help him on any of the days after the full moon. And while Sirius was still around, his mind had taken a head-first dive with Harry's presence at Grimmauld and his expulsion from the Order. Erratic and twitchy, it had become progressively harder to have a normal conversation with him. So, it hadn't been a surprise that besides Kreacher coming over and feeding him once a day, getting rid of his vomit before he did, he had no one in his suffering. No one to maintain the charms on the diaper that hadn't lasted past the third day, and more importantly, no one to give him the sympathy he wholly needed as his mind attacked his biggest insecurities and left him with a bottomless hole in his chest.

And as he suffered through his first full moon after the incident alone, he couldn't help but feel this was his penance for it all. Harry had sentenced him to this life of misery just as he'd done the same by refusing to help him with the Dementors, even with seeing how much they targeted him and how Minerva and Aurora told him how poorly Harry was doing with his Patronus charms, he had refused to help. He'd thought it a fitting punishment, the darkest parts of him torturing him for being the heartless arsehole he had seemed back then. The thought of him being a victim, lashing out because he felt alone and scared, had never crossed his mind, not once. At least not until the moment he saw the large gash on his back.

The feelings of shame and regret had drowned him over the first few days after the full moon. He had felt it was Fate itself giving him a second chance when the very day he was finally able to get out of bed, the news that Harry had woken up had reached Shadowfield Estate. Hermione had been surprised, curious, and suspicious about the whole thing all at once. He had told her nothing, she didn't even know that Harry had been moved from the basement and into one of the rooms at Grimmauld. Alastor had been rather forceful of the lack of any substantial knowledge of what the three of them saw down in the basement becoming public knowledge. Slamming him onto the wall and threatening him with the promise of a very gruesome and vivid death if he even dared to use what had happened against Harry.

Remus had tried to feel appalled by the insinuation, would have wanted to, but he felt nothing but self-hatred that once, he would have done just that. Still, vague news of Snape attacking Harry to the point of unconsciousness had spread around the Order ranks. It was inevitable, especially with Snape's disappearance since that night. But no one had found out about the scar or the full extent of the attack. The almost hungry look on Hermione's face though had made his stomach drop, she would not let this go. But that all seemed inconsequential once Sirius loudly shoved his chair back and marched out of the kitchen, fuming.

"What was that all about?" He confronted his old friend later on that day in the study.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Sirius snapped. "The little fucking cunt woke up, that's what happened. The brat couldn't just die and leave this world better off."

Sirius's bloodshot eyes had never looked so angry. There was raw wrath behind them, one he hadn't seen since their fifth-year at Hogwarts. "You can't be serious. He's your godson, he's James' son for fuck's sake."

"HE'S NOT JAMES' SON!" Sirius hollered, throwing everything off the master desk before slamming his hands on it. "James' son would have never turned into one of us. He's nothing more than Snape's corrupted bastard. A stain to James and Lily's memory."

"He's a kid," Remus snapped, the exertion giving him instead nausea as his legs wobbled. "How can you actually mean that?"

"You were the one who told me about him. Told me what sort of monster the fucking brat had shown himself to be. He cursed you. Fucked your life over to nine sorts of hell."

"I was wrong!"

"No, you were not! You were right about him. Before Dumbledore and everyone else in that piss poor excuse of an Order fucked with your brain and convinced you of fairy tales and redemption and happy fucking endings. We live in the real world, Remus, that bullshit only happens in children's fantasy books and the delusions of senile old men."

"You… you don't understand. You don't have a right to talk about him like that when you don't know what I know-"

"What?" Sirius spat. "What exactly am I missing? Was he beaten to near death when he was barely three? Tortured by everyone in his life? What the fuck does that matter? It only proves me right, it only shows he's turned into a monster. Just like the rest of us."

"I'm not a monster," he said immediately. "And you weren't either."

"We're all monsters here. I'm just the only one willing to admit it. How many people did we kill in the war to survive? How many friends did we let die because of the stupid mistakes we made? So, what, we beat up a fucking kid and snapped his wand and that's somehow worse than all the other shit we've done? No. We turned into monsters because we fucking had to, and we can't fucking change that. And you… you're the biggest proof of all, for as much as you can try to lie to yourself, you can't change it. Keep denying it, cling to your idiotic sense of right or wrong, act like the stupid harmless professor you pretend to be. None of that changes the fact that you'll still turn into a monster when the full moon hits the night's sky."

"You're wrong."

"No, I'm not. And you know what, if someone taught me, we can't change who we are, it was you. After fifth-year, you told me I was cursed, rotten to my core. You told me that no matter how much I tried to escape it, I would never be able to change that. And you know what, I tried. And I failed. Just like you said."

He remembered those words - vividly. The ones that had shattered their friendship and tore at the very heart of the Marauders. The group had never been the same since the night of the Prank, and if he were to pinpoint what had led to all the pain that now filled the lives of everyone involved, it would be what had happened after he woke up in the infirmary the following morning.

But he wasn't up for reminiscing. Barely having the energy to walk around, much less argue with a husk of his former friend, he walked away and for the next couple of days did everything in his power to get to Harry. To talk to him, apologize, do anything that would stop at the relentless feeling of remorse that was eating him from within. But all he was met with were cold glances, and that's if he was lucky and Harry decided not to fully ignore him. And the times when he tried to corner him, get him to talk to him, Alastor would always be nearby and kick him out of the manor before he even managed to finish a sentence.

Three restless days he tried to do that, and he got no answer. Worse than the complete dismissal was the sureness he felt in that he deserved that. He deserved everything that had happened to him, was happening to him. And when he found no solace in Harry, no way to atone, he went back to what had helped in his years abroad and opened a bottle.

That had been how Richard Granger had found him, nearly three-fourths of the bottle gone and his head resting atop the table. He gave him the look, one he became familiar with as more people began learning his secret and noticing the effects the full moon began having on him. Storing the bottle away, the last thing he remembered was passing out with one of his arms draped around the muggle as he led him to the upper floor of the manor.

Grimmauld Place

January 11th, 1996

2:35 a.m.

Grimmauld Place had always been a lonely place. Ever since Sirius activated him last summer, he'd been alone for most of the time. His brother had barely allowed him to get in a word before he dumped him down the stairs of the basement and shut the door for what had felt like it was going to be forever. And ever since then, barring the week and a half Harry Potter had shared in his imprisonment, he'd been alone. But instead of the long months he had thought they would be, it felt like a couple of days at most.

Regulus knew he wasn't a person anymore, not really. He was a portrait, an imprint of the real Regulus mere days before his death. A safety precaution he had taken, and with good reason. But while he knew he was a portrait, all he knew was how to be human. After all, being filled with nothing but memories of what it was like to be alive and a person, it was hard to consider himself one of those eternal portraits that had adorned his old home as much as they did the very castle in which he was educated in the many arts of magic.

Perhaps it was the portrait magic that was affecting him, only making it feel like time is passing when there's someone there to interact with or spy on rather than just being dumped into a dark, empty room. Still, there were worse fates, he supposed, as was what had happened to the portrait of his dear mother. Torn off the very frame that still hung on the wall in the entrance hall, the portrait had lost its connection to its magic and had been effectively murdered by Sirius. Not that his brother cared much about it, he'd always hated their mother.

Being woken up fifteen years after his death hadn't been ideal, but thankfully, from what he had gathered, the war was still somehow in its beginning stages. Which meant it wasn't too late, the information he had could still be of value, if someone bothered to hear him out. But after what he did, he didn't blame them. With the benefit of hindsight, placing his portrait in what would become the future headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been the worst place he could have ended up at.

Then again, knowing his luck, his friend probably managed to end up in a more fucked up position than he did.

Seeing glimpses of these people of his previous life, the effect the war had had on them, what his lack of judgment had led to… he began to wonder if the ones who were killed were the lucky ones. Sirius most of all. He was unrecognizable to the last time he'd seen him. The one who had avoided the Black curse, who was actively trying to be a better man than he really was. No doubt he played a part in tearing down his brother's soul, but he wondered what else had happened that made things turn out this shitty.

But that was all he could do. Sit by and wonder, ponder, dream of what would have happened in a different life. It probably wouldn't have ended well given the Dark Lord's secret, but he couldn't be blamed for dreaming. There wasn't much more to do when you were the portrait of a dead man locked in an abandoned basement. Harry had been a welcome companion, a window to this bizarre future in which he had woken up and someone he found himself enjoyed talking to - even if most of it was him making fun of the poor boy.

Severus, on the other hand, had never been a charming companion. He hadn't talked to him, or even revealed himself from the darkness of the room. Lord knows what someone with as much hatred for both him and his brother would have done if given the chance. And that just wouldn't help anyone. Still, it was interesting to watch him and Dumbledore speak. The way he excused his monstrosity as he disguised it with nurturing Harry into growing strong. But what was fascinating is how Snape, the Dark Lord's biggest suck-up back in their old school days, had turned out to be a triple agent for Dumbledore.

Well, it was more amusing than fascinating. But anything more impactful than a fly zooming around his portrait was interesting nowadays.

It was no wonder why Dumbledore had come down the other night and, reluctantly, released Snape with orders to go to the Dark Lord and then come back immediately to bring him much needed information. A man of a considerable value like a triple agent was not one that could be left rotting in a cell for long. And as Harry failed to turn up when the days passed and the idea of solitude was beginning to settle again, he heard it. The creak of the door.

It was almost too quiet to notice, and he doubted anyone further than seven feet from the door listened to it. But he heard it. The way the door was quietly closed once more before slow footsteps began climbing down the stairs. A fly was a low standard for interest, especially with the drama of the past couple of weeks, and nothing proved that more than the figure of Harry Potter as he emerged from the shadows.

"My, my," Regulus smiled. "And here I was thinking I'd never see you again, kid."

Harry ignored him, walking past the room and opening the cell door that was left ajar. He stood in the centre of his previous home, looking around attentively, silently, before he walked to the left corner of the cell and knelt down. Pocketing something Regulus didn't quite see, Harry rose before he turned around to face me.

"Been awake a few days and only now you visit me?" Regulus faked distraught, willing a single tear to leave his right eye and go down his cheek. "I thought we had something real here."

"Did anyone see you?" His voice was harsh, serious, and so much more grown up than the usual petulant whine he'd been accustomed to hearing in him.

"No," he answered, dropping the act as his interest was peaked. "I mean, Sirius knows I'm here, but apart from that, I doubt anyone knows."

"Good," he said. "You're coming with me."

Regulus narrowed his eyes. He'd seen that expression in front of the mirror. The sheer determination mixed with an unattended hunger. "What are you up to?"

Harry didn't smile, his face didn't even move. But somehow, his eyes only gained a deeper conviction.

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

Next chapter will continue the arc of the Devil's Greatest Trick as we take a small interlude outside of Grimmauld and go to Azkaban where Snape and Crouch meet while the mind games between Bedivere and Voldemort start to unfold!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm EIGHT chapters ahead, have finished writing the first chapter of the following arc titled Irreconcilable Differences. In which the Winter Break is over and the return to Hogwarts brings a lot of tensions begin to boil over. 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! :)