Word Count: 4032

Warnings: Murder

three for three (your greed was your undoing)

Harry slammed his way through the manor until he found the room he wanted. Only when the door was shut— and he was completely sure that the room was empty—did he slump back against the door and close his eyes.

He was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. Dealing with the Order of the Phoenix always left him tired, but this time, he'd hit his limit and then soared right on past it.

Pushing himself up from the door, he crossed the room and slumped down into one of the only two armchairs in the room, and pulled his legs up, curling up on the chair. The fire was already crackling, and he sent a silent word of gratitude to the elves who kept the manor running.

The door opened softly, and Harry tensed in his seat. A wave of magic soothed him, and he relaxed. If anyone else had dared bother him, he'd have found a way to send them to the moon.

"Rough day, darling?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry waited until Tom had joined him by the fire. "Rough week, more like," he muttered. "If Dumbledore twinkles his fucking eyes at me again, Tom, I'm going to gouge them out with a rusty spork and feed them to him."

"You know I wouldn't send you there if it wasn't necessary," Tom replied softly. "But you're doing an excellent job. Severus said—"

"Tom," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "I don't need a pep talk right now. I need a lot of alcohol. And possibly a minion to let my anger out on."

Tom snorted, his red eyes gleaming in the firelight. "If alcohol is what you want, then alcohol you shall have."

"And the minion?"

Tom smirked. "Take your pick. Just don't kill them. They are, occasionally, useful."

…

"You're a delight," Tom murmured, stepping closer when Harry finally signalled the end of the duel with Bellatrix.

She cackled, wiping the blood from her face. "That was BIG fun, Little Lord. Ten out of ten!"

She walked away, and Harry watched her go and then shook his head. "She really is extremely insane, isn't she?"

"Completely," Tom agreed. "So. Alcohol?"

"Oh yeah."

They left the duelling room, and Tom wrapped a possessive arm around Harry's waist. He was always like this when Harry came back from spending time with the Order. Almost like he was scared that Harry would want to go back to being the good little hero.

"How many hours did you turn?" Tom asked softly.

"Twelve," Harry replied, touching the time turner around his neck. "It's the longest it does, unfortunately."

Tom sighed. "It won't be for much longer, Harry, I promise."

Harry just nodded. He understood why the Order still had to believe that Harry was completely on their side, but the summer was tiring. Dumbledore, after spending years saying that Harry needed to spend the majority of the summer with the Dursleys, had decided that this year—the summer before Harry started his seventh and last at Hogwarts—he could leave after only five days.

Harry had expected that he would stay with the Dursleys until his birthday, at least.

They reached the meeting room to find the inner circle waiting for them. Harry had barely taken three steps inside before Rabastan was pushing a tumbler of whisky into his hand.

"Cheers," Harry said, knocking the whisky back in one long swallow. When he lowered the glass, Rodolphus was ready to refill it.

"Business out of the way first?" Tom asked, glancing at Harry, who shrugged.

Everyone took a seat when ordered, except for Harry, who snorted and then dropped himself to the floor by Severus' feet, nudging him until the older man massaged his shoulders.

"Dumbledore still believes that Harry is his weapon?" Tom asked, arching his eyebrow at Severus, who nodded.

"He does. Moody has made a few comments that Harry is much stronger now than he was a year ago, and the old man shrugged it off as Harry maturing." Severus tugged on Harry's hair slightly. "You might want to be more careful around Moody. He's the most paranoid man I've ever met."

"Is it paranoia if you're right though?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.

Tom chuckled.

Harry drifted as they moved on to talk about the planned raid for the following week. Severus' fingers were magic, and he was brushing them through Harry's hair in just the way he liked. He was almost asleep when he heard Bellatrix say his name.

"The Little Lord is going to be fighting himself, My Lord."

Harry blinked. "Eh?"

"Dumbledore plans to let you go on the raid next week," Severus explained. "And Tom also intends for you to be there. Of course, your time turner will make that possible, but you'll likely end up facing yourself, even if you know that it's you and why it's you."

Harry thought about that for a minute, and then groaned. "Is it too late to get a refund?"

"Yep," Rabastan said, laughing.

"Damn it. If I break the time continuum and fuck the world up, I'm not taking the blame for it."

"It will be fine," Tom soothed. "You'll be wearing a mask, likely in both cases but certainly when you're with us. Nobody else will know it's you."

Harry grimaced, but nodded his head. "Fine. I didn't need my sanity anyway. This is exhausting."

"It is only until Halloween, Harry. You can do this."

"Or I could just kill them all and call it a day," Harry pointed out. "That is also an option."

Tom shook his head. "I won't risk you."

"Tom…"

"It's not worth it," Tom insisted. "Halloween is only a little while away, and once you're back at school, there will be even less interference from the Order."

Harry sighed, but leant back against Severus, who squeezed his shoulders.

…

Harry pushed himself to his feet, more than ready to leave the kitchen for a while, so that the Order could have their meeting.

"Harry, where are you going?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Upstairs," he replied, shrugging. "You know I'm not allowed at the meetings yet."

"Actually, dear boy, since tomorrow is your seventeenth, we've decided it's more than time for you to join us."

He tried to look pleased about it, he really did. He was fairly sure he failed, if the amused glint in Severus' eyes was any indication, but whatever. He didn't really care. Sitting back down, he tapped his fingertips on the table.

"To catch you up, Harry, Severus brought news of a planned raid a few days from now. We will, of course, be there to intercept them and hopefully save the lives of those that live in the village he plans to attack."

Harry nodded. "Am I allowed to go?"

"You are," Dumbledore said, sighing like it was a wrench for him to put Harry in danger. He was a good actor, Harry thought. "I'd prefer you wear a mask—it wouldn't do to make you the main target on your first operation, as it were."

"Kay."

"Everyone carries a portkey with them, to come back if you get injured or too tired to continue, and Poppy has agreed to be here for the evening in case anybody needs treatment. You won't be alone, Harry."

Harry nodded his head. Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment before he nodded, and turned to the rest of the Order to conduct the rest of the meeting. Harry paid little attention; he wasn't there to be a spy, that was Severus' job and he more than had it covered.

The only reason that Harry was still there at all was because Dumbledore needed to believe his plans were still in place. Harry couldn't wait until it was done with—pretending that he could stand to be around these people was hell.

…

"Explain again why we're here three hours before we need to be?" Harry muttered to Bill, who grinned at him.

"In case the time changes, or Voldemort is trying to catch Severus out," Bill explained. "We always do it this way when he gives us pre warning of an attack."

Harry wrinkled his nose and cast a softening charm on the floor beneath him, before he conjured a pillow to lean back against. Laughing, Bill copied him, and then cast a cooling charm over them both for good measure. They were in the middle of a heatwave, and the air was sticky.

"How are you feeling about your first battle?"

"It's not my first," Harry pointed out. "It's just the first planned one. And I feel fine. Should have brought coffee though."

Bill produced a flask and conjured two cups. Harry accepted one of them with a quiet word of gratitude.

"You've been different lately," Bill said after a moment.

Harry arched his eyebrow.

"Not bad different," Bill added. "Just different. I heard Ron complaining to mum that you're pulling away, but I don't think that's it, is it? You're just growing up a little faster."

Harry shrugged. "Ron doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, does he?"

"You're not alone, Harry."

Sighing, Harry replied, "It's still me that has to do it in the end, Bill. Dumbledore has made sure to make that clear."

"Nobody can force you to do it," Bill replied, a calculating look in his eyes. "You're seventeen. You could leave. Nobody could really blame you for it."

Harry snorted and then gestured at their surroundings. "And miss all this fun?"

Bill chuckled and then sobered. "I regret coming back sometimes. I never wanted to take part in a war, you know? I was happy in Egypt. I wish I'd stayed there."

"You could go back," Harry pointed out.

"My mother would never let me hear the end of it."

"You don't have to listen. If I was in your position, I'd have left as soon as I could. Just because your mum and dad want to fight, it doesn't mean you have to. Charlie isn't here, is he?"

"True enough," Bill replied, looking thoughtful. "Maybe I'll talk to Fleur about it."

Harry drank his coffee and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long few hours.

…

Spells flew everywhere. Harry remembered where he'd been the first time, and he kept himself to the other side of the village.

Nearby, he could hear Bellatrix having fun, and he smirked. He already knew that she was going to send both Ron and Hermione running straight back to Headquarters with various injuries.

Locking his eyes on Moody, Harry gripped his wand and sent a bone-shattering curse at the man's only remaining leg. He missed by inches, and Moody grimaced, turning to face Harry. The man was an excellent duelist, despite his compromised mobility, and while Harry could make the environment work for him, Moody still gave him a challenge.

It was the most fun Harry had had in weeks.

To be able to actually fight against the Order, physically punish them for what they'd done to him, was wonderful. It was refreshing to stand face to face with them and not pretend.

Nearby, Tom and Dumbledore fought, and Harry kept an eye on them while he entertained himself with Moody. He could have killed him twice, but there was just no fun in that. If any of the Order was going to know the truth in the end, when Harry finally let Dumbledore know just what he'd turned his weapon into, Harry wanted it to be Moody.

Eventually, Harry got bored of playing, and slashed his wand down, knocking Moody on his arse. He watched as Tonks ran over and pressed her own portkey to her mentor's chest. So that was how Moody had gotten back. He'd wondered.

Smirking to himself, Harry found himself a perch in the shadows and watched as Bellatrix played with his supposed best friends.

Nothing had ever been more satisfying.

…

"You didn't kill him," Tom said, tilting his head slightly. "I was watching you. You could have ended him four times before you knocked him out."

"I know," Harry replied. "And it was actually five."

"Why?"

"I want him to feel it burn when he realises that he was right," Harry admitted, unwrapping a chocolate and popping it into his mouth.

Tom's eyes gleamed. "Darkness suits you, darling."

"I'm a product of what they made me," Harry replied softly.

"You're what I showed you you could be," Tom corrected possessively. "They do not get to claim credit for the treasure you've become."

Harry smiled slightly. "You're right. They don't."

…

"Did you even get a scratch?" Ron asked, frowning slightly as looked at Harry

They were supposed to be packing for their return to Hogwarts, but Ron was, as usual, procrastinating.

The night before, they'd been on another mission to intercept a raid—Harry had been there twice again, since it had been so much fun the first time.

Harry shrugged, and then shook his head. "Not really."

He lifted the last pile of books from the antique dresser in the bedroom and dropped them into his trunk, before he checked the room a final time and closed the lid, locking it with a wordless wave of his wand.

"Have you seen Hermione this morning? I don't even know if she's going to be able to come back to Hogwarts with us. That bastard Dolohov got her again."

Harry frowned. He knew for a fact that Dolohov hadn't been the one to curse Hermione the night before; Lucius had done it. "How do you know it was him?"

"He's got it out for her after the Ministry, doesn't he?" Ron pointed out, like it was obvious.

"I… okay," Harry said, not in the mood for an argument. Ron's logic was baffling, but Harry just wanted a little peace. "But no, I haven't seen her. I figured that Madam Pomfrey would want the space to set her right."

"Oh. You should go and see her. She's worried about you, you know? Said that you don't talk to us anymore."

"I'll check in on her later," Harry replied dismissively. "And, since I could use a little social interaction, I'm gonna go see who's in the kitchen."

"Harry—" Ron protested, but Harry left the room.

He didn't have the patience for Ron. He was never sure how to feel about him; sometimes, he hated every single part of him, and sometimes, he missed the friend that he'd always thought he had.

Mostly, being around Ron just made Harry hate Dumbledore even more.

…

"Detention, Potter," Severus sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes and leant back in his seat.

"That was so unfair," Hermione hissed, when Severus was out of earshot.

Harry snorted. "When is he ever fair when it comes to me?"

She sighed, but inclined her head, shifting stiffly in her seat. She'd returned to Hogwarts a few days after the rest of them, but she still wasn't fully healed. Lucius would be pleased to hear it, Harry was sure.

Severus called for him to remain behind when the rest of the class thundered out, and when they were alone, Harry smiled at him slightly.

"Tonight, Potter. Be here at seven pm."

Harry nodded, and his smile widened slightly, when Severus reached out to ruffle his hair, before he slipped a piece of parchment into his hand.

…

Rabastan was holding out a drink for Harry the moment the portkey landed in the meeting room, and Harry accepted it with a grin. "You know me so well."

Despite knowing he'd need to take a sobering potion before he left, Harry enjoyed the burn of the whisky as it slid smoothly down his throat.

Tom was waiting for him, and Harry stepped into his waiting arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Miss me?" he murmured.

Tom's lips tilted up. "More every minute, darling."

"Why am I here?" Harry asked, shifting away enough that he could look at Tom properly. "I didn't realise there were going to be any more meetings for me to be at until Halloween."

"I wanted you here," Tom replied. "And the minions are missing you. You entertain them."

Harry snorted, but internally, he couldn't help but be warmed by Tom's words. It was nice to feel wanted. Appreciated. It was nice to feel like they wanted him there just for himself, and not because they could gain something from him.

…

"Is something bothering you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shook his head silently. He'd been called to the Headmaster's office three times already, and they were only halfway through October. Harry wondered if maybe Dumbledore was paying more heed to Moody's words than any of them had realised.

"Miss Granger is concerned for you. She spoke to Professor McGonagall recently. She believes that you're trying to isolate yourself."

There was no way Hermione had gone to McGonagall. Of course, Harry wasn't supposed to know that she'd been spying on Harry for Dumbledore since their first year.

"I'm fine," Harry said, trying to make himself sound stressed, but believable. "If I'm to kill Voldemort, I need to study. Hermione just isn't used to me spending more time in the library than she does."

Dumbledore chuckled as though Harry had made a joke, but then a sombre expression shifted his features. "You need your friends, Harry. Isolating yourself isn't good for you."

"I'm not isolating," Harry replied, shrugging. "Neville spends a lot of time in the library with me. So does Luna. Hermione and Ron choose not to."

"Studying cannot be your entire life."

"If I don't study now, I won't have a life," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore sighed. "Trust in those that have been there with you, Harry."

Barely biting back a scoff, Harry just nodded his head.

Once bitten, twice shy, he wasn't dumb enough to fully trust anyone these days.

…

Screams filled the hall and people—mostly those in the younger years—ran for the doors. Tom and the Death Eaters didn't stop them; they weren't there to hurt the children, after all. The teachers directed them as best they could, but they seemed to realise that Tom didn't have eyes for anyone but Dumbledore anyway.

Harry remained in his seat.

"Mate, we need to move," Ron said, pushing at his shoulder.

"No."

"Harry!" Hermione snapped.

"I said no," Harry snarled, pushing her hands away when she tried to pull him to his feet. He watched as the two of them exchanged a look, and then left him there, joining the crowd for the exit.

It took less than two minutes for the hall to empty, but only seconds after it did, Order members began spilling into the hall. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't just sit there, Boy," Moody growled, stomping towards Harry.

Harry glared at him, and then pushed himself to his feet. He noticed Severus slip back inside the hall, and smirked when the man leant back against the wall, his wand in his hand, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You know what you must do, Harry," Dumbledore said. The words were softly spoken, but they carried in the hall regardless, so that everyone could hear them.

Harry nodded, his wand slipping into his hand as he walked towards Tom, who was watching him with a small smirk on his thin lips. Harry really didn't like it when he wore his Voldemort disguise.

"Are you going to fight me, Harry?" he whispered.

Harry smiled slightly. "Every single day," he replied, before he turned to face Dumbledore, his wand held tightly in his hand. The smile left his face as he stared coldly, emerald meeting surprised, ice blue eyes.

"You sit on a throne of lies," Harry snarled. "You make everybody think that you're as white as your beard, but none of them know all the ways you fucked me over, do they?"

"Harry, my boy, I—"

"I am not your boy!" Harry interrupted, the words snapping out like a lasso. "You allowed—in fact, you encouraged—my relatives to abuse me. You convinced the Weasleys to befriend me by paying them. You inserted Hermione into my life as a spy. You were the reason my parents died in the first place, with your clever little charms. You killed my godfather. You forced Remus to go to the weres, so that he was far away from me. You—"

"Harry," Dumbledore intoned. "I… he's lying to you. He's a master manipulator, Harry, you know this. You know that I've only ever—"

"Done me wrong," Harry finished. "I do know that. I didn't hear any of this from him, I heard it from you. Did you never think that allowing me an invisibility cloak would backfire on you?"

"And you ran straight to him?" Moody sneered, nodding his head at Tom. "Poor little—"

"I didn't," Harry said, shaking his head. "I ran to the only damn person in the castle that could be trusted. He listened to me. He helped me."

Dumbledore frowned slightly, but then looked at Severus, who arched a single eyebrow.

"You'll never win," Moody said, and he lifted his wand a little higher. "Even if you beat us here today, the Wizarding World will never accept his rule. You've doomed yourself, Potter."

Harry tilted his head slightly. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Moody was the first to cast, but Rodolphus was there to engage him. The Order ploughed forwards, and the Death Eaters matched them person to person, until only Harry, Tom, Dumbledore and Severus weren't actively fighting.

Harry walked slowly towards Dumbledore.

"Harry, you do not want to do this," Dumbledore implored. "The prophecy—"

"Is fake," Harry said. "What, you thought I didn't know about that, either? I know everything now, Albus. I hope hell is warmed up ready for you."

Dumbledore raised his wand. Harry smiled.

"Expelliarmus," he murmured, taking the wand from the Headmaster. It fell into his hand, warm to his touch. "That's three for three."

Paling, Dumbledore stuttered, "You, you have the—"

"The resurrection stone?" Harry asked, raising his hand to show the Gaunt ring that Tom had placed there. "You know I have the cloak, and now… now I have the wand. This was what all of this was for, wasn't it? Albus Dumbledore, Master of Death." Harry shook his head. "Greed. A greed for power, for notoriety… look at how many lives you ruined to get it. And now… now you'll never have it."

Tom stood behind him, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Do you want the honours?" Harry asked.

"I believe it should be you."

Harry smiled. "As you wish." He turned back to the Headmaster. "Goodbye, Albus. Say hello to Gellert for us when you find him, won't you?"

The green spell left his wand and made contact, a direct hit in the chest. They watched as Albus fell backwards.

"Rather anticlimactic in the end," Harry murmured.

Tom chuckled. "Shall we dispose of the rest of the trash, darling?"

Harry smirked. "Lets."

…

"What's up with you?" Harry asked, as Rabastan limped towards him.

"I fell into the table and now we're no longer friends," Rabastan replied, dropping into the seat beside Harry.

"Ah. Yeah, too much alcohol was definitely consumed last night."

"A celebration deserves too much alcohol and falling into tables," Rabastan said, dropping his head to the table.

"Severus left a batch of hangover potions," Harry offered, nodding to the vials on the table across the room.

"He's a wonderful human."

Harry was laughing when arms looped around him from behind. He leant back into the warm chest.

"You left me this morning," Tom murmured, leaning his chin on Harry's shoulder. "I think it's quite rude."

"Coffee," Harry explained, gesturing to the mug in his hand. "And I wanted to see the morning paper."

"Ah. And?"

"Oh, they're in uproar," Harry murmured. "Dead bodies in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, reports from terrified students and staff that left the hall, and the saviour missing in action. They're quite sure that you're about to rock up at the Ministry and take over the place."

"Well. I wouldn't want to disappoint them. Shall we, Darling?"

Harry grinned. "Lets."