I kind of hate myself for not posting 9 days ago… As of May 28th, this story is 3 years old. 85 chapters, 188k words (so about as many words as HP and the Goblet of Fire), 373 favs, 531 follows, and 580 reviews – you guys are absolutely amazing! Thank you so much for your continued support! Each and every email alert of a new follower, favorite or review makes me so incredibly happy.

3 years is a really long time. In those 3 years I have graduated from university, started working, traveled to countless countries,… and now even experienced a pandemic.

I hope you guys are all safe and healthy. Thanks for being there for me for the last three years. Without further ado, here is chapter 86. Read, enjoy and review :)

Draco was staring at the objects on the desk in front of him. The Sword of Gryffindor with its shining silver and egg-sized rubies looked as it had for the past thousand years. No dents or scratches to bear witness of the many adventures it had been a part of. In its glory it looked out of place in an office full of old trinkets and next to the shattered remains of Slytherin's locket.

Draco could still feel his heart beating rapidly, and his breathing had still not returned to normal. The words that had come from the locket were still echoing in his head. Selfish and unloved… parasite… making things worse… You have killed Cassius… Astoria will die…

It does not know the future, Draco told himself for the umpteenth time. Where in the past his mood had improved with the destruction of the Horcruxes, it had now hurled his mind down a spiral of negativity that was threatening to overwhelm his rational thoughts as fear gripped his heart. But what if it can? What if I'm making everything worse? What if my arrival leads to her dying much earlier? What if she never talks to me again and I've killed my own son? What if-

"Draco."

The kind voice of Albus Dumbledore managed to cut through Draco's thoughts, and he looked up to the headmaster.

"The locket knew no truths," he said calmly, "it knew nothing but your thoughts and feelings, and it turned them against you. What it said reflects you, your worst fears – but not, and this is an important distinction, reality."

Draco repeated this in his head. It's not reality. It's not reality. With every repetition his breathing calmed a little and he finally managed to nod his head at the headmaster.

He avoided their eyes, but he could feel Harry's lingering gaze.

"Would you give us a moment, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

A few seconds later, Draco heard Harry shuffle towards the door.

"What is on your mind?" Dumbledore asked once Harry was gone, waving his wand and conjuring a teapot and two cups. Draco looked up at Dumbledore, who was now filling the two cups. It was easier without Harry in the room. "Say it aloud and it will lose some of its power."

"I- I-" It was hard to put into words the panic that seemed to drown every rational thought. Not when he had not even had time to analyze it himself. But once he started talking, he could not stop. "I am not a hero. Harry might think I am. He might think I am brave and selfless… but I am not. The locket is right. I am a parasite. An imposter. All I have done – all I have ever done – has been for selfish reasons. I've come back in time only to get my wife back. I left my son behind, maybe even killed him if Astoria doesn't forgive me, not for some noble goal of making the world a better place, not to save lives, but because I missed her. And I still haven't managed to find a way to help her. Instead I've ruined my relationship with my parents, killed Cassius and got Tonks arrested!"

Once he was finished, he was breathing heavily. He reached for the cup of tea in front of him but found that his pale hands were shaking too much to safely drink out of it. He clung to it regardless, craving the comforting warmth.

Dumbledore had quietly listened to his ramblings, occasionally sipping on his own tea. "We have talked about Cassius before," he said, putting his cup down.

"I know, I know," Draco cut him off. He did not want to hear the same lecture yet again. "I know I couldn't have known. I know my intentions were good. I know not all that happens is my fault. Rationally, I know all of that. You have told me. Neville has told me. But this feeling, this guilt, it does not go away. It is always with me, at the back of my mind. Perhaps it's because I used to be a freakin' Death Eater. All I can do is hurt everyone around me, whether I want to or not. Even those that I love."

Dumbledore looked at him for a few moments. "This fear of hurting your wife and child? Of losing them and being responsible for it? Has it always been on the back of your mind as well?"

Draco felt his stomach churning and he gripped the cup harder. "That- I-" he shook his head, trying to control himself. He'd always been a private person. Public displays of emotions, especially those that exposed vulnerability, had never been encouraged in his family. But this was Dumbledore. He already knew Draco's deepest, darkest secrets. He had never judged him for it. "When I first came back here, I was certain things would at worst play out exactly as they had before. It did not occur to me that I might make everything worse. Astoria… Scorpius…" his voice wavered.

"You worry your actions may not be enough to cure Astoria? That, instead, they might result in her dying earlier?"

"Y-yes," Draco stammered. "I've always feared that. And I've done what I could to prevent it…" This was not the whole truth, however. This fear had long been with him but had never led to such overwhelming panic before.

"It never occurred to me that any changes I made might erase them from my life. Astoria's love has always been so steadfast, it's unfathomable that it shouldn't always be so. Astoria might be different from when I had last seen her in my time, but I know… in my heart I know it is still her. Her soul. My Astoria. Changing her has not killed her. So, I guess I just took it for granted that I would have her by my side again. Sometimes I feared my actions might harm her or even lead to her death, but I never truly doubted we'd be together again. But now… she's broken up with me… and if she doesn't forgive me, I have killed Scorpius… First I have abandoned my son and now I have killed him."

A sob escaped him then. He had just admitted to Dumbledore what he had so far not even admitted to himself. That he had abandoned his son for his own selfish gains. He'd had nightmares about it. But he had chosen not to dwell on it. He had chosen to bury these feelings, hide them behind a dam. But the pressure of the water behind this dam had built too high and pieces of the wall were now exploding outwards.

"I left my son behind," he choked out, tears trickling down his cheeks, "I abandoned him. Because I wanted more time with my wife." He cried in earnest now. The dam had burst and now the water was gushing out. "I told myself it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't even know I was gone. He'd have his mother back and we'd be a real family again. It would be better for all of us. And perhaps it would have been, but I messed it up. I killed my son."

Dumbledore did not say anything. Instead he wandered to the portraits, observing them sleeping in their frames, which Draco was grateful for. He needed some space to deal with his grief. He had missed his son, always assuming that their separation was only temporary, but had never mourned for him. But now he had to face the very real possibility of never seeing him again, and shame and fear and longing and grief washed over him.

The pain that followed was a crippling thing. A sensation as if someone had punched a hole through his chest and ripped out his heart. He hugged himself, trying to hold himself together when he felt like he was being torn apart.

When he came to his senses again, Dumbledore was sitting in front of him again. "I am sorry," Dumbledore said. "I fear I cannot promise you that all will be well. I cannot tell you if your actions have been right. I can offer you no more wisdom than I already have."

"I know," Draco rasped, regaining some of his composure. "I can no longer change the past. Pondering whether it was right to go back in time or not became pointless once the time-turner was destroyed. I'll have to learn to live with these feelings of guilt and shame and loss."

"Do not suppress your emotions," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Feelings of loss and guilt have their time and place. It is from them that we learn. And true remorse is the only way to repair an injured soul. You will only be able to truly heal and move on once you have allowed yourself to experience regret. I believe that once you confront these feelings, and accept them, Horcruxes will cease to have such power over you, and even casting a corporal Patronus might become easier."

Casting a Patronus? Times had been difficult after the war. Draco had, on Astoria's insistence, sought the assistance of a mind healer. She had suggested learning the charm as a therapeutic measure. It had helped immensely, but Draco had never managed to cast a corporal one and had accepted that he would never be able to.

"You think I can cast one? No Death Eater can."

"I am certain of it," Dumbledore said. "There are many good people who struggle with this particular charm. And your godfather can cast one, so it is not true that no Death Eaters can. There is nothing inherently wrong with you, should that be what you think. You are not a bad person, Draco. Everything you have done, as far as I can tell, you have done out of love. And you recognize that you have made mistakes and you strive to do better. What else could anyone ask of you?"

Draco slowly exhaled. "So we are back to intentions? I know being a good person is about intentions. I know it is about doing what is right. It took some time, but I finally get all of that. The problem is… I've always thought I was right in what I was doing. I never set out to be the bad guy. Even when I joined the Death Eaters, I thought I was doing the right thing. At first, at least. Had a time-turner fallen into my hands back then, or had I somehow gotten a hold of information from the future, I would have used it against you and Harry, and I would not have felt like a bad person for doing it. How do I know that what I am doing is right if I have been so fundamentally wrong before?"

Dumbledore's gaze had lost some of its focus during Draco's speech. This was part of why he was scared of hurting Astoria and of making things worse. His confidence in his own judgement had been severely shaken after the war. But he had had Astoria to guide him. His trust in her good heart had been absolute. When she had died he had often felt paralyzed when he had to make decisions, and he had constantly worried that he was not a good father to Scorpius.

"I assume," Dumbledore said, his gaze returning to Draco, "that you know about my youth?"

The change of topic was so abrupt, it took Draco a few seconds to get what he meant. "You and Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Draco smiled weakly. "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter, published only a month after your death."

"Catchy title," he replied. "I am certain she had only nice things to say about me."

"Doesn't she always?" replied Draco dryly. "Although I'm sure she exaggerated much of it."

Dumbledore drew a deep breath. It seemed that he had to force himself to meet Draco's eyes. "What I have done was despicable enough, I doubt she had to invent much. You know what happened. You know. I have long wondered if you did, but never dared ask. I have wondered how someone can know and yet seek my help and put their trust in me. You cannot despise me more than I despise myself."

"But I don't despise you-"

"But you should," said Dumbledore. He drew another deep breath. "You know the secret of my sister's ill health, what those Muggles did, what she became. You know how my poor father sought revenge, and paid the price, died in Azkaban. You know how my mother gave up her own life to care for Ariana. I resented it." Dumbledore stated it baldly, coldly. He was looking out of the window again.

"I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory. Do not misunderstand me," he said, and pain crossed the face so that he looked ancient. "I loved them. I loved my parents, I loved my brother and my sister, but I was selfish. You have called yourself selfish, buy most of what you have done, you have done out of love for your family, even when you were working for Voldemort. Even when you were trying to kill me, you did it to protect those you loved. What I did, I did for glory. Out of arrogance.

"When my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted, I thought! And then, of course, he came… Grindelwald. I am sure that you, more than anyone else, can understand how his ideas caught me, inflamed me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.

"Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.

Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me. And then... you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me.

"The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I had pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana... after all my mother's care and caution... lay dead upon the floor."

Dumbledore gave a little gasp and began to cry in earnest.

Draco could barely breathe. He still clutched his cup of tea, but the warmth did little against the cold shower that washed over him. His own shame and guilt which had felt so overwhelming just a few moments ago suddenly seemed far lesser.

Dumbledore gradually regained control. "Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, schemes in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister, and learn to live with my guilt and my terrible grief, the price of my shame."

Dumbledore's eyes fixed Draco's. "How do I know that what I am doing is right if I have been so fundamentally wrong before?" he repeated Draco's words from just a few minutes ago. "This is a question I have asked myself every day since my sister died. I have been offered the post of Minister of Magic, but this exact question is why I have refused, several times."

Draco gulped. "But you aren't like that, not anymore."

"Am I not?" Dumbledore mused. "I make decisions that influence who lives and who dies. I make those in the name of what I believe to be the greater good. But the truth is, I make mistakes just like any other man. And I have been fundamentally wrong before."

Draco shook his head. "But we need people like you. Every war needs people making the hard decisions. And you are good at it. Harry wouldn't have won without you."

Dumbledore smiled. "Since I have met you, I at least know that not all of my decisions could have been wrong. But I am certain that I died in your timeline not knowing whether my decisions would pay off or if I had doomed us all. And even in this one, I will never know if I couldn't have done more."

Draco thought he had never understood Dumbledore as well as he did in this moment. They were so different, yet they had more in common that Draco could have ever guessed. "You care, though," he finally replied, knowing full well that they had come full circle and were back to discussing intentions and choices.

"So do you," replied Dumbledore and a bit of his usual twinkle had returned to his eyes. "In the end, if we don't want to be paralyzed by our fear of making mistakes, all we can do is try our best. And hope that the people around us tell us when we don't."

"I guess," replied Draco, thinking about all the people he now had in his life. They were good people, and they weren't afraid of speaking their minds. Perhaps he could learn to be confident in his choices, knowing that there would always be someone to tell him he was acting like an idiot when he did.

He wondered if Dumbledore had people who told him when he was making a mistake. His brother seemed to be such a person. And he knew Snape often fought with Dumbledore, although he never had the impression that Dumbledore took his godfather's concerns seriously. Beyond that Draco couldn't think of any people who were close to the headmaster and even calling his brother and Snape close was a bit of a stretch. And even those of the Order, if they were willing to criticize anything their leader said, not informed enough to do so. How could they reasonably criticize him if they did not know everything. No one knew about the Horcruxes, Draco's time traveling or the reason why Snape was to be trusted as a spy. Without that information, without knowing the full picture, they would never be able to properly judge his actions.

But then, Draco thought, it was not true that no one knew about the Horcruxes or Dumbledore's plans. He did. He now knew perhaps more about Albus Dumbledore and his plans than anyone else in the Order. And he had told Dumbledore when he thought he was making a mistake before. Several times, even. He had criticized his secrecy, his choice of DADA professor, and what Draco had perceived as a lack of care for Harry's life. Every time, Dumbledore had listened to his objections and rationally discussed them with him. Perhaps that meant that he wanted Draco to question him.

"I'll tell you when I think you're about to make a mistake," Draco said. He felt better now, thinking that Dumbledore might value him for more than just his knowledge of the future.

"Thank you," replied Dumbledore, "I appreciate it."

"They say he showed remorse in later years," Draco suddenly remembered and didn't know if Dumbledore knew. "Grindelwald, I mean. He died defying the Dark Lord in my timeline."

Dumbledore inhaled sharply. "He was looking for my wand?"

Draco shrugged. He had never thought about it, but in retrospect that made sense.

"I hope that it is true," Dumbledore said. "I would like to think he feels the horror and shame of what he has done."

Draco took a few sips of his tea, which by now was lukewarm. He had calmed down significantly. "Perhaps we should call Harry back in."

Dumbledore looked at Draco for a few long seconds before he nodded his head.

"I think you should tell him," Draco said before Dumbledore had reached the door. The old man turned around to look at Draco with a raised eyebrow. "About Grindelwald. He will not hate you for it. He knew what you've done in my timeline and still named one of his children Albus."

Dumbledore did not reply, but Draco could clearly see him smile.

As soon as Dumbledore had opened the door to his office, Harry stormed in, and headed straight for the portraits.

"Phineas!" he yelled at the sleeping men and women in their frames. "Phineas Nigellus Black!" Harry was making quite the ruckus, but none of the people in their portraits stirred.

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore, but Harry did not stop walking until he stood in front of the portraits.

"While I've been waiting out there, for hours," Harry started, and Draco thought he was exaggerating. His tea was by no means hot any longer, but it was not cold either. "I was thinking that these portraits are all of old headmasters."

"That would be correct," replied Dumbledore, eyeing Harry curiously.

"Well," Harry said, looking at Draco, "wasn't one of Elladora's siblings a headmaster of Hogwarts?"

Draco jumped out of his chair, spilling half of his tea in the process, and headed towards Harry. "Yes. Phineas Nigellus Black. I read his pretentious memoirs just a few hours ago."

"Pretentious?" grumbled a reedy voice from out of a portrait.

It was a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colors of green and silver and had apparently only pretended to be asleep. Draco now recognized him. He had seen him a few times before and was certain that Phineas Nigellus Black had also had a portrait hanging at Grimmauld Place.

"How dare you call my life's work pretentious? What I have written is nothing but the pure, unadulterated truth," growled the wizard, glowering at Draco.

"Sorry," Draco smiled sheepishly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"This is precisely why I loathed being a teacher. Young people are so arrogant-"

"Phineas," warned Dumbledore, and to Draco's immense surprise Phineas really shut up. "I believe these two young men would like to ask you a few questions, and I am sure you'll do everything you can to help them."

Phineas glowered at Dumbledore. "Of course," he bit out. "How can I help you, my poor puffed-up popinjays?"

Draco rolled his eyes, wondering if his younger self had been this conceited as well. "Did you know someone named Valerian Greengrass?"

"Valerian Greengrass," Phineas repeated, stroking his pointed beard, "ah yes, I think I do. Poor fella."

"Poor fella?" asked Harry.

Phineas grinned, clearly enjoying the attention. "He was a handsome young man. My sister had her eyes set on him but fortunately he did not reciprocate her feeling."

"He was a philanderer?" Draco guessed.

"One of the worst kind," replied Phineas. "He had an affair with a mudbl- ah yes, muggle born," corrected Phineas, his hands held high, when Dumbledore had started to speak over him.

"And they had a baby?" asked Harry.

"Two, actually. Twins."

"Was one of them named Alder?" asked Draco, excitement rising. From the five children the directory ascribed to Hawthorne and Rebecca Greengrass, only Alder was a direct ancestor of Astoria.

Phineas nodded. "Alder and Calantha. I'm sure Valerian regretted it dearly. His parents disowned him, and I never saw him again."

"But the family kept the children?" asked Harry.

"Yes. Hawthorne and Rebecca, good souls they were. Raised them and poor Azalea, who was the child of Valerian and his wife, as if they had been their own, even though they knew of their poor blood. Poor health, those two."

"Alder and Calantha?" asked Draco.

Phineas nodded.

"How do you know all of this?" Draco asked. "The directory doesn't mention Valerian and I am sure the family would try to keep this quiet."

"Oh, that they did," Phineas said. "But my mother was having dinner with the Greengrass family, when Estelle, that was the m-muggleborn's name, made an appearance with the two babes in her arm. Melinda was rather vicious, mother said. Mother even claimed that Melinda cursed Valerian and his concubine but I am certain she was exaggerating."

Draco's world stood still for a moment. Could it really be? Had he really just managed to find the source of the blood malediction?

"Do you know anymore about this curse?" asked Dumbledore.

"I am afraid this is all I know of the matter. If you want to know more, you should ask my mother's portrait or one of a Greengrass family member who was present that night. Now, is that all?"

"I think this is all," replied Dumbledore, "thank you."

The man nodded and trudged out of his portrait, leaving Draco behind with his thoughts and feelings in disarray, but a hope in his heart that outshone everything else.

TBC

AN: This turned out a lot longer than expected. Also a lot more depressing and dialogue heavy than expected, which I guess reflects my mood of the last weeks. Hope you still enjoyed it. Let me know in a review :)