Year 7-30: Absolution

There was nothing in the news the following morning about the break-in at Azkaban or Draco Malfoy's disappearance. Instead, the front headline of the Prophet announced the impending execution of Severus Snape, with members of the public invited to witness the event that evening. Harry figured the Ministry couldn't afford the negative press of a security breach right now, and would seek to sweep the incident under the rug. Which was perfectly fine by him.

Fleur did not question Harry's decision to spare Draco when he told her what had transpired. She merely kissed him and hugged him tight, which he took as tacit approval of his actions. He hoped he had made the right decision, though he probably would not know for sure for many years.

"Papa wrote back to me last night," Fleur remarked over breakfast. "He is eager to 'ave us come visit. When would you like to go?"

"Any time, I suppose," said Harry. Part of him did not wish to leave, taking comfort in being at home with his family, but he also knew Fleur was eager to see her own loved ones. "Maybe next week?"

"I would like that," Fleur agreed. "Anything you would like to do before we leave?"

"Actually," said Harry, "I had a bit of a field trip in mind. Would you like to accompany me?"

"It won't be dangerous, will it?" Fleur asked worriedly.

"No more than usual," Harry winked. Fleur huffed and rolled her eyes, but joined him in the entryway after the meal and allowed him to Apparate her away.

They emerged on the quiet country lane just down the road from Raven House. Harry had not returned here since Voldemort breached the wards, but figured it would be safe to return now that he and all of his followers were dead. He and Fleur approached with caution, just in case there were any traps left behind, but the coast seemed to be clear as they walked down the lane and arrived at their destination.

As Harry feared, the wards had completely collapsed and the house had been reduced to rubble. There wasn't much left behind for Voldemort to find, so he likely destroyed the place out of spite and anger at Harry slipping through his fingertips. He and Fleur sifted through the wreckage, levitating piles of charred wood and bricks aside in search of anything that could be salvaged.

"Zis place was beginning to grow on me," Fleur lamented. "It 'ad a certain charm to it, even though it was barely habitable."

"We can model our next home after it if you'd like," Harry quipped.

"Absolutely not," Fleur sniffed haughtily. "We will be living somewhere much more cheerful and sunny, thank you very much."

Harry chuckled as he reached down to pick up a cracked vial that appeared to come from his old potions lab. He knew Dahlia would be the most upset at losing that place, even though it mostly held sentimental value rather than financial. Most of their brewed potions and ingredients were ruined and scattered about the place...it was fortunate that they'd already used up all their Lethifold remains, which would have rendered the place a toxic hazard.

A bit of fabric caught his eye, and he levitated rubble out of the way to unearth the Sorting Hat, still lying where Dahlia had discarded it. He gingerly picked it up and shook off the soot; it looked more weathered and beaten than ever before, but still intact. Thankfully, Voldemort had either not recognized it or realized its significance for obtaining the Sword horcrux. After all, how could he, when he'd never been a Gryffindor himself?

Harry carefully folded the Hat and tucked it into his robes pocket. He would return it to Hogwarts in the coming days, so that it could be used to Sort the next year of incoming students and beyond. Hopefully he would also have the chance to explain himself to his former professors, particularly Flitwick and McGonagall...he hated to think that they might still view him as a monster.

Suddenly, Fleur gasped as she unearthed something in what used to be the kitchen. "'Arry, look!" she exclaimed as she dusted off a small, round object that was buried amidst the rubble. Harry came over to examine it, surprised to see that it was the Pensieve he'd purchased from the Watson family in Diagon Alley. It had somehow survived the destruction, save for a small hairline crack along its underside that looked repairable.

"How about that?" Harry whistled. "Those are quite expensive, you know. I'm surprised Voldemort didn't take it for himself."

"I am sure 'e could just borrow one from his followers if he 'ad need for one," Fleur reasoned. "Besides, 'e did not strike me as ze kind of man to put much stock in memories."

"True enough," Harry chuckled. Voldemort had taken great pains to erase his own past...why would he waste time returning to it?

Harry and Fleur didn't find much else of use in the wreckage, so they returned to Grimmauld soon after. They passed James on the stairwell heading back to their room, who spotted the object tucked in Fleur's arm.

"Is that a Pensieve?" he asked, reaching out to gently examine the object.

"Yeah, it's mine," said Harry.

"I haven't seen one of these since I was a child!" James smiled, looking nostalgic. "My grandfather used to have an old one, but it broke before my father could inherit it. How did you get it?"

"Bought it last year," Harry shrugged. "I thought it would help me fight Voldemort better, if I could analyze my past battles with him."

"A fair investment, I would say," James remarked. "Where did you get the money for it? Actually, on second thought, I probably wouldn't like the answer to that question…"

"Ooh, you found the Pensieve!" exclaimed Dahlia, who had appeared at the top of the stairwell. "I'm glad it survived...I'll never forget when Harry showed me his childhood memories with it last year."

"What memories?" James frowned, looking from Dahlia to Harry. "You two had the same childhood, didn't you?"

Oops. Dahlia knew she'd slipped up, clapping a hand to her mouth. Harry felt a knot forming in his stomach again, as he remembered that he still had not shared his ultimate secret with his family.

"I think what she meant to say," said Fleur quickly, trying to rectify the situation, "is that 'Arry showed me his childhood memories, and Dahlia just 'appened to be there with us—"

"It's okay, Fleur," Harry sighed. "I think it's time."

"Time?" James repeated. "Time for what?"

"Let's sit down today and have a talk," said Harry. "There's something I need to tell you. All of you."

"Er...alright," said James, looking perplexed by the sudden dark turn in the conversation. "Shall I fix up a big lunch for everyone?"

"Sure," said Harry. That cast a pall over the rest of the morning, as his anxiety was suddenly ratcheted up to levels he hadn't felt since the war was still on. He hid away in his room for hours, mind racing at the implications of what he was about to do.

"You are certain you want to do this today?" asked Fleur.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "No point in putting it off any longer. They deserve to know the truth, before we all go our separate ways again."

"You 'ave nothing to worry about, you know," said Fleur gently. "They will still accept you."

"You're probably right," Harry sighed. "I've just been dreading this conversation for seven years. I've played through it in my head hundreds of times, and I always envision the bad outcome, the one where they want nothing to do with me anymore."

"Well, that outcome will not come to pass," Fleur said firmly. "And I will be with you through it no matter what." Harry nodded, grateful for her support.

An hour later, the entire Potter clan had gathered in the kitchen, laughing and conversing over soup and sandwiches. Harry could not bring himself to join in the fun, could barely even eat due to the turmoil in his mind. James and Lily alone seemed to sense their son's distress, watching him worriedly but not commenting until the conclusion of the meal.

"Well, that hit the spot," Sirius announced with a hearty belch that made Amelia roll her eyes. "What's the special occasion, Prongs?"

"Actually, Harry had something he wanted to tell us," said James, looking to his son. "Want to do it here?"

"Let us find somewhere more comfortable," Fleur suggested. The others were amenable to this plan, standing from the table as Harry tried his hardest not to vomit.

The group migrated to the sitting room next door. Fleur guided Harry to the couch, where he was flanked on either side by her and Dahlia, who also took his hand for support. The others filed in behind them: James, Lily, Damian, Remus, Alessia, Sirius, and Amelia, the latter clutching a fussy Cassie to her chest. They all looked to him curiously, as Harry struggled to fight through the knot in his stomach.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you all for years now," he finally said. "Fleur already knows, and I told Dahlia last year."

"It's alright if you fancy blokes, Harry," Sirius quipped. "We won't give you too hard of a time – just a bit of light teasing is all."

"No, it's not that," Harry muttered. Sirius seemed to realize this wasn't the time for jokes and fell respectfully silent. "I've been lying to you all from the beginning. I'm not a Seer."

The room processed this fact in silence. "Well...that's not terribly surprising," said James slowly. "I searched our family records for weeks and found no evidence of other Seers in our heritage."

"But that doesn't make sense," Lily frowned. "How did you know so much of what was going to happen? Weren't you experiencing visions of the future?"

"No, I wasn't," said Harry. "They weren't visions of the future at all...they were memories of the past. My past."

"I don't follow, Harry," said Remus, looking troubled. "How could the past tell you what would happen in the future?"

Harry swallowed hard. He felt both Fleur and Dahlia squeeze his hands for reassurance, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I'm not from this world," he admitted. "I grew up in an alternate timeline, one identical to this one, except I was the Boy Who Lived, not Neville. I grew up an orphan with no parents and no sister. Then when I was fifteen, I was lured into a trap by Voldemort and killed. But rather than moving on, I was sent here, to this universe."

"Hang on…" James said, trying to wrap his head around this information. "Are you sure this wasn't a bad dream you had? You think you came from a different planet?"

"A parallel timeline," Harry corrected. "I'm a time-traveler, Dad. I woke up in this body on my eleventh birthday, with no memory of this place, only those of my previous life. And none of you realized it. I'm not the same boy you raised for the first eleven years of his life. I replaced that boy and took over his body and mind. And I've felt guilty about it ever since."

Harry fell silent as he watched his family's reaction to this news. James' face slowly morphed into one of bewilderment as the reality dawned upon him. Lily's green eyes went wide as she regarded her son in this new light for the first time.

"Well, that explains a lot," Sirius muttered. "I've been trying to get Harry to do our secret handshake for years, and he ignored the signal every time. Guess he never learned how to do it in the first place."

"It does make perfect sense," James frowned, deep in thought. "I took Harry to the Quidditch museum in Leeds for his tenth birthday, and he wouldn't shut up about wanting to go back. Then one day he just stopped talking about it out of the blue and never brought it up again."

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier, Harry?" asked Lily.

"I thought you would hate me," Harry admitted, feeling ashamed. "I thought you would view me as a stranger who entered your lives against your will. I'm not the same boy you raised for the first eleven years. I'm...I'm an impostor."

"No, you're not," Dahlia insisted, squeezing Harry's hand for support. "You are as much a part of this family as anyone else. You've done more to keep us safe over the past seven years than any 'impostor' would ever dare."

"Hear, hear," said Remus. "He should be proud of all he's done."

"Yeah, you're way better than the tosser of a cousin I grew up knowing as a kid," Damian chuckled. "Every time you came over to Privet Drive for dinner, you wouldn't shut up about how much cooler the magical world is than the Muggle one. It made no sense why you were suddenly so nice to me when I entered Hogwarts...now, I guess it does."

"I always told Sirius I thought you were wise beyond your years," said Amelia thoughtfully. "What you accomplished during the war would break most grown adults. I for one will forever be grateful, no matter where you came from."

Sirius, Remus and Alessia hummed in agreement, smiling kindly at Harry. But he had eyes only for his parents. They still seemed to be processing the information, brows furrowed in thought. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, wondering if his worst nightmares might indeed come to pass, if they might reject him for supplanting their 'true' son.

"I'm hurt, Harry," Lily said softly. "Hurt that you would ever think we'd turn our backs on you. You may not be the same son we raised, but you are our son, no matter what. And I would never love you less for choosing the family you were denied the first time."

"Agreed," said James. "I've spent the past few years wondering how I ever managed to raise such a wonderful young man. I couldn't be prouder of who you've turned out to be, and it doesn't matter to me where you came from. You are my son, and I love you no matter what."

Harry felt like a great weight had been lifted, like a knot had been untangled after seven years of tension. He stood and embraced his parents tightly, all crying softly in each other's arms. Finally, he could let go of all the worry and anguish over his past. He was accepted. He was loved. And this time, it was not built on a lie – his parents saw him for who he really was, and they still saw him as theirs. It was all he'd ever wanted and more.

Harry heard a soft babbling sound coming from behind him. He turned; little Cassie was squirming in her mother's arms, reaching out towards him. Harry reached out and took her from Amelia; Cassie immediately giggled and nestled into the crook of his arm, looking up at him with adoration. The entire family smiled at the endearing sight.

"Well, that settles it," Amelia said matter-of-factly. "Cassie loves you, and the rest of us do too." The whole family nodded in agreement, and Harry felt like his heart might burst with joy.

"So this must be what Dahlia was talking about earlier, with the Pensieve," said James thoughtfully. "You showed her memories from your previous childhood, not this one."

"That's right," Harry nodded. "The one where I never knew you guys, and Dahlia was never even born."

"That must have been so hard for you," Lily sympathized. "Who raised you? What happened in your last life?"

"It's...a long story," Harry chuckled nervously.

"Well, we have time," Remus remarked. "I for one am curious to hear what our alternate selves were like."

"Yeah, was I as awesome in your universe as I am in this one?" Sirius asked. "Did I manage to ensnare Lia in that timeline too?" Amelia slapped him good-naturedly on the arm for this comment.

Harry sighed as he saw all the eager eyes upon him, wanting to hear his story. It was not a pleasant tale, but he figured he owed them an explanation. So he returned to his seat and launched into the tale of his first timeline, starting from the beginning.

Lily was appalled when he described his treatment at the hand of the Dursleys. "I'll kill Petunia the next time I see her!" she seethed. "Locking you in a closet? How could she?!"

"It wasn't her, Mum," said Harry quickly. "That version of her doesn't exist here, and she didn't have Damian to soften her heart towards magic. Besides, it was Vernon that caused most of my problems."

"Thank Merlin she left that sorry excuse for a husband," Lily grumbled irritably. "Er...sorry, Damian dear."

"No arguments here," Damian chuckled darkly. "That bastard won't be seeing heaven."

"But I don't understand something," James frowned. "Why didn't Sirius raise you after we died? He's your godfather, and our will would have clearly passed guardianship onto him."

"Er...he kinda got arrested after your death," Harry admitted. "He was framed for selling you out to Voldemort, even though it was really Pettigrew. He spent twelve years in Azkaban without a trial while Peter went into hiding."

"That sonuvabitch," Sirius growled angrily. "I should have known that little rat would stab us in the back all along. I just wish I'd been the one to find him on that battlefield last month."

"Don't worry, he got what was coming to him," Harry said grimly. He looked to Dahlia, who merely shrugged...she took no pleasure in taking the man's life, but she clearly suffered no guilt over it, either.

Harry continued with his story, moving on to his Hogwarts days. He described meeting Ron and Hermione on the train and getting sorted into Gryffindor (James did a subtle fist-pump at this news). He gave an abridged version of the events of each year – Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone; the diary and Chamber of Secrets; Sirius' break-out and Pettigrew's escape; the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's resurrection; Umbridge's reign of terror. He concluded with the excursion to the Department of Mysteries, and following Sirius through the Veil of Death.

"And that's the first time I met Death," Harry sighed. "I was given the choice to move on, or to return to my younger body in an alternate life. One where my family was alive, and I was not the Boy Who Lived. I wanted to meet you properly, so I chose the latter. Next thing I knew, I woke up here, on my eleventh birthday."

"The 'first time' you met Death?" Remus repeated. "So you met him again?"

"Yes, during the battle," Harry nodded. "Neville was there too. I convinced Death to send us both back to life."

"How did you manage that?" asked Amelia. The others also looked eager to learn the answer.

"Er…" said Harry hesitantly. He still did not want to talk about the deal he'd struck with Death, and decided to continue with his white lie. "Because I am the Master of Death. The Hallows let me return, and bring Neville with me."

"Could you bring others back?" asked Sirius hopefully. "Like Andromeda?"

Harry saw the pain in his godfather's expression at losing his cousin, and felt a pang of guilt. "No, it doesn't work like that," he muttered. "Neville was a special case because he was a horcrux. I wish I could revive everyone who died in the fight, but I can't."

A somber silence followed. The losses from the war were staggering, and Harry knew there would be a long grieving period ahead. The reveal about his past did not change that fact, and he knew that now the future was all that mattered.

"Well, I would be interested to see memories from your past life sometime," said James. "If you're open to sharing them, of course."

"Same here," Sirius agreed. "I won't believe that basilisk story until I see it with my own two eyes."

"I'd rather not relive most of those memories, to be honest," Harry sighed. "But I can leave some for you all to view in the Pensieve if you want."

"I thought it would be fun to show Harry some of the happy memories from this life," Dahlia piped up. "When we were kids. We had so many good times that you don't even remember!"

"I'd like that," Harry agreed. James and Lily also smiled at the thought.

"Let's do something fun tonight," James said, clapping his hands together. "This should be a cheerful occasion, not a somber one! How about a proper dinner feast?"

"Not tonight," said Lily. "I have to be at the Ministry for Severus' execution."

"You can't be serious," said James, looking appalled. "After everything, you're still supporting that bastard?"

"My children and I would not be alive if not for him," said Lily firmly. "He is not a perfect man, but we owe him that much. The least I can do is be there for his final moments."

James clearly could not argue with that logic, but he still looked uneasy with the prospect. "I don't know if you should be in public by yourself," he muttered. "Diggory is unpredictable right now, and that's not to mention any other members of the public who might hold a grudge."

"I'll go with her for protection," Harry offered. He too felt that he owed Snape somewhat and ought to be present as well.

"You might be in even more danger," James said nervously. "There's still a lot of anger over what happened with Dumbledore last year."

"I'm tired of hiding from my past," Harry said firmly. "It's like you said: the Potters should not run from our problems. Besides, who would dare stir up trouble after seeing what I'm capable of against Voldemort?"

James shook his head in amazement, but Harry could tell the argument had swayed him. "Very well," he sighed. "Just be careful, and come straight home afterward."

So a few hours later, Harry and Lily Apparated to the Ministry to attend the execution. The place was crowded with members of the public, all of whom sought closure after the psychological torment of life under Voldemort's thumb. The atmosphere was charged, and Harry pressed forward with his mother, hoping to avoid notice.

They drew several questioning looks as they pushed forward towards the courtrooms. Harry could see looks of anger and resentment being thrown his way, but he paid them no mind, keeping his head held high and continuing on. Part of him wondered if they should have used glamours to maintain anonymity, but he also stood by what he'd said to his father. He would not hide away from the world, would not act ashamed when he knew he did not deserve scorn. He would demand respect for what he'd done to save Britain.

There was a bottleneck as the crowd funneled down the stairs towards the courtroom where the execution was due to take place. Harry and Lily joined the queue, shuffling forward through the crowd. But suddenly a great number of people moved out of the way, whispering frantically to one another. Harry wondered what the commotion was about, until he turned towards the source and understood.

Neville had spotted them and was approaching. He was dressed in sharp robes of blue, and surrounded by throngs of admirers. Harry saw the looks of reverence and awe in the gathered crowd as they cleared a path for him. They watched on curiously as he approached Harry, pausing in front of him uncertainly. The hero of the war, the shining beacon of the Light, and the disgraced follower of the Dark...the crowd hushed, wondering what they would say to one another.

"Hey, Harry," Neville said awkwardly. "Doing alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "You?"

"I'm alright," Neville shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, and Harry could tell it was because of the many eyes watching them. They had yet to get together and discuss what had happened in purgatory after their deaths, and neither wanted to do so with so many eavesdroppers listening in.

"We should talk," Neville offered. "After this is over."

"Agreed," said Harry. "Meet me in the Atrium afterwards?"

"Sure," Neville nodded. And he turned to leave, followed by scores of admirers, all gossiping curiously at the cryptic exchange. Harry watched him go, still feeling a twinge of annoyance at how differently the public regarded him compared to Neville.

Longbottom thinks he's too good for you now, the Elder Wand whispered mutinously in Harry's ear. Soaking up all the praise while leaving you to take all the scorn.

That's not his fault, though, Harry thought. He can't control how the public behaves.

He could if he wanted to.

That malignant thought lingered in Harry's mind as he made his way down to the courtrooms. He didn't want to be resentful of Neville, but it was hard not to be, given the disparate treatment the two boys were receiving in the wake of the war. The Elder Wand was not entirely wrong – Harry did have sore feelings on the matter that he could not ignore. The Hallows were simply voicing thoughts and feelings that already existed within him, buried deep down.

Harry was distracted as he entered Courtroom Ten, which was already crammed with people. He slipped through the crowd with Lily in search of a free seat, when a sarcastic voice heckled him from the back of the room:

"Come to support your old Death Eater pal, have you, Potter?"

Harry turned towards the voice. Bill Weasley was leaning against the far wall, eyeing him suspiciously. Other members of his family were also present on the fringes, looking between the two men nervously.

"Evening, Bill," Harry greeted him. "Just here as a neutral member of the public, like yourself."

"Save it," Bill scoffed. "Everyone knows how chummy you were with You-Know-Who's lot during the war. Bet you're worried that you'll be the next to face the axe, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Harry said simply. "My allegiances are and always have been to the side of the Light. Now excuse me." And he guided Lily forward, away from the Weasleys.

"Where's the Veela, anyway?" Bill called out. "Did she finally realize you're a snake? Or did she move on to some other smooth talker and hang you out to dry?"

"Harry, don't indulge him," Lily warned, grabbing her son's arm as Harry wheeled around angrily at Bill's remark. The taunts really got under Harry's skin, and a part of him wanted to hex the man for his insolence. The Elder Wand certainly encouraged it, whispering sweet violence in his ear.

But he also knew that this situation was partially his fault. Bill would not be this antagonistic if Harry had not wiped the man's memories wholesale like he had. And he realized now that such a measure was no longer necessary. The knowledge of the horcrux hunt was no longer mission-critical, and he could unburden the man of the resentment he felt towards Harry and Fleur.

Harry drew his wand, immediately causing alarm among the bystanders. The other Weasleys drew their own, stepping in front of Bill and raising their weapons at Harry.

"Bill, please," said Harry placatingly, raising a hand for peace. "Let me show you."

The other Weasleys did not budge, glaring suspiciously at Harry. But Bill seemed to sense the sincerity in Harry's tone, looking curious for the first time. He eventually nodded and signaled for his family to lower their wands. Harry pointed his wand between Bill's eyes and muttered, "Erudiare."

Bill gasped as a flood of memories returned to him in a tidal wave. Years' worth of experiences were restored in his mind as Harry undid the block on his mind and returned that which he had stolen from the man the year before. Bill stumbled and nearly fell to his knees from the overwhelming sensation, as his family caught him to hold him upright. When Harry was done, Bill was quivering and clutching his head, panting heavily.

"Bill, are you okay?" Molly Weasley fretted, before rounding on Harry. "What did you do to him?!"

"Put things back the way they ought to be," Harry shrugged. "And released him from his Vow." And he turned to leave, guiding Lily through the crowd and towards the stage.

"You did the right thing, dear," Lily appraised him. "The Weasleys are good people – they're just scared and confused right now."

"They deserve the truth," Harry shrugged. That seemed to be the theme of the day, after telling his own family about his true past. Hopefully more and more people would come to realize the Potters were not the enemy, even if it took longer to explain than he wanted.

There was no open seating left for the event, so Harry and Lily pushed forward to the standing-only area nearest the stage. A few people noticed Harry approaching and scattered nervously, granting them a clear path to the front. Soon they found themselves right at the base of the stage, only ten feet or so from the block where the deed would be done.

"Are you sure you want to be this close?" Harry asked his mother.

Lily didn't look certain herself, but she held firm. "I'm here to support Severus," she said resolutely. "I owe it to him to be here."

Harry wasn't sure if he agreed. The man had tried to tear her family apart to get to her, even if some good deeds had been done along the way to facilitate that goal. He never claimed to understand his mother's complex relationship with Snape, or why she continued to show him such grace. Maybe she partially blamed herself for how his life had turned out, for not setting firmer boundaries earlier in life. Maybe she was here to mourn the person Snape used to be, rather than the person he had become. In any case, it was her business and hers alone.

As they waited for the proceedings to begin, Harry glanced to his left, sensing a familiar presence. Minerva McGonagall was present, standing by herself a few rows back from the stage. Harry wondered if she had come to pay her respects to her former colleague, or was merely here for public appearances, to signal that Hogwarts would continue on despite the terrible war.

"Professor?" he called out, making her way towards her. McGonagall saw him coming and flinched slightly in fear. Harry felt a pang of regret at the rift that had formed between them over the past year.

"Mr. Potter," she greeted him stiffly. "Do you need something?"

"I wanted to return this," said Harry. He reached into his robes pocket and procured the Sorting Hat, which he handed to McGonagall. She accepted it carefully, eyes widening at the sight of it.

"I noticed this was missing months ago, but Severus was not forthcoming in telling me why," she muttered. "Why were you in possession of it?"

"I borrowed it," Harry said simply. All around him, he could hear the crowd quieting as the event began, and knew he wouldn't have time to explain here. "I just wanted to make sure it got back to the school, so it can help the next generation of students like it helped me. I'd love to sit down and explain myself in the next few days, if you're open to it."

McGonagall regarded Harry curiously at this request. He could not tell if she believed or trusted him, or if she even wanted to. She gave a small jerk of the head in agreement, which Harry took as a good sign.

"I'll owl you tomorrow," he promised, as he made his way back to his mother.

The room fell to a hush as a pair of Aurors marched on stage, holding Snape by either arm. Or rather, one held his right arm while the other guided his arm-less left side forward. The man did not resist or protest, merely shuffling ahead, gaze cast down to the floor in resignation.

A Ministry official took the stage as Snape was thrust forward to face the crowd. "Severus Snape," the man read from a scroll of parchment, "you have been charged with a litany of crimes, including domestic terrorism, association with the Dark Lord known as Voldemort, conspiracy against magical Britain, facilitating known child predators within Hogwarts School, and several counts of murder. How do you plead?"

"Guilty," Snape said softly, still gazing forlornly at the ground. Many in the crowd muttered in surprise, though such whispers were drowned out by jeers and overeager calls for violence. The atmosphere was charged and aggressive, and Harry suddenly felt nervous being in the midst of such bloodlust.

"For these crimes and many others, you have been given the maximum punishment permissible by law," said the official. "By the decree of Minister of Magic Amos Diggory, you have been sentenced to death."

The crowd roared with delight as an executioner sauntered on stage, a long, sharp axe in his hand. Harry was eerily reminded of Buckbeak's near-execution in his original third year and the injustice therein...while Snape was by no means an innocent man, it still felt similarly unfair.

The two Aurors roughly forced Snape to his knees, his head pushed forward onto the chopping block. Still the man did not resist, did not try to fight his fate, merely accepting his end with quiet dignity. Harry might have been impressed if he did not know the true reason for Snape's stoicism: he no longer cared about living. He had given up long before the sentence was passed down.

The gathered crowd buzzed with anticipation as the executioner took his place beside Snape on the stage. He made a great show of sharpening the blade on the whetstone, playing up the moment of suspense to the crowd. Harry was sickened by the display – this wasn't about justice, or even punishment. It was entertainment, designed to satisfy the masses who were baying for blood after a year of persecution. It only reaffirmed his decision to spare Draco such a ghoulish fate.

Soon, the moment came. The executioner lined up his blade with Snape's neck, and a hush fell over the crowd in anticipation. The hooded man raised his arms, the axe hovering menacingly overhead as he prepared to cast the felling blow.

And finally, Snape looked up. It was as if he was drawn telepathically to the one person he wanted to see, locking eyes with Lily at the base of the stage. A look of amazement crossed the man's normally-stoic features, as Harry felt his mother stiffen beside him. Snape smiled softly as he closed his eyes, a single tear running down his long hooked nose.

There was a gentle whoosh of air, a thud of metal on wood as the axe swung home, and Severus Snape was no more.

The crowd roared with delight as the Aurors rushed forward to secure the body. Harry felt Lily trembling beside him, and wrapped his arm protectively around her; she buried her face in his shoulder, weeping quietly. Harry would not mourn Snape after what he had done to his father, but he did say a quiet word of thanks to the man for keeping the rest of his family safe through the war.

After a few minutes, the room began to empty as the crowd dispersed to return home, the spectacle over. Harry was grateful that nobody paid them much mind; aside from a few dirty looks, nobody approached him or Lily, instead filing out calmly around them.

"You alright, Mum?" Harry asked softly.

"Yes...or, I will be," Lily sniffed, slowly pulling herself together. "Thank you for coming with me, dear."

They turned for the exit, filing out behind the rest of the rabble. But once again, Harry was unable to slip out unnoticed, as someone called out to him before they reached the exit:

"Hey, Harry! Got a minute?"

Harry turned. Cedric was approaching, dressed in his official Auror robes, flanked by Tonks and several other Aurors. He struck an impressive figure, as people parted the way for him in reverence. He was nearly as respected in Britain now as Neville was.

"Hey, Ced," Harry greeted him. "What's up?"

"My father would like a word in his office," said Cedric. "Will you come with us?"

"We really must be getting home," Lily said uneasily. "Harry is still recovering from his battle wounds—"

"It's alright, Mum," said Harry. "Of course I can make time for the Minister. I'll meet you back at home...can you find Neville and tell him I'll meet him another day?"

Lily looked nervous, eyeing the Aurors with suspicion. "Very well," she muttered. And she reluctantly headed for the Atrium as Harry followed Cedric and the other Aurors towards the lifts. He did not know what this was about, but like his father, he refused to show fear when he had every right to remain in Britain as anybody else.

As they boarded the lift, Harry noticed the gleaming silver badge pinned to Cedric's breast. "Head Auror?" Harry whistled. "Congratulations. That's quite the promotion."

"Thanks," Cedric said with a small grimace. "My dad appointed me yesterday. Though to be honest, I recommended Dora for the job, since she has more seniority in the department and deserved it more."

"Nonsense, dear," said Tonks from behind him. "You and I spent the same amount of time in the job after my accident. And we wouldn't have won the final battle without your leadership."

"Agreed," said Harry. "Don't doubt yourself, mate...you're a worthy leader that people will look up to." The other Aurors grumbled in agreement with this, and Cedric begrudgingly nodded his gratitude.

"Tell your family thanks for coming to my mother's funeral, by the way," piped up Tonks. "We weren't expecting many people to show up – I really appreciate it."

"Of course," said Harry. "She was as vital to the war effort as anyone, and she deserves to be remembered as a hero."

Tonks smiled in thanks at these words. It was encouraging to know that Harry at least had their support in the wake of the battle. Perhaps Amos could eventually be swayed if his son and eventual daughter-in-law were advocating on the Potters' behalf.

The entourage stepped out on the administration level and strode across the floor towards the Minister's office. It was a foreboding feeling – the last time Harry had been here was during the Battle of London, as Voldemort held his family hostage. Now, workers scrambled across the floor as if such a terrible event had never happened. Harry wondered what Amos could want with him, and hoped he could broker some kind of peace agreement on behalf of all the Potters.

Immediately Harry got a bad feeling as they entered the Minister's office. Amos had reverted the floor plan to that of Minister Fudge; rather than an open arrangement with a desk surrounded by chairs for visitors, Amos sat imperiously from a high perch, looking down upon his visitors from an elevated and distant position. Harry sat calmly in one of the sparse wooden chairs against the wall as Cedric bowed to his father and turned to leave.

"Actually, stay a moment, Cedric," Amos called out to his son. "In fact, all of you can stay for this."

That can't be a good sign, Harry grimaced. The Aurors fanned out across the room, standing casually but at attention. Did Amos fear Harry? Did he want the Aurors there for protection? Or was there something more nefarious planned?

"I must ask you to surrender your wand, Harry," said Amos. "Purely for my own safety, you see."

"Very well," Harry shrugged. He withdrew the Elder Wand and handed it to Cedric standing nearby. He knew now that he did not need to possess the Wand to have it answer to him, so it mattered not who was holding it – not that he'd ever let the Minister know this. Amos visibly relaxed, leaning back in his chair and regarding Harry curiously.

"So, you survived the battle," said Amos with a heavy sigh. He sounded almost disappointed by this fact.

"I did," Harry nodded.

"Many witnesses attested to the fact that you were struck by a Killing Curse from You-Know-Who," Amos remarked. "How did you live?"

"I'd rather not get into the details, sir," said Harry. "Let's call it a well-timed illusion and leave it at that."

"Hmph," Amos snorted. "I don't suppose you heard about the incident at Azkaban last night? We had a break-out. Draco Malfoy escaped with the help of a mysterious accomplice."

"Did he, now?" said Harry, quirking an eyebrow. "You should probably up your security measures, then. The dementors never were too reliable."

"You deny involvement, then?" asked Amos directly.

"Are you officially accusing me of a crime, sir?" Harry asked. "If so, I'd prefer to have legal counsel present before we continue."

Amos clearly didn't buy it. He glared suspiciously at Harry before continuing.

"There is also the matter of your behavior during the Battle of Hogwarts," he said. "As I understand it, you were placed under the supervision of Fred and George Weasley to help defend the castle."

"You are mistaken," said Harry. "I assisted Fred and George in the castle of my own volition, but my mission lay elsewhere. My intention was always to enter the battlefield and engage Voldemort directly."

"Then you should have been at Hogsmeade, with your father's task force!" said Amos. "Where my son could keep a proper eye on you!"

"Dad, please—" Cedric groaned.

"With respect, sir, I could not do what needed to be done if I had a commanding officer," said Harry. "I was needed in multiple different places and required freedom to move fluidly between tasks. For instance, I helped guide the students into the castle—"

"Eyewitnesses told me otherwise," Amos frowned. "It was McGonagall and Flitwick who protected the students."

"I was under an Invisibility Cloak," Harry grumbled. "I also protected resistance fighters from the vampires and werewolves who were attacking them—"

"Yes, I have the report right here," said Amos, consulting a roll of parchment on his desk. "Three hundred twenty-six vampires and one hundred seventy-five werewolves were killed in the battle, most by yourself. Are you aware that both are classified as 'protected species' in Europe? Can you imagine the international outcry over the slaughter of nearly one-quarter the European population of each species?"

"They were participating in the battle, the same as anyone else!" Harry protested. "As far as I'm concerned, they gave up their legal immunity the moment they traveled to Hogwarts with the intent to feed! What kind of bullshit logic is this?"

"You also attacked a group of your fellow students!" Amos went on. "Don't deny it; we found them in the bushes unconscious, and they told us what happened when they were revived."

"They attacked me first!" said Harry. "I moved them to the bushes so they wouldn't be in the way of the fighting—"

"And don't even get me started on your actions in the year leading up to the battle," said Amos. "I know you were initiated as a Death Eater, even if you got rid of your Mark somehow. I know you aided in the brainwashing and punishment of students at Hogwarts alongside Snape and the Carrows. And lest we forget that you murdered Albus Dumbledore, which got us into this mess in the first place!"

"Sir, I will happily provide testimony and memories to explain my actions in all instances," said Harry. "Or you can ask Neville Longbottom, who will attest to the fact that my actions were justified—"

"Longbottom's opinion matters not!" Amos said hotly. "I don't know what you did to hoodwink that poor boy into defending you, but I don't care. Do not invoke his name again...Longbottom may be willing to overlook your past transgressions, but I am not."

"What are you saying, Minister?" Harry demanded.

In response, Amos snapped his fingers. Harry jumped in surprise as thick chains sprang from the floor, tethering Harry in place.

"You must be punished for what you've done, Harry," said Amos. "Britain will have justice for the murder of Dumbledore and the countless other crimes against humanity you and your father committed. Just because you jumped on the resistance bandwagon at the last possible moment does not absolve you of your sins."

"So you're going to chuck me in Azkaban?" Harry scoffed. "After rescuing you from Malfoy and winning this war for you almost single-handedly? This is absurd, Amos."

"That's Minister Diggory to you, boy!" Amos snapped. "And you'll be lucky if Azkaban is indeed your fate. You saw what became of your old friend Severus just now."

Harry could not believe what he was hearing. He turned to Cedric for help – surely he could get his father to see reason! Cedric indeed looked troubled, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Father, we've talked about this," said Cedric. "Harry was working with us for months prior to the battle. He did a lot to help the war effort that most people are unaware of. He at least deserves to stand trial and defend himself."

"Oho, there will be a trial, alright," Amos sneered. "A public trial, oh yes, where your crimes will be listed for the whole of Britain to hear. Then the Wizengamot will decide your fate, along with your father."

Harry knew that such a trial would be a kangaroo court. It would be a spectacle, one where the Potters would be dragged into the spotlight for public scorn. Even if the vote was fair – which Harry already doubted – who would dare go against public opinion and draw the nation's ire by letting Dumbledore's murderer walk free? He would be vilified, convicted, and killed...of that he had no doubt.

And he could not abide it. Harry did not come this far to submit himself to public humiliation, to die a scapegoat, reviled by everyone. He had no intentions of going to Azkaban, not now, not ever. He would rather live his life on the run than let a pathetic man like Amos Diggory lock him in a cage and dictate his fate.

This is it, then, Harry thought grimly. The moment I become a fugitive. He did not want to hurt Cedric, or Tonks, or the other Aurors, but it was looking increasingly like he had no choice. The Elder Wand hummed nearby, sensing violence, prepared to act on its master's orders. He would have to fight his way out of here...would have to find his family and get them out of Britain...would be forced to go on the run for the rest of his life…

"Harry James Potter," said Amos with an air of importance, "I hereby place you under arrest for your many crimes, including—"

It happened in the blink of an eye. The office door sprang open, and suddenly, spellfire was crackling throughout the enclosed space. The Aurors drew their wands and turned towards the assailant, but they were struck down by Stunners before they could react. Cedric, Tonks, and the others all fell to the ground, unconscious.

Amos Diggory shakily drew his own wand, but it was wrenched from his grasp, flying across the room towards the door and getting snatched from the air by the newest arrival. Amos gaped at the intruder. "Mr. Longbottom?" he gasped.

Harry turned; Neville stood in the doorway, wand drawn, a look of determination on his face.

"Apologies, Minister," he said casually, before firing one final Stunner; it struck Amos in the chest and he slumped backwards, splayed in his chair, out cold.

Neville turned to Harry and pointed his wand at him. For a moment, Harry thought he too was about to be Stunned, but then the chains binding him in place retracted into the ground, allowing him to stand.

"Neville?" said Harry, astonished. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, if it wasn't obvious," Neville scoffed. "Now, c'mon. Do you have the Cloak on you?"

"Of course," said Harry, pulling it out from his robes. He moved to throw it over the both of them, but Neville held up his hand.

"You need it more than I do, mate," he chuckled. "Let's get out of here."

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and retrieved his Wand from Cedric's unconscious form before following Neville from the office. Alarms were blaring in the distance, and workers stood around looking confused, unsure of what was going on. Neville appeared unconcerned, leading the way down the hallway towards the lifts.

As they reached the end of the hall, the lift grate sprang open, and six more Aurors jumped out, wands drawn. Harry pulled out the Elder Wand in preparation for a fight, but Neville appeared unconcerned, merely stopping in the middle of the hallway as they approached. Rather than engage Neville in spellfire, the Aurors seemed surprised by his presence – even star-struck at the sight of the Man Who Won.

"Mr. Longbottom," one of the Aurors said reverently, bowing at the sight of Neville. "What is going on here? We were alerted that the Minister has been attacked—"

"Yes, it seems that Harry Potter has escaped," said Neville casually, sounding almost bored. "I think he ran in that direction. You'd best hurry if you're going to catch him."

The Aurors followed Neville's pointed finger in the opposite direction of the lifts. "Men, on me!" the lead Auror announced, and the group hurried off in a tight formation, around the corner and out of sight. Neville strode confidently into the open lift, and Harry jumped in behind him, as the grate closed and whisked them down towards the Atrium.

"I don't understand," Harry muttered once they were alone. "Why are you doing this?"

"I reckon you've saved my hide enough times over the past seven years," Neville shrugged. "About time I returned the favor, don't you think?"

"But won't this make you a fugitive, too?" Harry asked. "They'll arrest you once Amos tells them what really happened."

"Nah, I doubt it," Neville chuckled. "I'm the Man Who Won...how d'you think they'll explain that one to the public? They can't afford that kind of scandal right now. They'll give me a slap on the wrist and hide me away from the public eye to let things blow over. Frankly, I could use the bloody vacation."

Harry had to laugh at the boy's audacity. It was clever – Amos Diggory would indeed not risk public scorn for speaking out against Neville at a time like this. Perhaps Neville was more of a Slytherin than Harry ever gave him credit for.

The lift arrived at the Atrium level and clattered open. Neville walked across the marble floor towards the exit, as people immediately began to flock towards him and clamor for an autograph. It was easy enough for Harry to evade notice, slipping through the cracks of the gathered crowd while they shouted and crowded one another to get Neville's attention. But he managed to glide past them all, brushing off all attempts to stop him as he passed through the security checkpoint, Harry close behind.

Neville reached the Apparation point and subtly held out his left hand. Harry grasped it, and Neville twisted them away into darkness. They reappeared in an abandoned district across town, alone at last.

"Bloody Amos," Neville groaned. "I tried my hardest to talk him out of it, but he's been dead-set on bringing charges against you and your dad ever since he took office."

"I had a feeling he might," Harry sighed. Ever since Amos Diggory was elected Minister, he'd been expecting such an outcome. It felt like an inevitability more than anything.

"He's going to be pretty angry once he's revived," said Neville. "I'd lay low somewhere far away for a while. You can get your family out of the country to safety, yeah?"

"I think so," said Harry. "I reckon we'll go to France first and talk to—"

"No, don't tell me," said Neville, plugging his ears. "Better this way. They'll probably question me about where you've gone, so it's best if I don't know."

"Alright," said Harry. "Listen, Nev...thank you for rescuing me, sincerely. But you didn't have to. Why are you sticking your neck out for me when you have no reason to?"

Neville gave Harry a blank stare, as though not understanding the question. "You saved my life, Harry," he said. "On more than one occasion. Even when you had no reason to intervene, when you could have left me to fend for myself, you were always there to help. I was a prat to you for seven years, and still you stuck up for me. I'll never understand why, but I know I owe you everything. So quit asking stupid questions and get your family out of here, before it's too late."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Neville had grown considerably since he first met him in this timeline, from a naive and somewhat haughty first-year to the quietly confident man standing before him now. He was wiser, humbler, and more self-aware now, finally recognizing what Harry had sacrificed for him to make it out of this war alive.

"I guess I'll be seeing you," said Harry, turning to leave. "Or maybe not. I guess I should go ask a bloody centaur if the sister stars are done converging yet." Both he and Neville snorted in appreciation at this.

"Take care, Harry," said Neville, extending his hand.

"You too, Nev," said Harry. "I'll tell my family what you did for me." Including Dahlia, he left unsaid.

"And I'll tell everyone here what you did for me," Neville insisted. "I mean it, Harry. I'll clear your name if it's the last thing I do."

"If you say so," Harry chuckled. He doubted Neville would make much of an impact in swaying public opinion on the Potters, but he supposed it was the thought that counts. So with one final nod of thanks, he Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place.

He found his family waiting for him in the sitting room, looking worried. "There you are," said James. "We were about to send a search party. What did Diggory want?"

"He tried to arrest me," Harry sighed. "And he intends to put out a warrant for you too. I only got out because Neville intervened...we have to get out of Britain, and fast."

"That bastard!" James seethed as Lily gasped in horror. "I knew he would double-cross me the second he took power! When I see him next—"

"Darling, now is not the time," Lily said soothingly, placing a hand on his chest. "Harry is right...we need to go."

"Britain is my home," James said stubbornly. "I can't just turn my back on her."

"Well, Britain's turned her back on us," Harry said grimly. "Fighting back isn't going to change anything...it might only make things worse."

"James, please," Lily begged, looking him deep in the eyes. "I can't go through this again. Let's leave together, as a family, and put all of this behind us. I can't stand to see anyone else I love in danger."

"Dad, you didn't see what we saw at that execution tonight," Harry insisted. "People are angry. Even if we get a trial, it won't be fair. We'll be crucified. Please, let's cut our losses and live to fight another day."

James looked heavily conflicted. Harry knew what was going through the man's mind: he was a prideful man, having been forced to do the bidding of another for the past year, and was now being ostracized from his homeland because of it. It was unfair, and he knew it. But James softened at the look in Lily's eyes, and slowly nodded.

"Alright," he sighed. "But where?"

"We will go to my father," said Fleur adamantly. "He will keep you safe and 'elp you apply for political asylum."

"Your family has done enough to help mine," James told her. "I can't ask Sebastian to do any more for us."

"You don't understand," said Fleur adamantly, stepping forward and slipping her hand into Harry's. "Our families are one and the same now. The Delacours and the Potters will never stand apart again."

"You mean it?" asked Harry quietly, meeting Fleur's eyes. "The Potter name is tarnished. You're still with us?"

Fleur answered him with a blazing look and a tender, lingering kiss that sent jolts of electricity down Harry's spine. "Always," she whispered when she pulled apart. Harry's heart soared at this, visions flowing through him of a brighter future, of a family of his own, like the Mirror of Erised come to life before his eyes. Fleur smiled brightly at him, and he knew she was thinking the same thing.

"Very well," said James, smiling in spite of himself at the loving couple before him. "Everyone pack your things; we leave in ten minutes."

Harry felt wistful as he quickly packed a bag with essentials. The reality of leaving Britain, perhaps for good, was starting to hit him all at once. The last twelve years of his two lifetimes – fighting a war that he never thought would end – had led him to this: exile from the only place he'd ever been able to call home. He was no longer welcome here, and that filled him with an aching sadness he knew would always linger.

But as his family gathered in the living room to Portkey away, Harry looked around and realized just how lucky he was. Somehow, in spite of the odds, his entire family had survived the war – in fact, it have even grown in size. All of his loved ones were still on his side, and despite their shared circumstances, they were determined to stick together and support one another to the very end.

Harry thought back to his final conversation with Neville, to the subtle resentment he'd felt towards the other boy for their unequal fates. Neville was the clear winner of this war, the shining white knight and hero of Britain, while Harry had become a pariah despite all he'd done in the shadows. Yet in this moment, Harry felt that he had all he could ever want right now, Britain be damned. And as the Portkey activated to whisk them away from the Isles, he thought that perhaps, in a strange way, he was the true victor between the two.

A/N: This is not the end. One chapter to go now...see you soon.