Year 4-15: Crossroads

"Murdered?" Harry stammered, momentarily pausing in his attempt to break free.

"Poisoned," Snape said simply. "Laced into a bottle of wine. A slow-acting strain, by the looks of it...he was assumed to be sleeping until someone attempted to wake him and found that he was dead."

Harry's mind raced. Someone had poisoned the wine at Slughorn's table...the same wine he himself had drank. It was indeed fortunate that he had the antidote on hand, or he would have surely met the same fate in that lonely corridor before he was discovered.

Then, Harry remembered with a jolt that his mother had also drank wine at the event. "My mum—" he began in a panic.

"Is safe," Snape reassured him. "Nobody else at the conference drank the poisoned wine. Or so I thought, until I left for Ravenclaw Tower looking for you and found you unconscious in the hallway."

"You were looking for me?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Before the Aurors arrive to begin their investigation," said Snape. "They'll want to question everyone who was there to find a suspect. You are fortunate that I found you before they did."

"Funny, I don't feel that way at the moment," Harry deadpanned, struggling with his binds to prove his point.

"This is merely a precaution until I determine your motives," Snape sneered. "If I am satisfied, I will let you go. But first, you're going to answer a few questions of my own."

"What kind of questions?" Harry asked nervously.

"The same kind the Ministry will be asking you as a murder suspect, if I don't like your answers," Snape said crossly. "Fortunately for you, I'm fresh out of Veritaserum, but rest assured that if you attempt to lie to me, I will know."

Harry felt a sharp jab assaulting his senses, an unpleasant sensation that he recognized immediately from his previous timeline. Snape was forcing his way into his mind. Unlike Dumbledore, who favored gentle prods and light, subtle touches with his Legilimency, Snape's was like a battering ram at the gates, threatening to burst through Harry's defenses. Harry didn't know if his self-taught Occlumency would be of any help here.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Harry asked nervously.

"The Headmaster is away from the castle this evening," said Snape. "He will return momentarily, once the news reaches him. If you'd like, we can wait for him to arrive before you answer my questions, but I suspect you don't want him to hear this, do you?"

Harry said nothing in response. That was, in fact, the last thing he wanted in this moment. He hardly trusted Snape with his secrets, but the thought of what Dumbledore might do with the knowledge Harry had obtained tonight filled him with dread.

Snape seemed to take his silence as answer enough. "Did you poison Horace Slughorn?" he demanded.

"No," Harry said at once.

"Were you aware of any attempt to poison him?"

"No!" Harry denied vehemently.

"I saw you put up wards and sit down to speak with him, boy," Snape growled, drawing closer to Harry's face with an angry expression. "If you attempt to subvert or avoid my questions, I will hand you over to the DMLE in an instant. Did you slip anything into Slughorn's drink?"

"No," Harry stammered, but at once felt a sharp flare of Legilimency wash across his subconscious.

"Do not lie!" Snape seethed. "What did you put in his drink?"

Harry struggled to think of an excuse, but could not see an easy way out. "Veritaserum," he eventually sighed.

Snape arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Where did you come across Veritaserum?" he demanded.

"Professor Moody gave it to me," said Harry. "An Auror's Toolkit."

Snape narrows his eyes at this. He reached over to a nearby table, procuring the glass cube and dangling it in front of Harry's face. "This one?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And judging by the fact that it contains no poison antidote, I presume that is why you are still alive after sharing wine with him?"

"Yes," Harry sighed.

"Did you know the wine was poisoned?"

"No. I wouldn't have drank it otherwise."

Snape's face twitched in annoyance, but he appeared satisfied on that front – for now. "Why did you administer Veritaserum to Slughorn?" he continued.

Harry certainly did not want to reveal his motives to Snape. But nor did he want to anger the man by obviously lying and risk being questioned by the Ministry – or worse, by Dumbledore. Selective truths, he told himself, remembering his training from nearly three years ago.

"For information," he eventually said.

"Obviously," Snape rolled his eyes. "What kind of information?"

"The kind that the Dark Lord would want to die with him," said Harry.

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously at this. "Are you working on behalf of the Dark Lord?" he demanded. "Or sympathetic to his return?"

"No," Harry growled. "Are you?"

"Of course not, you imbecile," Snape sneered. "His return would present a significant threat to my safety. And that of your family, as I'm sure you are aware."

"That's why I'm working against him," said Harry.

"And yet, you continue to withhold information from his greatest enemy," Snape glared. "If you learned information pertinent to the Dark Lord's destruction, surely Albus Dumbledore would be the first person who should know about it."

"I don't trust what he'll do with the information," said Harry.

"Why not?"

"Would you?" Harry laughed hollowly. "Have you even noticed what the past four years have been like for me? Fighting dark wizards, a basilisk, and the shade of a Dark Lord?"

"That is because you have a remarkable tendency to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong," Snape grumbled.

"Wrong," said Harry. "I'm merely doing what Dumbledore should have been doing all along: keeping Neville Longbottom safe."

"What is your interest in Longbottom?"

"The Dark Lord wants him dead at all costs," said Harry. "And Dumbledore is not doing enough to protect him."

"I assure you that Dumbledore has the utmost care for Longbottom's well-being," said Snape. "You need not worry about—"

"If he believed that sacrificing Longbottom's life was necessary to win the war, he would do so," said Harry. "I cannot let that happen."

"Why not?"

"Because he was dealt an unfair hand in life!" said Harry, the words spilling out of him in an emotional torrent. "Marked for death as a baby. Orphaned and alone. Hunted by a Dark Lord. No one deserves such a fate. I feel compelled to protect him and help shoulder the burden placed upon him. It's not fair that I should have everything he ever wanted, only for him to die young and miserable. It should be me in his place."

Harry found that he was crying. He had never put into words before why he had taken the course of action he had in this life, but now it made sense to him. He felt terribly guilty for the choice he'd made in the afterlife, not realizing that somebody else would be forced to carry the weight he once had.

Snape was unmoved by his display of emotion. He waited until Harry's sniffles subsided before continuing. "Tell me, Potter," he said. "Are you a legitimate Seer?"

Harry felt another jab of Legilimency, and knew it was no use in lying. "No," he admitted.

"And you knowingly lied to the Headmaster about being one?"

"Yes."

"How do you know all that you do, if you are not a Seer?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the right-hand man to the two most powerful wizards alive," Harry said simply. "I can't let what I know fall into the wrong hands."

"If you think you are smarter than Albus Dumbledore, then you are a greater fool than I imagined possible, Potter," Snape sneered.

"You agree with his methods completely, then?" Harry shot back. "You've never differed on how to handle a problem?"

Snape hesitated, and it was clear that Harry had struck a nerve. "Dumbledore has his reasons," he said neutrally.

"Does he now?" Harry scoffed. "How'd that work out for the Longbottoms? Or Quirrell? Or Skeeter, or Slughorn?"

"He faces a formidable threat," Snape argued. "The Dark Lord is more powerful than you know—"

"And you fancy your chances against him?" Harry challenged. "If he knew what I learned tonight, he'd stop at nothing to kill me, just as he killed Slughorn. Do you really want that knowledge yourself? When you may soon find yourself in his presence, subject to the same questioning you're giving me now?"

Once again, Snape said nothing in response to this barb. Harry knew he had a point: could Snape withstand Voldemort's Legilimency to obtain dangerous information? As gifted an Occlumens as Snape may be, would he be willing to take such a risk, given the stakes involved? The dead potion master in the banquet hall was proof enough of what might become of anyone with such information.

Before Snape could respond, there was a flash of light, and a silver phoenix Patronus flew into the room. "I am in my office," the voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed through the room. "Find Harry Potter and meet me here as soon as possible." And the phoenix dissolved to mist, leaving Harry and Snape alone once more.

They eyed one another warily for a moment longer. Snape looked uncertain for the first time, as though internally debating how to proceed.

"What do you intend to do with the information you obtained tonight, Potter?" he asked. "If you sincerely hope to stand up against the Dark Lord on your own—"

"I'm not alone," Harry countered. "There are others. I can't tell you who, but rest assured, Albus Dumbledore is not the only person taking active steps towards Voldemort's defeat."

Harry felt another jab of Legilimency as Snape contemplated this. He hoped that the veracity of his words would carry through. Snape's black eyes were inscrutable, studying Harry, deep in thought. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Snape flicked his wand, Vanishing the ropes holding Harry in place.

"You trust me, then?" asked Harry, rubbing his sore wrists.

"I trust nobody but myself," Snape scoffed. "For now, our goals are in alignment. But if I ever discover that you pose a threat to my well-being, I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Duly noted," Harry grumbled.

"Now, the Headmaster will want to know what has happened here tonight," said Snape. "Can you provide any insight that I cannot?"

"No," Harry shook his head in frustration. "I have no clue who's behind it all. Skeeter, Slughorn, the Tournament...if it isn't Crouch Jr., I cannot fathom who it could be."

"Then I will decline to mention this little interrogation to the Headmaster or the Ministry," said Snape. "Or your ill-timed conversation with a soon-to-be dead man. And I suggest you do the same."

"Why help me?" Harry asked, puzzled. "What do you stand to gain from this?"

Snape studied him for a long moment. "Consider it a favor to your mother," he said simply. "Why ruin the pinnacle achievement of her career by dragging her son into a murder investigation he has no good defense for?"

Harry nodded slowly at this. He'd known Snape and his mother to be friends once upon a time, and was beginning to suspect that one party still had strong feelings for the other. Harry couldn't be sure, but he also felt that Snape was hiding something himself. He must have some ulterior motive to keep Harry's secret...whether it was for nefarious aims, or to hold it over his head at a later date, remained to be seen.

He stood, stretching his limbs as Snape handed his wand back to him. "And the Toolkit?" Harry asked, indicating the glass cube on the table.

"I hesitate to see what use a teenager like yourself has for such a device," Snape frowned.

"I'd be dead right now without it," Harry said simply. "How d'you think my mother would have reacted if I didn't have the antidote?"

Snape groaned, and thrust the Auror's Toolkit towards Harry. "I won't even bother asking what you did with the Polyjuice Potion," he muttered. "I'm sure I don't want to know."

"You probably don't," Harry agreed. He wondered if Snape assumed it was something juvenile, like stealing a female classmate's hair. That was probably less scandalous than the truth, so might as well let him go on believing it.

Snape led the way out of the dungeons and up to the Headmaster's Office. They passed by several Aurors on the way, with Snape directing them towards the banquet hall. "Acid pops," Snape announced when they reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, then he and Harry ascended the spiral staircase.

Dumbledore was pacing back and forth behind his desk, finally sitting when he saw Snape and Harry enter. "Ah, good, you found Harry," said Dumbledore. "What have you determined, Severus?"

"Horace Slughorn succumbed to a dose of slow-acting poison, administered via a bottle of wine," said Snape. "He was presumed to be sleeping, but when guests were unable to rouse him, James Potter alerted the Aurors at once."

"And do we know where this wine came from?" Dumbledore inquired.

"The conference purchased them and had them stored in the kitchens," said Snape. "They arrived yesterday morning, and I asked the house-elves to deliver them after dinner. Beyond that, I am unsure who handled the bottles."

"The Aurors will get to the bottom of it, surely," Dumbledore muttered. "You secured the tainted wine, I presume?"

"And every other bottle in the room, to be safe. As far as I know, only one bottle was poisoned, but I will need time to analyze them all."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly behind his glasses. "Are you aware of anyone who might have wanted Horace dead, Severus? Any possible motive you can think of?"

Snape's eyes darted over to Harry briefly. "None comes to mind," the man shrugged. "He had many friends, so it isn't a stretch to imagine he had a few enemies as well."

"Yes, well, Horace was particularly resistant to Voldemort's machinations during the first war," Dumbledore mused. "Tom sought his help in building connections with Britain's elite, but he refused to give it."

Harry had not known this. He'd assumed Slughorn must be a man with bendable morals, being a Slytherin and a former friend of Riddle's, but perhaps he'd misjudged the man. His mother had been rather effusive in her praise of the former professor tonight, after all.

"Will you be needing anything else from me, Headmaster?" asked Snape.

"Go speak with the Aurors, offer your assistance in the investigation," said Dumbledore. "I need a moment with Harry alone."

"But don't you trust Professor Snape, Headmaster?" Harry asked innocently.

"Unreservedly, my boy," said Dumbledore. "But this concerns just the two of us. Thank you, Severus."

Harry gave Snape a pointed look, as if to emphasize his point. Still think the Headmaster knows best? he silently demanded. Snape's lip curled in obvious disdain at the dismissal, but he nodded and swept from the office.

"What can I help you with, sir?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"I am aware that you were present at the conference this evening," said Dumbledore. "I take it you saw Mr. Slughorn before you departed?"

"Erm...yes," Harry said nervously. "I spoke with him briefly, mostly about my mother."

"And I don't suppose you noticed anything suspicious?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, sir."

"I suspected as much," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his eyes once more. "Horace was a good man. I'd hoped tonight was a sign that he was re-integrating into society, but sadly that is no longer a reality."

Harry sat patiently as a heavy silence fell between them. He was unsure what Dumbledore wanted from him, and was wary of an impending line of questioning.

"Is there anything you would like to share with me, Harry?" asked Dumbledore after a moment.

"Like what, sir?"

"Any insight into today's events?" Dumbledore pressed. "Motives behind the attack? Theories as to the attacker?"

"I am certain Voldemort is behind it," Harry responded. "But I don't know who is acting on his behalf within the castle."

"And what business would Lord Voldemort have in murdering ex-professors in broad daylight?"

"No clue," Harry shrugged.

He felt no prod of Legilimency at this statement, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore knew he was lying anyway. The old Headmaster regarded Harry wearily, his expression inscrutable, but Harry thought he sensed disappointment in the man's eyes.

"I know you are hiding things from me, Harry," Dumbledore sighed.

"What kind of things, sir?" Harry asked, schooling his features despite the dread settling in his stomach.

"I know that you have twice illegally Apparated to Little Hangleton during your Hogsmeade weekends," said Dumbledore. "I know that you know more about what's going on than meets the eye. For the life of me, I can't understand why you conceal the truth from me."

Harry's mind raced...how had Dumbledore known about his field trips to the village? He remembered his father mentioning that they had been watching the village closely – perhaps they could tell when someone Apparated there. But how much more did Dumbledore know? Did he know about the graveyard excavations? The trip to the Gaunt shack?

"It seems we both know more than we're letting on, don't we, sir?" Harry sighed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps it is time we work together instead of keeping one another in the dark?"

"I agree completely," Harry nodded. "Why don't you go first, Headmaster?"

"Me?" Dumbledore frowned. "What have I kept from you, my boy?"

"It would've been nice to know you're watching Little Hangleton before I wasted so much of my time there," Harry said hotly. "And perhaps if I'd known the Philosopher's Stone was secure, Quirrell would still be alive. You've allowed me to do a lot of damage by leaving me in the dark."

"You are not wrong, Harry," Dumbledore nodded. "I've underestimated you in the past, and I won't easily do so again."

"Good to hear," said Harry. "So let's start with the prophecy. Mind sharing its contents with me?"

Genuine shock registered in Dumbledore's face; he clearly hadn't been expecting this question. "Prophecy?" he repeated.

"The one Professor Trelawney made fourteen years ago," Harry said coolly. "The one that caused Voldemort to target the Longbottoms. You heard it, didn't you?"

"I...there is no possible way you could know of the prophesy's existence," Dumbledore breathed. "Unless Saul Croaker—?"

"I worked it out myself," said Harry. "But I know it's there, in the Department of Mysteries. And I'm beginning to suspect that it involves me somehow."

"That is...inaccurate," Dumbledore said slowly. "I cannot reveal the contents of the prophecy to you, but rest assured that it does not involve you."

"And why can't you reveal it?"

"Harry, you must understand that the act of witnessing a prophecy is crucial to its accuracy," Dumbledore said exasperatedly. "Prophecies tend to be self-fulfilling – the knowledge gained by learning their contents often leads one down a road they would not normally have taken, thus bringing about the proper conditions to fulfill it."

"So you won't tell me...because you think it will cause me to act differently?" Harry deduced.

"In short, yes."

"I see," said Harry. "So instead, you will allow me to march onward to my death with no idea what is coming for me."

"Harry, your safety is very important to me," Dumbledore frowned. "If I believed you to be in mortal danger, I would do all I could to protect you."

"Really?" Harry scoffed. "No offense, Headmaster, but my life has been threatened every single year I've been at this school. And if you haven't noticed, I was entered into this Tournament against my will, and someone clearly wants me dead. So forgive me if I don't feel entirely safe in this situation."

"I have no reason to believe this plot is targeted at you," said Dumbledore. "Your entry into the Tournament may have been a failed ploy to humiliate you, and nothing more."

"I assume Hagrid told you what the centaurs said about me?" Harry pressed. "How I'm some kind of 'trickster', whose fate is tied to Neville's? Is that why you don't trust me?"

"It is not a matter of trust, Harry—"

"It absolutely is!" Harry shouted, getting angry now. "You expect me to trust you with everything I know, when I'm left to my own devices? I'm fighting for my life, Headmaster! You think I'm the best duelist in the castle because I like fighting? Or that I learned how to Apparate just for fun? I know there's a war coming, sir, and I'm doing my best to protect myself and my family."

"No one is comfortable with a threat like Voldemort looming," Dumbledore agreed. "You and I happen to be among the few who believe he's still out there. I've been working very closely with your father to ensure—"

"My father is not the one in the Tournament!" said Harry. "Nor is he the one who can see the future! So why are you going behind my back, when you expect me not to do the same?"

"Your point is duly noted, Harry," Dumbledore said tiredly. "But you are still just a child—"

"JUST A CHILD?" Harry roared, jumping to his feet. "I'm fighting men three times my age on a regular basis! I faced down forty Death Eaters at the World Cup by myself, because no one else was willing to do it! So don't talk to me like I'm some little boy who needs to be sheltered. Because when Voldemort shows up at our doorstep, I'll be the first one to greet him."

"That is precisely what concerns me, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You should not have to shoulder all this responsibility yourself. You should allow the adults to fight these battles for you."

"Yeah, well, they've done a pretty piss-poor job of it so far," Harry retorted. "If I sat back and waited for you to solve all my problems for me, my sister's bones would still be lying in the Chamber of Secrets, and my own will likely be strewn about the maze in a few months' time."

"You're right, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "We have failed you badly. Please, allow me to make it right. If you know something that can aid us in Voldemort's downfall, now is the time to share it so I can take steps to see it through. I may even allow you to help if the situation warrants it."

"How benevolent of you," Harry grumbled. "Perhaps I'll extend you the same invitation on my next excursion."

"I really don't think that's the path you should be taking right now, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We have a common enemy. Now is not the time to be petty."

"I prefer to think of it as being practical," said Harry indifferently, turning towards the door. "I've seen what happens when you keep your secrets to yourself, Headmaster. It ends with a lot of undue death and suffering." And without asking to be dismissed, Harry exited the office, slamming the oak door shut behind him.

What a sanctimonious prick, Harry fumed as he stormed back to Ravenclaw Tower. Just be a good boy and tell me everything you know, while I refuse to do the same.

He couldn't tell Dumbledore the true cause of his resentment, of course: the fate he'd met in his previous timeline, losing his godfather (and his own life) to the Veil of Death. None of that would have happened if the man just showed a shred of respect for anyone else's agency but himself! If Harry had known that Voldemort would attempt to plant false memories in his head, and the prophecy was safe within the Department of Mysteries, he never would have gone there in the first place.

Was he overreacting? Should he place more trust in the most powerful wizard of all time? The man did have a point: for as much as Harry had covered for Dumbledore's mistakes, so too had it gone the other way. Dumbledore had rescued him in the Chamber of Secrets, in the Room of Requirement the year after, and was perhaps the only man alive capable of standing up to Voldemort in a duel. And given what Harry had learned tonight from Slughorn, it might be prudent to place a little bit of trust in such a man.

But his refusal to share the prophecy had made up Harry's mind for him. The hypocrisy was too much for Harry to stand: asking for information while providing none in return. Dumbledore was afraid of what Harry might do with said information? Well, then he'd best be terrified of what Harry could do when left in the dark.

Predictably, there was unrest among the student population the following morning when the Daily Prophet announced the tragic death of Slughorn within Hogwarts grounds. A few people knew that Harry had been present at the conference, but no one asked him about it. If anything, it caused people to look at him suspiciously again – something of a common routine throughout the school year for Harry.

Not that I can blame them, Harry reasoned. I always seem to find myself in the middle of these situations somehow. Perhaps if they knew he'd nearly succumbed to the poison himself they'd think differently. But no, as usual, Harry would find himself blamed for a situation in which he was an unwitting victim himself.

Harry was pulled out of Charms class later that morning and summoned to an empty classroom, where Ministry officials had set up an investigation headquarters. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," Amelia Bones greeted him tersely. "Do you know why you've been called down here this morning?"

"I have a good idea, yeah," Harry sighed.

"We're just waiting for two more," said Amelia. She leaned in close, studying Harry closely. "But off the record, how are you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged indifferently. "Just trying to stay ahead of everything happening around here lately."

"You and me both," Amelia sighed. "My niece Susan tells me you've earned quite the reputation around the school. A gifted duelist, I hear...perhaps you'll have a future in the Auror Office alongside your father."

"Yes, perhaps," Harry said vaguely. He hadn't given much thought to his career path in this timeline. He'd been working towards being an Auror last time, though now the idea held less appeal. Hopefully the threat of Voldemort would be gone by the time he graduated, so he could pursue something less intense. But if he wasn't, Harry couldn't see himself doing anything else but fighting.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until the door opened again, and Katie and Dahlia were led into the room and directed to sit beside Harry. "Thank you all for coming," Amelia greeted them. "You three are the only students who were present at the potions conference last night. I understand you two were there to support your mother?"

"That's right," said Harry, speaking on behalf of himself and Dahlia. "I invited Katie along as my date."

"I see," said Amelia, as Mafalda Hopkirk scribbled something down in her notes beside her. "Did any of you encounter Horace Slughorn at the event?"

"Harry and I spoke to him briefly," Katie answered. "I don't really remember what about, though. It was a long night."

"Understandable," Amelia nodded sympathetically. "And none of you witnessed any suspicious activity while you were there? Anyone who seemed tense or hostile around Mr. Slughorn?"

"Nothing comes to mind," said Harry, as Katie and Dahlia nodded their agreement.

"Very well," Amelia sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "We have to talk to everyone there, you see, but of course none of you three are under suspicion. Professor Snape has already attested to all of your whereabouts throughout the event."

So he didn't tell the Ministry about my secret meeting with Slughorn, Harry thought. Perhaps he had gotten through to the enigmatic man after all. He still didn't know if Snape could be trusted with all that he knew, but it was at least a sign that he wasn't fully in Dumbledore's pocket. Whether that was ultimately a good thing once Voldemort returned remained to be seen.

"Is my mother okay?" Dahlia blurted out, sounding worried. "Was anyone else injured?"

"No one else was poisoned as far as we know," Amelia reassured her. "I've spoken to your father, and he recused himself from the investigation to be with your mother. She's a bit rattled, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"We'll see her in a couple of days anyway," Harry reassured Dahlia, squeezing her hand. She nodded, clutching him tightly for support.

"I think that's everything we need from you," Amelia sighed, signaling for Mafalda to stop writing. "Miss Bell, I've also spoken to your father, and he requested that you come straight home next weekend."

"Alright," Katie nodded. She and Harry had briefly discussed spending time together at Godric's Hollow over the coming break, but it was understandable that their parents would be overly-cautious after such a horrible event.

"You may return to class," said Amelia. "Please let me know if you remember anything noteworthy from the conference."

Harry led the way out of the classroom, still holding his sister's hand. They were silent for a few moments as they made their way back to their respective classes. Finally Katie said, "This doesn't have anything to do with you, does it, Harry?"

"What? Of course not," Harry said at once. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Katie sighed. "People are talking about you in Gryffindor, and, well, strange things always happen around you, don't they?"

"As if it's ever his fault," Dahlia scoffed. "How many bloody dragons and dark wizards does Harry have to fight before people realize he's not evil?"

"Of course I don't believe that!" Katie said hurriedly, clutching Harry's arm affectionately. "I trust you, Harry. I just wish you weren't always in the middle of all the trouble around here."

"Well, you know what they say about trouble," Harry sighed. "It's like a stray dog: play with it once, and it follows you home."

Harry became more aware of the whispers around him as the week went on: students gossiping behind his back, throwing him worried looks in the halls and at meals. Serves me right for having good things happen to me, Harry thought sarcastically. Get a girlfriend? Win a Quidditch match? Here, now you're framed for murder. It was a microcosm of his Hogwarts experience in this timeline: two baby steps forward, one giant step back.

Luckily, he only had to endure this treatment for one week until spring break arrived. He didn't anticipate it being a very relaxing vacation – Lily and James would no doubt want to keep their children close after what happened at the conference. Besides, Harry wasn't going back to Hogwarts until he could have a lengthy conversation with Saul Croaker. Too much had happened since their last meeting, and they wouldn't get to talk again until after the Third Task.

Harry felt as though he was at a pivotal crossroads in his life. He now knew the enormity of the task ahead of him – the true depths of Voldemort's evil. Seven tethers to life that would need to be destroyed in order to see the man's demise. And that was assuming the Dark Lord himself could be located and killed, a task that would only get more difficult if he succeeded in resurrecting himself. How he proceeded from here, and whom he decided to bring along with him, would have ripple effects far out into the future.

As expected, when Harry and Dahlia returned to Godric's Hollow, they were given strict instruction to remain in the house at all times during the break. It led to a rather dull holiday for Harry, spent idly flipping through textbooks he'd already read in full and enduring minor pranks from his equally-bored sister. He yearned to take the Firebolt out for a spin, having been deprived of it for nearly a year now, but was not permitted to even approach the brood shed.

Harry had only one true item on his agenda for the break, however, and that was meeting with Saul. He sent a coded message on the first day of vacation, demanding to meet and saying it was urgent. He received nothing in reply for a long while, a maddening silence that had him cursing Saul's name (and Fudge's for imposing such restrictions on their ability to speak freely).

Finally, with two days left until the return to Hogwarts, another postcard arrived addressed to Harry. This one depicted the Tower of London and was once again signed by S.C.

"Who's sending you postcards?" asked James curiously as he watched Harry casually pocket the laminated paper.

"My roommate Terry," Harry lied. "He's visiting London with his folks."

Luckily, no further questions arose, and Harry waited until he was safely back in his room to decode the postcard. He muttered the pass phrase and tapped his wand to it, watching as a short message appeared:

'Same place, same time. Come alone.'

Saul must have been in a hurry to send this off if he didn't have time to write a proper message. He wondered just how strictly the Ministry was monitoring his activities, if he couldn't even write a simple letter. Harry hoped he wasn't causing problems for Saul by sending him letters on a near-weekly basis, even if they were carefully coded to prevent anyone else reading their true message.

Harry snuck out of bed at a quarter to midnight, careful to silence his footsteps before creeping down the hall and down the stairs. He noticed that his father had placed an alarm ward on the back door, which he carefully deactivated before slipping out into the backyard. He hopped the fence and hurried down the road into the heart of Godric's Hollow, already anxious about the conversation to come.

Harry paused in an alley, waiting for a lone straggler to disappear down the street, before crossing the road to St. Anthony's Church. He cautiously slipped into the front door and closed it behind him, finding himself in the oppressive silence of the main cathedral.

"Croaker?" he whispered into the darkness.

Saul emerged from the opposite side of the room, wand held aloft. "Name of the person we visited together last summer?" he demanded.

"Mrs. Cole," said Harry. "Location on the postcard you sent me last Christmas?"

"Eastbourne," said Saul. Both he and Harry relaxed, as Saul flicked his wand to restore dim light to the room so that they could see each other.

"What the hell happened with Slughorn?" asked Saul at once. "Skeeter was one thing, but two murders at Hogwarts in the same school year?"

"He met the same end," Harry muttered. "The impostor got to him."

"We're certain it was the same person who committed both murders?" asked Saul.

"Yes," said Harry. And he filled Saul in on everything that happened in Little Hangleton during his last visit, including the conversation he overheard between Voldemort and his newest recruit. Saul listened intently without interruption, stroking his chin thoughtfully, frown deepening by the minute.

"Sounds like this was pre-planned, then," he eventually remarked. "If the Dark Lord intended to draw him out of hiding, then this was no spur-of-the-moment crime of opportunity."

"And you think Skeeter was?" Harry frowned.

"It's possible," Saul mused. "Her death was far messier and less easy to explain away. The shallow grave, the lack of plausible deniability...Slughorn's death feels more streamlined, like a trained assassin carried it out."

"And yet, it almost went wrong again," said Harry. "I shared that bottle of wine with him, before he died."

Saul's eyes went wide. "What on earth for?" he breathed. "And how are you alive?"

"Moody gave me an Auror's Toolkit months ago," said Harry, withdrawing the small glass cube from his robes and displaying it to Saul. "If it wasn't for the poison antidote within, I wouldn't be standing here now."

"But you spoke with Slughorn that night?" Saul pressed. "Any idea what might have caused his murder?"

"I know exactly what caused it," Harry sighed. "And it's not good news for us."

"Well, out with it then, boy!"

"I found out from Hagrid that Slughorn and Tom Riddle were rather close while Tom was in school," Harry explained. "So I thought, if anyone had insight about his early forays into Dark magic, it would be Slughorn. So I decided to slip Veritaserum into his drink and ask him about it."

"That was incredibly risky, in a room full of potioneers no less," Saul muttered, shaking his head. "What if Slughorn had been trained to fight the truth potion?"

"He wasn't, thankfully," said Harry. "And what he told me was rather disturbing."

"Go on."

"I asked if Tom ever mentioned Horcruxes," said Harry. "Sure enough, Slughorn was the one who explained to him what they are and how they work. And when I pressed for more, Slughorn admitted that Tom asked about the effects of splitting the soul more than once."

Saul blanched at this, clearly sensing where this conversation was heading. "More than once?" he repeated weakly.

"Into seven pieces, to be precise," said Harry.

Saul took this in for a long moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, his knees wobbled and he lost balance, slumping sideways into a pew. Harry rushed forward to help the man sit; Saul was spry for his age, but he looked to have aged multiple decades in the past few minutes.

"Harry," Saul breathed, and it was a testament to his fear that he did not call Harry 'boy' or 'Potter'. "This is far beyond anything I imagined. We can't do this on our own."

"We've managed so far, haven't we?" said Harry.

"We are treading water at best," said Saul. "If the Dark Lord truly does have seven Horcruxes – all of which are likely heavily protected – then we may not stand a chance."

"I refuse to think that way," said Harry. "I'll fight to my last breath hunting them all down."

"And at this rate, it will cost you your last breath," Saul groaned. "We have to take this to Dumbledore, kid. He's the only person I would trust to handle something of this magnitude."

"Well, I don't," Harry said stubbornly. "He hasn't proven to be much use at anything lately."

"He's the most powerful wizard of the century—" Saul began.

"Yeah? So everyone keeps telling me!" Harry said hotly. "And what's he got to show for it? Three people murdered within his own castle – nearly five, if I hadn't found the Chamber of Secrets on my own two years ago. A Dark Lord rising to power uncontested. Hell, Neville's got a piece of him in his damn forehead, and Dumbledore's none the wiser!"

"Alright, then the Ministry," Saul said. "We'll go to Bones in the morning. She can free up resources to help us—"

"There are former Death Eaters crawling all over the Ministry," Harry pointed out. "If a single person reports back to Voldemort what we're after, we'll never find them all."

"Your father, then!" Saul said, exasperated. "He's clever, and he can be trusted."

"I don't want him to know I'm mixed up in all this," said Harry. "I can't even bear to tell him I'm a time-traveler. It'll ruin our relationship permanently."

"Harry, listen to reason!" Saul groaned. "Our little two-man operation is not going to cut it any longer! You're still a Hogwarts student, and I'm stuck under investigation and unable to travel freely. We have to bring more people into the fold – preferably people who know how to handle what we're up against."

"I know," Harry sighed. He'd long since come to the same conclusion, and had been giving this very question some thought. "I have an idea of who we can approach."

"Who's that?"

"Bill Weasley," said Harry. "He's a curse-breaker, and he already suspects that I know more than I'm letting on. We can swear him to secrecy, and he can help us hunt and destroy the horcruxes."

"Can he be trusted?" Saul asked skeptically. "The Weasley family is notoriously loyal to Dumbledore, so your little secret might wind up in hands you don't want it to anyway."

"I'll see if he's willing to swear an oath," said Harry. "He's spent years working in Egypt raiding tombs, and he's encountered horcruxes before. He's the perfect person to help."

"Sure, he'll be useful for entering the cave and the Gaunt shack," Saul acknowledged. "But what help will he be in finding more such hiding spots? He doesn't understand Riddle like we do, and we don't understand Riddle like Dumbledore does."

"I'm not sure Dumbledore understood him all that well either," Harry retorted. "He never caught wind of the horcruxes himself, did he? We've learned more in the past year than he has in fifty."

"He's working with incomplete information. If he knew what Slughorn told you, he'd dedicate his efforts to tracking these objects down. We simply do not have the means or knowledge to find them all."

"We may be closer than you think," Harry pointed out. "The diary's already been destroyed. We know where the diadem is, and we know of at least two more potential hiding places. That could mean four horcruxes down already, and just two to go."

"Three to go," Saul corrected.

"I think just two," Harry reasoned. "Slughorn said Voldemort wanted to split his soul into seven pieces. That means six horcruxes plus himself."

"And how do you factor in the diadem?" Saul demanded. "If he reintegrates that fragment back into his soul, will he seek to create another to get that number back up to seven?"

"He might," Harry shrugged. "Either way, that's over half the horcruxes accounted for, isn't it? And we can continue looking for significant hiding places for the other two or three."

"And if we can't find them?"

"Then we can go to Dumbledore with what we know," said Harry. "But we've made good progress without him. Why place our faith in somebody who might ruin everything we're working towards?"

"How would Dumbledore ruin it?" Saul frowned.

"Neville's a horcrux, remember?" said Harry. "I suspect that Dumbledore realized the same about me in my previous timeline. And what did he do? Let me run off to my death in the Department of Mysteries. My life didn't matter to him, so long as my death served a greater purpose."

"That's all well and good, Harry, but what if Neville does need to die?" Saul groaned. "Tell me: if you were the only person alive with that knowledge, would you be willing to cast the killing blow yourself?"

"I would find another way to purge the soul fragment without killing him," Harry said confidently.

"That may not be an option," Saul retorted. "If leaving Longbottom alive meant the Dark Lord would tyrannize the country for decades more, would you allow countless millions to suffer for one boy?"

"You aren't getting it, Saul," Harry grumbled. "He is me, do you understand? I'm the one that should have been in his spot. I owe it to him to find a way to save his life."

"And if there isn't one?"

"There will be," Harry said firmly. "I'll never forgive myself if he could have been saved and Dumbledore jumps the gun trying to solve things how he sees best."

"The way Dumbledore sees best is very often best for everyone," said Saul.

"You may have known Dumbledore as a powerful wizard in his day, but I'm the one who has been dealing with him the past five years," said Harry. "He's in over his head and he knows it. He's all but begging me to help him solve these issues because he can't do it alone. He's old, tired, and outmatched, yet he thinks he can act as war general and fix everything on his own without outside input."

"And you think you can do a better job?"

"Yes," Harry said adamantly. "In fact, I do. And already have."

Saul looked like he wanted to retort further, but said nothing. He began pacing up and down the pews, muttering to himself under his breath.

"I asked Dumbledore about the prophecy," Harry spoke into the silence. "He wouldn't tell me because he thinks it could become self-fulfilling or some nonsense. Do you agree with him?"

Saul looked up at Harry, regarding him with an odd expression. "A curious thing for him to say," he said. "Implying such a prophecy existed, of course...it would mean that he thinks you may be involved in it somehow."

"I figured as much," Harry sighed. "And I don't suppose that entitles me to hear what it has to say?"

"No, it would not," Saul said flatly. "This hypothetical prophecy, whose existence I cannot confirm nor deny, would only be accessible by the maker, the witness, or the subject."

"But if the subject was ambiguous?" Harry pressed. "If the name on the label had a question mark next to it?"

"Irrelevant," said Saul. "The magic of the Hall of Prophecy would reject you for attempting to take it. The only way you're hearing the contents of that prophecy is if the witness tells you, or the subject somehow gets his hands on it otherwise."

"So you understand why I can't trust Dumbledore, then?" Harry insisted. "He refuses to tell me the truth when it could mean my life depends on it! Why should we tell him anything in return?"

Saul considered this for a long while. "I don't like it at all," he sighed. "But for now, we stay the course. You focus on getting through your final task alive. Once the investigation on my department ends, we can speak with Bill Weasley and look into the two hiding spots. But if those trails run cold, we may have to seek the wisdom of someone more knowledgeable than ourselves."

"Fine," Harry shrugged. He didn't care if this was only a temporary arrangement; he would find ways to keep extending the timetable and leaving Dumbledore out of the loop. He just knew deep down that telling him about the horcruxes would spell disaster, and that Neville would be the one to suffer for it. He still felt indebted to the boy for shouldering the load of expectation on his behalf, and would do all he could to ease that burden for Neville.

"Be careful, Harry," said Saul ominously. "We don't know who can be trusted at Hogwarts right now. Don't let your guard down for even a second while the impostor remains at large."

"Understood," Harry nodded. "Same to you...there are many within the Ministry who will be sympathetic to Voldemort if and when he returns."

"Believe me, I know it," Saul muttered darkly. "As loathe as I am to admit it, you're one of the few people I do trust at the moment."

"I'm flattered," Harry said with an ironic bow.

"Don't squander it, kid," Saul warned. "We're fighting a war that few people even realize exists. We cannot fail."

That sobered Harry up significantly. He departed the meeting with Saul feeling not much better about their circumstances. He'd somehow maneuvered through the past week without divulging his secret to anyone new, which felt like a small victory, if one at all. Was he making a mistake by playing his cards so close to the chest? Was Snape correct in his assessment that he was using the exact same playbook as Dumbledore himself?

But his thoughts eventually strayed to Neville, blissfully unaware of the danger and still dreaming of fame and glory in the Third Task. The boy who had been thrust into a role he was ill-prepared for, who seemed fated to die a cruel death. A fate that should have belonged to Harry.

I'll see you through this, Neville, Harry swore to himself as he settled into a restless sleep that night. Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming away from Death's door.

A/N: Harry was due for a temper tantrum or two, wasn't he? Considering he never got to trash Dumbledore's office in his last timeline and all. This was a difficult chapter to write as I knew Harry needed a clear opportunity to justify his decisions that will affect the rest of the story. What matters to me is that his logic remains consistent with his character and motives. Is it flawed and self-defeating logic? Well, that's for you to decide.