Year 6-21: Gethsemane

A/N: I was gonna edit and upload this chapter earlier, but then I spent 72 hours straight vibing to the new Sleep Token album instead. I regret nothing. Worship!

The sun rose bleak and cold over the dilapidated rooftops of Cokeworth, casting the desolate nature of the small town into sharp relief. Harry had heard of this place from his mother: tales of a bleak childhood, from which she had escaped to the wondrous majesty of Hogwarts. It was only fitting that he should find himself here now...back among the ruins of a wasted childhood, the wonders of the magical world stolen from him in a single momentous evening.

Harry wandered the streets in a daze, knowing that leaving this place would only mean more pain and heartache. There was nowhere left for him that would bring relief. Hogwarts, his home away from home, now saw him as an outcast. The Ministry might view him as a target now, once it became widely known what he had done. Voldemort would view him as a threat the second he showed his face in public again. Even his family would surely cast him out once they learned the truth of what he had done. Britain truly held nothing for him any longer.

But Harry knew he could not delay the inevitable. He could not run away from his problems – they were simply too large. Besides, he needed closure – was his family safe? Who else had died? Would they be able to find safe passage to the continent before Voldemort's ultimatum ran its course? His days of lurking in the shadows must end. He must return home.

Harry first Apparated to Raven House to clean himself. Fleur was long gone, likely sleeping peacefully in her home, unaware of the turmoil she had barely missed after Harry's departure hours prior. He washed away Mark Davis' caked blood from under his fingernails, wishing he could also cleanse the metaphorical blood that now stained his hands permanently. After downing a Stamina Potion (which failed to offset the deep fatigue in his very soul) and changing clothes, he finally Apparated to Grimmauld Place to face the music.

The entryway was quiet when he arrived, but Harry could hear hushed voices wafting out of the drawing room. He rounded the corner to find James, Remus and Sirius seated in a semi-circle, talking with worried looks on their faces. They looked up and saw Harry standing in the doorway, standing at once to greet him.

"Harry!" James exhaled, crossing the room in two bounds and engulfing his son in a hug. "Thank Merlin you're safe. Where on earth have you been?"

Where do I even begin? Harry thought. The past twenty-four hours felt like a blur of activity, taking him all over the world in a single day. "I'm sorry," was all he could muster, as he held onto his father for dear life.

"It doesn't matter now," James said softly. "You're here, and you're safe. That's all I care about."

"You've missed a helluva lot since you left school yesterday," remarked Sirius as he cut in for a hug of his own. "You might want to sit down for this."

So they don't know yet, Harry thought, stomach sinking as he accepted hugs from Sirius and Remus. Will they be so loving and accepting when they learn what I've done?

"Give him some room, Padfoot," said Remus as he guided Harry towards an armchair. "Harry looks like he's had a rough night."

"You can say that again," Harry chuckled hollowly. He glanced around the room, searching for more faces he had expected to be there. "Where's Mum? And Dahlia, and Damian?"

"At Hogwarts," said James grimly. "Son, I don't know if you've heard, but Hogwarts was attacked last night by Death Eaters. The Aurors are still sorting through it all, but Kingsley Shacklebolt was murdered and a few students and staff were injured. Everyone else is under lockdown in their quarters until they can figure out what happened."

"You need to get them out," Harry said at once, leaping to his feet despite Remus' insistence that he relax. "Right now."

"Harry, they're perfectly safe where they are," James assured him. "Term ends in less than a week anyway, so I'm sure you'll see them very soon—"

"No, Dad," said Harry, grabbing James by the shoulders and looking him deep in the eyes. "You don't understand. You have to get them out of there, now."

James frowned. Something in Harry's expression must have changed his mind, because he nodded and headed towards the next room. "I'll Floo-call McGonagall and have her send them home," he said. "Dumbledore isn't answering my Patronuses for some reason."

Harry felt a pang of guilt as James disappeared down the hall. So they didn't know that part, either. He wondered how long he had until the full truth came out. Until the Aurors discovered Dumbledore's body atop the Astronomy Tower. Until Neville told them what Harry had done. Would they come seeking his arrest? Would he be thrown in Azkaban? Would he spend the rest of his life on the run, ostracized by the Ministry, Voldemort, and his own family?

"You don't look so good, Harry," asked Sirius, frowning as he saw the look of sheer panic on Harry's face. "Everything alright?"

"Not really, no," Harry muttered.

"Don't worry about your mother and sister," said Remus soothingly. "They're going to be just fine. Dumbledore is there watching over them."

"He and Amelia are probably discussing security improvements to the castle as we speak," Sirius remarked. "Funny, she said she would update us soon on the investigation, but I haven't heard from her in hours."

James shuffled back into the room, looking shell-shocked. Remus and Sirius both sensed his shift in mood at once, turning towards their best friend. "Something the matter, Prongs?" asked Sirius.

James looked between the three others in the room, eyes wide, before swallowing hard. "Dumbledore's dead," he said.

Remus and Sirius stared blankly back at him. "Come off it, James," Sirius chuckled. "There has to be a mistake."

"They found his body at the top of the Astronomy Tower," James said weakly. "Killing Curse. And the Dark Mark was set off above it."

"It can't be," Remus frowned. "It just can't. Dumbledore, dead? It makes no sense."

An uneasy silence settled in the room as the weight and enormity of the news sank in for the three adults. Then, everyone jumped at the sound of a buzzer in the hall, coming from the direction of the front door.

"Visitors, this early?" Sirius frowned. And he hurried from the room to attend to the disturbance. Meanwhile, James sank into the armchair Harry had just vacated, looking shell-shocked. Remus and Harry took the seats on either side of him.

"What will happen now that he's gone?" James wondered aloud. "The Ministry is finished. We have barely three dozen Aurors left in the entire department – that's not enough to hold Voldemort out if he decides to strike."

"What about the mercs hanging around The Spiked Chalice?" Remus suggested. "Any luck recruiting them?"

"We can barely get a hold of them anymore," James sighed. "They can all sense the way the winds are blowing. If there are any mercenaries left that haven't committed to Voldemort's side yet, there won't be after today."

"Then we'll reach out to foreign Ministries," said Remus. "France and America might help us. And there's always the ICW summit next week—"

Sirius rushed back into the room, looking perplexed. "Harry?" he said tentatively. "There are a couple Aurors here who want to speak with you."

Harry leapt to his feet in alarm. "W-why?" he demanded.

"Dunno," Sirius shrugged. "Should I let them in, James?"

"By all means," said James. "Maybe they can tell us what the bloody hell is going on here."

"Dad, no," said Harry in alarm. "We can't. We have to send them away."

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Is there something you need to tell us, Harry?" he asked slowly.

Sirius looked between James and Harry, noting the tension between them. "I'll, er, tell them you're not here," he said, returning to the entryway.

James and Remus turned questioningly to Harry once more. But before anyone could speak, they heard the whoosh of the Floo activating in the next room. Hurried footsteps clambered through the fireplace, and a moment later, three people entered the drawing room: Lily, Dahlia, and Damian, each looking haggard and exhausted but nonetheless alive and well. Harry felt a surge of relief at the sight of them.

"James! Thank Merlin you're alright," Lily breathed, rushing to her husband with a hug. Dahlia spotted Harry across the room and launched herself at him, leaping into his arms.

"Harry!" she sniffed. "People have been saying such horrible things about you...that you were behind all of this...that you joined the Death Eaters—"

"Of course that's preposterous, dear," said Lily. "Your brother was nowhere near the castle last night. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"But I saw him there!" Damian protested. "Coming out of the kitchens! He blocked the Hufflepuffs from escaping the common room!"

Harry hesitated as all eyes turned to him once more. "Erm…" he stammered. "I might have gone back to Hogwarts last night. While the attack was underway."

"What?!" James yelped. "Why did you do that?"

"I didn't know the attack was happening!" Harry protested. "I showed up and saw the Great Hall on fire, and ran inside to see if I could help. The house-elves told me what was happening."

"And you didn't think to call for me straight away?" asked James.

"I was more preoccupied with making sure my family was safe," said Harry. "And I assumed McGonagall alerted the Aurors by then."

"She did," James muttered. "But we only had four members on call at the time, and it took ages to round up enough backup…"

"But Harry," Dahlia piped up, still clutching to her brother with trembling arms, "why are people saying you joined the attack? Neville sent me a Patronus at one in the morning, saying you betrayed us...that you killed Dumbledore...the whole of Gryffindor Tower heard it, and everyone freaked out…"

"Neville must have been mistaken," Remus said at once. "Of course Harry did not kill Dumbledore. That's preposterous."

Harry felt like the walls were closing in on him. There was nowhere to run, no one to seek comfort in. The truth was circling him like a hawk, and soon it would pounce, and his family would know what he had done. The words of his family members became muted and distant in his mind, as they attempted to parse out what had happened, oblivious to the monstrous deed Harry had committed.

There was suddenly another whoosh of the Floo, and Amelia Bones entered the room, looking exhausted. "What a bloody mess," she groaned, as she accepted a kiss from Sirius. "We haven't had an incident like this at Hogwarts in centuries, and that's saying something."

"Are all of the students and staff okay?" asked Lily nervously.

"Aside from Dumbledore and Shacklebolt, yes," said Amelia. "Filius Flitwick is recovering from a few broken ribs, and a few students were admitted to St. Mungo's after running afoul of the Death Eaters."

"How's Mark Davis?" asked Harry aloud. "Was he treated for werewolf bites?"

Amelia gave Harry a strange look. "Yes, Mark is going to be fine," she said slowly. "We managed to seal his cursed wounds and administered him your mother's potion as a precaution. But how did you know about his injuries?"

"Werewolf bites?" piped up Remus, interrupting the question. "Surely there wasn't another incident like last year, with the false moon?"

"We don't think so," said Amelia. "A few witnesses say Fenrir Greyback was among the group, though he was not transformed. It fits with recent reports that he has been attacking and biting Muggles in his human form."

"There's nothing human about that monster," James muttered bitterly. The disgusted looks on the other adults' faces spoke volumes about how they all viewed Greyback similarly.

"What other students were hurt?" asked Lily.

"A few stragglers that crossed paths with the Death Eaters before the lockdown was initiated," said Amelia. "Fortunately, none of the injuries were serious. It seems that the Death Eaters were mainly focused on finding the Headmaster and only engaged the ones foolish enough to try and fight them first."

Harry glanced at Damian after this statement; the boy looked sheepish at these words. Harry was more grateful than ever that he'd prevented the group of Hufflepuffs from joining the fight, knowing that they might have met a more gruesome fate if left to their own devices.

"What about Neville?" asked Dahlia worriedly. "Is he safe? He sounded so distraught when he sent his Patronus earlier."

"That's just the thing," Amelia frowned. "We can't find Longbottom anywhere."

"What d'you mean?" asked James. "He's not in the castle?"

"Not that we know of," said Amelia. "He spoke to Aurors shortly after they arrived, then just vanished without a trace. And that's not all – Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger have also disappeared."

"But they can't have," Harry protested. "I saw both of them last night. They were safe, with their Houses in the common rooms."

"Well, they must have snuck out early this morning, then," Amelia shrugged. "We've scoured the castle and found no trace of them."

"Have you alerted their families?" asked James.

Amelia grimaced at this; Harry sensed more bad news coming. "The Grangers and Weasleys have been notified," she said. "They have not seen them, either. But Augusta...James, she's dead too."

The entire room gasped at this news. "Surely not!" Lily moaned. "She didn't go to the castle and try to fight, did she?"

"The Aurors found her at home, just an hour ago," Amelia said sadly. "They arrived to notify her of Neville's disappearance, and they found her house torn to pieces. She must have put up a helluva fight, but her body was found in the living room, subject to the Killing Curse. The Dark Mark was over the home as well."

"But that's impossible!" said James. "The Longbottom residence is under the Fidelius Charm...there's no way Death Eaters could have gotten to her!"

"Yes, it was under a Fidelius," said Amelia. "But Dumbledore was its Secret-Keeper. When he died, the charm broke, leaving the home unprotected. Whoever did it must have known Dumbledore had just died, leaving them a window of opportunity."

"No!" Harry gasped suddenly, falling to his knees in despair. He realized now that that must have been the 'secondary objective' Snape referred to, when he sent the other Death Eaters away. With Dumbledore gone, they would have known Augusta Longbottom was exposed, allowing them to attack while the Aurors were distracted with the Hogwarts fallout.

I could have stopped them, Harry thought. I should have tried to, at least. Sure, he was physically drained after dueling both Dumbledore and Neville, and it was one versus nine, but could he have done something to save Augusta? Could he have at least alerted somebody to the danger before the Death Eaters left for their bonus mission?

"What about the blood wards?" asked Lily. "I thought they were also protecting the home?"

"Yes, that's what Dumbledore told us," Amelia muttered. "Though he did mention that they weakened any time Neville was away from home. I suppose we can't ask for specifics now."

Harry suspected he knew why the blood wards had failed. They were tied to Neville's mother, Alice, whom Augusta was not related to. And from the way she talked about Frank's belated wife, she seemed to believe that her son deserved better. In Neville's absence, the loving, maternal connection must have weakened enough for the Death Eaters to break through.

Dahlia burst into ugly tears at the news, and Harry held her tight, consoling her. He didn't know the status of her relationship with Neville at the moment, but she clearly cared for him and his Gran and was distressed by the sudden turn of events. And he couldn't blame her – the boy was undergoing easily the worst day of his life. Losing his mentor and his sole remaining relative within hours of each other...watching the Minister's son go rogue...it was no wonder he'd run away. He probably didn't trust anyone right now, save for Ron and Hermione.

"We'll keep an eye out for all three of them," said James, looking to Amelia for confirmation. Amelia nodded morosely, before turning her gaze upon Harry.

"I hate to bring this up at such a delicate moment," she said hesitantly. "But, Harry...I've spoken to several students at the school who seem to believe you were involved in this somehow. Were you at Hogwarts last night?"

Harry's stomach dropped...the last person he wanted to discuss this with was the head of the DMLE. "Er…" he stammered.

"From what it sounds like, Harry here did an admirable job of saving students during the ongoing attack last night," Remus supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, he told us Hufflepuffs to go back to our common room!" Damian chimed in. "Only, Weasley was convinced he was trying to prevent us from helping with the fight—"

"That's not all I've heard," Amelia sighed. "The Ravenclaws insinuate that you tried to break into their common room, and the Deputy Headmistress found you at the aftermath of the blast that killed Kingsley Shacklebolt."

All eyes turned to Harry at this, surprised. "I tried to get into my dorm, but my House mates wouldn't let me through!" Harry protested. "And yes, I was the first to find Kingsley – I tried to resuscitate him, but he had already passed."

"Then there's the matter of Neville Longbottom," Amelia grimaced. "Before he disappeared, the first responders claim that he was ranting and raving to anyone that would listen, saying that Harry had killed Albus Dumbledore personally."

"That's outrageous!" Sirius gasped. "Harry would never do such a thing!"

"Neville simply must have been mistaken," said James. "Harry was nowhere near the Astronomy Tower, I am sure."

Harry's heart hammered faster as everyone looked to him expectantly. His vision was blurring; he felt trapped, pinned beneath the concerned stares of his loved ones. This is the end, he thought in despair. This is the moment my family stops loving me. There is no going back from this.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said weakly. "He was weak and defeated...I didn't know he was up there...and then the Death Eaters showed up, and they were talking about looking into his memories...and Dumbledore was saying too much...I didn't want his secrets to get back to Voldemort—"

"Harry, dear...what are you saying?" Lily frowned.

"I k-killed him," Harry stammered. "With the K-Killing Curse. And then I didn't know what else to do, so I ran away with Snape...and Flitwick got hurt...and then Voldemort was there...oh, Merlin, what have I done?"

Harry collapsed to the ground, trembling, feeling like he was drowning. The stress of the past twenty-four hours had finally consumed him; he curled up into himself, his body and mind entering meltdown mode. He could barely breathe; his entire body shook violently as he gasped for air.

Just take me to Azkaban now, he silently begged. Or kill me. Yes, that would be preferable right about now. He could not bear the shame, the knowledge that his family was standing there in stunned silence, disgusted with their their brother, their nephew, their son. Harry had lost his family with what he had done. He had nothing left to live for now.

Then, Dahlia knelt at his side and stroked his hair soothingly. "Just breathe, Harry," she reassured him. "Deep breaths. Calm down."

Damian sat beside him too, resting a rough palm on Harry's back. Then Lily was there, engulfing her children and nephew in a fierce hug, weeping silently with them on the floor.

"Amelia," said James quietly, "can you keep this quiet for now? Did anyone else besides Longbottom claim to have witnessed this?"

"Not that I'm aware," said Amelia. "But rumors are starting to spread, and I won't be able to keep it quiet forever."

"Try and keep it to just rumors for now," said James. "We'll figure out a plan in the meantime. Focus on Snape and the other Death Eaters that were seen at the castle – that should satisfy public curiosity for the time being."

"Will do," said Amelia. And she strode quickly from the room; seconds later, Harry heard the whoosh of the Floo as she returned to her duties.

"You don't have to protect me," Harry sniffed, struggling up to a sitting position. "I'm guilty, Dad."

"Right now, the only thing I care about is your safety and well-being," said James firmly, kneeling in front of his son. "You've been through an ordeal, and whatever happened, we'll sort it out. Remus, can you find a Calming Draught in the kitchen?"

"On it," said Remus at once, exiting the room.

There was a sudden crash across the room as Sirius kicked a cabinet against the wall in frustration, causing several expensive-looking pieces of fine china to fall and shatter within.

"This is all my bloody fault," Sirius said bitterly. "I should have been there for Harry—"

"Don't beat yourself up, Padfoot—" James began.

"Look at the poor kid!" Sirius groaned, gesturing to Harry. "If I'd known he was going through this much turmoil, I would have dropped everything and been there for him in an instant! I'm his bloody godfather, and I let him deteriorate without checking in on him once!"

"Stop that, Sirius," Lily barked, still clutching Harry tightly on the floor. "We all failed Harry this year. We've been so busy with the war effort that we didn't see the warning signs. If anyone should be upset, it's me – I saw him damn near every day and didn't raise any red flags."

"Stop blaming yourselves on my behalf," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I did what I did on my own. It wasn't any of your faults."

"You've always shouldered far more responsibility than you ought to, Harry," James said softly. "And we let you take on too much. You're sixteen – you shouldn't have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your emotional well-being is just as important as your physical safety, and we neglected it this year."

"So...you're not angry with me?" Harry asked hopefully. "For killing Dumbledore?"

James sighed heavily at the reminder of the deed. "We can get into the specifics another time," he said. "But you're my son, and I love you no matter what. You say you had your reasons, and I believe you. As far as I'm concerned, you never should have been put in that situation in the first place. Now please, let the adults take charge so you don't have to clean up any more messes all by yourself."

Harry felt stupendous relief at his words. Lily, Dahlia and Damian continued to hold him close, and he realized that his worst fears were unfounded. They did not hate him for what he had done. They would continue to support him despite his terrible actions. For the first time in what felt like ages, stress evaporated from his body, leaving him feeling limp and dazed.

Remus returned to the room with two potion vials. "Drink this first," he instructed Harry, handing him the first. Harry tipped it back without question; he immediately felt the Calming Draught work its magic, quieting his tremors and bringing his heart rate back to normal. He swayed perilously on the spot, held up only by his family members on either side of him.

"I brought a Sleeping Draught as well," said Remus, indicating the other bottle. "We should bring him upstairs to bed."

"Good idea," James nodded. "You need rest, Harry – we can take it from here."

"No," Harry said at once; he stood, suddenly reinvigorated by urgency. "Dad, there's something you have to know first."

"Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow—" James began softly.

"No, it can't," said Harry. "I saw Voldemort last night. He threatened to kill me, and...I struck a bargain with him."

The room froze at these words. "You saw You-Know-Who?" said Sirius, looking shocked. "And survived?"

"Snape saved me," said Harry. "Long story, it doesn't matter now. What does matter is this: Voldemort said the Potters must leave Britain, today, or he will hunt us all down."

"Leave Britain?" James scoffed. "I'm the bloody Minister of Britain, Harry...I can't just up and leave. The country would collapse behind me."

"It's going to collapse whether or not you're still here," Harry said weakly. "You have to run, Dad. We'll go into hiding and regroup. Figure out a plan for what's next."

"Britain needs me now more than ever," said James. "I won't leave my people."

"Sweetheart, listen to reason," said Lily in a strained voice, standing to her feet. "You're now the Dark Lord's most wanted, with Albus out of the way. We have to take the children and run. Surely Sebastian Delacour can help us—"

"You take the kids and go, then," said James. "I will stay and defend those who remain behind."

"James, we have talked about this!" Lily groaned. "We are not safe here. With Dumbledore gone, there is no one left to defend us, and if what Harry said is true, we are about to be directly targeted! This is the perfect opportunity to escape, and live to fight another day."

"A Potter does not run from his responsibilities," James said stubbornly. "I will not leave Britain to fall to that monster. I would never be able to live with myself."

Lily looked exasperated, as though this was an argument they'd had several times in the past. The rest of the room watched on in awkward silence, the mood suddenly quite tense.

"Perhaps this is a discussion to be had privately between the two of you," Remus suggested diplomatically.

"Yes, of course," James nodded. "Harry, you look like you haven't slept in days – go upstairs and get some rest. Lily, bring Damian to Godric's Hollow and tell Petunia what's happened. We'll figure out a plan by the end of the day."

"I'll go with Harry," Dahlia said firmly, still clutching Harry's arm tightly for support. James and Lily nodded their thanks; the latter took Damian's hand and guided him to the Floo to reunite with his mother, as Sirius and Remus helped Harry and Dahlia to their feet.

"It'll be alright, Harry," said Sirius, engulfing his godson in a tight hug. "The adults will handle things now."

"Make sure your brother gets plenty of sleep," James instructed Dahlia as he hugged both of his children tight. "It's going to be okay now."

Harry felt as though a tremendous burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He did not know if his father would accept the deal Voldemort had offered them, but at least he was aware of it now. Whatever happened come tomorrow, would happen – Harry could finally rest until then.

Dahlia guided Harry up the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor. Harry could tell how tense she was, could tell that something was weighing heavily on her.

"Where d'you think Neville went?" she asked worriedly as they reached the bedroom. "Could he have been kidnapped?"

"Unlikely," said Harry. "Voldemort didn't sound like that was in his plans. It's more likely he ran for it...for all we know, he thinks Dad was involved in Dumbledore's assassination somehow and the Ministry is compromised. He doesn't trust any Potter right now."

"D'you think he's going to be alright?" asked Dahlia as Harry wearily kicked off his outer layers and crawled under the sheets.

"Probably," Harry shrugged as he settled into the pillow. "Ron and Hermione are with him, and he has the Cloak for added protection."

"Yes, but I mean...emotionally," Dahlia sighed. "He lost everything yesterday, you know. First me, then Dumbledore, then his Gran."

"You?" Harry repeated, frowning. "How did he lose you?"

Dahlia fidgeted uncomfortably at the question. "I, er, broke up with him," she admitted. "After breakfast, when you and him had that argument. I confronted him about not returning our family cloak, and he wouldn't give me a straight answer, just saying 'Dumbledore said not to', so I dumped him. I thought surely we'd patch things up once he came to his senses, but now...oh, I must have made things ten times worse for him."

Harry could sympathize with where Dahlia was coming from. Despite all the idiotic decisions Neville had made, he still felt terribly for the boy now – on the run, with no family support, not knowing who to trust. And he could tell that Dahlia, despite the break-up, still cared deeply for Neville and wanted the best for him. It seemed both of the Potter siblings had an inexplicable soft spot for the Boy Who Lived, choosing to see the good in him despite his many missteps.

Then, Harry remembered the murderous whispers in his head as he stood over Neville's defeated form. The needless taunts and personal jabs that were likely now tormenting the boy as he mourned his only two mentors in life. He regretted his sharp words now, and felt tremendous guilt for the misplaced anger he'd directed at a boy who was deeply hurting.

"I think I'm becoming a monster," Harry said in a strained voice. "I had such dark thoughts when I fought Neville yesterday – I really thought about killing him. Does that make me a bad person?"

Dahlia considered this. "Well, you didn't kill him, did you?" she reasoned. "We all have dark thoughts sometimes. What matters is whether we act upon them or not."

"But he wouldn't have been the first person I killed," Harry protested. "Bellatrix. Rakhaman. Dumbledore. My body count is rising without even trying."

"Those were all different," Dahlia said firmly. "We're at war, and you've had to make hard decisions to protect yourself and other people. If a maniac was charging me with a knife, would you kill him to protect me?"

"In a heartbeat," said Harry. "But Neville was defenseless, and I still wanted to take his life."

"But you didn't," Dahlia repeated. "Real monsters don't know the difference between the two scenarios. You do. Actions speak louder than words, and yours have done nothing to change my mind that you're a good person."

Dahlia's reassuring words helped to alleviate Harry's guilt and self-loathing. She sat in a chair beside the bed and uncorked the Sleeping Draught, handing it to him wordlessly. He drank it obediently, and did not protest when Dahlia took his hand, stroking his palm gently with her thumb to coax him to sleep.

In that moment, Harry was overwhelmed by the feeling of love and trust he got from his sister. He had the sudden urge to confide in her, to share his deepest, burning secrets that continued to burden him. The time travel. The horcrux hunt. The feeling of being an impostor in his own family, not quite belonging, not quite deserving the unconditional love he received.

But before he could do so, the potion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Harry had no idea how long he slept. His dreams were consumed with visions of terror: blood-red eyes following his every move, green bolts of light barely missing him, his loved ones screaming his name in fear. The Sleeping Draught kept him from awakening, trapping him in his nightmares, unable to escape the dread and doom that he knew was waiting for him whether he woke up or not.

When his eyes finally popped open, it was pitch-black – he must have been out for at least half a day, if not longer. Harry heard rhythmic breathing nearby – Dahlia was curled up beside him in the bed, sleeping peacefully. He still felt exhausted, but was in no mood to return to the torment of his dreamscape, so he slipped out of bed and headed for the door.

He nearly tripped over something halfway across the room – something long and wooden leaning against the wall, knocking it to the floor. Harry reached out his arm and snapped his fingers; his wand zoomed across the room into his palm, its tip alighting to illuminate the room. His Firebolt was lying on its side on the ground, and beside it was his school trunk, right beside Dahlia's. Their belongings must have been returned by the school house-elves while he slept.

Harry immediately unlocked his trunk and dug through it. The Marauder's Map was still nestled between two pairs of trousers where he'd left it, and buried at the bottom, stuffed in a sock, was the Resurrection Stone. Harry held it lightly in his palm – it felt ice-cold to the touch, despite being insulated in a warm environment. And come to think of it, his other hand felt quite cold as well...the one holding his wand.

Harry glanced at his wand hand and paused, frowning. He was not holding the Kneazle core wand – that one was still resting on the bedside table, untouched. The wand he had summoned to his hand was of darker wood, with ornate notches and a golden band near the hilt. He recognized it immediately as Dumbledore's.

Did he make a mistake when he handed the other wand to Voldemort? Had he given the Dark Lord Neville's wand instead? But no, he would recognize the holly and phoenix core wand anywhere – the wand he'd handed over was short and white, unlike any wand he'd seen before. And he remembered precisely which robes pocket he'd placed each wand in; he dug through his robes on the ground and found the right pocket empty. This was definitely the wand he'd taken from Neville.

Is this the Elder Wand? Harry wondered, holding it side by side with the Resurrection Stone. They both felt like shards of ice in his hands, yet paradoxically burning his palms rather than freezing them. They simply had to be forged of the same material, or at least woven of the same death magic. Two of the Deathly Hallows in his possession, both by complete accident, while the third – his birthright, ironically – still eluded him.

It certainly explained a couple of things from the previous night. How Neville had been so inexplicably powerful in their duel. Why Harry had heard those murderous whisperings in his ear after claiming the wand. But why had Neville been holding it in the first place?

Harry knew he needed definitive answers about what had happened the day before. And now that he had the Stone back in his possession, he knew how to get them. He'd intended to have a candid conversation with Albus Dumbledore when he returned to the castle last night...the circumstances may be far different now, but he would have that conversation, one way or another.

He pocketed the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone and slipped out of the bedroom. He tip-toed down the stairs, intending to find a quiet room to close himself in for privacy. However, he found his father sitting in the study, quietly sipping tea from an armchair, gaze cast out the window in quiet contemplation. A glance at the clock on the wall told Harry that it was far too late for James to still be awake.

"Dad?" he called out. James startled a bit at his appearance, sighing and massaging his temple.

"Harry," he muttered. "Sleep alright?"

"Fine," Harry lied. "What are you still doing up?"

"Been trying to contact as many people as possible," James sighed, setting down his teacup. "To see who we can trust, what we can pull together."

"That's good," Harry muttered. Any word from Neville, Ron or Hermione?"

"Nothing," James said. "Wherever they're hiding, they don't want to be found. We've been monitoring Neville's wand for the Trace since he's underage, but he hasn't cast anything yet and they won't respond to Patronus messages."

"I see," said Harry, deep in thought. It occurred to him that it would be sunrise soon, and the Potters were all still in Britain despite the ultimatum. "Er...Dad? What are we going to do next?"

James surveyed Harry tiredly. "I've called for an emergency meeting of the Order of the Stag," he said. "We're meeting in a few hours, at seven o'clock. I have no idea who will show up and who we can trust moving forward. But before I decide whether to leave Britain, I want to have a frank discussion with the people I would be leaving behind."

Harry supposed that was fair. While he yearned for the safety of his immediate family first and foremost, he knew a lot of good people would be in grave danger once they left. How many of their friends and allies would be murdered in the wake of Voldemort's takeover? And how would the Potters' reputation be affected if they left them all to die? It was a fair compromise to at least talk to everyone first.

"You should get back to bed," James remarked, glancing at the clock. "From what it sounds like, you went through quite an ordeal yesterday."

"I've slept enough," Harry shrugged. "What about you? You don't look too rested yourself."

"I'm fine," James said dismissively. But Harry knew that wasn't the case; his father looked weathered and exhausted, the weight of the war beating him down to a pulp.

"Go get some sleep before the meeting," Harry suggested. "Go be with Mum. Who knows when we'll get the next chance to rest?"

James nodded thoughtfully at his words. He stood with a mighty grunt and stumbled blearily towards the stairs. He paused at the doorway, looking to Harry thoughtfully for a moment.

"I'm so very sorry, Harry," he said quietly. "I tried so hard to give you a happy childhood, but I feel like I've failed. You never should have been a part of this war, never should have had to make difficult choices like you did last night."

"It's not your fault," Harry shrugged. "I didn't exactly listen when you tried to keep me out of it. Besides, you didn't enter me in that tournament, or threaten Dahlia's life three times over. I'm just responding to it all the best I can."

James approached Harry and wrapped him in a tight hug. "I don't tell you often enough how proud I am of you," he muttered in his son's ear. "You've handled yourself in this war better than anyone your age had any right to. No matter what mistakes you feel you've made, I know you've always done what you think is best. And I admire you for it."

Harry felt a surge of warmth at his father's words. "I'm proud of you too, Dad," he offered. "Whatever you decide, I'll stand behind you no matter what."

They broke apart, each deliberately avoiding the other's misty gazes. James shuffled up the stairs to bed; Harry waited and listened until he heard his father's bedroom door click shut. He then shut himself inside the study, casting numerous silencing and privacy wards on the door. He wanted to be alone for this next conversation – it could get just as emotional, and not in a good way.

Harry withdrew the Resurrection Stone from his pocket and turned it over three times. "Albus Dumbledore," he whispered, feeling the cold magic of the Hallow twist and flare in his palm, reaching out to the other side. He mentally steeled himself for a difficult conversation that should have happened years ago.

"So you found it, then."

Harry turned – Albus Dumbledore was standing before him, but not really. He was semi-translucent and incorporeal, wearing splendid robes of periwinkle blue, his beard not quite as gray and his face not as weathered and tired-looking as before. But he nonetheless wore an expression of sadness and disappointment that gave Harry a twinge of guilt.

"The Resurrection Stone, yes," Harry nodded, holding it up for Dumbledore to see. "We need to talk."

"I fear there is little more for us to say to one another," Dumbledore said sadly. "You've had your victory, Harry Potter. Now you must live with the consequences of your actions."

"My victory?" Harry scoffed. "You think I wanted to kill you? I had no choice, Albus. They were going to take you to Lockhart and plunder your mind – I had to prevent that from happening."

"Then why did you help Death Eaters invade the castle?" Dumbledore demanded. "That is where you went after leaving the school grounds, is it not?"

"I...what?" Harry stammered. "No, you idiot, I had nothing to do with that! I was trying to stop them, the same as you!"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Then where did you go that evening?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nurmengard," said Harry. "To speak to Grindelwald. I was looking for the Elder Wand, but it turns out you had it all along, didn't you?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "And luckily, I had the foresight to pass it along prior to my death, so that it would not pass into enemy hands."

"Well, it made its way to me anyway," Harry shrugged. He reached into his robes and withdrew the dark wand he'd taken from Neville. It glimmered lightly in the candlelight, its ancient brown wood contrasting with a yellowish-white center. Dumbledore's eyes widened with horror at the sight of it.

"No," he said with dismay. "You were not meant to get the wand. It was Neville's...I immobilized him beneath the Cloak so that he would not lose it in combat...it was always meant to be Neville's…"

"Well, I took it from him, so it's mine now," said Harry flatly, pocketing the wand again. "When did you give it to Neville?"

"Shortly after you nearly bested me in our lessons," said Dumbledore. "It was the first time I sensed that the wand's loyalty was wavering, that it was ready to pledge its allegiance to another. I knew Neville must be the one to end up with it, so I passed it to him, trained him in how to control it. The Elder Wand is bloodthirsty, and requires an iron will to resist the temptation, and I knew Neville would need to learn how to wield it without falling to temptation."

"Is that why he was acting like such a prat to me the last few weeks?" Harry demanded. "Was the wand telling him I'm not to be trusted, the same as you?"

"I imagine so," Dumbledore sighed. "I worried that Neville did not have the mental fortitude to control the wand, but it was the only way – I had to take that risk."

"So the wand I took from you…" Harry muttered, deep in thought. "Where did it come from?"

"Maple and phoenix feather, nine and a quarter inches," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "The wand I purchased from Ollivander's when I was eleven years old. I had not used it in over fifty years, since I used it to defeat Gellert – it was like reuniting with an old friend. Though unfortunately, it was not enough to overcome you atop the Astronomy Tower, not in my weakened state."

"Well, if you'd taken two seconds to announce yourself, we wouldn't have needed to fight at all," Harry groaned. "But I suppose you wouldn't have trusted me either way, would you?"

"How could I?" Dumbledore said sadly. "Seeing what you were becoming...the dark path you were walking down...could you blame me for thinking the worst?"

"I know precisely who to blame for it," Harry muttered darkly. "Grindelwald. You realize he was lying to you, right? He told me everything – he wanted revenge against you for beating him all those years ago, and twisted your mind into thinking I was some kind of Dark Lord on the rise."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed in confusion. Then, his expression slowly softened as realization dawned on him. "That certainly is something Gellert would do," he admitted. "He spent years trying to mislead me about Tom Riddle – I should have realized he would do the same with you."

"I know we disagree over my use of dark magic," said Harry. "But I would have thought you'd recognize that the only thing I care about is Voldemort's destruction. I have no ambitions of power, beyond what is necessary to defeat him."

Dumbledore suddenly looked terribly guilty. "Harry, my boy, I am a fool," he muttered sadly. "I should have realized you were no threat to me and my mission. I was afraid that you were growing too powerful to control, not realizing that our goals were aligned all along. I sincerely apologize."

"Yes, well, I suppose you paid for that mistake in the most permanent fashion, so none needed," Harry shrugged. "But enough about me...let's talk about you. Why didn't you tell me you were hunting horcruxes?"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "Horcruxes?" he repeated.

"Don't play dumb with me, Albus," Harry groaned. "I know you were at the Gaunt shack that night. I know you were looking for the ring."

"You knew of the ring?" said Dumbledore. "But how?"

"I've been doing this far longer than you realize," said Harry. "How many times do I have to tell you that I've been opposing Voldemort for nearly six years now?"

"But I do not understand," Dumbledore muttered. "Why did you believe the ring would help in the fight against Voldemort?"

"I...huh?" said Harry. "Of course it would – it was a bloody horcrux, and I destroyed it!"

"Horcrux?" Dumbledore repeated. "Voldemort made more?"

"Of course he did," said Harry. "Isn't that what you were doing with Neville? Hunting his horcruxes?"

"My boy, I was unaware until this moment that Voldemort had made any besides the diary," said Dumbledore. "We were after the stone set inside the ring. I recognized it from Bob Ogden's memories as the Resurrection Stone."

"So...you only wanted the ring because it was one of the Deathly Hallows?" said Harry, confused.

"Yes, of course, that was the whole point!" said Dumbledore earnestly. "Master of Death, Harry, Master of Death! If Neville Longbottom united the three Hallows, he would be able to free himself of Voldemort's soul fragment and fulfill the prophecy at last!"

"So you did know about the soul fragment in his scar," said Harry.

"I had a hunch it was the key to Voldemort's survival back in 1981," said Dumbledore. "And the more Neville told me about the connection he shared with Tom's mind, the more certain I became. The only way to be rid of it was for Neville to die, but as Master of Death...well, such a fate could be avoided."

"You were trying to save Neville?" Harry breathed. He was feeling overwhelmed with all these new revelations, and sat in the armchair his father had just vacated to process them.

"I know you believed me to be some sort of heartless puppet-master, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "But I cared very deeply for the safety of my students. And I apologize for stealing your father's cloak all those years ago, but my only objective was to unite the Hallows and use them to save Neville and destroy Voldemort. Of course I would have returned it once the mission was complete."

"And you believed that would work?" Harry asked. "Removing the soul fragment from Neville's head without killing him?"

"It had to," said Dumbledore, somewhat stubbornly and childishly, Harry thought. "The Deathly Hallows are renowned for a reason. If anything could overcome Death itself, it would be them."

Harry thought back to his conversation with Grindelwald about the teenage Dumbledore. "I quickly dismissed the foolish notion of a 'Master of Death' that Albus held so dear…" Was Albus Dumbledore truly misled by his blind faith in the Hallows? Is that why he had succumbed to the Rotting Curse, despite his advanced Occlumency? Was he so sorely tempted by the objects he'd coveted all his life that he reached into the box without thinking?

"I'm not so sure, sir," said Harry slowly. "I don't think Death is someone who can be tricked that easily."

Dumbledore eyed Harry curiously. "You have always had a peculiar relationship with Death, haven't you, Harry?" he asked. "I suspected as much ever since I first saw your Patronus."

Harry sighed – no point in holding onto his secrets now. "That's because I've met Death, face to face," he said. "I passed through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries when I was fifteen. Only, not in this world – in another, where I was the Boy Who Lived. And Death sent me to this world, where I had a family, and Neville bore that burden instead of me."

"Ahhh," Dumbledore breathed, closing his eyes in realization. "So you are a time traveler. The thought did briefly cross my mind...your Seer story didn't quite add up in my head…"

"I've been trying to stop Voldemort ever since I arrived here six years ago," said Harry. "But it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park."

"Then why did you not come straight to me for help?" asked Dumbledore.

"You're partly the reason I died the last time," Harry shrugged. "You never told me anything and left me in the dark, and I got myself into trouble because of your negligence."

"I see," Dumbledore muttered. "And I'm guessing you assumed that I did so intentionally, in order to rid the world of the soul fragment inside of your head?"

"Well...yeah," Harry said kinda lamely.

"I do not know my alternate self from your world, so I cannot say for certain," Dumbledore mused. "But I have to imagine it was an honest mistake on my part. I am not a perfect person, Harry, as you well know. I put a lot of faith in my own abilities and intellect – too much, perhaps – but if I abhor anything, it's the idea that I do not care for the well-being of my students. I would do anything to help them, even at my own expense."

"You knew about Draco Malfoy's involvement in my family's accidents," Harry pointed out. "Why didn't you try to stop him?"

"If Voldemort knew that I was onto his plans, Draco and his entire family would have been killed," said Dumbledore. "I was buying time until I could unite the Hallows, then I intended to bring the fight to Voldemort before Draco became an issue. He is only a boy, Harry, and I hope you realize he was forced into this position against his will – he is no killer."

"No, he's not," Harry admitted begrudgingly to himself. He'd seen the boy's internal conflict play out atop the Astronomy Tower and knew he didn't want to do this, any of this.

"You mentioned horcruxes before," said Dumbledore. "I take it Voldemort has made more?"

"Six of them," Harry nodded, causing Dumbledore to wince visibly. "I've already found and destroyed three of them. We believe Nagini is another, plus the Cup of Hufflepuff and the Sword of Gryffindor."

"So that is the mysterious project you were working on with Bill Weasley," Dumbledore mused.

"And Fleur Delacour," said Harry. "And Saul Croaker, before he died."

"I can understand why you kept such knowledge quiet," said Dumbledore. "If Voldemort knew their existence was common knowledge, he would take great pains to hide them far from reach. I take it the diary was another?"

"And the Diadem of Ravenclaw, the Locket of Slytherin, and the Gaunt ring," Harry confirmed. "We found the latter last year and left a fake in its place, in case Voldemort came back to check on it."

"A rather convincing fake, I must add," Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Or else I may not have succumbed to my fate. I fear I saw the symbol upon the stone's surface and briefly lost my wits, believing I would see my family again. I was a fool, a terrible fool."

There was an awkward silence as Harry and Dumbledore each reflected on their past missteps. Would things have turned out differently if both of them had laid out all their cards on the table to begin with? Would this war have been over already? Would Dumbledore still be alive? Would Neville have made it out intact?

"I don't know what to do anymore," Harry sighed. "Voldemort's all but won now. Neville ran away, and I've no idea how to contact him, much less convince him to trust me again after what he saw me do."

"You have to find him before Voldemort does," Dumbledore implored him. "Give him the wand and the stone – he already has the cloak. He will know what to do with them."

"What, die?" Harry said skeptically.

"He will become Master of Death," Dumbledore insisted. "Only he will know what that means when it happens. Perhaps he can bargain with Death to remove the corrupted soul fragment...or else he can pass through the Veil and come out the other side...either way, he will have 'power the Dark Lord knows not'."

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at Dumbledore's words. They sounded great and well thought-out, but were they true? Was his narrow interpretation of the prophecy correct? Or was he still blinded by his worship of the Hallows, which may or may not be the solution to Neville's problem? Harry couldn't be sure, but now wasn't the time to argue with the man. He had the answers he needed.

"I'll find him," Harry promised nevertheless. "And the remaining three horcruxes. Then hopefully we can end this war once and for all."

"You must," said Dumbledore. "I see now why your fate is tied so closely to Neville's...you must guide him to achieve his destiny, Harry. You are his shepherd, his steward. I failed in that task, but it was meant to be you all along. And I'm sorry for not seeing it sooner."

So sure of the correct answer once again, Harry thought cynically. He was tired of Dumbledore making assumptions about people's fates without taking their input into account. But the old man looked sincere, regarding Harry with far more kindness than he had in months past while he was alive.

"I'll do what I can," Harry nodded. "I guess this is farewell, then."

"Best of luck, Harry Potter," Dumbledore nodded. "I do not agree with the path you have chosen, but I hope it takes you were you need to go."

Harry nodded in return and pocketed the ring. The Headmaster faded from view, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. They really were two sides of the same coin, Harry and Albus, as loathe as he was to admit it. Both kept their secrets close to the chest and were selective in who they chose to trust with them. Harry doubted he would call upon Dumbledore's spirit again, if only to distance himself from that mindset.

He did not know what the future of this war held for him anymore. Would the Potters remain in Britain and prepare for a showdown with Voldemort? Or would they flee, biding their time to live and fight another day? Either way, Harry knew he could not roll over and hide from his problems any longer. He would continue fighting, as would his loved ones, and he would not stop until either he or Voldemort met a violent end.

A/N: And so we reach the end of the Year Six arc. I'm going to take a short break before continuing on to Year Seven to make sure I have everything plotted out properly. I have plenty more wild twists and turns planned, some of which may frustrate or anger some people, but as always, I'm telling the story I want to tell, not the one that I think will please the greatest number of people. Thank you all for sticking with me and leaving kind (and some not-so-kind) comments along the way!