“How could you have been so reckless?” Snape said to a younger Harry with a bandaged arm.

“I’m sorry, but we had to save Ginny and we couldn’t find anyone that would help,” Harry said.

“You almost died,” Snape said firmly though his tone was full of concern rather than anger.

“I know,” Harry said quietly, dropping his eyes.

Snape sighed and gently tugged Harry’s uninjured arm to pull him against his chest in a hug. Harry wrapped his arms around the man and laid his head against the warm chest.

“I won’t do it again, promise,” Harry mumbled.

Snape’s chest bounced lightly with his quiet chuckle. “Yes, you will, child, but it is alright.”

“Potter, what do you want?”

Harry shook himself, pulling himself from the vision that had appeared randomly when he entered the Defense classroom. His lips twitched, wanting to smile at the vision, a part of him wishing it was real. He brought himself back to the current moment, seeing Snape’s raised eyebrow and slightly annoyed expression. He’d decided to forgo lunch in favour of talking to Snape about everything Slughorn had told him and the curious letter he had received the previous night. Considering the man was one of Hogwarts’ heroes, it felt like Snape was one of the only professors they could trust. He crossed the room so he was standing in front of Snape at his desk.

“Sir, I have something to show you,” Harry said, deciding it would be easier to deal with the letter first. He held it out when Snape looked at him in question. He waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, as the man’s eyes darted over the short note and narrowed before flicking back to him.

“What is this?” Snape asked shortly.

“I found it last night,” Harry said. “When I got back to the dorm, it was on my pillow. I think it’s from Voldemort.”

“How is that possible?”

Harry just shrugged. Just because he thought it was from Voldemort, it didn’t mean he was certain or that he knew the how or why.

Snape’s eyes narrowed again as he looked at Harry and leaned forward. “You had better not be considering this.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I mean—”

Snape’s sharp gaze turned into a hard glare. “Potter, think for once in your life and don’t be an utter idiot.”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “I am thinking. I told you about it, didn’t I, rather than just running off on my own?”

Snape just continued staring at him.

“Why shouldn’t we think about it?” Harry asked and Snape’s expression turned slightly dumbfounded, as though he couldn’t comprehend Harry’s idiocy.

“Has it not been your theory that it is Riddle responsible for everything?” Snape said pointedly. “Not to mention everything else he has been responsible for.”

“What if we’re wrong?” Harry responded quickly, gaining a questioning look from the professor. “What if everything we think we know is wrong?”

They stared at each other intently.

“What are you talking about?” Snape asked.

“You mean, besides everything already going on trying to tell us we’re wrong?” Harry said and then sighed. “I talked to Slughorn last night and he told me—showed me a memory—about Tom Riddle in school.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, silently asking why this was relevant.

“According to Slughorn, Tom had no interest in the Dark Arts, that he was actually happy,” Harry said. “He said Tom changed after opening the Chamber of Secrets as though under a compulsion or Mind Magic.”

Snape’s gaze sharpened, obviously thinking the same things Harry had.

“He read about horcruxes, felt compelled to explore dark magic,” Harry continued. “When he went to Dumbledore, Dumbledore told him to learn more, that it was good he’d found an ‘academic interest’.”

Snape still didn’t respond, but had a serious expression as he listened.

“Slughorn thinks Tom was manipulated into the Dark Arts and the things he did,” Harry said. “So. What if we’re wrong about everything we think we know?”

“None of that indicates that we can trust him.”

“It doesn’t mean we can’t,” Harry fired back. “The reality is, we don’t know who we can trust anymore.”

“Potter…” Snape said, clearly unsure.

“Shouldn’t we find out what the truth is?” Harry said. “There’s a lot we don’t know, a lot we can’t remember, and he’s part of that, whether good or bad.”

Snape breathed deeply and Harry could tell the man was about to argue against the idea.

“What if he has answers? No one else seems to have any and I would very much like to know what the hell is going on. What this is between us, what’s missing, why I even thought of you first of all people to show this to,” Harry said in a final effort to convince Snape to agree with him. He frowned when Snape didn’t respond. Maybe he was wrong and the man hadn’t been seeing or feeling the same things he was. He sighed. “What else have we got to lose?”

“Our lives, Potter,” Snape said, deadpanned.

“Except they’re not our lives, not really,” Harry argued.

“If you think I can, in good conscience, let you go off with the darkest wizard in history, then you must truly be an imbecile.”

“We already know I am, but what if he’s not? We need to know.”

A long, heavy silence fell. Harry thought he’d been pretty convincing and hoped he wouldn’t have to add that he’d be going to the meeting with or without Snape’s approval. He assumed a part of Snape probably already knew that. Plus, a part of him wanted Snape’s approval. He wanted the man to agree with him, support him, help him. The silence carried on so long Harry was certain Snape was going to refuse or just say nothing, so he was stunned by the man’s eventual response, to say the least.

“Very well, but I am coming with you.”

Harry blinked in shock. “What?”

“Like I said, you do not expect me to allow you to meet with a dark wizard possibly hell-bent on your death alone, do you?” Snape said pointedly, his eyebrow raised.

Harry struggled for a reply. “I…I guess not,” he said simply. “Won’t he kill you for being a traitor if he really is the Voldemort we think we know?”

“And he won’t kill you for being Harry Potter?”

Harry had to concede to the man’s well-made point. “Well then, how do we get to Hogsmeade on Saturday after dinner?”

Snape smirked slightly. “No grand plan, Potter?”

Harry glared half-heartedly, crossing his arms.

“Of course, I suppose I forgot your ability to think before acting had limits,” Snape said, his smirk growing.

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t angry, though, not even irritated. He felt more amused than anything and it seemed Snape possibly felt the same. He pretended, though. He couldn’t let Snape know he thought the man had been funny.

“I will sort it out,” Snape eventually added. “Meet me in my office an hour after dinner. I will get us to Hogsmeade. Enlist your friends to run diversions if needed.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That is all the time we have,” Snape said, standing as the door to his classroom opened. “To class, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir.”

The days leading up to the meeting were some of the longest in Harry’s life. The minutes dragged by while his classes blurred together in his distraction. He couldn’t focus on anything as his mind constantly came up with scenarios they could encounter upon their arrival in the village. Almost all of them involved them being completely wrong and being murdered in some horrific way by Voldemort who relished in their stupidity.

A part of him was seriously doubting this plan, but he couldn’t let Snape know. He had tried so hard to convince the man the meeting was a good idea; he couldn’t retreat now.

He’d let his friends know about the plan and they came up with a few ideas on how to deal with Dumbledore or any other professor if they ended up looking for him while he was gone. He’d even enlisted Luna and Malfoy to help out if needed. He’d been surprised at Malfoy’s easy agreement and couldn’t help but wonder what was missing between them too. He hadn’t had as many visions involving Malfoy as he had Snape, but he still knew there were things they couldn’t remember.

He was nervous as he picked and pushed his way through his dinner. No matter which way the meeting went, something big would change that evening. Either he’d be killed and Voldemort would take the wizarding world or their reality would completely implode.

He couldn’t stop glancing up at the head table to see if Snape had left or not and at his watch, keeping track of the minutes. He hated all this waiting; it was making him anxious.

“Harry, you’re being too obvious that something’s going on,” Hermione whispered. “Relax.”

“I know,” he whispered back. He knew he shouldn’t be constantly looking at Snape or showing his nervousness, but he couldn’t help it. He did his best, though, for the rest of dinner, forcing himself to stare at his food while forcing down a few bites.

Eventually dinner ended and, after a long hour of staring into the fire while sitting tensely in the common room, it was time to meet Snape. As per the plan, he threw on his invisibility cloak to avoid anyone spotting him going to see Snape at such an odd hour. He snuck down to the Defense office and slipped inside without knocking.

He sucked in a breath, his eyes widened, and he backed hurriedly into a corner when he found himself staring at Dumbledore’s back. He saw Snape’s eyes flicker to the door and Dumbledore turned to look at the door when it clicked shut.

“A latching problem, Severus?” the headmaster inquired lightly, his eyebrows raised.

“Just brats trying to entertain themselves by harassing me,” Snape lied easily, pulling a sneer onto his face.

Dumbledore hummed and Harry’s heart pounded, wondering if the headmaster believed Snape. “Come see me once you’ve returned and inform me about the plans for the young Malfoy.”

Harry frowned slightly, wondering what Snape had come up with to excuse his absence. He stiffened and his heart attempted to pound out of his chest when the headmaster turned to leave and the blue eyes looked directly at him. He was reminded of second year in Hagrid’s hut when he and Ron were hidden under the cloak. Dumbledore had looked directly at them then too. Could Dumbledore see through invisibility cloaks? Was that possible without something like Moody’s magical false eye?

He watched Dumbledore pass by and leave with his breath held. Even once the man was gone, he didn’t move and hardly breathed.

“Potter?”

Harry’s gaze jumped to Snape and he removed the cloak. “Sorry, sir, I—”

“Do not worry. It was an unexpected visit from the headmaster that you could not have known about,” Snape said.

“Does he know?” Harry asked, referring to the possibly dangerous excursion they were about to go on.

“It is unclear,” Snape said and Harry’s stomach twisted. “Not something to concern ourselves with at this time. We must go. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded.

“Right, cloak on and follow closely,” Snape instructed.

Harry did so without question, remembering the plan. The only way for Harry to get to Hogsmeade was on foot, so he would be following Snape out of the castle and to the village under his cloak. To anyone watching, Snape would appear to be heading to Hogsmeade alone to conduct personal business. There should be no signs indicating Snape had company.

So, he followed the man as closely as possible, staying directly behind him once outside so his cloak would wipe away his footprints in the snow, but make it look like it was only Snape’s prints and dragging cloak.

He’d never been to or even heard of the Bronze Dragon. It was outside Hogsmeade so students weren’t permitted to go there. He’d only ever been to the village during the day and with throngs of other students, making it seem so lively, even now with several closed shops. Now, passing through at night with no other patrons and all the shops closed except the two pubs, it was eerie. It did nothing to ease his tension as they approached the pub on the other side of the village.

It didn’t look too different from the Three Broomsticks. A wooden exterior, windows with a film on them to make them hazy to look through, a low wooden roof, and a smoking chimney on top. A warm, golden light poured out of the filtered windows, making the snow on the ground glow amber. The main difference was the large dragon sign hanging over the door, made of a bronze metal that glinted in the light in the window. It was in a crouched pose, its tail curled up into the air over its back, and fire spewing from its open, fanged mouth.

Snape pulled the door open, holding it as Harry slipped inside, and stepped in close behind.

Harry gazed around. It was a warmer, more inviting place than any of the other pubs he’d been inside. Directly across from the door and spanning a good several feet sat the bar with the bartender behind. Stools lined the bar while booths and tables with chairs were arranged along the outer perimeter. Each table had a candle carved to look like a dragon breathing fire floating overhead. 

The place was empty besides the bartender and a tall, hooded figure sat at a table in a far back corner.

He felt a brush against the cloak on his back and knew it was Snape telling him to take it off. If the bartender noticed another person appearing out of nowhere, he didn’t show it. The professor touched his back again, encouraging him to approach the occupied table. They walked up to the table, approaching from behind the figure and, once they were beside the table, the hood was pulled back and the head lifted.

Harry’s mouth fell open unceremoniously and his eyes widened as he stared in shock at the man before him. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting; probably the barely-human Voldemort that came out of that cauldron two years prior and possessed him last year. However, that was not who was sitting before him. There were features he recognized: the eyes, at least in shape, as they were missing the slit pupils and red colour but he knew these eyes from memories, the dark hair also from memories, the slender body, the pale skin, the slender face though it had regained the handsomeness he was once praised for. This person seemed to have stepped right out of one of Dumbledore’s memories. This was not the monster he had faced the last couple of years.

What kind of trick was he playing?

“Harry, Severus,” the man said, nodding at each of them. “I am very glad you agreed to meet with me.”

The voice was so similar to what he had already associated with this man, but it was missing the hiss he’d become accustomed to hearing. He gasped at the sudden sharp pain that tore through his head. It was the same pain he’d been feeling with the visions, but no vision came. Was there something hidden in his mind that couldn’t break through for some reason? Why had other visions come through, but not this time?

Once the pain disappeared, he stared at the man again, his eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you?” Harry said, almost in a whisper, unable to believe this was Voldemort.

The man gave a very small smile. “Would you care to sit?”

Harry hesitated, not sure if he should place himself in a more vulnerable position. He glanced at Snape to see what the professor though. After a moment and without looking away from the other man, he gave a minute nod, and he and Harry sat.

“How long until your absence is noticed?” the man asked.

“An hour,” Snape said shortly.

“Very well. We will get right to it,” the man said and met both of their gazes. “You asked who I am. You mostly know me as Lord Voldemort, though that name was imposed on me. I did not create the moniker. My true name is Tom Riddle.”

Harry blinked and his mind already started racing. He had known that would be the answer to his question, but he still couldn’t make his brain understand.

“How?” he breathed. “How is this possible?”

Riddle sighed. “That is a long story and the purpose of this meeting.”

“Then you better get started,” Harry said stiffly. “Start with how this is you. This is not how you returned.”

“Technically, there was no ‘return’ and this is how I’ve always looked,” Riddle said.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Riddle let out a breath and clasped his hands—with their normal, non-skeletal fingers—on the table. “Let’s take a step back. First, you and others have been having memory flashes, correct? As well as emotional outbursts and memory dreams?”

“You mean the visions?” Harry said, frowning. “How do you know about that?” He instantly grew suspicious.

“How serious has it gotten?” Riddle asked.

“Nine in comas, two in magical failure,” Snape said.

“I see,” Riddle said.

Harry felt rage build at Riddle’s calm, almost disinterested demeanour. It was him! “You’re doing this! You’re killing them! Why?”

“I understand your assumption, but you are incorrect,” Riddle said. “I assume you have already gathered that it is failing Mind Magic causing all of these things. However, I am not the caster.”

“Then who is?” Harry challenged, his heart pounding.

This was it.

“Albus Dumbledore.”

And his world fell apart.

Sure, he’d had a small part of him growing suspicious of the headmaster, but no one else had echoed that tiny voice…until now. His mind raced through every moment he’d had with Dumbledore over the years, trying to understand how he could be responsible. It was impossible! Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of all time, was the leader of the Light, had protected Harry and Hogwarts numerous times. He’d been teaching Harry about the Dark Lord Voldemort all these years! He’d fought Voldemort, not Dumbledore! Voldemort wanted him dead, not Dumbledore!

“You’re lying,” Harry growled. “Why would Dumbledore do this? You’re the evil one!”

Riddle leaned forward slightly. “I understand your disbelief. You’re still heavily affected by the Mind Magic and he is very good at what he does. However, there is one thing you do not know or understand about Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry and Snape just glared in Riddle’s pause.

“To him, life is a game and people are the pieces. He started a game many, many years ago in which he would choose the players and manipulate them. It became a bit of an experiment,” Riddle explained. “When subjected to horrible, yet still different circumstances, what path will young people choose? Of course, it’s not purely choice. He still has to have the control.”

Harry was angry at the accusations. “Are you completely insane? You think we’re going to believe you? What about everything you’ve done?”

“Everything you know, think you know, and have experienced has been constructed by Albus Dumbledore,” Riddle said.

Harry shook his head. “No, I know what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, what you’ve done to me! You killed my parents, you possessed Quirrell and Ginny, you killed Cedric and tortured me! You possessed me! That was real!”

Riddle nodded. “Yes, it was real, but it was not me,” he said. “Harry, I have never attacked you, your family, your friends, or Hogwarts.”

Harry dropped his head into his hands, clenching his fingers in his hair tightly, tugging. His brain felt like it was on fire, both from the strain and shock of what he was hearing as well as from the sharp pains repeatedly shooting through his head. Whatever was in his head from the Mind Magic was being pushed beyond its limit.

“You’re telling me Dumbledore did all those things, but made it look like you?” Harry said, head still bowed.

“Yes,” Riddle said and Harry raised his head, glaring.

“How?” Harry snapped angrily.

“This is a long explanation and does get complicated, so I ask you let me finish before responding,” Riddle said.

His jaw clenched, Harry nodded once and crossed his arms over his chest.

“By the time Dumbledore came to me at eleven, I was an angry, bitter, and lonely child. He knew that and decided to begin an experiment that would continue for decades. He wanted to know if I would be strong enough to make the correct decision when pushed in the opposite direction. You see, to him, tragedy and trauma can turn a person Light or Dark, and he enjoys being known as the benevolent man willing to accept and help the outcasts and lost causes. If one fails to be influenced by him to the Light, well, it just means they were doomed, destined for evil, and an unfortunate loss or sacrifice for the ‘greater good’. Except, the ‘greater good’ he’s fought for is one of his own creation.

“Understand, Dumbledore wanted and needed an ultimate evil, a threat for future experiments. He’d thought it would be me because of what I’d done as a child to others at the orphanage. He pretended to try and rehabilitate me, but, in truth, he wanted me to fall. When he realized that was not happening, he made it happen. It was Dumbledore that told me of my ancestry and told me the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. He knew all I’d ever wanted was connection. I just wanted to know where I came from, good or bad, so to learn I came from Salazar Slytherin, I was desperate for more. And so I found the Chamber, but…he’d found it first, long before and had cursed it with a bit of Mind Magic. It was just the sink he’d cursed as he cannot enter the Chamber himself, so when I interacted with it, the magic was released. When I opened the Chamber, the magic took over my mind, emphasizing all negative thoughts and emotions. All of a sudden, I could think of nothing else but all I’d felt growing up in that orphanage before Hogwarts. All I wanted was revenge.”

Riddle paused for a moment, his eyes slightly glazed as he returned to the memories. He looked back at Harry and Snape.

“I searched the Chamber and eventually came upon the Founders’ Library.”

Harry frowned, confused and curious, but said nothing. He added it to his growing list of things to comment on or ask about once the story was done.

“I was drawn to the dark magic texts and I ended up reading about a piece of extremely dark magic.”

“Horcruxes,” Harry interrupted unintentionally. Riddle gave him an odd, almost knowing look, but nodded and continued.

“I was consumed with the concept, suddenly obsessed. I went to Dumbledore to ask for both more information and for help. He gave me neither, only telling me to learn more if I were so interested. I was interested, but I was also frightened. I was not completely under his Mind Magic’s control, and I was afraid why I suddenly felt angry, wanted to do terrible things, and wanted to explore dark magic. So, I went to my favourite professor and treasured friend—”

“Slughorn,” Harry interrupted again.

“Yes. He told me about horcruxes and, after that, he tried to help me back to who I was, but the Mind Magic was too powerful. It was not long before the magic was all I was and I was on the path Dumbledore wanted. I made my first horcrux a few months later by using the Basilisk to kill the girl in the lavatory. Over the months and years, I would create five more through various murders, including that of my father. To the world, Dumbledore named and created the villain of his game: Lord Voldemort.”

Riddle paused again, and Harry could see anger and hurt in the man’s face.

“With an established villain and dark side, Dumbledore advanced his game. He cast Mind Magic over all of Hogwarts so he could have full control. He used Hogwarts’ magic to do so, and it all continued for the next generation.”

Riddle looked at Snape directly.

“He found his key players and, using the Mind Magic to enhance negativity, let it play out. This time, despite emotions not being their own, the players did exactly as he wanted and expected. Despite hardships, the Potters, Longbottoms, Lupin, and a singular Black became loyal to Dumbledore. Sirius Black was a lovely surprise for him, showing that it was possible for someone destined for darkness to choose the Light, to choose him. On the other side, because of hardship, the tragedy and trauma he allowed to happen, Severus Snape turned to the dark, though he later repented, providing Dumbledore with the ultimate piece to control. At least, until you.”

Riddle looked at Harry now. Harry glanced at Snape to see the professor’s face was tight and expressionless, but he could see the pain in the man’s eyes as he comprehended the possible manipulation of his life. He looked back at Riddle to hear his part of the story.

“The world has been told that I murdered the Potters in response to the First Wizarding War and to a prophecy you, Severus, gave me. However, this is not true. The prophecy was a fake. You did bring it to me because we were working together to stop Dumbledore. We had both broken free of his Mind Magic at that point. When you brought me the prophecy, I knew what Dumbledore intended to do, and I went to stop him. I was not strong enough, however. He killed your parents, horrifically injured me, and gave you that scar so that he had a direct connection to you, a way to control you and manipulate your mind. He framed me and Pettigrew and Sirius Black, creating the scenario everyone believes today. He then used this to create the next generation of players, the ones that will end his game, meaning it was time to create his hero.”

The silence was heavy as Riddle paused for the final time.

“His hero would go through what his villain and pawn did so that Dumbledore would be accepted as the wise and caring mentor. The Mind Magic remained in place for light and dark still had to exist in the school. He got his new players: the children of the previous generation of players. A war has been created with the events of the last generation’s round at the center, as the cause. You have been put through things to convince you that all of this is true and that you must fight this war. You are his hero, but all of us are his ultimate sacrifice. However, there is one thing he did not anticipate: the magic failing. In all of his grand plans, he failed to realize that Hogwarts’ magic is not meant to be used for such evil and cannot be used in such amounts without the core intact. He also did not expect such power from this generation. As such, the Mind Magic has had lapses over the last five years and is now failing completely, as is Hogwarts herself.”

“You are the last hero she chose,” Snape said quietly and Harry’s eyes widened, swinging from Snape to Riddle.

“What?” he breathed just before the three of them were briefly overcome with pain tearing through their skulls and then a feeling of warmth.

Harry raised his head once the pain passed and stared hard at Riddle, his mind reeling.

What in the hell had he just heard?