As a boy, in that other world, I did not truly understand the soul.
It couldn't be quantified or measured, couldn't be seen or observed but so many were sure of its existence.
They were sure that it was what separated man from the other animals and the vegetation around us. In this world however, the soul could be touched. Known. Fractured. Shattered. Devoured.
It is a curious thing.
A person's very essence, a reflection of their wants and desires. It is the truth of a person. That truth is expressed in the physical through the body and laid out by the mind.
There is a connection between the three. A tightly bound cord that knots them together. That connection is vital to life as we know it. Remove one and the whole system crumbles.
Without the soul, the body is empty, and the mind lacks the spark that brings life.
Without the mind, the soul has no way to animate the body, and the body has no sense of direction or purpose.
Without the body, there is no home for the soul, and the mind cannot form.
I feel the diadem burn hot and heavy against my palm, I leave it in my pocket. The sliver of soul remains ever angry. With me, for touching it. With its greater whole, for separating it. With the murdered victim, for causing this to happen.
I had felt my own soul at Crouch Manor. It was warm and strong and powerful. There was a weight to it that I couldn't describe. That I did not believe I'd be able to truly articulate. Heavy but light. Like a boulder at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Like motes of dust in the stratosphere.
Unyielding. Free. Me.
When the room had flashed green and the curses had struck Barty… I felt it.
Perhaps my curse landed first, or they all landed together and we all split the blame, it doesn't rightly matter. In that moment between seconds, there was a malleability of self.
I knew of horcruxes. And because of that knowledge and that otherworldly sense, I knew with a deep bone certainty that this was the moment. There would be no words, not for magic of this nature—of such intimacy. All I had to do was listen and pull. I let the moment pass. I wasn't scared of death.
I felt it again at Azkaban. No less unyielding, yet somehow clearer. I chalked it up to the Patronus, a projection of positive emotions straight from the soul.
The malleability was there after every necessary murder, and I could see why many had died trying to follow Herpo's footsteps. There was a hairsbreath of time, followed by what would undoubtedly be excruciating pain.
That experience, and now once again observing one of Riddles horcruxes, gives me a greater understanding of the Slytherin boy. Of his psyche and motivation. If it wasn't clear before, it is crystal now.
Fear.
Of death, first and foremost. Then of the unknown. Of becoming nothing. Of not being special.
It makes sense in some twisted way, linked by fate as we are, him and I are quite like minded. Though unlike him, I have no reason to fear. I know the truth after all and I have seen the end from the beginning.
The wooden steps groan and whimper as I continue my ascent of the astronomy tower. Their weary cries have informed the professor of my approach but he does not turn as I join him on the balcony.
Not our usual meeting spot but I don't mind. Something feels different about tonight.
We stand at the highest peak of the castle. Above us, dusk fades into a clear starry night. The moon is a cold bright white as its light presses down on the Scottish highlands.
That is not what grabs my attention however.
"Mars is bright tonight." I let the statement settle, observing the shining dot to the left of the moon. And though Albus Dumbledore like most doesn't put much stock in divination, he is well learned and as a result, he gets my meaning.
"Unfortunately so." There's a weariness to his voice that I'm having to grow used to.
A part of me is sad to have been the cause of it, to have added to his stress and already considerably full plate. But another part of me, the more rational part, understands that this needed to be done. That part is what I centre myself with.
There are things I have done that I would rather not. Things that I will do… but I do them for a purpose. I do them to win. I don't tell him but I'm sure, that if not straight away, eventually, Albus would come to understand… Some dreams are worth fighting for.
The ends justify the means, and in the end, victory forgives all methods. He will understand. It is for the greater good after all…
He sighs, exhaling away some bothersome thought and greets me with that grandfatherly smile of his.
"The moon is just as bright Harry. How goes our dear friend?" He tugs his beard, tone filled curiosity and a cautious hope.
"He's well." I twist the ring, I feel his eyes draw to it. He was pleased with its development last year. "Hermione will let us know if there's any issues. I don't expect there to be." He hums.
He can sense what I wish to talk about, I'm sure he'd have an inkling even if I didn't spell it out to him by highlighting Mar's presence.
War approaches…
"You don't seem as pleased as I expected. There's barely any of them left." From here we can see them swirling, patrolling the castle grounds. The miasma of gloom continues to follow in their wake, consuming all joy and leaving a cutting chill in its place.
"Any amount of them here is too many." Venom laces his tone, hatred too thick to be faked colours the words. He detests the dementors, and he loathes their home. For what reason, I cannot say. Perhaps his father. Perhaps it's just the misery they bring. He sighs, looking away. "But you are right my boy."
"Did the minister say why?" I doubt it, in all honesty.
Fudge would have done his best to ensure few knew of what happened at Azkaban. It has been weeks since then, and still no mention of it in the papers. No emergency wizengamot meetings either. I expected as much. Too much controversy in such a small amount of time. He'd lose his job most certainly, if the papers ever got word.
"No, Cornelius did not deem it necessary to share his reasoning with me." The words are filled with honest exasperation. No matter what he does, Fudge will always be paranoid that Dumbledore is out for his job. Albus shakes his head, continuing. "Amelia was happy to, however. It seems there was another Azkaban break in." He informs me calmly.
There is no sparkle in his blue eyes, the topic is serious. And though I do not believe he suspects me having played any part in something like that, it'd be ludicrous, I ensure my reactions are what is expected. I drown myself in manufactured emotions.
My face is one of honest shock and confusion, not so exaggerated as to be obviously fake, when I ask,
"Again? Who escaped?"
"No one Harry. Not a single soul to my knowledge. Seven high security prisoners, Death eaters, lost their lives however." He tells me, no twinkle in his eyes, yet he doesn't seem that broken up about it either.
I ask who they were and he tells me. Listing every one of my murders from that night. I almost miss it, focused as I am in trying to maintain my facade of ignorance. Seven, not eight. Discounting wormtail, though I suppose it would be right to do so.
Technically, I did as he requested and left him alive.
It's the difference between how the killing curse and the kiss interact with the soul. The curse shears the soul away from the body, resulting in complete separation. The kiss leaves traces, imprints of what was, enough that a person might 'live'.
I decide to probe, intent on discovering the breadth of the ministry's knowledge. "Is that so surprising? They were sent there to die."
"A bleak outlook Harry." He chides.
"It's Azkaban."
"True." He admits, peering at me over his half moon spectacles. He makes a motion with his hands, telling me to go on.
"You believe they were murdered." I rightly conclude. Dumbledore gives me a small smile. "By who? The guards?"
"My first thought." He drums his fingers against the bannister. "Hatred for death eaters still runs deep after all these years. Justified though it may be, I thought perhaps it had gotten the better of one of the guards stationed there. But no. They've been questioned, the meagre number of Aurors present that night, all under Veriutiserium."
"Not the guards then." I decide. Feeling the light of the stars rain down gently on my skin, I look up, past the castle courtyard, catching a glimpse as what little of the dementors stationed at Hogwarts disappear into the forbidden forest.
"How did they break in?" I ask, turning my attention back the aged wizard on my right.
"Truly Harry, I cannot say. There was no damage to the wards, or to the castle, like last time. It's as if they simply walked in." My face scrunches up, confused. I let no thoughts drift up from the chamber, maintaining the act.
"You think it impossible?" He inquires softly.
"I doubt anything is truly impossible with magic, but…" I pause letting him feel the skepticism in my tone and taste the disbelief in the silence. "The Dementors… they didn't see anything?"
"Oh I'm sure they did my boy." That earlier timbre of disgust begins to simmer in his tone. "But as always, they are of little help. Apparently they only saw a glimpse of the intruder as he tried to free Pettigrew. Realising he had been spotted, our assailant fled, Pettigrew was too slow and was kissed as a result." Dumbledore says, his doubt in the story evident. And it was clear why. It made no sense.
"Why would they kill the others and then free Pettigrew?" I don't fake sympathy for the man. That would be out of character, and the rat, pitiful though he was, deserves none.
"If we are to believe the dementors are being truthful? Your guess is as good as mine." Says Dumbledore.
I suppose no one ever said the amortal creatures were meant to be smart. I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth however, the more confusion, the better. Even if I was spotted, it would never be traced back to Harry Potter, glamours and self transfiguration saw to that.
"I suppose then, that they've put Mr Crouch's transfer on hold?"
"Yes, he's still being held in the ministry." The professor says. Perhaps they thought placing him in Azkaban was almost guaranteeing his death, either from the escapees or the mysterious killer.
"I still can't believe it."
"Neither can I Harry." He seems lost in a memory, replaying past events, conversations he had with the man. "I'd have never thought…"
"People can do anything for love professor." He smiles, surprised and pleased. "You worked with him didn't you?"
"For many years. We had just recently begun correspondence once again aswell."
"Anything interesting?" I had an inclining.
Dumbledore's eyes begin to twinkle. "Keep this between us will you?" I nod. He smiles. "Have you heard of the Triwizard tournament?"
"I have."
"Yes, well Cornelius was hoping to reinstate it. We weren't sure of the details, if it was to even go ahead."
"I guessing it will now. After all this drama, he'll need something."
"It's even more likely." He agrees, then pauses, thinking. "If it did go ahead, would you be interested my boy?" I barely have to think twice about my answer.
"Of course." He nods, unsurprised.
We lapse into silence, it is comfortable, even after such a topic.
There is a connection that develops between student and teacher. Most of the time, the teacher knows what the student is thinking. He has been there before after all, and now he is older and wiser, a wellspring of knowledge.
Sometimes, very rarely, is it the other way around. In all fields of magical study, Albus Dumbledore's knowledge eclipses mine atleast ten times over. All but perhaps, the field of Horcruxes.
Not because I dedicated hours to the study of souls and their effects, but because I am from elsewhere. A plane adjacent or above this one. I have seen how this story would have ended. I know where Tom hid his most important possessions, himself.
I pull Ravenclaws Diadem from my pocket and place on the banister between me and the headmaster.
"An early Christmas present for you Professor."
I know instantly what he's thinking as he glances from the diadem to me, specifically that faint lightning bolt scar on my forehead. It is no surprise to me when I see the elder wand in his hand and hear its halting whispers.
There is a pull from the Redwood on my forearm, having felt the tension in the air. I ignore it. Do nothing.
"Harry…" I face him, feel my lips quirk up in a smile. He isn't eased.
"It's me professor… I know what it looks like, and it'll probably sound worse if I say I wasn't even looking for it at the time, but..." I taper off, shrugging my shoulders. I feel and see the intent instantly. Break it down. Diagnostic charms. A myriad of them. His wand twitches, casting. The spells wash over me. "See?" He frowns minutely.
"Are you sure?" There is genuine concern brimming in his eyes, it's touching really, but the concern is unnecessary.
"I am not a Horcrux." I declare. And he seems confused, genuinely perplexed at that. "Is it so surprising Professor?"
He slips the wand of destiny away, aging quite visibly before my eyes. He sighs shaking his head. "No… no, it's—" I cut him off, having led the conversation exactly where I needed it.
"You think I should be—No. You believe there should be a connection between him and I." He says nothing, electric blue eyes planted on the scar that used to hold another. "Professor… Why did Lord Voldemort target my family? Why did he target me?"
For a moment I believe he's going to lie to me, to deprive me of the answers, that if I were really Harry Potter, would mean the world to me.
He hesitates, opening his mouth and then there is a bright flash of flame and Fawkes, older than when I last saw him, lands on my shoulder, nipping at my hair.
He gives a brief song, one that touches the soul and caws angrily at the diadem. Dumbledore looks between me, the firebird, the horcrux and sighs.
I don't bother hiding my smile.
He wraps the diadem in a shield and places in a conjured box. I see the decision in eyes.
"Walk with me Harry."
We walk together in silence, down from the astronomy tower, past the great hall and now into the courtyard. Fawkes having grown bored left at some point to do whatever it is that immortal birds do in their spare time.
Though I am curious, I say nothing, keeping pace by the old man's side. We continue on, stepping past the wards of the castle. The headmaster holds an arm out for me to take. I don't question it, latching on as he pushes us past space by his will alone.
We land with a soft snap. The feeling of nausea is slight, barely noticeable.
Much more noticeable is the feeling of snow that crunches underneath my feet, and the icy wind that tries to whip at my face. At the thought of warmth, the cold dissipates.
I look up, taking in our surroundings. Though I have never been here, I know it with a certainty.
A memory springs up, not mine, Hermione's, Hogwarts: A History. The layout is more modern but the magical hamlet has retained its identity. Even with the street lights and numerous Christmas decorations on the cottage's that dot either side of the street, this can only be one place.
Godric's Hollow.
The professor graces me with mild smile, the pain in his eyes is surprising but then I remember.
This is where he lost everything.
We begin to walk again, and finally Dumbledore begins to speak. He starts with Tom. Their first meeting at the orphanage. A cruel child he called him. His arrival at Hogwarts, and howmuch like me, he was loved by students and teachers alike.
"He drew people to him, much in the same way you do. You are alike in that way, though those who flocked to him were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty…"
He tells me of Tom's knights of walpurgis and then the first wizarding war. Details the brutality of the death eaters, the fear that had seeped into Britain. The loses suffered because of blood purity and one man's yearning for power.
We walk past the war memorial and the scales fall from my eyes. Instead of an obelisk, there's a statue of three. The man and woman and their boy who lived.
I listen dutifully as Dumbledore details the beginning of the end. Sybil trawlaney, the divination job and their meeting in the hogs head.
We step past the church, into the graveyard when Albus says, "And she gave a prophecy."
We keep moving, carving thick trenches through the snow. He tells me of a death eater listening in on the meeting, he doesn't say who and I do not ask. The news travels to Lord Voldemort, the prophecy spoke of a boy born at the end of July, born with the power to vanquish.
The dark Lord chose me, he tells me, as I stare at the potter's graves.
'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'
I hear that whisper in the wind and the elder wands murmurs increase in volume.
It is not a conscious decision but there is Redwood in my hand and after a twitch, the grave is surrounded by Lilies, Roses, Orchids and flowers of every kind.
The Professor's smile is filled with sadness. I speak for the first time since we left Hogwarts.
"I think I've put it together but… tell me."
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
As I remembered. I take breath a centring myself. All is as it should be.
"You're the only one that knows the full thing right?"
"I am." He sounds distracted, I get up, facing him. His eyes are on a grave, rows away.
Ariana…
The thought slips past his Occlumency, it's caught unconsciously, passively.
I see a young girl attacked viciously by three boys, all because she made a flower float. I watch through Dumbledore's eyes as his father is dragged away to Azkaban and the only thing he feels is hatred for the muggle boys who caused it. I observe as Albus opens the door for a boy, a few years older than I am currently. His hair is a shock of blond, his eyes are mismatched and light, his name is Gellert and he's here to by eggs.
I let go of the memories before they drag me deeper, further into things I ought not to see.
"Professor." I call out, he blinks, remembering where we are. I doubt he realises I saw what he saw. That I felt what he felt.
"There's a copy, in the department of Mysteries, though only the subject can retrieve it."
"We need to get it." I tell him.
"My boy—" He begins wearily, with no doubt what will be numerous reasons why it's not a good idea. I cut him off.
"Rookwood knows his way around the department. As soon as Tom gets a body, that's exactly where he'll go." He sighs, smiling humourlessly.
"The energy of youth… very well." He pulls out his wand. "Hold still my boy."
"What are you—"
"It's best neither Tom, or Rookwood realise you've been to the room of prophecies. I'll undo it once we're there." I feel the intent.
"Seriously!?"
He just laughs.
I feel a growing affection for the sorting hat.
It says a lot of Dumbledore's skill with the art that he was able to transfigure me and my clothes into a royal purple wizard's hat in such a way that my consciousness remained.
I could undo the transformation at any moment, for truly he had not made me into the hat, but the clothes around me. It was a novel experience that lost its little appeal quite quickly.
I was aware that we were moving, but I could not truly see. I felt the world squeeze past as it always did with apparition. I heard the greeting of the telephone booth asking Dumbledore his business at the ministry tonight and his reply of:
"Top secret Dumbledore business."
All throughout our journey, Albus attempted to entertain me with what Christmas songs he knew. I say attempted, because for all his capabilities, Albus Dumbledore was a terrible singer.
I let his songs fall to the way side, passively observing our surroundings with that sixth sense of mine, whilst wondering as we entered the Department of Mysteries, the difference between my experience and that of the sorting hat.
I suppose he was always a hat, just one given consciousness, whereas I was, well… me.
Still, I never did apologise for my rudeness did I?
It was the first time I'd had some else in my head. And with the Hogwarts wards pressing down on me, I was feeling quite irritable. He'd gotten over it I'm sure. He had to. He's been dealing with children for centuries.
The headmaster, finally having arrived at our destination it seems, plucks me from his head and undoes the transformation.
I pat myself, checking carefully that all of me is present before looking up and glaring balefully at the old man. His eyes twinkle and his smile widens.
I huff, looking around. There rows and rows of glowing blue orbs, some faint and some bright. Each one feels like electricity on my tongue and static in my ears.
They're unending…
"Do they all come true?" My voice is soft, even to my own ears.
"In some way or another." He begins to walk, I follow, allowing him to lead. He sounds uncertain. "Prophecies, fate, divination… they work in strange ways my boy." I drink in the words as we walk, observing the prophecies at either side.
I flex my wrist, feeling my wand settle into my palm and bring with it that ever familiar heat. I think of murmured sound and twist it, centering it with a singular rune that I emblazon on my Gryffindor jumper.
"Professor," I call out, the silencing ward slips into place, moving with my jumper. Dumbledore turns, raising an eyebrow, no doubt having felt the ward go up.
"Impressive Harry." He says, beaming. "What is it?"
"At the castle, with the diadem, did you feel it?" He looks at me as we continue onward, nonplussed. "The connection with the castle… I believe he tied the curse on the defence post to the horcrux. It was anchoring the curse." I see comprehension dawn, followed swiftly by a gleam of triumph in his eyes as he makes the connection.
"The diadem… it was there in the castle the entire time?" I nod. "He always was a brilliant student…" The last is murmured, I barely catch it. He sighs.
"We'll still need a teacher for next year." He says.
"Professor Lupin can—" I begin before pausing, having realised.
The potion will work tonight and when I publish, others will need to verify, will need to observe not just the potion and the creation process, but Lupin and its effect on him. His name will be everywhere, in every paper along side mine, as will his werewolf status.
Dumbledore nods, pleased to see I have come to the same realisation as him.
"The board will not let him stay." He delivers, his tone suggesting it as an unchanging fact of life.
"Do you have anyone in mind?" I ask.
"I do in fact. He's been after the job for years, and now, thanks to you my boy, I can finally give it to him." The amusement in his voice is palpable.
Oh for the love of—No!
"Snape—"
"Professor Snape Harry."
"—Snape!" I say again, he guffaws. "He doesn't deserve it."
"You two must get over this animosity." He says it like it's a minor thing.
"It's him!"
"Is it?" He questions, slowing to a stop. Past him is our prize for tonight. I try another angle, knowing it'll probably be hopeless anyway.
"If you give him the job, you'll need a new potions professor."
"I have someone in mind for that too." The amusement painted across his face tells me there's nothing I can say. He continues, burying the dagger. "Horace Slughorn. He's been writing to me about you, wanting to meet you, especially after you published Morning Star. And after tonight, I'm sure he'll be begging me for the job." I sigh knowing it's useless to protest. Snape is capable, so there's that at least.
I slide past the headmaster, grabbing the prophecy. The words that pour out of it are as Albus said, and as I hoped they'd be.
It is warm in my palm, and instead of static, I hear the drumming of a string.
I crush the prophecy in my hand, drawing blood.
"Harry!" The professor gasps, wand in hand instantly, moving to heal. I wave him away.
The prophecy is forced back together with a wave of my wand, the shards of glass that make the orb still dripping with my blood. I use it as a medium for the curse, an off shoot of the Transylvanian rotting curse, this one originating in Egypt. One of the more obscure curses Hermione had found.
I run my wand over the wounds on my left palm, seven times, backwards and forwards causing the lacerations to seal, leaving only faint white marks.
Still slower than Hermione, slower than I'd like.
I place the fake in its position, no one without my blood may retrieve it, and there is no prophecy to hear.
The headmaster watches with sad eyes all the while. Whether because of the dark magic, or just everything in general, I am unsure.
"It's alright Professor." It's the only thing I can think to say as I turn to face him.
"I just wish you didn't have to go to such lengths… that you could remain a child much longer…"
He doesn't know all I have done, he sees is a boy learning all he can about magic because without that knowledge, he will surely die. Perhaps more than that, he sees the similarities between I and that boy from the orphanage.
He needn't worry.
"It's fine professor, truly." He gathers his bearings. "I'd rather get this hat business done as soon as possible." I say, gesturing for him to begin the transfiguration again, the smile I get in return is weak. Before he can begin, the ring grows warm. I run my magic through it, answering.
Silver smoke wafts up from around the gem, Hermione's head and shoulders take shape. Behind her I can catch a glimpse of Remus' classroom.
"Harry." She smiles brightly at me, her brown eyes drift, taking in the surroundings, flooding with curiosity, before realising we are not alone. "Headmaster." She says in greeting. He smiles pleasantly at her over my shoulder.
There's a crash, followed by jumbled voices in the background and Hermione sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Confused though I am, I feel my lips quirk up.
"Hermione, is everything alright?" She seemed fine, but if she was calling…
"Hmm? Oh, everything's fine. I didn't think you'd be gone for so long. Just making sure everything's good with you." She gives me a pointed look, and I give a slight nod. As if saying, 'No, the professor hasn't taken me to Azkaban for Murder.'
"Not to worry dear girl, I just needed to show Mr Potter something." Dumbledore says. "We'll be there shortly. Professor Lupin is sleeping I assume?"
"Like a baby sir." She nods, looking back to me. There's something in her eyes I can't quite quantify. A BANG and a shout ring out in the background. I blink, looking away.
"Will you two be quiet!?" She snaps. "What if you wake him?"
"We won't." I hear a voice, muffled, Neville's, drift through.
"If it makes you feel better, just imagine we're testing his reaction to stimuli." Another voice, Ron's, follows swiftly after.
Hermione gives a sigh of profound exhaustion, massaging her head, nursing what I assume to be a headache.
"Stimuli?" I mouth to her, questioning as she looks back at me. She shakes her head with a slight laugh.
"Don't ask. Just hurry back."
"Right. See you soon." I tell her, she smiles and the mist fades, bringing the hall of prophecies into silence. I can feel the headmaster smiling at me from my side. I don't need legilimency to know what he's thinking.
"Stop that." I say, looking away. He gives a small laugh.
"I'll have to admit I have no idea what you mean my boy."
"That.That look. It's not what you think. She just worries."
"Of course Harry." I can hear the smile in his voice. A sigh slips past my lips. "You must forgive this old man, sometimes I see what is not there." He says it teasingly.
"Let's just go." I walk past him, paying no mind to his knowing chuckle.
Spoiler: Author NoteLast edited: Yesterday at 8:05 PM Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:iGrimReaper, Emanuel, M.Silver and 89 othersDDragonmanYesterday at 1:46 PMReader modeNewAdd bookmark ThreadmarksAceViltrumiteAceViltrumiteYesterday at 5:37 PMNewAdd bookmark#284TFTC Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:DDragonmanAlkoleMaking the rounds.Yesterday at 6:02 PMNewAdd bookmark#285Honestly one of my favourite fics. Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:SquirtleTurtle, Bagrat and DDragonmanGhostcraft19I trust you know where the happy button is?Yesterday at 7:35 PMNewAdd bookmark#286Awww that was cute Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:DDragonmanFrancoGamerxzApes Together Strong.Yesterday at 8:59 PMNewAdd bookmark#287This story is pretty interesting, especially in the way that it portrays Harry as simultaneously narcissistic, sympathetic, monstrous, and dedicated to others. A contrast in traits that somehow works together. Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:DDragonman and BagratSquirtleTurtleGetting sticky.Yesterday at 10:04 PMNewAdd bookmark#288Dumbledore sharing information and genuinely being kind is just always good. Thanks for the chapter, really enjoyable. Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:DDragonmanBoredKing98I trust you know where the happy button is?Yesterday at 11:40 PMNewAdd bookmark#289DDragonman said:A part of me is sad to have been the cause of it, to have added to his stress and already considerably full plate. But another part of me, the more rational part, understands that this needed to be done. That part is what I centre myself with.
There are things I have done that I would rather not. Things that I will do… but I do them for a purpose. I do them to win. I don't tell him but I'm sure, that if not straight away, eventually, Albus would come to understand… Some dreams are worth fighting for.
The ends justify the means, and in the end, victory forgives all methods. He will understand. It is for the greater good after all…Click to expand...Man I hate how self delusion and willfully ignorant the mc is. Don't get me wrong, I understand what you're going for but I really wish he would outgrow it rather than worsen.