There was a long, hanging silence before young Harry finally spoke.
"What are you talking about?" young Harry asked. "I thought Voldemort was the reason my parents are dead," he said. He knew that was how they died, hell, everyone knew it, so as much as it annoyed him.
"Yeah," Sirius said angrily, his jaw clenching. "That dark wanker went and killed James and Lily."
"Young man—" Dumbledore started, his voice a quiet warning, trying to stop him, the old man having no doubt where Harry was going with this, but the older Harry just pushed on, his gaze fixed on the Headmaster.
"Yeah, but haven't you ever wondered why he went after them?" Harry said, the question taking them by surprise, making everyone look at him funny.
Everyone stared at him blankly, wondering where he was going with his question.
Hermione spoke first. "Isn't it because they were fighting against him?"
"Yeah, but then what of the others?" Harry said, looking at her, his expression that said Did she really believe that. "What of the others who were against him? Sure, he killed them, but he rarely bothered going there personally." If it were the same as in his world, then the man only bothered to come out in the open for bigger matters than a single family.
Hermione paused. That was true. Now that she thought about it, from everything she had heard and read, Voldemort didn't really chase down one family like that. It was said that his followers were the ones who raided houses and went around killing people. The small number of times he appeared, it was mostly in public or against a major family, and even then, he had his people with him. So why did he attack the Potters alone? It was different from his usual approach, it wasn't his normal operational style.
'What made him go there himself' she thought to herself.
"Wasn't it because Peter sold them out?" Ron said, making Hermione perk up. "Yes, Ron is right," she said. Peter was the one who told his master that now brought him.
'But why go there personally?' she thought, 'he could have still sent people'.
Harry just sighed at them, a sound of weary frustration.
"Mini me… you've been near a Dementor, right?" he turned and asked his younger self. That seemed to catch the young boy off guard, surprising the others, how he just changed the subject. Young Harry nodded, his eyes wary, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.
"What did you hear when they came close to you?" Harry pressed, his voice low and insistent.
Young Harry froze at that. He knew what his older self was talking about. He could still hear it sometimes when he closed his eyes, the sound of his mother's voice, raw with terror, pleading for his life.
It was a memory that ripped through his soul every time the joy-sucking creatures came near. It was something he hated, a recurring nightmare made auditory.....yet he couldn't let it go when it was the only time he could remember what she sounded like.
He wanted to forget, he really did, but he just couldn't bring himself to let the memory go. The guilt of that sole, terrible moment, the sound of her final moments, was a constant, silent weight he carried. Hearing her voice like that as she pleaded for his life from that monster.
"Judging by your spacing out, I see that you, too, hear it," Harry said, bringing young Harry's mind back.
"What is he talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked him. She knew that whenever Harry was close to Dementors, something always happened, like him passing out or talking about hearing voices, but was there something more? Her friend had always been tight lipped about that for some reason.
"Harry?" She looked at him, cornered, and she wasn't the only one. "Harry, what is it?" Molly asked, looking worried for the young boy, her hands reaching out instinctively. "You can tell us."
Young Harry swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly. "I've never said anything but…" he stopped, then sighed and continued, "whenever the Dementors get close, I hear it, I hear her voice…. my mother," he whispered the last part, making people gasp, the sound echoing the sudden intake of air across the room. "It was when Voldemort killed her."
"Oh, you poor boy," Molly said, her eyes welling up instantly, and she moved to hug him, pulling him tightly into the familiar scent of woodsmoke and clean linen. "It's… It's nothing," the boy said, trying to resist the embrace, but his face alone, pale and etched with remembered pain, betrayed him.
"But I don't see how that has to do with anything you're saying," young Harry insisted, pulling back slightly.
Older Harry leaned forward, his eyes burning with an insight only shared experience could bring. "What did she say when Voldemort went to kill her?" Harry said, making his younger self's brow furrow. What was his older self getting to?
"Where the hell are you getting with this?" Sirius barked, his voice tight and ragged with suppressed grief. He was getting annoyed with this, talking about the death of his best friends was really getting to him, tearing open old wounds.
Harry sighed, softening his tone slightly for his godfather. "I'm sure you heard her begging him not to kill you, yes?" he said. "I'm sure you even heard him tell her to step aside, didn't he? He offered her a chance."
"Is that true, Harry?" Remus asked, his voice barely a tremor, staring at the young boy. For all the stories that went around about that night, the truth was that nobody actually knew what really happened.
The only ones who could tell what happened were the potters, who were dead. Harry, who was too young at the time, and Voldemort, whom Remus didn't think would appreciate anyone asking what happened the night he lost. Though he would pay to see someone ask the dark lord.
Young Harry nodded. Yeah, he had heard that. His mum screaming for Voldemort to spare him, and a cold, high voice commanding her to move.
Older Harry's eyes hardened, becoming chips of emerald ice. "And did it never occur to you why he was willing to let her, a mere muggle born live, but not you, a mere baby?" he said, and the entire room seemed to freeze. The logic of the question hit everyone like a physical blow.
"So you're saying… he was there… There for Harry?" Hermione stuttered out, realization dawning with sickening clarity.
Harry nodded, the faint smile returning as he watched Dumbledore's face fall, it seemed the man knew what was coming.
"But why… why try and kill Harry when he was just a baby?" Ginny asked, voicing the confusion of the younger members of the Order. While some of the older ones already having a guess at the reason now that Dumbledore told them about it this summer themselves.
"Ah, you see, before you were born, before we were born, Sybill Trelawney gave a prophecy, an actual prophecy about a child born to kill the Dark Lord," he said, making the room gasp for those who didn't know about it.
"It was when she was having an interview with Dumbledore," he told them, making them turn to the Headmaster, who was glaring at Harry, his blue eyes suddenly sharp and defensive. "But one of the Dark Lord's men was there and heard it, and the little dog ran to his master, spilling about it. Voldemort was so terrified of a threat to his life, He went himself to do the job. He had to eliminate the only thing that could defeat him. Three guesses who this loyal dog is," he said, leaning back into his chair, the picture of deadly calm.
There was a moment of agonizing silence. The tension twisted the air, and faces around the room, Sirius, Remus, Moody, all turned slowly, unanimously, toward the single, pale figure hiding behind the room, close to the headmaster.
Then— "YOU BASTARD!" Sirius roared, the sound ripping from his throat, fueled by twelve years of grief, rage, wrongful imprisonment, misery, and shattered friendship.
He launched himself onto Snape, punching him repeatedly with savage, unrestrained force. People started screaming as they rushed to try to get Sirius off the man. The sickening thud of fist hitting flesh echoed in the kitchen. Sirius pushed Remus off him, and he jumped back onto Snape. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! You ruined everything! James is dead because of you." Moody and Remus grabbed Sirius, straining to hold him back, his body convulsing with rage.
But just as they grabbed him, young Harry jumped on Snape, his face a mask of incandescent fury, started shouting, and began kicking and punching the man, anger like nothing he'd ever felt before spilled out of him as a raw, desperate energy drove him. Ron and Hermione had to physically haul the boy away, the two struggling fiercely to subdue their best friend.
"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore shouted, his voice booming, an oppressive wave of pure magic slamming down to enforce silence.
Silence clamped onto the room. Snape lay a beaten, heaving mess on the floor. Sirius was pinned, panting, against the wall.
"You knew," Sirius spat at Dumbledore, his voice hoarse and broken. "You KNEW!"
"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly, lowering his head slightly. Sirius lunged again, but they pulled him back before he reached the man.
"Severus has made mistakes, but he has changed. He came to me seeking help to save the Potters and regretted telling the Dark Lord, and has been forgiven for his past," the man said solemnly, trying to regain control of the narrative.
Everyone calmed down slightly to listen to the Headmaster talk, the tension replaced by stunned disbelief.
Older Harry stared for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. The sound was filled with amusement. "God, oh God, my sides," he said as he laughed so hard his sides started hurting. This Dumbledore really must think he was god.
'Forgiven for his past?' This man… this man was making it look like Snape was some tragic saint who made a simple mistake. He burst out laughing again at the absurdity, wiping a tear from his eye.
Everyone just looked at him like he was crazy, watching the dark, terrifying spectacle of the future Harry.
Older Harry stood, every trace of mirth gone, his voice dropping to a dangerous, chilling ice. "Are you seriously saying that?" he looked Dumbledore in the eye, the emerald fire in his gaze forcing the old man to meet it. "Saying he's forgiven. By who? You? Who are you to forgive him?" he said to the Headmaster, stepping forward deliberately.
Had His Dumbledore uttered such words, his death would have been far worse than he could ever imagine.
"People died because of his actions. He went around killing people, and then when Voldemort decided to go after Lily, he decided he wanted to change." He continued to advance. "You speak as if his decision to save the Potters came from regret or something like that. If I'm not mistaken, he said he didn't care if Harry or James died, it was only his obsession with Lily that brought him to you."
He came to stand right in front of the Headmaster, as he stared the old goat down.
"And then you say he's forgiven. Who are you to forgive him when you're not the one who lost their family that night, you're not the one whose parents died, not the one whose parents were tortured and in the hospital to date. The Longbottoms!" Harry's voice suddenly boomed with fresh fury. "Snape's actions led to the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom! They suffered a fate far worse than death, left shells of themselves in St. Mungo's, unable to recognize their own child."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss of pure venom. "Tell me, Albus Dumbledore, do you think Lady Augusta, forced to raise a grandson alone while visiting her broken son, would forgive the man responsible for the torture of her son and daughter-in-law? The man who deprived her grandson, Neville, of his parents, and now bullies that same boy in his class every single day, punishing him simply for existing?"
The more Harry spoke, the more his magic rose, an invisible, crushing pressure building around him, putting palpable force on the Headmaster's shoulders. Dumbledore swayed slightly, his posture finally failing under the sheer weight of the accusation and power.
"So tell me, after all that, who are you to forgive him when his actions have nothing to do with you? You paid none of the price!"
The room didn't breathe. Every ear strained to hear Dumbledore's response.
Snape trembled, curling slightly at the entrance. The kids stared wide-eyed. The Order froze in shock.
And Dumbledore… for once… had no answer at all. The silence that fell was shattering the comfortable illusion of his moral authority.
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