There was silence.
Everyone stood frozen in place, minds spinning, hearts pounding, as the weight of older Harry's words from the previous confrontation settled over them like a thick, chilling fog.
On any ordinary day, Molly would have defended Snape because Dumbledore trusted him, and that had always been good enough for her. Sure, she had heard her children speak badly of the potion teacher, and she had defended him because he was their teacher, so she always assumed that he was just doing his job and kids being kids.
But here and now, she couldn't even bring herself to trust the Headmaster himself. The thought of Snape walking free after everything he had done, after being directly responsible for her friends' deaths, after destroying families, the thought of what if it had been her family, of her own children being put in danger, manipulated, or killed because of someone like that…
No.
She couldn't defend him. Not Snape. Not anymore.
"It's not like that. You must understand…" Dumbledore started, his voice gentle but strained, trying desperately to recapture the moral high ground.
Older Harry turned slowly, raising a single brow in chilling skepticism.
"What do you mean it's not like that?" Harry asked, his tone sharp like a blade. "Did he not know what he was signing up for? Did he not join the Death Eaters willingly? Did he not go around with those other Death Eaters for years, inflicting pain on others and laughing about it?"
Snape stiffened by the doorframe. Dumbledore looked away, focusing on a spot just above Harry's shoulder.
"Snape loves telling everyone James Potter bullied him," Harry continued, his voice now dripping with disgust, "but did he not torment others, too? Did he not cast curses and jinxes on junior students for fun? Did he not spend his time learning dark magic just because he loved it?"
Harry turned fully to Dumbledore.
"And you say he's changed? That he's a spy? Fine—explain to everyone here why a 'changed man' has spent the last four years making a child's life miserable since the first day they met. A grown man bullying children in his class for the actions of his father, and you do nothing about it, then claim he's changed? Yeah, right," he scoffed.
"I can assure you that he truly has changed. He has protected young Harry multiple times, has he not?" Dumbledore attempted, trying to lean on the established truth of past events, trying to get the kids to side with that truth. Snape had saved Harry a few times in the past, that was true, but this was a weak defense against Harry's barrage.
Harry gave the man a long, cold look. Was Dumbledore really trying to use that angle? 'Fine, let's go. ' He turned back to the Headmaster, a mocking smile touching his lips.
"Really, and I'm sure he did it from the goodness of his heart, right?" Harry said, dripping with sarcasm. "It had nothing to do with the vow he made, right?"
Dumbledore stiffened completely at that. He must have believed that Harry didn't know, hell, Harry doubted anyone knew about the vow, so his surprise was natural. Had he not had outside memories, he too wouldn't have known about the vow either.
"Vow?" Remus asked, the werewolf's brow furrowed in deep concern.
Harry turned to him, throwing a mocking smile at the old man and Snape. "You see, when he found out the Dark Lord was going to kill Lily, he ran to Dumbledore to save her, only her. If I remember, he said he didn't even care if Harry and James died, only Lily. As long as she lived, and Dumbledore accepted to help in exchange for an Unbreakable Vow."
He laughed, a dry, harsh sound. "And that Vow ended up with him having to protect Harry no matter the cost." He fixed his younger self with a knowing look. "So Snape can't really hurt you unless he wants to die himself. So don't act like he's doing it from the goodness of his heart. Had it not been for the Vow, I don't doubt this snake would have already fled."
Dumbledore visibly grimaced. This young man was truly starting to get on his nerves, yet he stayed silent, seemingly lacking words, and what could he say? Everything Harry had said was the truth after all. Everyone was looking at both men, the Headmaster cornered by a truth he had desperately guarded.
Harry then looked at Snape, who had been sneering at him, his face a mask of wounded pride and hatred. Harry raised a brow to him.
"I don't like you. Not the you from my world, and not you, so as I have said, do not speak in my presence, or I will kill you."
Then, as if to demonstrate he wasn't joking, lightning seemed to strike from above, splitting the floorboards mere inches in front of Snape's feet. Smoke curled upward from the scorched hole.
Everyone's head snapped to the place, some looking up at the ceiling as if wondering how, and others looking at Harry with deep wariness.
"I won't waste my time with the likes of you. I'll leave you for your world's Harry, in case he wants revenge. You're not even my Snape. Mine died a brutal death, from what was said, of course," he said, making a small, suggestive smile gesture at the end. "Said they found him bleeding to death in his office." He said ominously as he let out a small, chilling laugh, then looked at the man, not telling that he was in fact the one who killed his snape, but he was sure he didn't need to say it.
"I don't really care for you all that much, but if you think just because I don't care that I'll tolerate you, then you are sorely mistaken," he said, his voice steely.
"Now run along, I'm sure your master is waiting for his dog."
Snape snarled, stepping forward like he was about to say something, before Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulders, pulling him back and giving him a stern look.
The Potions Master huffed, spun around, his cloak blowing dramatically, before leaving. Harry could see others like Sirius, and young Harry didn't want to let him go, but they were still being held back.
"Mr. Potter, I would please ask you not to antagonize Severus at the moment," the old man said, his voice regaining some of its old authority.
Harry gave him a look. "Why should I? I said I hate him, so why should I play nice with a man who spends his time inflicting misery on others?"
The old man sighed. "While Severus has his issues, he's still important at the moment, given our current situation."
"That doesn't really matter to me, and really, it matters not the situation if you surround yourself with monsters and think you can create a bright future after Voldemort is gone," he told the man. "And as I have said, you may have forgiven him, old man, but no one else has."
He turned to the others and could see Sirius practically foaming at the mouth, glaring at where Snape had been, shifting his gaze between that and looking at Dumbledore like he wanted to gut him alive.
"You yourself are no better in some areas," Harry said, and Dumbledore looked at him quizzically. "After all, I'm sure you've already decided on what to do, given you have been avoiding looking at mini-me in the eye since you came in here." The older Potter said, making Dumbledore still and grimace. Today, it seemed all truths were coming out.
"Go on, tell Harry why you're avoiding him, or better yet, tell him your plans for him in the future."
Now, Dumbledore was not just looking grim but outright glaring at Harry. This was the first time any of them had seen Albus Dumbledore look like that. The two stared down each other before Dumbledore seemed to decide to back down and leave. He had a feeling that if he stayed here any longer, not even Remus would be able to stop Sirius from jumping him when he learned the truth, and he knew he couldn't stop this young man from telling them.
He turned around and headed for the door.
The door closed with a loud bang, and everywhere was silent for a while before Tonks spoke up.
"Sooooooo, what is it?" she said, her usual scattershot curiosity overriding the heavy silence.
Harry turned to look at her. She looked so much like his Tonks. Yeah, yeah, he knew they were essentially the same person, but they seemed so different, too, maybe not in looks. He hadn't even been gone two days, and he was already feeling homesick and missing his girls.
"What is what?" he asked her.
"His plan. His plan for Harry," she asked as she plopped down by his side.
He nearly choked on his spit at the audacity. While the other adults had seemed to have no doubt decided not to bother him about it, it seemed this Tonks, like his own, had little control over her mouth. He let out a little laugh.
"You really want to know?" he asked her, and she nodded, the rest of the room leaning in, their faces tight with anxiety.
He turned to his younger self. "As you have realized, you and Voldemort are connected on some levels. Yes?"
Young Harry nodded. It really wasn't that big of a secret in the Order anymore.
"Well," older Harry said, his voice dropping to a chilling softness, "He was hoping to convince you to kill yourself so that it would take Voldemort with you."
That was after all the great Harry Potter plan. To be a martyr and die for the greater good. He scoffed at that.
That seemed to freeze everyone.
"What?" Hermione whispered, the sound a ragged thread of horror.
Ron staggered backward, bumping hard into the wall behind him. His face was ghastly white, the freckles standing out like specks of rust. Ginny slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Molly Weasley swayed violently, gripping the edge of the large kitchen table for support, her face a mask of devastating denial.
"No," Molly whispered, shaking her head fiercely. "No, Albus would never… he wouldn't ask that of a child. He loves Harry."
Older Harry watched the collective collapse.
He didn't need to elaborate on the details. The sheer weight of the implication was enough to crush the last vestiges of trust they held for the Headmaster, they had already seen that he wasn't lying since he started talking.
Young Harry stood utterly motionless. His face had crumbled into a hollow, dead stillness, as if his internal world had just shattered. He stared at his older counterpart, desperately searching for a lie, for a cruel joke, for anything that could explain away the horrifying meaning of the words.
"Wh-what do you mean, 'kill myself'?" the younger Harry croaked, the sound barely audible. "Why? I don't understand."
Older Harry sighed, running a hand over his face, his demeanor shifting slightly from cold antagonist to weary messenger.
"It means," he explained, keeping his voice carefully level, "that when Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby, he didn't just leave a scar. He left a piece of himself inside you. A parasitic piece of his soul. An anchor, ensuring that even if you killed his main body, he would always return."
He looked directly into his younger self's eyes. "Dumbledore knew about this. He knew you carried the Dark Lord's soul fragment. And he knew that the only guaranteed way to kill Voldemort completely, to remove that anchor forever, was for the host, for you, to die. To allow Voldemort to kill you and destroy his own piece of soul in the process."
Sirius let out a guttural sound, half roar, half sob, and lashed out, kicking a chair across the room with devastating force. Remus immediately grabbed his godfather, locking him in a desperate, restraining hold.
"HE WAS GOING TO LET MY GODSON DIE!?" Sirius roared, his voice thick with unshed tears and pure, incandescent fury. "He was grooming him! Training him for the slaughter! The manipulative old goat! I swear, if he walks back in here, I will tear him apart with my bare hands! I'll rip his beard off and strangle him with it."
Molly finally broke, leaning her head against the cool, dark wood of the table and weeping openly, the sound heartbreaking. Arthur hurried to comfort her, his own face pale and sick with horror. Harry had come to be like one of her own children. She didn't even want to know just how much pain it would be like to watch him die.
"The noble sacrifice, the greater good," older Harry said, his voice laced with mocking amusement, ignoring the chaos. "That was his narrative. He was planning to let you live a decent, happy life up to the final moment, then reveal the terrible truth and convince you to walk willingly to your death. A hero's end. A martyr for the greater good."
He fixed young Harry with a final, pitying gaze. "You were never a boy to him, Mini-Me. You were a tool. A piece on the chessboard. The one weapon he reserved for the very end, to be broken when it had served its purpose." Was what he was saying true? Most of it. He didn't know how this Dumbledore actually felt about his people, but he was biased from his experience with his world headmaster.
Young Harry stared back, his expression dissolving into disbelief and a deep, soul-crushing despair. He felt a vast, cold emptiness open up inside him, far worse than any pain Voldemort could inflict. He looked at the floor, seeing nothing but the shattered pieces of his belief in the head master who was like a grandfather to him.
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