"I don't know about this, mate," Ron said.
He and Harry were walking the shoreline of the Great Lake, back on Hogwarts grounds for the first time in years. There was snow here too, albeit a thinner sheet than what had coated the giants' forest. They were in black mourners robes, fresh from a funeral.
"What is there not to be sure about? You're the one who argued for me to use it back then."
"I know," Ron said quietly. "I said all of that because that's the kind of guy I am. If you offer me that power, I'm not turning it down. But you did. Because that's the kind of guy you are."
Harry didn't answer. His eyes had fallen on a marble tomb just large enough to accommodate a casket, jutting from the crest of an island close to shore.
"It will hardly be the first time I've changed my mind, Ron. People don't always stay the same. Sometimes, we make different decisions, once we've seen more of the world."
Harry approached the waterline. Moving his wand, he turned a nearby rock into an operational rowboat. It was a feat of conjuration even McGonagall would've given full marks to. Without pausing, he stepped into the boat, waited for Ron, then kicked the shore to set them adrift.
There was no need to steer; it was only a matter of meters to the island.
"What happened wasn't your fault." Ron only spoke again when they'd left the boat, hopping onto marshy ground that sunk under their feet. "Savage, Seaumus, even Amira knew the risks of the job. Nobody is asking you for more. You did your best."
Finally, Harry looked at him. He smiled, a tear in his eye.
"You're right, Ron. I did my best. That's the problem."
When Ron didn't respond, Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll handle this part alone. Wait for me here."
Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Harry watched his past self complete his climb. When he used a precise cutting charm to remove the tomb's lid, Dumbledore smiled. "My cameo approaches!"
Harry gave him a wry look. "Your sense of humor is so much darker than people realize."
"I don't know what you could be referring to," Dumbledore said. "There's nothing dark about making light of yourself."
Harry caught him leaning forward, looking eagerly into the tomb when the top was taken off. Inside was a beautiful coffin. This, too, was opened by Harry. There Dumbledore's body lay, the Elder Wand tucked underneath his fingers. The only damaged part of the corpse was his blackened hand. The rest looked identical to the man standing beside Harry.
"I had heard, in passing, that magic can stave off decomposition," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. Understandably, he couldn't take his eyes off his deceased counterpart. "The more powerful that a wizard or witch is, the more slowly nature reclaims their body. Legends state that even today, Merlin's body would be perfectly intact, should one ever be capable of finding it. I never expected the chance to see myself exemplifying the phenomenon."
"It threw me off," Harry confessed.
His past self had indeed frozen, a peculiar expression on his face.
"Sorry. Rest well," Harry finally said.
He moved his phoenix wand, sliding the Elder Wand out and levitating it into the air. He took it in his left hand and stepped back. After a hesitation, Harry stowed his phoenix wand in his pocket, moving the Elder Wand to his dominant hand. He pointed it toward the tomb. "Reparo."
Not only did the casket close perfectly, the lid of the tomb returned to its place, the surface of the marble smoothing over in seconds. All from one spell. Harry laughed under his breath. He turned, finally smiling, and threw his arm out.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The glowing stag that burst from his wand galloped through the air. It went over Ron's head, the sudden emergence causing the redhead to duck. As the stag descended, running across the shore of the Great Lake, you could almost hear thunderous hoofbeats striking the earth.
"So I took the wand. I made it mine," Harry said. "From there, I didn't look back."
O-O-O
They watched a warehouse raid right at its climax, dark artifact dealers choosing to fight back rather than submit to Azkaban. Harry was in the middle of the chaos, dueling multiple opponents. A shout of pain sounded behind him, and while fighting, Harry managed to turn his head. He saw Neville on the ground. A dark wizard had gotten the drop on him, sending him to the floor with a curse. They pointed their wand at his downed form. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry didn't have time for an incantation. He flicked the Elder Wand. Immediately, a metal disc was conjured out of thin air, absorbing the Unforgivable with a flash and a bang.
Nevill whipped his wand up and stunned the wizard. Seconds later, he was on his feet and out of danger. Harry returned to his own opponents, making short work of them.
Next, they watched a dragon circle above a Welsh town. This time, Harry was with Terry Boot and Lisa Turpin, riding brooms as they chased the magical beast.
"An adolescent Welsh Green got out of the nearest sanctuary," Harry explained to Dumbledore. "We were on damage control until the handlers could catch up."
The problem quickly became obvious as the lights beneath them caught the dragon's eye. It dove down, landing on a building with enough force to crack the roof. Adolescent or not, it was still as big as five armored vehicles rolled into one.
The dragon's maw opened, preparing to breathe fire. Harry divebombed.
"Sir!" Lisa said.
As he flew toward the ground like a bullet, Harry fired a stunning spell. It took entire teams of dragon handlers to stun even a young beast.
The solitary bolt of red hit the dragon's face and made it shake its head, as if trying to rid its ears of a fierce ringing. A second, equally-powerful stunner forced it to flinch. Finally, it took to the skies, deciding the village wasn't worth it. Harry pulled out of his dive, flying back up to rejoin his squad.
"I think you're Stupefy and mine are different," said Terry Boot.
"He didn't know how right he was," said the real Harry. "With that wand in my hand, the great things I could already do were magnified. I doubt I have to tell you. You can cast a spell you've known for years, and it's like something different comes out. The results are incomparable. Silent casting is easier, you can fudge the movements and the spell won't fail or be weakened. In some ways, using the wand is the easiest thing I've ever done."
Dumbledore peered at Harry. "It sounds as if you miss it."
Harry blinked. He laughed, mostly to himself. "Is that how I sounded? Don't worry, that's not it. If you'd like the truth, Albus, I'm scared of it."
The memories were moving on. They were almost to the end; Harry knew. Back in Hermione's office once more, you could see that the paperweights were different now, including a broken Time-Turner and a weathered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. In general, the office felt much more used than it had when they saw it last. Hermione no longer sat in the Minister's seat like there was a meterstick stuck to her back. Her unhappy gaze made Harry feel like he was back in the moment, stuck in the hot seat all over again.
"You worked more overtime," Hermione said.
"Uh-oh. That tone." Harry smiled. "Are you going to tell me to relax, Hermione?"
"I'd like to tell you to get your head back on your shoulders. You're taking every mission, Harry. From combat missions, to patrolling Knockturn, to inspecting the Flint family vault for contraband, you're leading every one. You're going to kill yourself from work before a dark wizard even gets the chance!"
"Hermione Granger is telling someone to take a day off? Has Slytherin changed their colors to red and gold? Are the Chudley Cannons winning?"
"Don't deflect." Hermione steepled her fingers, looking more like a stern minister than a nagging friend. "I follow a rigorous schedule that includes at least eight hours of free time, two days a week. I don't know if you've taken that much time to yourself in the last month.
"I have." When Hermione continued to look at him, Harry clarified. "I sleep."
"Sleeping does not count."
"Why not? I'm not working."
Hermione pinched her nose. Her stern attitude cracked, revealing the irritation bubbling underneath. "These days, I wouldn't be surprised if your dreams include missions."
Harry, carefully, didn't answer that. It wouldn't help his case if he admitted half of them centered around an illicit potions bust or a duel of some kind. The duels, especially, had been getting vivid. He wasn't convinced that it wasn't a side effect of the wand.
"You said that's what you want to tell me. If I know you the way that I think I do, that means there's also something that you have to tell me," Harry said. "It's probably what this meeting's actually for."
Hermione frowned. "You weren't this observant when we were in school."
Harry shrugged. "Auror work."
It didn't just build your magical skills, it sharpened your mind. A dumb Auror was a dead Auror, at least that's what Dawlish always said. Given he'd been on the force longer than the rest of them combined, Harry was inclined to take his word for it.
"In any case, you're right," Hermione said. "Here."
She took a box from inside her desk. Harry recognized it immediately, having seen two like it in his life. The first was when he was awarded an Order of Merlin First Class for saving the country. The second was when he was given an Order of Merlin Third Class for catching Corban Yaxley. "Another?"
"Second Class." Hermione's voice was sour. "I believe I made it clear what I think of your work schedule. Others disagree. For your tireless work you are being awarded an Order of Merlin Second Class. Expect to see headlines about this in the paper starting Thursday."
Harry took the silver medal — inscribed in the middle with a thick M — and tucked it away in his pocket.
"Neat," Harry said.
Hermione was silent. He could see her considering her words, mulling over the right ones to use. Uh-oh, Harry thought. She only did that when she was truly serious.
"If you want to keep all of them alive, you'd be better off taking the promotion, Harry."
"To Head Auror? Dawlish has it handled. Besides, keep who alive?"
"I'm not stupid, Harry James Potter. I remember when this started. You're trying to protect every Auror, but that isn't your job. It's unsustainable. They're your allies, Harry, not civilians in need of saving. They'll tell you the same thing."
Harry was silent. Slowly, Hermione's imploring look bled away. She let her hands thud against her desk.
Harry put his hand on the back of his chair. "Will that be all?"
"Dismissed," Hermione grumbled.
He pushed his way to his feet. "You're wrong about one thing, Hermione."
"And that would be?"
"If it's me," Harry said, "then it's sustainable. I can do it. I won't fail again."
The memory froze. The real Harry turned to Dumbledore. "I wasn't wrong. For the rest of my career as an Auror, the department didn't lose a single member. The Elder Wand made it possible. I didn't just win my fights; I decimated anyone who went against me."
The memory started to change, billowing with fog the way they did before moving to a new setting. Harry watched the process with a bitter smile.
"Only one left now," he said.
The setting proved similar to the one where Harry saved Neville, only this time the memory started outside. The entire class of '99 was present, bar Seamus. It was clear the dark building ahead of them had been designed by Muggles, given its Victorian architecture and the location on the fringes of a moderately big city.
"Wizards and witches were going missing," Harry told Dumbledore, the two of them watching the Aurors finish their final preparations. "It started with a handful, spread over a long time. We didn't see the pattern. By the time we noticed, more than a dozen victims had disappeared. Dark magic was suspected, possibly the work of a former Death Eater. There were still a couple of them scattered around. Eventually, we tracked the abductions to this building."
The Harry of the past took the lead. Trailed by his fellow Aurors, they blasted the door in, storming the building's interior. Almost immediately they were beset by spellfire. Harry raised a huge shield, allowing the others to scatter around the entryway. One corner at a time, the Aurors fought their way deeper into the house.
At the start, non-lethal spells were used, including those Harry was casting. There were a lot of stunners and body-binds. They weren't able to make clean captures, though. The enemy was organized. When one fell stunned, the others protected them seamlessly, reviving them and retreating deeper. A frown worked its way onto the past Harry's face as he fought.
"How coordinated," Dumbledore remarked.
"I know. It's like they all shared one mind," Harry said.
The mansion was constructed in such a way that there was a hole in the middle, filled with a garden. The Aurors' assault led them to this garden, where the enemy set up a final defence, now lacking the ability to retreat further. The walls around the garden were made up of glass, offering poor cover, while the defenders had created barricades of firm wood and metal. A powerful spell hit next to Ron and showered him in glass, mixing into his hair and leaving cuts on his face. When he saw red running down Ron's cheek, Harry's expression changed.
He stood up and turned his wand on the wall of glass.
At once, all of it shattered, this time sending the shards inward. The slivers of glass accelerated like they'd been fired from a cannon. Just before they hit the defenders' cover, they enlarged to the size of rocks. Harry even hardened them, weaving an additional spell into his sudden assault. They were blades in all but name and they acted as such.
The cover that had been erected was cut to pieces, along with half the wizards who'd been putting up resistance. Harry simply walked into the garden. Even those who hadn't been crippled or killed were bleeding somewhere. It was easy for him to block their feeble attempts, strike them with a spell, and render them unconscious. They were the lucky ones.
Harry walked what had been the sturdiest part of the barricade. Instead of tables or scrapped furniture, this section had been transfigured to be solid iron. It was only large enough to protect a single wizard, so it wasn't a surprise when a man leaped out, jabbing his wand at Harry. "Imperio!"
Harry just stood there, cocking his head. The man's wand arm sank. He laughed bitterly.
"Freak," the wizard said.
Harry punched him in the jaw, dropping him.
"I hate that word," Harry said, shaking his fingers to alleviate the stinging.
He leaned forward, putting his boot straight on the wizard's neck, whose wand had escaped his grasp when he hit the floor. The dark wizard was relatively handsome, having shaved neatly and cleaned regularly. The only part of his appearance that looked disheveled was the bruise forming on his cheek. That attention to his appearance helped Harry recognize him as much as any of his features did.
"Mulciber the Second," Harry said. "You did pretty well to stay away from us this long… for blood supremacist scum scraped off Voldemort's shoe. You even got yourself a gang." Harry turned his ankle, forcing his heel into Mulciber's throat. "Where are your victims?"
Mulciber could barely breathe, but he managed to laugh. "You remember me!"
"Yeah, don't let it go to your head. I remember every freak that killed for Voldemort."
"But you don't remember what I could do." Now, Mulciber's voice sounded sad, although he giggled. "Don't you remember my specialty?"
Still standing on Mulciber's throat, Harry racked his brain. The current version spoke at the same time as his past self, when the realization hit the Auror.
"The Imperius Curse."
He stumbled off of Mulciber while the ex-Death Eater started to laugh. Spinning around, Harry turned in time to watch Neville pull the hood back off one of the bodies. Underneath was an average wizard with a sharp nose Harry recognized from the missing persons posters. Another hood came off, and Harry spotted a familiar mole. Everywhere he turned, he saw faces that he'd seen; the very people they were here to rescue.
Through it all, Mulciber kept laughing. The real Harry's hand was shaking, even after the last memory finished and they were ejected, sitting up in Dumbledore's office. The room was quiet. Usually asleep, Fawkes had woken up, watching the men curiously.
"I wasn't blamed." Harry spoke first, his voice tepid. "Can you believe that? Apparently, there are provisions for self-defense against assailants under the Imperius Curse. Even though they had no choice but to attack us, and I killed them, it was legal. They said I was defending my fellow Aurors."
"You were," Dumbledore said.
He, of all people, would know Harry had acted rashly. But he could see that Harry didn't need to be told that. Harry was grateful for his compassion, though part of him wished Dumbledore would accuse him. It would've felt more appropriate.
"I want to blame the wand. Believe me, I tried." Harry laughed bitterly. "But I'm the one who used the spells. I was willing to do anything to protect everyone around me, no matter how many bridges I crossed. It was fine, right? If a criminal died here or there, well, that's what they were— a criminal. What's the worst that could happen?"
"You gave up the Elder Wand?" Dumbledore asked.
"After that? I put it back where I found it and ran away. I ran from all of it," Harry said. "Even if no one else did, I knew who to blame. I quit my job. I didn't have a purpose anymore, but that meant nothing to hold me down. The Muggle world welcomed me with open arms. It was rough at first… But I adjusted. I'd say that I even found some peace. I was better off there, and I think the wizarding world was better off too, once it was free of me."
"Even though they did not blame you?"
"It's because they didn't blame me. They never would, not unless I turned into another Voldemort. And even then, half of them would've followed me if I told them to burn the world down. Everyone knew I was the most powerful wizard in Britain. I wasn't ready to shape the world the way they wanted me to."
"An admirable choice," Albus said.
But Harry shook his head. "I did it for selfish reasons. The longer I looked at myself in the mirror, the less I liked what I saw. I had to get away, rebuild who I was into someone better. Someone who wouldn't make the same mistakes."
He looked down at his hand, still shaking slightly, and forced it to go still. Harry took a deep breath, finally smiling again, although it was more of a half-smirk than anything else.
"Well, there's my story," he said. "The key bits, at least. Of course there was more, but I can't show fifteen years of memories. I've got too much homework to grade."
His joke fell flat. Dumbledore was looking at Harry, his gaze so piercing that it felt like Legilimency, although Harry's defenses were never tested.
"You're afraid," was his final verdict.
"Of what I could be? Of course I am," Harry said. "I think it's pretty reasonable. If I took it too far… If I got addicted to the feeling of winning… Who could've stopped me?"
Dumbledore's silence was the perfect answer.
No one.