In Spite

Even so, one step from my grave,
I believe that cruelty, spite,
The powers of darkness will in time,
Be crushed by the spirit of light.
-Boris Pasternak

2001

I've never liked the taste of cigarettes; all heat and ash.

I don't smoke out of addiction, just out of preference. Preference to taste something other than the burning flesh on the air.

I let the lungful of smoke I'm holding in meander from my mouth and watch as it's lost to the breeze.

In the valley below me the village of Budleigh Babberton burns. The latest settlement to face the Dark Lord's ire. Their crime? Who could say.

Thirty-five households burned to a crisp in less than half an hour. The Muggles will no doubt call it a gas explosion or plane crash.

I know better.

It is not the first time this travesty has occurred. The Dark Lord plans the locations and the target is cleansed. Who are we to challenge the orders?

At least they've stopped screaming.

The pale mask in my other hand subsides and spills like sand through my fingers.

I know I'm no longer alone.

I take another drag.

"You are well?" he asks, unable to keep his loathing from slurring his words.

"Yes."

There's a long moment of terrible silence and then I speak again.

"We should be down there helping them, not watching them burn."

"My, is that a guilty conscience I hear? I'd almost lost hope."

His derision burns me deeply and I can't help myself from turning. I lift a finger to the end of his crooked nose, ire shaking my entire body. I spit the words at him, they almost fall over themselves coming out my mouth.

"It's you I'm doing this for, Dumbledore."

He gives me a severe look that's so far from what I once knew of him I shudder and snatch my hand away.

"You were a long way down this path when I approached you, Harry."

I'd laugh, were cold anger not pouring through every inch of me.

"I don't know what you think you know about me-"

"You are stood before me, are you not?"

"I do this in your name or I do this for him. I certainly don't do this for me."

"Of course you do," he says succinctly. "You do this to serve the only person you have ever cared about; yourself."

This time, I do laugh. It slips from my lips; hollow and extended.

"That's what you think? Then you're a shit judge of character. You think because I made some poor decisions, because I don't wear a scar as a badge of honour, that because-"

"If you are trying to convince me of your good intentions, you can save your breath. I know you too well, Harry."

"So answer me this then, Albus. Why do I do this? Why do I spy on him for you? What is the benefit to me?"

He smiles patiently at me in a way that only infuriates me more.

"You do it to further your own agenda, as you always have. You come to me here and express your sorrow to endear me to you. You lose your temper at my coldness to convince me that you still have feelings. Do not think me blind, Harry Potter. I know the roads that you walk."

I laugh again, but this time it's a chuckle and then I turn away to stare at the village again.

"You know nothing about me," I say slowly and clearly. "I'm not that boy any more. But I'm losing faith I'll someday prove that to you."

Dumbledore sighs wearily.

"Just give me what you have and leave me."

I snarl and pull a reef of parchment from my cloak, I thrust it into his chest angrily and begin to walk away.

"Harry," he snaps and I stop. "What is this?"

"A list of names. People he's targeting."

"To murder?"

"Or bewitch. Or torture or, well, he's not going to take them for a fucking walk in the park is he?"

"How did you get this?"

"He gave it to me."

I move to leave again, but his arm snakes out and he seizes me by the upper arm.

"Harry, this is surely a trap. He must know he has a spy in his midst. This is him testing you."

I shrug.

"Then I fail his test." My eyes meet Dumbledore's and I see they're far gentler. My tone softens to match them. "Listen to me Albus, this is the decisive moment in this war. He is moving to take control. We must prevent this at any cost."

"He will kill you."

"At any cost," I repeat and drop the cigarette butt to the ground. "I plan on taking the Dark Lord myself, but your aurors have to win the ground battle or all of this is for nothing. You have two days."

I move to leave, but his hand keeps a firm grasp of my arm. I meet his eyes again.

"I have misjudged you, Harry," he confesses, I shrug.

"Worse things have happened."

There's an awkward moment of silence between us. Then he releases my arm and we share a wan smile.  

"Listen Minister, if we don't meet again-"

I pause and decide to let it go unspoken.

***
1991

My head aches by the time I reach my cupboard. Enduring the Dursleys is a full time occupation, with the added pressures of school and avoiding Dudley's group of friends and I'm thoroughly exhausted at the end of each day.

Eternally grateful for the chance to finally sleep, I fumble for a moment with the door handle and then pull it open, clambering inside awkwardly.

I notice, with some dismay, the date. Tomorrow is Dudley's birthday. Each and every year it gets worse. Each and every year the Dursleys find some way of making my life hell.

However, the one upside to Dudley's birthday was that it marked the beginning of the last week of term. This year would be the last I'd have to attend primary school with my great lump of a cousin. It also marked my ascension to Stonewall High, which though notoriously rough, couldn't be worse than this.   

Also, I realise in surprise, it marks five weeks until my own birthday. Not that I am excited, the Dursleys have their own special way of quelling any pleasure that might befall me.

Feeling even more miserable than when I first entered, I tear off the bedsheets, eager to surrender myself to sleep.  I stop, mid motion and stare down uncomprehendingly at my bed.

Resting neatly on the mattress, between the sheets, is a dog turd.

I stand very still for a long time, my arm still holding the bedsheet aloft. Then gently I let it fall to the bed and trembling, turn to face the cupboard door.

Dudley.

A shock of white rage floods through me.

How fucking dare he?

Before I know what I'm doing, I've wrenched the cupboard door almost from it's hinges and I'm following the sound of Dudley's moronic laughter out into the back garden.

The air is freezing against my skin, lightly clothed that I am. But the fury inside makes me hot.

He and Piers are on the bench at the far end of the lawn, when they see me they burst out with great peals of laughter.

I devour the distance in four huge strides.

Dudley rises from his seat, still smiling. Clearly thinking himself intimidating. The fury inside makes me fearless.

Stupid move, fatty.

I spring forward and put all my weight into a single hooked punch. It catches him in the side of the head and an even more moronic expression floods across his face for a moment before he keels elaborately backwards and slumps to the ground.

Piers rises quickly with a yell but I wheel on him, my fists still raised.

"What, you want a thump too, dickhead?"

He pauses and looks from me to the prone form of my cousin. His moment of indecision is his undoing; I punch him in the crotch with my left hand and as he bends over, I seize the back of his head and bring my right knee up to meet it.

I stare down at them as my breath comes in tremors. Piers moans feebly and so I kick him hard in the chest. I realise I'm shivering, but it's nothing to do with the cold. A wide, joyful smile spreads across my lips.

The fury inside subsides to euphoria.

I get a month in my cupboard for it.

It's worth every moment.

***
1994

"So this guy steps up to me, gives me a little shove, he's expecting me to come back with a push and settle it up with some fisticuffs.

"Let me tell you somethin'. I punch that cunt in the throat and pull my fuckin' blade.

"Lets face it, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth won't get you anywhere fast, mate. Trust me on that.

"They take an eye, I go nuts, I take fucking scalps and force feed them to the only cunt who's left. It's the only way to get ahead in a shithole like that.

"So I did 'im. Right between the ribs."

The looks I get range between disbelief and horror, nobody says anything to me. I stub the cigarette out against the stone and laugh hollowly. It's all for effect, but it gets exactly what I intend. Winces all round.

In fairness, I'd only left the guy with a pretty harsh beating. Hitting on a girl I was with was hardly a major transgression against me, but I couldn't let him off scott free, could I? Not to mention that he, his stupid friends and my equally moronic cousin had gotten a little bit too big for their boots again since I'd been away. It had been good to put them back in their place.

But it wouldn't do to tell that version of events, it's far less menacing a story.

I raise my eyebrows and look around challengingly. Daring someone to say something. Nobody does.

"Well fuck ya's then."

I turn away and walk across the grounds towards the trees. The grass leaves morning dew on my already grubby sneakers and brushes against my legs through the holes in my jeans. Today marked the sixth time this year I'd served detention for not wearing uniform. Fuck 'em. I don't give a shit about this school or their shitty rules and it's not as though they can get rid of me now.

With a great feeling of relief, I spot some first years reading in my spot. As I approach the first years looked up and pale. They scurry around, trying to pick up their shit and run before I arrive. They aren't quick enough.

"Alright cunts, fuck off," I snap.

My wand is already in my hand and I snap off a stinging hex at the nearest idiot with an air of contempt. Somewhere deep inside I mentally thank them for giving me an excuse to blow off some steam.  

They got off lucky in the end, only two stinging hexes and a levicorpus between the six of them. I leave the other five to get on releasing their friend from the spell and sit down in the shade of the tree. I scowl as I watch the wind make tiny ripples on the surface of the lake and listen to the trickle of the water against the shore.

Despite hating the castle and everything it represented with every fibre of my being, I can't deny that this spot, my spot, is one of my favourite places on earth.

When I'd come to Hogwarts, it was a chance to be free of my reputation, a chance for a fresh start. A chance to be someone other than what Little Whinging had made me.

Little did I fucking know that people don't change. What that shithole in Surrey had made me stuck and despite trying desperately hard to change when I'd first arrived, it had been those survival instincts engrained in me from an early age that had kept me kicking.

The first years manage to get their friend free of my jinx and he falls face first onto the grass. For a moment I think I'll get some peace, but then I notice the shadow stretching across the grass toward me. I look up into the kindly eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

Shit. How long had he been there?

"What're you, some sort of fuckin' ninja?"

He laughs merrily and sits cross legged next to me, his beard looking absurd perched in his lap.

I try a different tact.

"Hey, you're that Weatherby guy. How're the cauldron bottoms going?"

He doesn't even seem slightly bothered by my attitude, but instead picks a blade of grass.

"No better, I fear. Not for my lack of effort, I think."

I sigh. The cunt clearly isn't going to fuck off. I lean back into the trunk and ignore him instead.

He seems happy with the silence between us and follows my gaze out across the lake. I begin to roll another cigarette and he moves to pull a pipe from his robes.

"I fear the headmistress had not relaxed the smoking policies in the time I've been away, but I shall indulge regardless. I doubt anyone shall grudge an old man his little pleasures."

I prefered him when he was quiet.

"You talk a lot of shit."

"Unfortunately I think that is a vice that comes naturally to all politicians."

I detect a note of bitterness in his voice and I glance up. He gives me another one of those kindly smiles.

"I long for simpler times, Harry," he says and regret seeps into his tone. "I don't care for the politics of office."

Tell it to someone who cares, old man.

"In the wrong job then, ain't cha?"

"Indeed."

We lapse into silence again. If there's nothing else to admire about Dumbledore; he blows mean smoke rings. A butterfly comes to rest on his nose and he contemplates it quietly before it flies off.

I light up and let the first drag drift lazily into the air. A lazy twist of my wand forms it into the shape of a flying dragon. He gets the message instantly and smiles happily.

"Ah, I do believe that makes three of four. I believe only Diggory doesn't know now."

I pick up on the subtext and laugh bitterly. You're not going to hear me admitting it, but discovering the contents of the first task was a stroke of pure luck. I'd been scoping that Fleur Delacour chick and come across Karkaroff stumbling around in the dark. First things first, I'd like to state for the record that I don't normally go for vapid blondes, especially French ones, but when they're that tottie, well, you know how it is.

What's more, I'm well prepared to give her the two smacks she needs to get over herself and girls generally tend to know what's best for them. She'll be falling all over herself to get with me later in the year.

Anyway, back to Karkaroff.

At first I thought he was only in the vicinity of the carriage for some general lechery. And with all those cute little French things running about, I could hardly condemn him. As it turned out, he was there for some blatant cheating with a light sprinkling of lechery.

Ah, a man after my own heart.

Now not only do I know exactly what is approaching in the first task, but I know the best vantage point to get a peek inside the shower room of the Beauxbaton's carriage. A hugely productive evening if ever there was one.

I notice Dumbledore looking at me expectantly.

Right, Diggory.

"That twat can burn for all I care. You've got the wrong guy if you want a messenger."

I don't get a response, which is probably worse than anything he could have said. I wish he'd fuck off.

"But I can at least assume you have some plan?"

I laugh.

I doubt it came as a shock to anyone that I entered the Triwizard Tournament. My general reputation around here is of someone who breaks rules for the sake of it, who is rude for the sake of it, who pushes boundaries, just to see how quickly I can get people around me to snap.

However, it came as a huge shock to everyone when my name came out of that cup.

Everyone except me.

Of course, I'd brilliantly planned it.

It'd probably come as an even bigger shock to those around me that I'm actually a pretty competent wizard, when I want to be. I deliberately hide it of course, you've no idea when having an ace up the sleeve comes to your advantage. Well, that and the idea of applying myself to school work for some other reason than to upset the Durselys just rankles with me.

Anyway, it'd been easier than I'd imagined to beat Quirrel's age line and fool the goblet inside into accepting my name under a different school. I'd even boasted as such after my name had come out of the Goblet, much to the headmistress' annoyance. Nobody had seemed even slightly impressed that a fourteen year old boy had managed to beat the enchantments. Which I'd felt was the more pressing issue.

"Harry?"

Damn, I'd got lost in thought again.

"Yeah, easy shit," I say flippantly and catch the smile he sends my way.

"It's a beautiful spot Harry."

"Then it's lost on me."

"I hope not."

An odd sentiment. Damn it, now he's interested me. I give him a penetrating look.

"You remind me of a pupil of mine."

"Tom Riddle?"

He looks genuinely surprised for a moment and then a slight smile creeps to his lips.

"Of course, you'd know all about Tom."

"Orphan, just like me. Small, undernourished, abused, just like me. Gifted."

"Just like you?" quips Dumbledore. I scowl.

"But a model student, the teacher's pet, obsessed with blood purity."

"Not like you," admits Dumbledore. "And that is why I have hope for you, Harry. Tom Riddle spoke words of immortality, but I suspect that truly, he merely wanted revenge on the world that had wronged him."

"And what? You got me pegged as happy just being a thug? Perhaps I'm just good enough to do it alone."

Dumbledore merely smiles and shakes his head.

"No Harry. I have you pegged as a man who can still appreciate the beauty of this lake. A man more intelligent and deep than he will ever let on. You act out of spite, not out of revenge."

I scowl at him again, despite realising the immaturity of it. He rises from the ground with a litheness that defied his age.

"But you killed him," I blurt.

"In the nick of time. I confess, had he gotten any further on his rise to power, it would have required a miracle."

"And if you're wrong about me?"

Dumbledore chuckles.

"Well I suppose I'd have to dust off the old duelling robes."

He tucks his beard into his belt and leaves, heading up toward the castle.

I hadn't missed the thinly veiled threat.

Fuck him.

***
2001

The door closes behind me with a thud. I swing the invisibility cloak from me and onto a peg by the door. I hold out my hand and Hedwig my snowy owl flutters down from her perch to my hand. I pet her with my free hand and smile down at her.

"Almost over now," I say happily to her. I like to think she understands the importance of the coming events. "Only two nights left."

I move through to the kitchen which is the only room here that's ever heated or lit. It's right at the back of the house where I'm less likely to be noticed. To the muggles, this house is derelict and abandoned. It has an awful reputation in the village and this serves me better than any muggle repelling wards; magic like that leaves tell-tale traces if you know what to look for.

The fidelius was another option when I was choosing my safe house, but that too leaves traces if you're looking; gaps in the house numbers, documents that have to be modified and that too leaves hints for anyone who would come looking for me.

No, it's best to pick a house that's got a terrible reputation and pray nobody gets too curious.

I look down fondly at Hedwig.

"I need to send a letter," I say softly.

She flutters away to find pen and parchment, giving me long enough to open a tin of beans and leave them to cook in a pan on the smokeless fire.

She returns moments later and deposits writing equipment in my hand.

My note is short; best to keep it that way. Too little information for anyone but my intended recipient to decipher the meaning.

Two days
-HP

I fold it gently and seal it with a flick of my wand.

"This needs to go to Severus," I tell Hedwig and she flutters off.

I have no fear that Snape won't understand the meaning of my note or who sent it. Despite being a ridiculous and petty man, I can't deny that he's almost as brilliant as me.

Alone again, I light a cigarette from the fire and then sit, scowling into its depths. The flames dance upon the coals, lulling me into a state of trance.

In two days I will finally get my revenge; for the death of my parents and everything terrible that has occurred before and since.  

And then I will be clear of all of this. The war, the machinations of old men with old agendas and of Britain. For once, I will just get to be Harry Potter, where ever that will take me.

There's nothing left for me here at any rate, not when the spite and burning desire for revenge has left me.

For a minute, I'm suddenly struck by panic. Who will I be, when all this is gone? Is there enough left of me, behind the anger, to have any purpose, any semblance of a personality left?

I suppose only time will tell.

The possibility of failure dances too, in the back of my mind, but I never allow it to creep forward, to test me.

Failure in this case means death and so if I do fail, I don't have to worry. I wouldn't be leaving anything behind.

***
1995

Dumbledore regards me coldly over his half moon spectacles. He's never looked at me the same way since I killed that dragon. Part of me is curling in preparation to strike; part of me is so desperate for the confrontation, to make him bleed.

Slowly, the Minister for Magic lowers his pipe from his lips and addresses me.

"So Riddle has returned?"

"He has."

"And he has sent you to inform me."

"He has."

There's a long moment where he stares at me. There's a calculating look in his eyes.

"Describe exactly what happened."

"Crouch killed Fleur and took my wand-" I begin, but he cuts in immediately.

"He bested you?" There's a touch of humorous surprise in his voice, anger flows through me a moment.

"He took me by surprise," I spit.

"Quite," he says simply. Then takes another puff from his pipe. "Do continue."

I scowl at him for a moment.

"They resurrected him; my blood, Crouch's hand, his father's bone-"

"*Your* blood?" interjects Dumbledore then muses aloud. "The blood of an enemy, forcibly taken."

I don't really know what to say to this, so I continue my story.

"The Dark Lord came from the cauldron and Crouch robed him. He replaced Crouch's arm. He summoned back his Death Eaters. They grovelled before him and he forgave their desertion."

I pause and swallow. Dumbledore's eyes soften momentarily.

"He put his wand into the gash on my arm and then pain tore through me, pain beyond pain," I continue, my voice haltering slightly. Dumbledore nods. "Then he offered me a choice."

"Join him or die?"

I nod and shudder.

"He marked you."

"Yes."

A small smile spreads across Dumbledore's lips.

"And he sent you here to warn me?"

"Of course not!" I exclaim. "He told me to tell you that we duelled and I escaped. He wants me to gauge your reaction, talk my way into your favour and return to him in the summer. He wants me to find him a way into Hogwarts."

"Ah," muses Dumbledore. "He holds your abilities in esteem then."

"You've got to hide me."

"Hide you?" Dumbledore chuckles. "I shouldn't think so."

I gape at him.

"You will return to him in the summer and you will say to him exactly what I tell you to say."

"You can't really expect me-"

"Oh but I do," says Dumbledore, I can only stare at him. "I don't only expect it, I demand it."

I regain my composure and laugh.

"There's not a chance that-"

Its Dumbledore's turn to laugh and although its light there's an incredible strength to it.

"I assure you, Harry, that it wouldn't be too much trouble for me to stun you now, unarmed as you are and hand you over to the Ministry. Indeed, not only would that brand on your arm earn you a one way trip to Azkaban, but would be the very proof I need to easily convince the wizarding world of Riddle's return."

I stand hurriedly but he not only beats me to his feet but a half second later, his wand is tickling the underside of my chin.

"Sit down," he commands.

I hesitate momentarily and a flick of his wand seats me firmly back in the chair I'd just risen from. I've never felt so exposed and vulnerable, not even facing Riddle.  

"You will do exactly as I say, Harry," says Dumbledore, his tone light again. A moment passes between us and then he allows his wand to fall. "Now, let us discuss the information you will be feeding your new master."

I am grateful Dumbledore cannot see the huge smile I'm wearing in my mind. My hastily learned Occulemency has served me well as I had known it would. That combined with some suitably convincing acting had made this even easier than Riddle had promised.  

I grit my teeth and school my face into an expression of panic.

It wouldn't do to relax too much now, Dumbledore might be smug and self assured, but he wasn't a fool. He would through my guise if I stop playing my part.

He may even still suspect in the short term.

Little does he know that I play the long game.

Fuck him.

***
2001

The cut in my chest spills a little more blood to the floor as I try and catch my breath. My heart is racing and my brain is analysing everything around me, I have to escape, I have to run, I have to reach Hogwarts.

Voices echo indistinctly down the corridor after me, it takes almost everything I have to recognise them; Barty Crouch, Snape and-

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bellatrix. What is she even doing here? She should be at the Ministry, was it over so soon?

Two on two at best and I'm not even sure I can rely on Snape right now. I can't stop and fight; I've got to keep pushing myself.

Easier said than done with this wound. I grit my teeth through another wave of pain and listen to their footsteps and voices grow closer.

SHIT!

After all this, after all this planning, the years Dumbledore and I have put into beating the Dark Lord, the bastard goes and ruins everything at the last minute.

No. No.

Regardless of Riddle's change of plans I will not let all of this go to waste. I have to get out of this mansion. I will survive. I have to hope Dumbledore got my message. I still can't believe Riddle discovered my betrayal. I still can't believe that he bested me so easily.

I was lucky that he had more pressing issues than me. That he left me to these idiots.

I push myself to run a little further. It's getting harder by the moment. Only a little further. But it's still too far. My sense of reality and time ebbs away with each beat of my heart.

Fuck.

I turn just as Bellatrix comes around the corner, I scramble out of the path of her curse and my own killing curse skims past her.

So close.

A second and third curse cut into the stone around me as I drag myself behind the statue at the top of the wide staircase. I give myself a moment, taking deep breaths to clear my spinning head.

It's too long though and Bellatrix tips the statue toward me. I'm only just able to scamper away and an ugly purple curse catches me in the leg, sending me tumbling down the stairs.

For a moment, I accept that it's over, before a wave of resolute anger flushes through me.

No, it's not over. I'm too good, too clever to fail now. All this planning and cleverness and ability will not be wasted at the last hurdle.

I'm on my feet a split second before Bellatrix comes into view at the top of the stairs. I stumble half heartedly away and she laughs happily at my retreat.

She thinks she's beaten me.

As her foot touches the top of the first step, my wand flies out, a tripping jinx catches her in the ankle.

A second year spell really, but it works perfectly.

She loses her footing and rolls to the bottom, her wand flying from her hand as she crashes into a stair on the way down. She sprawls at the bottom for a moment then rises defiantly, straight into my killing curse.

I relish in my victory for a moment, before I realise Crouch has his wand trained on me from the top of the stairs. Just as I think I'm beaten for a second time, a dark shape thumps into him from behind.

Snape and Crouch fall down the stairs and they roll so quickly I can't distinguish one from the other. Then, with an almighty bang, they come to stop at the foot of the stairs.

I move to the Snape's aid immediately, but before I can do anything there's a flash of green light and the Potion Master falls limply to the ground.

I paint the floor with Crouch's brains before he can even move and limp over to Snape's body. His face has relaxed in death, no longer had the angry scowl he'd retained permanently in life and his dark eyes stare vacantly upward.

I feel no grief for his passing. It had been him that had caused my parent's death after all. But likewise, I could feel no more hatred for the man who'd given his life for mine, who'd given his life for a better cause.

I close his eyes and take a moment to heal the cut in my side the best I can.

When I rise, I know I've only a little way further to go.

***
1995

The slight waves lap against the water's edge. The grass rustles in the breeze around me and the drone of insects, barely audible, are the perfect accompaniment to the early summer sun that penetrates my eyelids.

I can still taste Fleur on my lips; still feel the echoes of her body against mine. I bask in her smell that still lingers on my clothes and skin.

I let the cigarette dangling from my lips slip into the grass beside me with a content carelessness. After the debacle during the second task, it's good to relax like this.

The fact that I've got four of one hundred points and am stone dead last in the competition doesn't weigh as heavily on my mind as it should. I'm not in this to win, just to prove a point and thus far, I've ruffled just as many feathers as I'd hoped.

I hear footsteps approaching and I don't even have to open my eyes to know who it is. There are only two people who willingly approach me these days and one has just left my company in tears.

"Hello Dumbledore," I say happily.

I know my friendliness will irritate him and I smile broadly as he pauses a half second longer than usual.

"Harry," he replies.

His tone is not at all friendly.

"My my Minister," I chuckle. "I might start thinking you don't like me. Manners don't cost a knut, you know."

He's silent for a long moment, so I open my eyes to fix him with as cold a gaze as I can muster.

"What do you want, Dumbledore?"

He gives me a small sad smile.

"To issue you with an ultimatum."

This piques my interest.

"An ultimatum?"

"Turn back from the path you walk. Redeem yourself now."

"Redeem myself?"

A flush of anger spreads across the old man's face. The first genuine emotion I remember ever seeing there.

"Harry, crossing the line you are currently standing astride has consequences you can't possibly understand," he snaps. "Your life may end up forfeit. Your life or worse."

"Worse?" I scoff. "There is nothing worse than death Dumbledore."

He gives me one last penetrating look and then with a disappointed shake of his head, turns and walks away.

Strange old man.

***
2001

By the time I reach the gates of Hogwarts, they've already fallen. One hangs loosely from a single hinge while the other lies on the grass. I can faintly hear the sounds of battle from within the grounds.

This is a cause for concern. My invisibility cloak will protect me from unfriendly eyes, but not crossfire.

No matter, it will just take more cunning than normal.

I move as quickly as I dare across the grounds. Luckily, the fighting seems to be mainly inside the castle and deep into the grounds. The air reeks with the stench of freshly spilt blood and the smell of smoke.

There's death on the air tonight.

The castle seems in a bad state of repair; at least half of Gryffindor tower appears to have been blown away and a large part of the boat house has fallen into the lake. I can't see a single window that isn't cracked or merely an empty frame.

I break into a jog as I approach the castle, eyes and ears on alert for people lying in wait, but luck seems to be on my side.

I'm about half way to the main doors when something is launched from the top of the astrology tower and hurtles to the ground below.

My breath catches in my throat.

Surely not.

I change direction, heading toward the base of the tower, sticking to the wall of the castle as I move around. A curse thunders over head and strikes the wall, raining debris down on me.

I look out over the grounds and see Hagrid single handedly fighting three wizards with a crossbow and an umbrella. Idiot doesn't even know he doesn't stand a chance. His giant blood affords him a couple of lucky glances, but it can't do anything about the killing curse that ends him.

By the time I reach the base of the tower, my mouth is dry and my teeth are set. Lying in the folds of a black robe is the crumpled and broken form of Tom Riddle. For a moment I'm sure he's dead, but I'm amazed when he twitches slightly.

I step close to him and he senses my presence somehow. His ruined body emits a gurgle as he tries to speak. I take a quick look around to check I'm not about to be disturbed then throw off the cloak.

When he sees me, his eyes widen in surprise.

Nice to see you too, fucker.

I feel a vindictive smile spread across my face and suddenly there's a flash of something in his eyes other than rage.

Fear.

It's tantalising and I lick my lips in preparation for what I'm about to do.

Then slowly and deliberately, I lift my right boot and place it upon his throat.

He twitches again, no doubt trying to free himself, but his broken body has nothing left to give.

"Shhh," I say softly and slightly lean down on my foot.

He splutters.

"Shhh," I repeat and increase the pressure on his throat.

Slowly, I watch the fight go out of him. He manages to weakly lift an arm and for a moment I'm impressed. Then slowly I watch the light leave his eyes, I watch the rage flee from his eyes. I watch him twitch a final time.

Job done.

I stand on his throat for a while to make sure it's not an elaborate fake then with a dismissive flick of my boot, I roll him over.

Satisfied, I turn away.

The time it takes me to work my way up to the top of the astronomy tower is gut wrenching. The fighting between the two armies is fierce and I'm not really in any state to do any fighting myself.

Part of me is vindicated to see that the list of names I'd given Dumbledore had paid off in the end. The Death Eaters that had been given targets had clearly been mopped up by the aurors lying in wait and those in Hogwarts are clearly suffering from the lack of reinforcement.

I have no doubt that the aurors and order would win eventually.

That leaves me free to find Dumbledore.

Eventually I work my way up to the Astronomy Tower. At the bottom of the long spiral staircase, I find the body of Hermione Granger, her wand still in her hand, her eyes still wide open.

I gently close them.

We'd never have been the best of friends, but I've always felt a certain kinship with the girl; a blistering intellect and a furious desire to win the game, re-writing all the rules along the way. I am surprised to feel a touch of genuine sorrow at her death.

Guess there's a first time for everything.

I take the stairs to the top of the tower two at a time and for a moment can only gape at the destruction that Riddle and Dumbledore had wrought. The huge brass globe was twisted beyond repair and flung across the tower. The ceiling too, was ruined; shattered and fallen through in patches.

I spot Dumbledore amongst the wreckage, slumped against the low railing that runs around the edge of the tower. At my approach he lifts his wand awkwardly, but as I remove the cloak, he allows it to fall from his hand and roll away.

I approach gingerly, careful not to fall through the abundant holes in the floor and kneel next to him. I quickly take in his wounds; a number of superficial cuts, a missing ear, several missing fingers and an ugly black curse wound that has spread from his left hand to his shoulder.

"You are well?" he asks, slurring his words. I notice blood dripping from his lower lip.

"Better than you."

I cast a pain relief curse on him. I've never been much good with medical magic so I've no idea how much better it makes him feel. From the expression on his face, not much.

"Riddle is dead," I say after a moment.

"Ah, I feared he'd survived his fall."

"He did."

Dumbledore looks up into my eyes and we share a significant look. Then he sighs.

"I had hoped to spare you that, Harry. Though I had suspected for some time I couldn't," he says, with difficulty. "Has it at least sated your desire for vengeance?"

"My revenge isn't complete yet."

He looks at me again and then chuckles in realisation. More blood seeps from his lip.

"You couldn't save me if you wished," he says lightly.

"I do," I say and he gives me a puzzled look. "Wish I could, I mean."

He shares a genuine smile with me.

"So how long have you been planning to kill me?"

"Years and years," I admit. "Yet now, I'd do anything to save you."

"There are worse things than death, Harry."

"I know."

Another genuine smile.

"For what it's worth, I only ever acted for what I felt was best."

I nod.

"And for that, history will treat you kindly."

"It's more than I could have hoped for," he splutters. "And now, I feel like I would like to lie down."

I gently move him so his head rests in my lap and his piercing blue eyes meet mine a final time.

"Good luck, Harry."

To the well trained mind, death is but the next great adventure.

"You too."

It had been a long time since my thirst for vengeance had been awoken that night in the cold. Since then, my desire had only grown and the skills I'd used to obtain it; manipulation, magic, cunning, had been honed by years of use.

Now, it died along with the man in my arms.

I let my fingers close his eyes for the final time and let them rest for a moment on his famous lightning bolt scar.

Then, in spite of a decade of hate, I weep for his loss.

A/N: So, I figure it's worth me saying that in the original ending to this, Harry comes off as a far worse human being. But it seemed to undermine everything that Dumbledore does and well, fuck it, but I like Dumbledore.

I hope my characterisation of Dumbledore didn't seem too off, but in my defence, he's a different man than in canon.

Oh and I hope you like unanswered questions.