You think you know someone

 Albus did his best to ignore the coiling sensation on his ankle until he couldn’t.

 He kicked, thinking it would be effective in getting rid of the insect settling on his leg. But insects couldn’t curl themselves two times around someone’s ankle.

 His head throbbed as his eyes fluttered open. He had been lying on his side. The floor underneath was hard and cold. He lifted his head slightly—why did his head hurt so much—? When he saw something akin to a black eel. He recoiled so aggressively his back hit a wall behind him.

 No. Not a wall.

 What hit his back hit had been bars. He was inside a cell.

 The eel didn’t budge, so he tried peeling it off of him with two fingers.

 “Gross, gross, gross, gross—” Hold on. That wasn’t an eel. That’s Harry’s snake!

 He was, unfortunately, still creeped out about having a reptile wrapped around him. But Monty—Harry once mentioned its name—seemed just as eager to rid itself of Albus.

 It looked at Albus in a way that he interpreted as: You’re no picnic either.

 Albus bit his lip as he surveyed the—admittedly larger than he remembered—snake. Monty looked exceptionally long for a Grass Snake, but still rather narrow. “What the ruddy hell does Harry feed you?” He asked pointlessly.

 The snake didn’t seem to hear him. Albus watched as it slithered out of the cell through the tiny gap so effortlessly that he couldn’t help the pang of envy.

 With Monty gone, Albus was forced to study his surroundings with no distractions.

 His head still hurt. It felt as though someone drove a truck through his mind, ripping it all apart before piecing it together in the last second.

 He recognized the gaps between the bars as the place he and Scorpius used to sneak into at Malfoy Manor. The place looked far grimier than he remembered it to look like in his timeline.

 How’d I get here? He knew the other cabinet was located at Borgin and Burkes. Did that mean someone had been waiting there to ship his stunned figure off to Malfoy Manor?

 Albus’ eyes widened as he recalled the time he’d last spoken to Draco.

 Voldemort was going to kill him. That was why he’s here.

 He thought he might begin hyperventilating, but the sight of Monty returning had put a pause to his very prompted panic attack.

 The snake’s dark color made it easy for it to blend in the shadows as it brought something. At first, the Slytherin thought it was a stick before immediately recognizing the Cherry wood. Monty went to get Albus his wand!

 He was instantly filled with gratitude toward Harry’s snake.

 “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” He muttered while he took his wand, swooshing it a few times to feel it activating his magic.

 Monty made hissing noises that Albus didn’t understand the meaning of, but he, though reluctantly, brought his hand down toward the snake to pat its scales. Monty leaned toward the touch, and Albus smiled.

 He slightly jumped when he felt Monty climb his hand, slithering under his sleeve to curl around his forearm, face resting on Albus’ wrist.

 Albus surprised himself when he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind that at all. The snake’s presence felt more reassuring than he’d like to admit, and he suddenly had a broader understanding on why Harry had Monty as a pet.

 The lock on the cell was heavily guarded with magic, so he couldn’t open it even if he tired every spell he knew for locks. And he tired.

 When all hope was lost, he thought about one more technique to try. Something that could help alert people of his whereabouts.

 He positioned his wand hand in a way he’d been doing every lesson he’d had with Ginny and Luna.

 He thought of the happiest memory he’s got. He thought of a time before Hogwarts. A time when he and Rose were inseparable, and all his cousins and siblings liked having him around and he them. A time when they didn’t have to pretend to like each other for their parents’ sakes because they did enjoy each other’s company. A time when he thought his dad loved him as much as his mum did.

 The tears tickled his nose. This is supposed to be a happy memory.

 Ginny and Luna had been right, something was weighing him down, tainting his memories. But how could Albus escape his dad? He was everywhere.

 All his life, it was Harry Potter this, and Harry Potter that. Albus was the son of the savior. Son of the Chosen One. The disgrace to the Potter name. The disappointment of the family.

 No one understood what it was like to have everyone look at them the way they looked at Albus because of whose son they were. None but Scorpius, Albus’ only real friend, who, like him, had been shunned by the public because of who his father was.

 Now that Draco had betrayed him personally, he understood why someone like his dad would have trouble processing Albus being friends with Scorpius.

 Suddenly he saw it. Saw in his memories how hard his dad always tried to understand him, to make Albus feel loved and wanted the only way he knew how.

 And what had Albus done? He tried antagonizing his dad.

 He was frustrated by how different people treated him because of his House. But Albus couldn’t attack them, so he attacked the one he thought was the source of his unhappiness until he made him that. He drove his dad into becoming the villain in his life—and why? Because people wouldn’t leave him and Scorpius alone.

 But his dad didn’t deserve that. His only crime was trying to connect with his son.

 Albus had started with snarky comments that slowly escalated to him burning his permission slip to Hogsmeade before the start of third year. He had slowly coaxed his father into seeing him as the rest of the world did. Because people didn’t want a Slytherin who couldn’t even fly a broom as their savior’s son, did they? No, they’d rather Albus didn’t exist. So, Albus had convinced his dad of the same thing.

 The tears continued to fall. He wiped his face and breathed deeply.

 He had let others’ words get to him despite his parent always telling him not to listen to what people said.

 Is it because you’re a Slytherin? Ginny’s voice from their last lesson came back to him.

. . . he’d be a right prick if he gives you trouble because of that. Don’t listen to him, Al, you’re great.

 Albus huffed a broken laugh. Her advice worked, but on a level different from what she had intended. She believed in him. His mum believed in him. Both versions of her.

 Albus smiled sadly. Wishing to speak to her one last time.

 He pretended that the snake’s comforting touch on his arm was from his parents, reminding him that he was not alone. He told himself that Harry sent Monty here because he cared about him.

 And with that, Albus tried a memory of himself spending the summer with Scorpius, a time where they were free from everyone’s expectations and judgmental eyes lingering on them.

 For the first time, his Patronus was corporal.

Albus’ head was still throbbing. He had been so emotionally worn out, he must have dozed after sending his message.

 He was no longer in the cell. He felt himself seated on a comfortable cushion.

 His head hurt him so much he just wanted to pass out again. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, hoping it would do the trick.

 “Mr. Potter.” It was the voice.

 The familiar hissing voice that he’d thought had been calling for him back when he was still in his Hogwarts. It was the sound that led him to the veil that shifted Albus’ perspective drastically.

 It was the sound of Voldemort.

 “Open your eyes.” A command.

 Albus didn’t want to, but a force he couldn’t comprehend made him open his eyes. Now that he saw the face whose voice belonged to, he found trouble looking away.

 He’s terrifying.

 “Ah, there you go.” Said Voldemort—theVoldemort! “I was starting to worry I may have ripped through the fabric of your mind too roughly, but some measures were absolutely necessary. I see you have been keeping quiet the secret, Albus Severus Potter.” He mocked, dragging the S that linked his first and middle name. The taunt was followed by the cutting sound of his cold, shrill laughter. “What an unfortunate name. There is far too little left that can surprise me, but rest assured any version of your father always manages. Did your parents hate you since they laid eyes on you, Albus?” He continued to laugh cruelly.

 Bile rose to Albus’ throat from the steep panic he felt. He knows everything.

 Even as the laughter stopped, mirth still wouldn’t leave the snake-like features. “Chin up, boy, this is a good thing for you. Otherwise, you would have been dead by now.”

 Albus grimaced.

 Voldemort was sitting in front of Albus. His head tilting to the side as he rested his temple on his long, bone-white fingers, shaking his head with a sharp smile plastered on his incredibly pale face. “From that secret alone, I was able to know what to search for in your memories. Your father thwarted my counterpart as a child the same way Harry has done to me. But unlike your Voldemort, I have already realized what an asset Harry could become before it is too late.”

 Albus continued to stare, wide eyed, wondering what he had done to deserve ending up at the mercy of the worst of the worst.

 Voldemort lowered his hand from his head. He extracted his wand from his robe to summon—a tea trey? “You do not know what I am talking about. Your father may have exposed my counterpart’s secrets, but he secluded the one that would’ve ruined his reputation to everyone’s eyes, including your own, I assume.”

 A teacup was levitated toward Albus. Despite being free to move, he dared not take it.

 “W-w-what secret?” He mustered up the courage to speak.

 Voldemort didn’t drink his tea. Albus would’ve been shocked if he did. Drinking seemed like a normal human activity. Nothing about Voldemort indicated that he was. . . that.

 Voldemort’s red eyes seemed to have glowed as he answered. “My accidental horcrux.”

 Albus tried racking his head. Which of the horcruxes had been made by accident? A part of him wanted to say it was the diary, because technically, the Basilisk did the killing part, or so he’d been told.

 “What I learned from my dead counterpart isn’t something I haven’t already discovered on my own, but your limited knowledge of how he was defeated proved what I’ve known. . . for a while.” A strange look passed over Voldemort’s face. Albus thought it looked disturbing, but it thankfully lasted for only a moment. “All I must do is to not seek to kill Harry Potter on my own, and I guarantee my victory. It seemed so very simple. But there’s a catch, Harry Potter must not die, and I shall live forever.”

 Albus pieced together what the Dark lord was implying. It was the one thing, but surely it couldn’t be.

 He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe. He couldn’t bring himself to even think it.

 No.

 “W-why are you telling me this?” He hated how his voice shook, but he didn’t let it stop him. “To g-gloat? Because I know you won’t let me walk away from here after hearing this. You’re going to kill me eventually.”

 “You are right. You will not walk away. Fortunately for you, you are far too valuable alive than you are dead.”

 For now. Albus wasn’t fooled. He knew there was no such thing as a good promise from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

 “Why? You already know everything about the future—a possible future, but a future nonetheless—”

 “So does Dumbledore.”

 “What?”

 Voldemort clucked disapprovingly. “Do you really think your namesake haven’t already searched your mind before I have? Back when he brought you to his office when it had been in shambles, he was already gathering more information from your mind than he was from any answer you’ve given him.”

 Albus gaped at him. Really gaped at him.

 Dumbledore knew everything?

 All that time Albus spent trying to slyly slip extra information to help win the war, and Dumbledore already knew?

 Voldemort cackled lowly. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Being used is such a way without your knowledge. But that’s the life of Harry James Potter to you. Could be said about both Harrys, even. They both fall victim to Dumbledore’s elaborate schemes. Only yours named his own son after the man who ruined his life—”

 “You ruined his life.” Albus seethed. How dare he pretend he gave a damn about Harry when tried to kill him since before he was even born?! “You killed my grandparents! They’re only crime was loving and protecting their son—whose life you ruined! Don’t you try to paint Dumbledore as the villain here! He’s against you and everything you stand for!”

 “There is no such thing as a villain. The term is used by those who are weak and want to blame others for their own incompetence. But if I were to humor you, let us not forget who sent Harry to his abusive relatives and continued to do so despite the boy begging him to stay at Hogwarts for the summer. All in the name of the greater good, of course.”

 Albus blinked. He knew about Dumbledore dropping off Harry on the Dursleys doorsteps as an infant, everyone in his timeline did. As for the extreme mistreatment, he only thought Harry hadn’t spoken about his problems to anyone. After all, didn’t Dumbledore say that help would be given at Hogwarts for those who seek it or whatever?

 Albus didn’t know Harry had asked for help before—begged for it even, as Voldemort so claimed. . . but how would Voldemort know? Was it because Harry was his horc—

 Albus closed his eyes, bowing his head. No, he did not need to think about that, because if he did, he would—

 Oh, but how much sense it all made! He was a Parselmouth for crying out loud!

 And his real dad said he hadn’t been able to speak Parseltongue since he’d been hit by the killing curse the second time. But if the extra piece of soul died in the Battle of Hogwarts, didn’t that mean that his dad must’ve literally died in order for that to happen?

 His head started to throb in addition to the headache he had. This was too much information.

 “And I have not killed your grandparents, Albus. The man who did it is long dead. You’re father saw to that.”

 Albus raised his head.

 “As for Dumbledore toying with Harry’s life in more than one dimension, I saw in your mind how you knew, or rather suspected, why his godfather never received a trail. I have had faithful followers who’d done heinous crimes and received proper trails before they were sent to Azkaban, or received the dementor’s Kiss, as that was the case to some of them.

 “Not only did Sirius Black express rebellion against my cause at a very young age and during adulthood, but he wasn’t even marked. Many were far more willing to believe his innocence than people like Lucius or Severus, but a higher power made sure he was kept out of Harry’s earlier life. So the self-assured young man Harry could’ve grown to be was replaced by a self-sacrificial fool who thought his life worthed less than that of a house-elf.”

 “No—it’s. . . my dad saves people—i-it’s his thing—”

 “Oh yes, yes. Just like his father, and isn’t that how everyone likes to describe him? People like James Potter are brave and would simply throw away their lives for righteous reasons. But there’s a thin line that separates bravery and foolishness, and Harry always plays fast and loose with that line. His sacrifice isn’t limited to what he believes is a righteous cause, if you know what I mean.” Voldemort cocked his head meaningfully. “I haven’t seen anyone as self-deprecating as Harry—just look at the way he treats you! His own self, or so he thinks.” Voldemort threw his head back as he cackled, a bit hysterically by Albus’ standard.

 He felt sick to his very core. He wanted Voldemort to shut up. He didn’t like how each point sounded more valid than the last. He wanted to shout the word liar at his snaky face.

 But where was the lie?

 “He makes the perfect child soldier as Dumbledore wants him to be, doesn’t he? Just like your father turned out to be. I am certain that once Dumbledore saw how I can be defeated, he did not wish for things to be any different in this world. Isn’t that why he was so against your interferences?”

 Albus glared.

 “I thought so.” Voldemort rose from his seat. Albus was struck by how tall he was. Despite being a distance away, he still managed to be intimidated. Because, well, it’s Voldemort. “Dumbledore is one of the greatest minds that ever lived. You better hope to never live to meet another manipulator like him. The way he toys with people’s lives as though they were chess pieces, and the world is a giant chess board for him to demolish. But all is well in the end, because he does what he does for the greater good.” He sneered. The final words were said as though they left a bitter taste on his mouth. “And I am sure he has grown to love Harry. How could he not? With how useful he had been. How blindly he follows his lead. He does as Dumbledore wants, but the thing about Dumbledore, he does not let love blind his judgment. Otherwise, he would have ruled alongside Grindelwald, would he not?”

 He slowly made his way toward Albus like a predator sneaking onto its prey.

 “If he would turn his back on the man he loves—have him imprisoned, even—what makes you think his love is worth? It has not saved Harry from suffering any more than it did your father. So, let me ask you this, Albus.” He stood beside him now. Ice cold fingers curl around his chin as he forced Albus to look up. Albus dared not move as he stared horridly at the crimson eyes, empty of any emotion that wasn’t dark. “Who do you think is the villain?”

 Still you. He wanted to say. But Voldemort wasn’t the only one that hurt his father. “Both of you.”

 Voldemort’s fingers nearly crushed his jaw before he let out a satisfied hum, loosening his grip without letting go.

 Albus wanted that hand off him.

 Sensing his discomfort, Monty slithered up, up his arm beneath his cloths until the snake’s head peaked from his collar. He launched himself toward Albus’ jaw where the cold hand was, but Voldemort removed it before Monty bit him.

 The Grass Snake let out a frustrated hiss that quieted abruptly when Voldemort spoke over him in their language.

 Albus stayed frozen where he sat, feeling a bit awkward about being a third wheel to literal snakes—no, I’m not insulting Monty like that.

 A breathy chuckle escaped Voldemort’s thin lips. Albus flinched, mistaking the sound for a curse.

 “Ah, yes. Even the serpent recognized you as a fraud from the very beginning. Alas, this one is extremely loyal to his dear Speaker, who must want you safe, if his snake is willingly siding with you over another Speaker.”

 Albus felt a hint of warmth in his senses. Harry didn’t hate him. Not really. And he wouldn’t if he knew his real identity.

 Would he?

 He wished he could ask Voldemort to make Monty glide down his arm and return to his wrist. Albus’ neck was ticklish.

 “But what use is this simpleton? I cannot think of a more useless serpent than a Grass Sanke. If it’s the size that interests Harry, why hadn’t he gotten a more fruitful species, I wonder. There are plenty of poisonous as well as magical snake to choose from.”

 Albus didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. Voldemort sounded like an exasperated teacher that was on the verge of being disappointed in his favorite student who wasn’t even there. Albus hated that comparison, but it was true. He mustered up the courage to clear his throat. “You said the only reason I’m not dead yet is because I’m more valuable alive. Why?” How can I possibly be of value to you?

 Voldemort stared down at him, probably pondering whether he should tell Albus. His dad had always said Voldemort was a narcissist who had excessive monologues for when he wanted to do something exceptionally bad. Albus thought that if the bad thing wouldn’t kill him, then the dreadful suspense alone would.

 “The plan was to get the bothersome prophecy out of the way by accomplishing, what you may call, my destiny.” Was Voldemort about to begin another monologue? Does he ever get tired of hearing himself? “The plan was to use Harry’s counterpart to complete the prophecy. . .” He glowered down at him. Albus was used to receiving such looks. “It still is.”

 “But I’m not—” Albus swallowed when the realization hit him.

 “You are not.” Voldemort said slowly, gravely. “Until I have what I want, you shall remain under the mercy of my Death Eaters, who do not know of your true identity. Consider it an act of kindness that they don’t.” He gave Albus a very mean smile. “They shall not have their way with you unless you give them a reason to. This is your reward for the. . . assistance you provided. Knowledge is power, Albus, and you have just given me plenty of it.”