Warning: this story will have changing point of views.

No, it will NOT have romance. Yes, it will have a ton of philosophical issues. And yes, I will focus a lot on platonic relationships. Mainly between Harry and Dumbledore. A bit of Harry and Ron.

And no, this is NOT a fic about Dark Harry. Yes, he will have a completely corrupted side. But there's a reason for that. I'll also be sticking with the canon characterisations (or try to).

And yes, it will have a lot of angst and violence. No slash. No super Harry. No magical core. No good Voldemort. No evil Dumbledore. Will generally try to avoid cliches.

Will have a lot of universe building, will stay within the context of the established Wizarding World unless otherwise stated.

NO Dumbledore bashing.

In fact, no character bashing at all. It's very immature imo.

So . . . If you don't like it, you better scram. Otherwise, enjoy.

A weary sigh escaped Albus's lips. He stood from his desk. He had been sitting with his back hunched over his desk for about two hours. He had been writing letters to anxious parents to reassure them that their sons or daughters were perfectly safe at Hogwarts. He had several security measures to ensure that no unwelcomed visitor would ever enter the castle.

But he knew that they fell on deaf ears, especially by the troubled parents. In the midst of a war, they simply wanted their sons or daughters to be returned to them. It was a sort of visual assurance that their children were safe.

Albus didn't blame them, of course. The lives of children mattered to him just as their parents. He knew that, if an unwelcome visitor like Tom Riddle were to enter this castle, he would be responsible for every child that had become victim.

But there had been a victim.

Albus's heart clenched at the thought. As he neared the window, he watched as groups of teens and friends gathered around the lake. Some tucked beneath the trees with the sun casting fissures of light onto them. Some (the boys, in particular) cast pebbles or rocks into the lake. Others were more gallant. They tossed whatever food they had picked up from the Great Hall into the water. This caused the residents of the lake to appear (mainly the giant octopus), their delighted laughter causing ripples in the water.

Albus smiled weakly at the sight.

Over the years, he had grown weary of such scenes. While the students were naturally gregarious, his thoughts continued to haunt him. Such scenes reminded him of a certain dark-haired young man, a former student of Hogwarts, who had mysteriously vanished after his Fifth Year.

He remembered watching a boy of about fifteen years from this very window sandwiched between his red-haired friend, Ronald Weasley, and a fair young lady by the name of Hermione Granger, lounging beside the lake with his friends.

The Headmaster felt the grip on his emotions slacken.

Ever since Harry Potter's disappearance, Albus found that the calm façade that he had built over the years had crumbled. In fact, when he had first heard the news of Harry's disappearance, dread and panic – was it? – had filled his heart.

He hadn't known that Harry was missing until the term had started. Only to be informed by a flustered Professor McGonagall that Harry had never arrived at Hogwarts. Nor had he ever boarded the Hogwarts Express. Albus knew that, at the time, that it was fruitless to remain composed. After all, whether or not Harry had personal troubles at home, Albus knew that Harry would travel to great lengths to ensure that he returned to Hogwarts. With or without the Dursleys' permission. The boy certainly had the determination to accomplish this task.

But when Harry didn't arrive, Albus knew that something had happened to the boy. And that Lord Voldemort was involved. He had called on Harry's friends and the Weasleys. Surely they would know where Harry was. But they simply claimed that they hadn't received letters from him all summer. They had assumed that Harry was simply grieving for the death of his godfather and did not want to talk to anyone.

But Albus had quickly rejected this theory.

Though Harry had quite of a temper, he would never outright ignore his friends no matter his state of mind. He had also shown fierce loyalty to those close to him. Likewise, Albus's faith in him had never wavered.

Until that day.

After he had sent Harry's friends back to the Great Hall, he had flooed to the Ministry to inform them of the missing boy. At the time, Rufus Scrimgeour had been appointed Minister of Magic. When Albus had arrived, he quickly strode towards the Auror Department, his strides long and his tone impatient.

However, just before entering into the office of the Head of the Department, he glimpsed ripples in the room. Rumors and whispers were spreading that the newly appointed Minister of Magic had paid a visit to the home of Harry Potter himself early in the summer. But Albus could not fathom why the Minister would privately corner Harry. Perhaps in public, that was reasonable. To gain the acceptance of Harry Potter was akin to gaining the acceptance of the world. But privately…? Perhaps regarding the prophecy? Did the Minister pry for information regarding Lord Voldemort? Albus had speculated endlessly until he made the decision to speak to the Minister later.

Casting aside the thought, he had entered into the office of the Head Auror. He told him what had become of the boy. Sensing Albus' distress, the man dispatched three Aurors to investigate the Dursley home. Albus offered to accompany them, which they allowed.

Oh, how he had wished he had remained in Hogwarts.

The sight he had seen in the Dursley home was quite disturbing. Though the family had been unkind to their nephew, the sight of their unmoving bodies on the floor was a cruel tale of what had occurred in the home.

The lights were extinguished. The tea kettle whined for what seemed like an eternity as the men processed what had happened. As Albus collected his wits again, he realized that there were only the two bodies of the parents. But the two younger boys were missing.

Dudley and Harry.

Wearily, he left the three Aurors investigating the bodies and travelled upstairs to the boys' rooms. As he reached the second floor, he heard whimpering coming from one of the rooms. He peered inside, flicked his wand, and the young boy Dudley came levitating towards him.

"My dear boy," Albus said quietly. His tone was pleasant and calm, though his heart was racing. "Can you tell me what has happened here?"

He did not expect a reply. And young Dudley did not give him one.

Instead, the boy whimpered and tears descended down his face. He was breathing hard. Albus lowered him to the floor. He watched as the boy crawled to a corner, hugged his knees, and sobbed hysterically.

But Albus needed answers.

"Come, now, young Dudley," Albus prodded gently, slowly advancing towards the boy. His heart clenched as Dudley pushed himself even further against the wall. "I do not intend to harm you, in any fashion."

A flicker of suspicion crossed over the boy's face. He looked up at the wise wizard dressed in periwinkle robes.

"You're magic," Dudley breathed, his tears descending quickly. Then, he clenched his fist and bellowed. "Magic killed my parents!"

He was too busy rubbing his eyes to see the wave of regret that crossed over the old man. Albus knew that the boy would never steer from this prejudice. Not after after the events today.

"You musn't assume the actions of an entire population simply because of one man."

Albus wondered if the boy would correct him.

Indeed, he did.

"One man?" Dudley scoffed, his eye blotched. "There were three men. All dressed in black and all wearing masks," Dudley's voice broke. "They said that they were looking for Harry. Mum told them that he was upstairs, but they laughed and Mum fell to the ground. And Dad..."

Dudley didn't finish. Instead, he closed his eyes and howled into the night.

Albus felt a weary sadness cross him. Warily, wondering if the boy would answer, he inquired.

"And Harry?"

Dudley's eyes snapped open, his eyes wide open. He scanned the room for his cousin. But Albus cast a silent Leglimens on the boy. Harry had been here, in this very room, before the Death Eaters had arrived. It seemed that he had remained there, grief-stricken over his godfather. Albus watched as Dudley hid in the cupboard and watched his parents killed in front of him. As soon as the Death Eaters left, he sprinted upstairs to check his cousin before realizing that Harry was not in his room. There was no body to be found.

Albus startled out of the spell.

"I don't know what happened to Harry," Dudley answered slowly.

The boy stood up and checked every corner of the room for his cousin. But the search was fruitless.

Harry was missing.

"I – I –" Dudley stuttered helplessly. "I wasn't thinking. My parents - "

Albus interrupted him with a lift of his hand.

"I understand, dear boy," Albus stated wearily, "I do not think any son or daughter would have wished to see such events occur so early in their lives," he adopted a reassuring tone, "Do not dismay."

He then lead the boy downstairs where the Aurors were preparing to Apparate. They did not have an explanation of what had occurred that day. The Killing Curse, after all, left no traces. A day later, the bodies were buried and Dudley was transferred to new relatives. But there was still no sign of Harry. Not months later nor the years after. The boy had even missed his Seventh Year.

It had been ten years since they had last seen Harry Potter.

However, rumors had spread across the Ministry that the Aurors had spotted a dark-haired man, that the Aurors swore looked remarkably like Harry, that worked for Lord Voldemort. The rumors had started when the Aurors received a letter from an anonymous source that the Cornwall family were going to be killed in their homes at a certain date.

The head of the house was Micheal Cornwall, who was also Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. After sentencing four renowned Death Eaters to Askaban, Cornwall became targeted. The Aurors had responded, but they were too late. When they had arrived, they found a man standing over the three bodies of Micheal Cornwall, his wife, and his son.

The Aurors mentioned that he kept the hood of his cloak on to shadow his features. But he had gallantly challenged the Aurors to a duel. In the midst of a duel, one of the Aurors had caught the man with his hood down. He had dark, and fairly disheveled, hair, bespectacled, and his eyes were blood red. Before they could arrest him, the man Apparated away. He left no traces behind.

But Albus could not believe such rumors.

For one, Harry shared his mother's bright green eyes. As far as Albus knew, Harry never seemed to resent this gift. Albus believed that Harry would never intentionally change his appearances. Although the boy received many remarks about how he looked like his father but had his mother's eyes, Harry either shrugged or smiled in response.

Secondly, and Albus frowned in disapproval, the fact that they had even considered that Harry would take a life – three, in fact! – was downright appalling. Based on the years that he had spent with the boy, and he had been closer to Harry more than any other student in his career, Harry would never kill innocents.

But did he really know the boy?

Time and time again, this dark-haired man appeared. Strangely, he did not participate in Death Eater raids nor did he even appear to have an identity. He was simply referred as the 'Master's Right Hand.' Albus felt guilty, but he had to consider the possibilities. The man was described as "fairly young" or in his "early twenties," which fit the description for Harry.

Time and time again, the Aurors came across him. And time and time again, the descriptions improved. He was quiet and fairly skilled in combat. He did not boast like other Death Eaters. Nor had he ever killed an Auror in any of his duels.

In fact, what caused Albus to consider that this man was, in fact, Harry Potter, was the fact that he had never cast a Dark curse of any kind besides the Killing Curse. Though this fact may seem irrelevant compared to the heinous crimes that the man had committed, the 'Master's Right Hand' seemed to be following direct orders from Lord Voldemort. He did not seem to relish in the task like other Death Eaters did. He seemed subdued and silent. There only to accomplish what his 'Master' desired.

Over time, Albus began accepting this man to be Harry Potter himself. After all, Lord Voldemort had not been looking for Harry for ten years. Moreover, Harry's friends remained untouched, with not a single casualty on their side. In fact, they, too, had grown, married, and started their own families. All of the Weasleys, with the exception of Percy and Charlie, had married off, with some of their children attending Hogwarts this year.

Albus remembered the chaos that Voldemort had caused just to claim the boy. Albus never looked at Harry as a burden, but he couldn't deny that the boy was a magnet for trouble.

Here, he smiled fondly.

But as he remembered the dark and despicable acts that the so-called Harry Potter had done, his smile faded. He recalled a conversation with Severus just this morning.

"You are allowing your emotions for the boy to taint your judgement," Severus had remarked harshly, after hours of convincing him that the 'Master's Right Hand' was Harry, "Whatever emotions you had built for the boy matters no more. That boy was past. He has shown his true self. He has chosen the Dark Lord."

He had then asked the irate Potion's Master whether he had ever seen this individual. But Severus shook his head and claimed that the Dark Lord only invites him for private meetings, with only the Dark Lord as company. He was never invited in for a full meeting with the rest of the Death Eaters. But Albus told Severus to track this young man and perhaps learn his identity ever-so-subtly. His position must not be jeopardized, he warned Severus. The Potion's Master had nodded and left with his cloak billowing behind him.

Sighing, Albus returned to his desk and linked his fingers together in silent meditation. All of the hints were stating that Harry had joined Voldemort.

But Albus could not convince himself.

When he had first met Harry, Albus had been startled to see that Harry Potter was a small, thin child with bright green eyes alight with curiosity and adventure. But Albus also saw a trickle of trepidation and timidity behind his gaze.

The boy was kind and humble, rarely discussed anything about himself but eager to listen to others. He was quiet and possessed a witty, dry humor that brought him to his best friend, Ron Weasley. His teachers remarked that he was a bright student and hardly unlikeable. Like his mother before him, Harry had a heart of gold. Everything about the boy's character directly contradicted what he had become.

Why had Harry chosen this path?

There must be a reason for his actions.

But how can there be reason in taking an innocent life? The Cornwall family, Raviti Jones, Hector Lannister, Catherine Grimmald and many others were all innocent. And if perhaps Voldemort had lied in order to convince Harry to kill them, why kill the blameless child or the wife of Micheal Cornwall? Voldemort had killed Lily and James Potter. Did his parents no longer matter to him? Or the Godfather that Harry had nearly pointed a wand in this very room with a desire to kill his own Headmaster in his grief?

Albus sighed again.

Perhaps it was his emotions for the boy that kept him from believing that Harry had joined Voldemort. Or perhaps the only proof he had that kept his faith in his former student. He stood up from his desk and walked over to the pensive. From above, he could see the memory looming but he had watched it countless times before.

He did not wish to share the memory.

He feared that he would be betraying Harry's trust if he did. To reveal one's heart's desire was a difficult task. It required a tremendous amount of trust to be comfortable in sharing it.

He remembered the shock that Harry had when he looked into the mirror and found his parents – his whole family! – standing beside him. As the shock wore off, and Harry's visits increased, deep longing had filled the young boy.

How small he had been!

Albus remembered how unusual for a boy his age to not wish for wealth or presents or material things. Albus watched the boy as he continued to visit what he had thought was his parents. But as Harry became too attached to the mirror, Albus finally revealed himself. He had feared the boy would succumb to insanity if he did not intervene. He watched as his past self informed Harry of the truth regarding the Mirror of Erised and kindly warned him against these visits.

As the memory finished, Albus's faith in Harry renewed. Harry must surely have a reason for his actions. Surely a boy – or a man now – that wished for something as deep and meaningful as a family would not succumb to immorality.

A soft knock on the door startled Albus from his thoughts. The Headmaster collected his wits and schooled his features and walked back to his desk. A feeling of concern crossed over him as he invited the individual in. For a moment, he thought that Severus had returned from his meeting with the Death Eaters.

"Enter," Albus stated, setting aside the stack of parchment on his desk before facing the guest.

Ah, the man of the hour.

"'Morning, Professor," Ron Weasley greeted good-naturedly, stepping into the room. Albus was both delighted and ashamed to see his former student.

The boy had changed significantly over the years. Not only in character, but also in appearance. Ron had, if possible, grown even taller over the years and was currently working in the Ministry as an Auror. His marriage to Hermione Granger seemed to have placed a balm on his insecurities. No longer did Ron hide in the shadows.

In fact, he was standing before Albus with his back straight, head high. His hand tucked casually in his pocket. He was completely confident and content with himself. Albus was proud at the change. He had a wary expression, wondering why Albus had called him in.

However, the disappearance of his best friend affected his good humor. Ron no longer joked around or found humor in everything. In fact, he rarely ever smiled at all unless he attended large family gatherings or when his children were being silly. He seemed more serious and subdued these days. As if Harry had taken a part of his best friend with him when he had vanished.

Albus remembered how inseparable the two had been. They were brothers in all but blood. To see them separated pained Albus.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley," Albus replied, his eyes twinkling merrily. He recalled that Ron had left his expecting wife at home. "How many times must I ask you to call me Albus?"

Ron chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck in shame.

"Sorry, Albus," the young man grimaced. "It's just a habit, I s'pose." Albus chuckled as Ron's ears reddened.

The usually composed Ron Weasley was at his mercy now.

"Ah, it is rather like my habit to pop a Lemon drop into my mouth every morning," Albus commented, linking his fingers and smiling at the exasperated young man. "After all, what is happiness without sweets!"

Ron rolled his eyes.

Typical Albus.

"Of course," Ron muttered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He narrowed his eyes at his former Headmaster. "You haven't been getting your sweets from Fred and George, have you?"

Albus smiled at Ron's astuteness. He was definitely an Auror!

But Albus would never admit how he had blackmailed the twins into offering him a discount. The two had proved to be challenging negotiators. But years of practice in the art of persuasion had prepared Albus for the challenge. In the end, they had relented. After all, he was once their Headmaster!

Albus maintained an innocent façade.

"That is beside the matter," he waved his hand casually. From his perch, Fawkes flapped his wings and ruffled his feathers disapprovingly. Albus winked at him before turning towards his guest. "Though I admire your perceptiveness, I'm afraid that I have more pressing matters to discuss with you than sweets."

As Albus stood up from his desk, he watched from his peripheral vision as Ron's mood shifted from suspicion to concern.

"Albus?" he inquired warily. "There hasn't been another attack, has there?"

Albus recognized this distressed tone. He recalled a discussion that he and Ron had shared just before Ron graduated from Hogwarts. The young man had voiced his concerns about asking Hermione to marry him, especially in the midst of an ensuing war. His best friend's disappearance had broken Ron. He did not wish to lose Hermione the way that he had lost Harry. But Albus had warned Ron that if he continued to avoid what made him happy, it was almost as if he was not living at all. After all, death was an inevitable end. Sooner or later, all souls will perish.

Albus had implored him to seek Hermione's opinion regarding this matter. A week later, the two had married. And for the first time since Harry's disappearance, the couple laughed and smiled along with their family members.

Albus remembered admiring how similar Ron's concerns were to the late James Potter. James, too, had hesitated in his proposal. He was concerned about his wife's status as a Muggle-born. But in the end, he decided stubbornly that it was better to keep Lily close to him. With resilience, he promised that he would never let anyone cross her and vowed to defend her until his death.

Two years later, Albus was both dismayed and proud to find that James had kept his word.

In a distant voice, Albus spoke in a leveled tone.

"I'm afraid there has been," Albus affirmed. A sharp inhale from Ron caused the Headmaster to turn to face him. Albus's grim countenance left no room for doubt. "This time, however, the Ministry is involved."

Only recently, Ron had been granted with paternal leave as his wife approached the end of her pregnancy. Therefore, he had not known what had happened at the Ministry.

But Ron appeared agitated as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Was it - him?"

But Ron knew answer.

"Unfortunately, yes," Albus confirmed, his right hand stroking his beard in thought.

To everyone's alarm, the 'Master's Right Hand' had appeared in the Ministry itself disguised as an Ministry worker. It seemed that he had attempted to enter into the Department of Mysteries for what Albus suspected was the Prophecy before he was caught. The wards within the Department of Mysteries had detected Dark Magic.

All workers were told to remain behind closed doors until the situation was resolved. As the Aurors intervened and tried to corner him, he had mysteriously vanished on the spot. It was almost as if he was never there, which startled the Ministry. He could not have Apparated, that was certain. How he had managed to infiltrate the Ministry through all the wards and security was beyond Albus's knowledge.

Perhaps there were spies aiding him in the Ministry. An irrational part of him, however, wondered if this individual even possessed a tangible existence. Perhaps it was simply one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.

But then, he remembered with an ache in his heart, that Harry was also a Horcrux.

He turned to face Ron once again. Ron had also heard the rumors and the theories of the Aurors, being an Auror himself. But he had expectedly rejected it. He did not want to believe that Harry had betrayed them.

To him, Harry was the one who had saved his sister in his Second Year. The one who had urged Ron to help him save Hermione from the troll in his First Year. He had been the first to appreciate Ron for who he was, rather than compare him to his brothers. His friend was brave and loyal. And Ron was adamant that he would never doubt him again, especially not what happened in his Fourth Year.

But Albus could no longer hide the truth. He had to tell Ron.

With a heavy heart, Albus levitated a chair to the middle of the room and invited the young man to take a seat. But Ron clenched his fists tightly and shook his head, a sense of denial coursing through him.

He knew what was coming.

But Albus began with a weary sigh.

"It seems that he was able to bypass all of the wards and protection around the Ministry," he paused. "The Aurors caught him as he tried to infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. It is my suspicion that Lord Voldemort sent him there to retrieve the Prophecy."

Ron regarded him with disbelief.

"H – How?" Ron breathed, his blue eyes wide. He shook his head, collecting his wits. "The Prophecy was smashed, remember? Harry -" Ron halted abruptly and a wistful expression crossed his features at his friend's name.

Albus understood him.

Rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, Albus continued. "Yes, but you are forgetting that the Prophecy that Harry had destroyed was merely an item, an item that merely stored the information," but Ron looked bemused. "The true Prophecy lives on in the memories of the ones that heard it or witnessed it being told, one of them being myself."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

"I don't understand," he said slowly. "Where are you going with this?"

Suddenly, Albus felt restless. With a jolt, he stood up from his desk and began pacing the room, muttering to whoever was listening.

"The Prophecy! The Prophecy! It exists only through the memories of those who heard it. It can never be destroyed, as long as those who heard it are alive and their memories are left untarnished. As long as one of them remembers it, the Prophecy exists. Do you understand now?" Impatiently, he turned to face Ron.

He waited for what seemed like hours before Ron looked up at him in horror.

"You're saying . . .?" he inquired, appalled. "That the Prophecy is still there in the Department of Mysteries because someone remembers it?"

Albus nodded, glad that Ron had caught on.

The Headmaster then continued pacing. "It has possibly hidden in another object. There are three individuals alive today that know the full Prophecy. Myself, Severus, and -"

"Harry," Ron breathed quietly.

Albus bowed his head.

"And Harry," Albus affirmed quietly. Ron was following his logic here. Albus simply needed to give him one more push in the right direction. "The only three that could access the Prophecy. And as Severus and I had an alibi yesterday, it is logical to conclude that the one who infiltrated the Ministry yesterday was -"

"Don't," Ron hissed angrily. He stood, fury in his eyes. His features slowly reddened until it matched the color of his hair. "I know what you're implying."

Albus bowed his head in regret.

"There is no other explanation, Ron," Albus stated firmly.

Oh, how he wished that there was someone to convince him that he was wrong. That Harry had not betrayed the light. That the friend that they had all grown to love had goodness left in him. A part of him wanted to be proved wrong. But the evidence was overwhelming.

Harry Potter was no a longer a friend but an enemy.

"Like hell there isn't!" Ron bellowed harshly. He didn't care how rude he sounded. Harry was not a criminal. "You know as well as I do that Harry would never kill anyone, much less innocents! You knew him! He was your favorite student!"

The last statement hurt Albus more he ever dare to imagine.

He had never outright admitted to anyone, not even to Harry himself, what Harry meant to him. During all of his years at Hogwarts, he had always praised himself for not choosing favorites. While other Professor took special liking to one or two students, Albus distanced himself from all of them and kept them at arm's length, so every student would be treated fairly. But when Harry came along, the boy had immediately caught his attention.

Thin, and severely malnourished, the boy had clearly suffered abuse from his so-called guardians. Despite his abuse, however, Albus was amazed at how easily Harry adjusted. The boy did not seek wealth nor did he take advantage of his fame. In fact, he only seemed to resent it. The boy was a complete reversed version of Tom Riddle.

While one was spiteful, the other was humble.

There was always a sense of wonder and curiosity in his eyes. Albus remembered always watching him from afar, mostly out of concern for his well-being. Conflict and chaos seemed to follow him like hungry wolves. Albus could not recall one year that Harry did not come to him with tired eyes, torn and bloody robes, and a disheveled look.

But never did he complain.

Albus remembered terror filling his heart when he found the young boy sprawled on the floor with the Philosopher's Stone in his hand. At the time, he had thought that the boy had passed. But alas, Harry demonstrated his bravery and determination again and again, as year after year he awakened in the hospital wing after a reckless adventure.

Harry, too, had begun to trust him. As time passed, Albus's relationship with Harry shifted from an arm length's relationship to something deeper. Harry had started to trust him and consult him regarding his personal fears and ambitions. Though Albus hid many truths from Harry, he had never lied to him. He had always tried to reassure Harry as realistically as possible. He never gave Harry false hopes. Thus, they had developed a bond unlike no other. A bond akin to a father and a son.

He had mourned the boy's disappearance as much as Harry's friends did.

Perhaps even more so.

Albus said in a broken tone. "I do not know what has lead Harry to this path, nor will I pretend to understand," he turned away from Ron's glare. "but there is no doubt that Harry is Lord Voldemort's Right Hand."

There was the finality in his voice. He will no longer convince himself otherwise over what has become of his former student.

Ron also sensed his solidity in his theory. Endless silence followed as the two became vastly absorbed in their thoughts.

Ron snapped his head up.

"What about his eye color? Harry has always had green eyes. How can they change color?"

But Albus did not respond. Something was holding him back.

He had always suspected that somehow Voldemort was involved. That somehow Voldemort had managed to get through Harry's mind. But how can he? Hadn't Harry proved himself able to break out of Voldemort's possession back in the Ministry? If he did, in fact, have the red eyes that he did now, did that mean that Harry had lost his humanity? Had Voldemort taken his sanity by capturing him? Was Harry really not capable of feeling love anymore? What sort of horrors had Harry seen to completely lose his ability to feel love? Had he suffered beyond measure? Was it because Voldemort had isolated him from his friends?

Was that why Harry had become possessed by Voldemort?

Had he let himself become that way?

A large part of him didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe that the kind, humble young boy that he met fifteen years ago had lost the ability to feel love. That was the only way that Voldemort could possess him. If Harry stopped feeling for others . . . If he lost his purpose to live. He couldn't. Harry had a heart of gold. He couldn't have lost his humanity.

But what else would explain his rather distinctive eye color?

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy . . ."

Had Voldemort been right? Should he really have killed the boy? Perhaps to save all of Harry's future victims - all the men, women, and children that had died by his wand?

Perhaps . . . for the greater good?

Unable to respond, he sank into his chair, laid his elbows on the desk, and covered his face with his hands.

His grief over Harry would certainly kill him. He had, and always will, blame himself for letting the boy slip out of his grasp. For ten years, he had shouldered the blame, and he would continue until Harry himself eased his burden.

Though it sounded childish, all he wanted to do right now was grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him until he learned the truth about his change of heart. How could someone so good become so evil? Nothing in his character or mannerism or appearance had ever hinted it. What had become of their beloved friend?

Albus did not look up when he heard the dejected sigh and the sound of a door closing. He had wanted to congratulate Ron about the ensuing birth of his second child, but he could not manage to do even that. He simply allowed the soothing hum of a Phoenix fill him with the false hope that maybe . . . perhaps someday . . . Harry would return pure and unscathed, like he had been as a boy.

With a heavy heart, Ron returned to the cabin that he and Hermione lived in. Home, in other words. The cabin was situated on the edge of a steep hill that overlooked a small lake. The area was very serene and simple, which perfectly accented the couple's relationship. For the first time, however, he entered the cabin with mixed feelings.

After his conversation with Dumbledore, he did not think that he could look at Hermione in the eye and tell her what had become of their former friend. The news would break her. But he could not hide the truth from her, either. She was very perceptive; she quickly caught on if he was hiding something from her.

Pinching his nose, he silently cursed Harry. He vowed that, if he ever found his former friend, he would be the one taking his life. Immediately after this thought, however, he felt guilty. He didn't know if he could ever take Harry's life. Perhaps it was simply a burst of anger and grief that had morphed these thoughts.

"Daddy?"

A small tug on Ron's robes startled him. He snapped open his eyes and found young Rosè looking up at him with tired eyes. The young imp was rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding a stuffed animal in another, her bushy red hair falling all over her face. Ron's mood immediately lightened up, and he smiled at the sight of her. He bent down, swooped her up in his arms, and pecked her on the head as he took her to the living room. There, he found Hermione asleep on the couch, her stomach bulging, and her breathing soft.

"Mummy sleep," Rose whispered tiredly. A big yawn escaped her as she tucked her head near her father's neck. She was so tired.

Ron merely chuckled fondly.

"Yeah, I reckon we should keep her there," he joked in a whisper as he led her out of the living room into the kitchen. "Don't want her hurling frying pans or wooden sticks at us, do we?"

But Rosè frowned and thought deeply for a moment. Then she said seriously. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."

Ron laughed at how similar she sounded to Hermione. He then started to tickle her mercilessly. Though he knew how tired she was, he did not want to lose his only companion. She had successfully distracted him from his dreary thoughts, and he did not wish to return to them.

Not today.

R&R!