Hi lovely readers! So, I sort of forgot the A/N in the last few chapters . . . oops. But, no worries. Just hope everyone's happy. Don't forget to review, because it may or may not be my life force. This chapter will be interesting. We get a little look inside Voldy's jacked-up head.
Quick shout-out to Nerdman3000 for adding this fic to their favorites and alerts. You rock! But I love all my readers equally. *Fingers cross* Anyway, some reviews would be nice, too. They might make me update sooner . . . .
Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Harry Potter, I only deform it for your amusement.
The Dark Lord's chambers fit his mood to a tee with their black drapes, dark stone, and charcoal furnishings. Lord Voldemort sat by himself, in a high-backed velvet chair. His wand whirled between his fingers. Only Nagini was present, coiled around his shoulders like a smooth shawl. Voldemort's face was empty and impassive.
He idly considered killing the snake. He knew, sometime prior, he had been affectionate towards Nagini; maybe loved her, if his wretched soul was capable of love. But now, he was unfeeling. The black blood had warped him in the vilest of ways. And yet, he still could not bring himself to care. At all.
Nagini hissed and slid to the fur rug. Voldemort watched the reptile for a while before ripping his robes aside, to reveal his bone-white chest. A spark of feeling whispered in his mind. You should be worried about that. The skin over his heart had turned an even more gruesome shade of purple; storm clouds over a sea. Webs of inky veins had begun to spread from the ugly splotch. They traced paths across his skin ― over his torso, down the undersides of his arms, and they were now stretching up his neck. Soon they would invade his face . . . what would his servants think?
Again, indifference took over. Why fret? He was their master. He could command them never to meet his eyes, and they would obey. That was what he needed . . . undying loyalty. For now. When he crushed the Order of the Phoenix and their precious Potter, he would have no use of the Death Eaters. They could live among the commoners . . . or he could just kill them. . . .
A face stood out in his mind then, a pale face with a strong jaw and lidded eyes. Bellatrix. She would stay. She was his most faithful lieutenant, after all. The Dark Lord's only general. Maybe he loved her, too, once upon a time. His deadened heart warred silently with the poison in his body. Love. He loved her? No. Love was one of Dumbledore's crackpot ideals, a child's fairy tale. There was no love in this world. There was no love in this world. There was no love in this world.
But Bellatrix's face continued to appear in his mind, and it was a battle cry for his heart. The poison recoiled. He felt human for a peaceful, surreal moment. He chastised himself for nearly murdering Nagini. His mind felt clear . . . images of blood and death no longer hovered on the edges of his reality, threatening to come closer. He pointed his wand at the mirror on the wall. "Reducto."
The glass splintered and exploded into the thousand shards, while the wooden frame blasted apart. He grimaced. If he'd allowed the black blood to spread, if his heart had not ruled him, the mirror would have disintegrated into unrecognizable dust. So love, or more like, the memory of love, weakened his spells.
Then he had a choice. Hold onto his last pieces of humanity, or hold onto unimaginable power.
His eyes narrowed to slits as he sat back down and fingered his wand.
That Saturday was restful for Harry and Ron. Hermione, however, was not nearly as listless as her friends ― she seemed to be constantly in motion. While Harry and Ron played chess, she finished her Alchemy essay on basic transmutations. While Harry and Ron made castles with Exploding Snap cards, she cleaned the entire common room ("Does she think if the house-elves have nothing to, they'll just pack up and leave?" Ron had asked dryly). While Harry and Ron fed the giant squid pieces of bacon, she helped Hagrid catch wood sprites for some of his younger classes.
By lunch time, Harry and Ron had accomplished nothing, and Hermione, it seemed, had accomplished everything.
"I don't know what to do next," said Hermione, blinking in astonishment.
Ron snickered. "You could find Crookshanks . . . heard he owes you a bit of gold!" He burst into hysterics.
"Oh, very funny, Ronald, make fun of the girl with head trauma."
Harry ignored their quibbles. "I know we what we could all do . . ."
Hermione sighed. "We're not sneaking into Dumbledore's office, Harry. At least not today. We can try when he's teaching a class, but he's probably up there right now."
Harry grunted at her unassailable logic and shoveled a last bite of steak in his mouth. He downed a goblet of pumpkin juice, then stood. "I'm going up to the Owlery. Sirius told me to write him whenever I got the chance." He left the Great Hall before they could reply.
The corridors were mercifully quiet. Most of the school was in the Great Hall, leaving Harry to his thoughts. His scar had been throbbing that morning, so he'd buried his worry by skiving off with Ron. That was stupid of him. He should have talked to Dumbledore, or written to Sirius, or at least told Hermione, who would have immediately rattled off a list of suggestions.
Harry was well aware that his scar alerted him that Voldemort was up to something. The Sorting Hat's song came to mind again, and he mentally kicked himself. The war was happening now. He couldn't play games anymore, because Voldemort sure wasn't. He had to make a plan, get prepared.
His thoughts were interrupted by a giggle off to his left. He looked around, suddenly realizing he had made his way to the first floor, near the Hospital Wing. A lower chuckle joined the giggling. He crept forward and peeked around the corner ahead of him.
He swallowed a shout and watched Roger Davies and Cho Chang, stars of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, snogging. Davies pinned Cho to the wall and laughed again, his mouth moving lower. Harry backed away, temper flaring. What a . . . a . . . he didn't even have a word for Cho. Just the day before, Harry had caught Cho in the Entrance Courtyard and tried to ask if she wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him in October. She'd tearfully told him that she was very torn up about Cedric, and didn't want to think about dating right then. And yet there she was, snogging Roger Davies.
Harry stormed off down the corridor. He didn't care to send that letter anymore, he just wanted to find the nearest Slytherin and hex them. Thankfully, Hermione showed up before he could get himself expelled.
"Harry!" she called, hurrying down the moving staircases after him. "Why are you going downstairs? The Owlery's in the West Tower ― are you alright?" She noticed the hurt, angry expression on his face.
"I'm just peachy." He turned when he reached the ground floor and crossed the Entrance Hall, onto the grounds.
"Then why are you so mad?"
"Because I just saw Cho snogging Roger Davies upstairs," he snarled, heading towards the Lake.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry . . . ," she said softly.
"Yeah. Whatever." He stopped by the water and say on one of the large rocks jutting out of the lakebed. Hermione perched on another rock.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked tentatively. He didn't answer for several minutes.
"You wouldn't do that, would you?" he inquired suddenly, the waves in the Lake swimming on the surface of his glasses. "Lie to someone about something like this?"
"No," she answered honestly.
"Good. As long as there are people out there like you, I think I'll be okay."
Hermione stared at him for a while before standing and walking back to the castle without another word.
Harry sat on the rock until the other students came out from lunch to enjoy the day. Fall was fast approaching, and summer days were waning. Slowly, he thawed and jogged up to the school, not stopping until he reached the West Tower. He took the quill and parchment out of his pocket and wrote a quick letter to Sirius, mainly about his scar hurting and a bit for some man-to-man advice about dating.
Hedwig swooped down from the windowsill and allowed Harry to tie the letter to her leg. "Take this to Sirius. He's staying with Remus Lupin in London." He nearly forgot that the newly-reformed Order of the Phoenix (the secret organization no one had bothered to tell him about for the entire summer) had found a safe house for the two Marauders.
The snowy owl took off. Harry left the Owlery and followed the long shadows stretching between the windows up to the Gryffindor Tower. "Troll breath," he told the Fat Lady.
The portrait granted him access to the common room. It was noisy with excited Gryffindors. "What's going on?" Harry said when he found Ron.
"Angelina just put up the sign-up sheet for the Quidditch team. Try-outs are tomorrow afternoon."
Harry nodded. "Hey, your mum just bought you a new broom over the summer, right? Why don't you go try out? You're a great Keeper, and Wood graduated."
"Ah, I dunno, Harry. I'm not that good."
Harry was determined. "Oh, come on! Think of how great it would be. Ron Weasley, Quidditch star."
Ron rolled his eyes. "That's you, not me. But fine. I'll do it." He stood and added his name to the list, then sat back down in their corner of the common room. "Hey, want to go fly a bit? I'm rusty."
Harry nodded. They ducked into their dorm to get their brooms; Ron's Cleansweep Eleven looked brand new, and almost held its own next to Harry's Firebolt. They found the pitch empty, except for Luna Lovegood, who was in the stands. She stared at the clouds dreamily. When Ron noticed her, he immediately stuck out his chest, shoulders back, and began strutting.
"What are you doing?"
Ron glanced back at Harry and made a "shut it" gesture. "Luna's watching!"
"Oh, you fancy her? She seems a bit off her rocker."
The redhead glared. "Oh, shut it, you. At least I've got a chance with her. Hermione won't spare me the time of day."
Harry paused to take in the new information. He'd never thought Ron fancied Hermione, but now the fights he started with her made sense. And Ron had been foaming at the mouth when Krum took Hermione to the Yule Ball. But Ron was right ― Harry had never seen Hermione act romantically towards the youngest Weasley boy. "Guess you're right."
Ron kept strutting to the middle of the pitch. He mounted his Cleansweep and took off fast against the wind, circling the pitch in seconds. Harry flew from goal post to goal post unimpressively. He tried to keep Luna's eyes on Ron, who was now doing loop-dee-loops fifty feet up. Thankfully, she seemed interested in him. After a while, she waved Ron over.
Harry chuckled to himself as Ron hissed "Yes!" and dove into the stands, pulling to a stop a foot away from her. They talked for a few minutes. Harry soared to the broomshed and borrowed the Golden Snitch to practice. Once Harry had caught the Snitch for the ninth time, Ron and Luna said good-bye. Luna jumped from seat to seat until she reached the grass and skipped back to the castle. Ron slowly drifted up to where Harry was, half-lying on his broomstick and grinning like a fool.
"How'd it go?" said Harry nonchalantly.
Ron's grin widened. "The lovely Lady Luna said I'm the strangest boy she's ever met."
"That's supposed to be a good thing?"
"She also," continued Ron, "said she'd love to go to Hogsmeade with me in October."
Harry slapped his best mate on the back. "Atta boy. You're ahead of me there."
"Aw, Potter doesn't have a date to Hogsmeade?" Ron laughed and took off like a rocket. Harry grinned and darted after him, easily catching him. They messed around until Hermione stopped by and told them dinner would be starting soon. Harry wondered how he'd gone so long without Ron's company the year before.
Harry decided to skip dinner and keep flying; the house-elves would probably give him something to eat if he went by the kitchens. The wind in his hair felt wonderful after a summer stuck on Privet Drive. For a while, he forgot about Voldemort, and how Ron felt about their friendship, and Cho Chang. It was just him and the sky.
The air cleared his mind, and he was finally able to strategize. His scar began to pulse. Yet another sign that the Voldemort was on the move, one step ahead of Harry. The Wizarding World was on the brink of war, the Sorting Hat had confirmed it. He suddenly felt indifferent. What was the point of flying? He was probably going to die in the battle, everyone was going to die, it was hopeless . . .
No. His Gryffindor side rang true. Voldemort is one powerful Dark sorcerer, surrounded by an army of mediocre Dark wizards, it reasoned. But we have Dumbledore, a powerful Light sorcerer.
So? Harry asked himself.
So what if, instead of an army of mediocre Light wizards rallying to Dumbledore's side, we had several powerful Light wizards?
Harry considered this, angling his broom at the clouds. But it takes years to get to Dumbledore's level, he argued.
The Gryffindor inside smiled dryly. What would Hermione say? All you have to do is study.
There's no time. Voldemort's back, and stronger than ever. We've got to fight soon.
We will, said Gryffindor eagerly. But I have never marched into battle unprepared. When the time comes, you will be ready. Tell Ron and Hermione that you need to train. If all of you could get to be as strong as Dumbledore, there will be salvation.
Harry said nothing and touched down. He trooped silently to the castle, across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and finally to the Gryffindor common room. The boys' dormitory was empty and still as he stowed the Firebolt in his trunk. He had to find Ron and Hermione ― they would want to know. They had stood by him this long, and they deserved to opt out if the going was too rough.
He went back to the common room and joined them at a table in the very corner. "I need to talk to you," he said seriously.
Hermione instantly snapped shut the book in her hands and Ron shoved his Divination homework aside. They knew Harry's tone of voice meant something serious.
"I've been thinking," he began, folding his arms on the table, fists tight. "The only reason Voldemort's been so strong is that we too evenly matched. It's always the same, you know? Voldemort fights Dumbledore, Dumbledore fights Voldemort; and we're in the background fighting Death Eaters. But what if there were more people on our side that could take Voldemort? If Dumbledore had help, we'd have a chance, right?"
Ron looked hard at the table, thinking. Hermione frowned. "Harry," she said slowly, "we're in our fifth year. It takes years and years to be even half as powerful as Professor Dumbledore. We haven't even got out of school."
He smiled a little ruefully. "I think someone told me once that all you have to do is study."
She seemed unconvinced. "The dedication and diligence that we'd need . . . I don't see how we'd find the time."
Ron's face turned surly. "I dunno, mate. I barely pass my classes now, how do you think I'd fare trying to learn magic that we wouldn't even see in a N.E.W.T. course?"
Harry's eyes trailed over their faces, paused on Hermione's. She looked fragile in this light, discussing methods for waging war so calmly. He didn't know what he'd do if the Death Eaters caught her. There was so little he had left in the world, how would he survive if someone like her was taken from him?
"You're right. We need to do this." Hermione's voice was sharp and resolved. Harry and Ron glanced at her questioningly.
"It's the only way," she said. "What would you do if they came after your family, Ron?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What about your brothers?"
"It won't get that far," Ron disagreed through gritted teeth. "Because that's what grown-ups are for. They'll fight this war. They'll win, and everything will go back to normal."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, they'll win, just like they did in the first war? If Voldemort hadn't tried to kill me, there wouldn't have been a second war. And there won't be a third war. This fight is for everything. Everything's at stake."
Ron shoved his chair back. "You're wrong. We're just kids. We can't fight You-Know-Who." He stalked off, up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.
"I really hope this won't be a recurring thing," Harry said bitterly as the door to the dormitory stairs slammed shut.
Hermione was all business. "We'll worry about him later. What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not sure yet, but we need a new base of operations, so to speak." He gestured to the other Gryffindors. "No way could we train in here."
"How about the old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom? No one uses it anymore."
Harry grinned; it felt good to have a plan, to be in action. "Perfect."
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore paced the length of his office with his hands clasped behind his back. The Sorting Hat tracked his progress, occasionally dropping bits of information.
"I see him growing ever stronger one moment, then becoming stoic the next. He has come to a crossroad. There's some decision to be made that will change everything."
Dumbledore sighed. He was still overcoming the shock of the Sorting Hat revealing what it Saw.
"But what must he decide? What can be so drastic?" the old wizard asked.
"The reason is blocked from my vision," the Hat replied. "Call Severus; perhaps he can offer some aide."
The Headmaster nodded and waved his wand. His silver phoenix Patronus appeared. "Go to Severus. Bring him, quickly."
The Patronus disappeared in a flash of white. "What else can you tell me?" said Dumbledore heavily.
"There is something at work here, but it is not Dark Magic. Something otherworldly, though I cannot identify what. Perhaps it is ancient magic? I can't See . . . ," mused the Sorting Hat. It swiveled slightly on its shelf. "What do you speculate?"
"It escapes me, old friend," sighed Dumbledore. The door to the office opened then, and Severus Snape entered, black robes billowing with his fast gait.
"You called?"
The Headmaster nodded gravely. "Yes, dear Severus. I believe that Lord Voldemort has achieved something we can only live in fear of. Please, give me your report."
The Potions Master shut the door behind him and began to cast secrecy Charms. Finally, he stowed his wand in his robes.
"I cannot say much, but you must see that the Dark Lord is extremely unbalanced at the moment. From what I can tell, he is undergoing a transformation, and his mind is slowly . . . unhinging."
"A transformation?"
"Precisely," said Severus. "I have seen veins of some kind, dark, purple veins, upon his skin . . . they spread quickly. Do you know of any Dark Magic that fits the description?"
Dumbledore heaved another sigh and sank into his throne-like chair. Severus did not sit, but stood patiently as his elder replied, "None. I will research while I can. But Severus, be careful. If Voldemort is truly as unstable as you say he may try to kill you in his anger . . ."
"What do you mean, 'While I can'?" Severus walked forward and met the old wizard's eyes.
"I mean, Severus, that my time here is declining . . . which means the world is on the knife's edge. I may be the only one that can hold off Voldemort until Harry is ready. But if his power truly exceeds my own, Voldemort may come to finish me off . . . and if that happens, I fear for Harry's life more than my own."
Dumbledore stood. "Come. I must alert Minerva. I believe she is in her study on the first floor."
The two men left the room, taking the now silent Sorting Hat with them. As the door shut softly, Harry Potter threw off his Invisibility Cloak, folded it over his arm, and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, face frozen with shock.
