Chapter 38: The Department of Mysteries

Harry struggled.

He pushed.

He fought.

It was futile. Nothing he did could push Voldemort out of his head. He was caught, trapped in his own body with no control, no autonomy, no way out.

He could still see through his own eyes, but he couldn't move, couldn't feel. It was so profoundly wrong that Harry didn't think he could handle it for much longer without losing his mind.

He could catch glimpses of Voldemort's thoughts, but it took a massive amount of energy. Energy that was quickly leaving him. He persevered nonetheless. He needed to know what Voldemort intended to do.

As the darkest hours of night melted into morning, Harry was able to piece together Voldemort's plan. He wasn't surprised to learn that Voldemort intended to use him in order to remove the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. That was to be expected.

What did surprise him was that Severus Snape was no longer a trusted servant of Lord Voldemort. In fact, Voldemort hadn't trusted Snape since the night of his return. For all of his flaws, Voldemort was no fool. He knew that Dumbledore trusted Snape. He also knew that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him when he was a sixteen-year-old boy. If Dumbledore trusted, he had good reason. That alone had been enough for him to assume that Snape had switched sides.

Voldemort had kept up the charade, pretending that Snape was one of his most trusted servants. He'd been using him, feeding him false intelligence in exchange for useful information about the Order and about Harry.

The Potion had been the final nail in Snape's coffin. Snape was the only one who could make such a Potion. He could have made it ineffective, he could have told Dumbledore that such a Potion was impossible to make. Instead, he had produced a draught so effective that it completely cut off the connection between Harry and Voldemort. That had been enough to brand Snape a traitor, a traitor that would be eliminated as soon as he was no longer needed.

Voldemort had been planning Snape's execution for over a month, running through scenarios in his mind. Harry was sickened by what the man had planned. It was barbaric, cruel, inhuman.

Snape wasn't the only one Voldemort had plans for. Harry himself was the subject of many of Voldemort's violent fantasies. It was one of the reasons the man had chosen to use Harry for this mission rather than just going to the Department of Mysteries himself.

The primary motivation for Voldemort to avoid the Ministry of Magic was simple: he didn't want his return to be public just yet. He wanted Harry to be dead before he made that particular fact known. Harry's death was a huge part of this plan, the natural ending of this narrative. Voldemort wanted to play with Harry, to break him mentally, to use him as a weapon. Once he had the prophecy, he planned to torture Harry for a while, perhaps even releasing images to the public. Only then would he kill him and reveal his return.

Harry felt his panic rise at these plans. He was in very hot water here. If he couldn't break Voldemort's hold on him, his life would end in pain and horror. He would die at the age of 15, alone and tortured into insanity. He couldn't fail the Wizarding World by allowing himself to be killed. He couldn't let Sirius or Remus or George or his friends witness him die in such a horrific way. He simply couldn't.

Voldemort was planning to act in the evening, using information provided by Snape to shape his timeline. As it turned out, Order meetings were on Sunday evenings. All the members of the Order who were usually at Hogwarts would be gone tonight, leaving Voldemort a perfect opportunity to get Harry out of the castle and off the grounds.

From there, he would apparate directly into the Department of Mysteries. Lucius Malfoy and a group of Death Eaters would be waiting for him, having removed all the alarms and incapacitated the guards. From what Harry could tell, it was a foolproof plan. Voldemort had thought of everything, planned for every eventuality. Harry didn't know how he could get out of this, but he had to try.

George came to visit him in the early afternoon, and Harry could feel his heart breaking as he looked at George without being able to speak to him.

Voldemort immediately understood the relationship between them, disgust seeping through the link. Being raised in a Muggle orphanage during the 40s did not make one open to different sexual orientations. Voldemort looked at George with such hatred, such contempt, that it was painful for Harry. He could see Voldemort planning George's death, planning how he would kill him if he ever met him on the battlefield. It made Harry want to scream, to plead, to beg for George's life. Jolts of pain were all he could feel as he watched Voldemort pretend to be Harry, pretend to love George. It was agony.

George left around dinner time, completely unaware that Harry was no longer in control of his own body. Harry watched him go, wondering if this was the last time he would ever get to see George.

As evening fell, Harry could feel Voldemort's excitement growing, could feel him watching Madame Pomfrey, waiting for his chance.

It came just after 7, as Madame Pomfrey moved to give Harry a Fever-Reducing Potion and a Lung-Clearing Potion. As she moved to help him take the Potions, she set her wand on the bedside table.

Voldemort moved quickly, wrapping Harry's fingers around the wand and pointing it at the matron.

"Imperio."

The shock on her face faded into blankness as the Spell settled over her.

Harry could hear his own voice issuing commands, hardly believing that he could sound so cruel.

"You will not let anyone in to visit Harry Potter. You will say that he is resting and is not to be disturbed. If anyone attempts to see him, you will Stun them."

Madame Pomfrey nodded blankly, moving away from Harry's bed.

Next, Voldemort summoned Harry's wand with a nonverbal Accio, watching as it flew out of Madame Pomfrey's office. He caught the stick of Holly deftly in his right hand.

He stood up, quickly transfiguring Harry's pajamas into a white button-down and black trousers. Harry could feel Voldemort's disdain for his body radiating through the link. Words like frail and short kept breaking through. Voldemort was rather more petty than Harry had expected. Besides, Harry mused, he wasn't even short. He was 15. Voldemort, who was super old in Harry's book, had no business calling him short.

Harry's thoughts of Voldemort's pettiness faded into desperate fear as the man disillusioned his body and made his way out of the castle. As he moved, Harry made a decision: he needed to sever the link and conserve his energy. Keeping the connection open was draining his strength. Perhaps if he could build up a reserve, then he might be able to get his body back. Harry separated his thoughts from Voldemort's, settling back into his own mind.

He watched as Voldemort made his way across the grounds, watched as he apparated directly into the Department of Mysteries, watched as he was greeted by a handful of Death Eaters: Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Walden Macnair, and...Peter Pettigrew.

The rat was here.

Harry watched as the group moved into the Department of Mysteries, entering a circular room full of identical black doors. This would make escape difficult. If he ever even got that far.

Harry was met with a terrible scene as they entered the room full of prophecies. On the ground by the door were three guards. All of them young, all of them dead.

Harry recognized the Auror from his trial: Auror Langley. If Harry had been in control of his own body, he would have vomited at the sight. These people hadn't been killed with the Killing Curse, they'd been brutalized. It was an image that would haunt him for months to come.

As they moved down the rows of prophecies, Harry recognized the scene from his vision. This is what he'd seen in the Crystal Ball all those months ago.

His legs carried him down the rows of white orbs, bringing him ever closer to doom.

95

Harry gathered his resolve, waiting for his chance.

96

Voldemort's excitement was so strong that it bled through the link, filling Harry with an intense need to have the prophecy.

97

They'd reached it.

Harry could see the prophecy, see his name on the plaque beneath it.

He reached out a hand, clutching the ball tightly in his fingers. All Voldemort had to do now was apparate away.

Harry had to act now.

In one desperate motion, he extended the full force of his magic toward Voldemort, blasting the melody of his magic into his mind. Harry thought about George, about Sirius, about Ron and Hermione. He thought about what might happen to them if he died. He thought about how much he loved them. The sound of his magic grew ever stronger, love shining through each note. Harry could feel Voldemort falter, overcome by the desperation and strength of Harry's magic.

As Harry projected his music louder and louder, a different emotion came to the front of Voldemort's mind: surprise. Something about Harry's magic was surprising to Voldemort, surprising and pleasing. Harry didn't have time to ponder what that might mean.

He gave one final push, ejecting Voldemort from his mind.

He was free.

Harry walked a bit away from the other Death Eaters, pretending to be enthralled by the prophecy. His entire body was shaking with panic and exhaustion. He was still sick, weak from fever, chest tight from illness. This was a terrible situation. The chances of him making it out of here alive were incredibly slim.

He still had to try. If nothing else, he had to stop Voldemort from learning the prophecy. He had to keep that information safe.

Harry put about 5 feet between himself and the other Death Eaters, trying to seem as if Voldemort was still in control.

When he was far enough away, he took his opportunity. Aiming his wand at the shelves nearest the Death Eaters, he bellowed,

"Bombarda!"

The world exploded, glass flying everywhere. Harry took his chance, running from the room as fast as his legs would carry him. He could hear shouts behind him, but he didn't have time to care. He had very little time.

He turned a corner, running down a narrow hallway. He wove through the Department of Mysteries, following a nonsensical path. At last, he found himself in a very strange room. It was empty but for an archway with a tattered black curtain. Whispers filled the space, eerie and enchanting. Harry shook his head to clear the voices, knowing that he had limited time.

First, he needed to destroy the prophecy. Voldemort could not be allowed to know what it said. Harry set the prophecy on the ground, sending a curse straight into the glass ball. It exploded and Harry waved away the ghostly figure that rose from it, not wanting to know the full prophecy in case Voldemort should invade his mind again.

He knew he would be caught eventually. He couldn't possibly fight off six Death Eaters by himself. He needed help. He raised his shaking left hand to his mouth, speaking into his ring, Parseltongue flowing from his lips. He focused on sending the message to Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George.

"Use Mirror. Tell Sirius to Send Order to the Department of Mysteries. I Need Help."

There was one more thing he needed to say. If he didn't make it out of here, then no one would ever know that Voldemort knew Snape's true allegiances. Harry didn't want to be responsible for the man's death.

"Tell them that Voldemort knows Snape is a spy. Tell them that he's been found out. Send them quickly."

That done, he transformed into his Animagus form, hoping that he would be able to fly out of the Department of Mysteries. It was futile. He was already too late.

He'd been found.

Rodolphus Lestrange and Macnair appeared in the doorway, just catching sight of Harry's transformation. Harry tried to fly over their heads, but he didn't quite make it. Before Harry had made it ten feet, he'd been hit with a Bone-Breaking Curse. It collided with his right wing, sending him spiraling to the ground. He hit the stone hard, losing his hold on the magic, transforming back into his human self. He couldn't hold back a cry of pain as he felt the impact of the Curse.

Being injured while in Animagus form was incredibly dangerous as the injury wouldn't translate perfectly from one form to another. While only his wing had been broken as a bird, as a human it was far more than that. The pain was in his shoulder, his arm, his ribs, his chest, and his hand. It hurt terribly.

His wand slipped from his broken fingers, rolling to a stop nearly a foot away from him. He couldn't reach it.

Rodolphus grabbed his injured arm, a smile splitting his face as Harry let out an agonized cry of pain. He slammed Harry up against the archway, the stone bruising his back.

"Did you really think you could run from us, little boy?"

The man pressed his wand into Harry's neck, sneering at him. Macnair was standing several feet away, a sick smile on his face. Harry fought his panic and pain, trying to find a way out of this. It came to him in an instant. Wizards were useless without their wands. Rodolphus wouldn't expect Harry to use physical force. Not wasting any time, Harry brought his right foot down hard onto Rodolphus' foot, causing the man to gasp in shock and release him. Harry used the leverage, pushing the man further away from him. Harry saw him trip over his own feet, reaching out to catch himself on the rippling fabric of the veil. His fingers found nothing, grasping at the air as he fell through.

He didn't come out the other side.

Fighting through his shock, Harry moved quickly from the veil, trying to get to his wand. If he could just reach it...

"Petrificus Totalus," Macnair cried, hitting Harry just as he was about to close his fingers around the stick of Holly.

Harry tumbled to the ground, unable to move, helpless.

Macnair approached him, looking gleeful.

"Not so brave now, are you?"

Harry certainly didn't feel brave. He was terrified. He was probably going to die right now.

"Macnair."

A voice sounded from the doorway, feminine and cold. It was Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew trailing pitifully behind her.

"Where is my husband?"

Macnair stepped back from Harry, looking apprehensive.

"Potter…"

The man cleared his throat, glancing worriedly at Bellatrix. He was clearly scared of her.

"He pushed him through the veil."

"He killed him?" she shrieked, marching toward them, face twisted with fury.

The veil killed people? He'd killed Rodolphus? He hadn't meant to.

"Lift the Spell," she snarled.

"Bella…"

"LIFT IT!" she shrieked, teeth bared.

"I want to hear him scream."

Macnair lifted the curse, allowing Harry to move again. Before he could do more than suck in a deep breath, he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

It was the worst pain in the world, burning agony that turned his bones to liquid, turned his thoughts to swirling voids of suffering. He screamed, a visceral sound. She held him under for a long time, so long that his vision began to go fuzzy.

When she finally lifted the Curse, Harry coughed weakly, choking on blood. That couldn't mean anything good.

"Hold him up," she ordered Macnair.

"Bella, we should be going…"

"DO NOT QUESTION ME!" she yelled, pointing her wand at him.

"Do as I say Macnair or our Lord will be displeased. You know he holds me in the highest regard."

Macnair made no further protest, grabbing Harry's arms and dragging him to his knees before Bellatrix. The man held him by the shoulders, digging his fingers in painfully.

"We need to find out what he did with the prophecy," she spat at Macnair.

"That is why we came here."

She turned back to Harry, moving close to him. Far too close. She ran a gentle finger down his cheek, a mockery of a kind gesture.

"Where is the prophecy?"

Harry knew he needed to stall. He needed to make Bellatrix angry, so angry that she'd forget what they were supposed to be doing. The Order would be here soon. He just needed to hold on a little longer.

"What prophecy?" Harry croaked, voice tired from screaming.

"Diffindo," she whispered, pointing her wand at his right arm.

A deep gash appeared just above his elbow, spilling blood down his arm, staining his white sleeve red.

"WHERE IS IT?" she shouted, spittle hitting his face.

"It's in the same place as Voldemort's nose," Harry said, feeling a bit delirious. His fever was probably going up again.

"Nowhere."

She hit him with another Cutting Curse, a second gash appearing just above the first.

"Where is it?" she asked again, tone falsely sweet.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty…"

"Crucio!"

He was screaming again, writhing in agony on the floor as he slipped from Macnair's grip.

"Bellatrix!"

A voice sounded from the doorway, frantic and loud.

The Curse was lifted, leaving his body spasming pathetically, jolts of agony running through every nerve.

"Dumbledore's people are here. They've put up anti-apparition wards. We need to go."

The Order was here. He just needed to stay awake, keep fighting, keep pushing. Before he could do anything, Harry was hit with another Full-Body Bind, rendering him completely unable to move. Arms grabbed him, harshly dragging him to his feet. Dolohov, who was a huge man, lifted Harry over his shoulder, carrying him like a sack of potatoes.

"We need to get to the Atrium. I've called for reinforcements. They'll meet us there. We cannot let them take Potter from us."

Harry struggled against the Curse, ramming his magic up against the Spell. He could feel it loosening.

"They're trailing us!" a voice shouted.

Dolohov began running, jostling Harry around. Harry felt tears coming to his eyes as the broken bones in his arm, shoulder, and chest shifted painfully.

He renewed his efforts, putting all of his power into the Curse. He had to get out of this.

Harry heard shouting, screaming, sounds of fighting. He felt Dolohov jerk suddenly, and he was thrown to the ground, rolling onto hard, polished stone. Dolohov was lying unconscious beside him, his wand just out of Harry's reach.

They'd made it to the Atrium. There were already Death Eaters there, waiting to join their brethren. There looked to be about 10 of them. Harry felt his chest constrict. There were too many.

A sudden uptick in noise announced that the Order had arrived at last. Harry recognized every one of them: Sirius, Remus, McGonagall, Tonks, Kingsley, Emmeline Vance, Mad-Eye, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and even Snape. Dumbledore was notably absent. Harry had no idea where the man was.

They were outnumbered, perhaps damningly so. Harry needed to help.

They were all engaged in duels, fighting fiercely. Harry watched uselessly from the ground, unable to move, barely able to breathe. He was completely helpless.

He saw Tonks take down a Death Eater skillfully, wand whipping through the air. Mad-Eye took out Macnair with ease, almost nonchalantly. Snape was dueling Lucius Malfoy, a fierce battle. Remus was dueling Pettigrew, a terribly conflicted look on his face. It was Sirius that worried Harry. He was dueling Bellatrix.

Sirius was an excellent dueler, but Bellatrix was terrifying, skilled and sadistic. Sirius was losing. He was going to lose.

Desperation fueling him, Harry was finally able to break the Body-Bind, movement returning to his body. He desperately stretched out his hand, broken fingers scrabbling to gain purchase on Dolohov's dropped wand.

Sirius was hit with a Bone-Breaking Hex, left leg crumpling beneath him.

No.

Bellatrix disarmed him, grinning madly.

No.

She lifted her wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry finally got hold of the wand, raising it quickly, sending his universal shield toward Sirius, watching in relief as the dome materialized around his godfather, channeling the green light away from his chest.

Bellatrix's surprise gave Sirius enough time to retrieve his wand, knock her out, and tie her up. He struggled to get to his feet, but was unable to, broken leg keeping him down. Harry wanted to go help him, but he couldn't bring himself to stand. He was so tired.

The battle was raging on around him, both sides taking injuries.

Tonks was down, seemingly unconscious. Emmeline Vance was very clearly dead, blank eyes staring at nothing. Remus was injured, clutching a bad burn on his wand arm. Things were not going well. Where was Dumbledore?

"Potter..."

Snape was suddenly kneeling over him, black eyes shining with some foreign emotion. Harry couldn't quite focus on the man's face. Everything was spinning.

"Potter, look at me."

Harry tried, locking his eyes with Snape's.

"You need to stay awake."

That was an odd request. He was really rather tired. He'd just close his eyes for a moment…

"Potter! Damn it."

Snape shook him, jostling his injured arm. That woke him up.

Before Snape could say anything else, a Death Eater engaged him in a duel, pulling him away from Harry.

At that very moment, Harry's scar exploded with pain.

Voldemort was here.

The man materialized right by the Fountain of Magical Brethren, black robes billowing like smoke. His red eyes met Harry's and the world was consumed by pain.

Harry was being possessed again, but this was different. It felt as if his soul was being ripped apart and crushed. He lost control of his body, feeling himself being forced to his feet, Dolohov's wand clutched in his hand.

He moved robotically toward Voldemort, coming to a stop at the man's side. Voldemort placed a bony hand on Harry's shoulder, drawing him close.

"You are mine, Harry Potter," he hissed, voice cold and dangerous.

"More mine than you realize."

Harry didn't quite know what that meant, and right now he didn't really care. He was screaming inside his head, praying to be released from this hell. It hurt so much.

Harry felt a wand being pressed to his temple, the wood cool against his fevered skin.

"Stop fighting," Voldemort said, cold voice carrying across the room, cutting through the cacophony of battle.

Everyone stopped, turning to stare at the pair.

"Harry will be coming with me," Voldemort said.

"In exchange, you get to keep your pathetic lives for another day."

"Like hell," Sirius spat, finally managing to pull himself to his feet.

"We're not just going to let you kill him."

Voldemort laughed, the sound sending chills down Harry's spine.

"I've no intention of killing him. None at all."

Sirius faltered, confusion flashing across his face.

"You, on the other hand, I could live without. I think Harry should do the honors."

Harry felt Voldemort pushing him, telling him to kill Sirius. Harry raised his wand, pointing it at Sirius' chest. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't...

"Harry…"

Sirius was staring at him, disbelief in his gray eyes. Sirius was counting on him. Harry couldn't let him down. He fought, hand shaking, mind screaming. He could feel blood beginning to drip from his nose, the stress of his mental battle taking physical form.

He couldn't hurt Sirius. He loved Sirius, loved him like a father, loved him so much that he couldn't survive without him.

Harry could feel Voldemort reeling, struggling to distance himself from the emotion. Harry felt harder, pushing all his love for Sirius across the connection. Voldemort jerked back, face contorting with pain.

The man withdrew from Harry's mind, letting him drop to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Just as Harry hit the ground, the Atrium was filled with an eruption of green light as the fireplaces flared to life.

Dumbledore was here and he wasn't alone. Cornelius Fudge was also there, Amelia Bones right behind him. Nearly a dozen Aurors were hot on their heels, wands raised.

Harry could hear cracks as the conscious Death Eaters apparated away, fleeing from the large force of Aurors.

Harry could see the shock on Fudge's face as he took in the scene before him, eyes stopping dead on Voldemort's face.

"He's back," Fudge said, face white, voice horrified.

If he'd been able to breathe properly, Harry would have laughed. Fudge was such an idiot.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, stepping forward.

"You have lost."

Voldemort sneered at Dumbledore, red eyes blazing.

"Maybe today. But I will win in the end. The boy is mine, Dumbledore. He has always been mine."

With that, Voldemort apparated away, leaving Harry in deep confusion. What did Voldemort mean?

Harry's questions were pushed violently from his head as Fudge caught sight of Sirius, pointing his finger directly at him.

"That's Sirius Black!" he cried.

"Seize him!"

Harry saw the Aurors moving toward Sirius. His godfather didn't even attempt to resist, holding his head high, staring straight at the approaching Aurors.

As he watched them move toward his godfather, Harry felt something snap inside him. He wouldn't let his family be taken from him. Not again.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, feeling his magic flowing beneath his skin, erratic and uncontrollable.

"Don't touch him," he said, voice full of power.

The Aurors stopped, turning to stare at Harry.

"Harry…" Dumbledore said, stepping toward him.

"No," Harry said, refusing to let Dumbledore abandon Sirius again.

"He's innocent! You can't take him!"

"Come now," Fudge said, laughing nervously.

"You can't still be on about that…"

"Shut up!" Harry yelled, magic exploding into the room, shattering glass and cracking stone.

Fudge stumbled back, terror on his face. Amelia Bones stepped forward, holding her hands up in a placating gesture.

"Mr. Potter, I know that Mr. Black did not get a trial. I promise that we will ensure that justice is served."

Harry didn't believe her.

"I will stay with him, Harry," Dumbledore reassured, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Please calm down. "

Harry didn't want to calm down. He couldn't lose Sirius. He couldn't.

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, moving closer to him.

"You must control your magic before you hurt yourself further. I promise that I will not let Sirius be harmed. I promise."

Harry finally let his magic go, slumping against Dumbledore as his strength left him. Every ache and pain returned in full force, nearly causing him to pass out.

"Minerva," Dumbledore called, wrapping his arm around Harry to support him.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward.

"He needs medical attention. Take this Portkey..."

Dumbledore removed a handkerchief from his pocket, tapping it with his wand.

"Dumbledore, you can't just make an illegal Portkey…"

The Headmaster completely ignored Fudge, handing the handkerchief to Professor McGonagall. Harry felt his hand being placed on the fabric, but he didn't care. He couldn't look away from Sirius, trying to memorize his face. What if this was the last time he saw him? What if he was found guilty? What if he was given the Kiss?

Sirius met Harry's eyes just as the Portkey activated, offering him a reassuring smile. Harry held onto that image as the world swirled away, clinging to the hope that he would get to see that smile again.

They landed in the Hospital Wing, Harry's legs collapsing on impact. He tried to remain conscious, but he'd been through too much, seen too much. Awareness slipped from him quickly, blackness descending, silence falling.

At last, it was quiet.

A/N: One more chapter, folks. On Saturday, I will be posting the final chapter of What We Cling To as well as the first chapter of its sequel...One Clear Call. See y'all then!