Chapter 6: Connection, Control, and Choice
"Do you think they'll be done soon?" Ron asked, stifling a yawn.
"I imagine so," Hermione replied, glancing at the door to the Black Library.
"It's been nearly four hours."
The Order had been in a meeting since just after dinner, working to finalize a plan for managing Azkaban in the event that the Dementors left. The horrifying creatures were the primary line of defense keeping the prisoners contained. The Ministry had been using them as a crutch, relying on them to such an extent that they'd practically phased out all the human guards on the island. The Order was working with the DMLE to station guards throughout the prison, hoping to prevent a mass breakout.
Even with their preparations, it likely wouldn't be enough to stop Voldemort. Without the Dementors, the prison population was far too large to be contained by the scant number of Aurors the Ministry could spare at the moment.
For that reason, the Order intended to join the fight for the island, spending hours mapping out strategic locations and attack plans. There was a terrible twist of fear in his stomach at the thought of the Order fighting Voldemort in a place as dangerous as Azkaban. They would be facing Death Eaters, prisoners, and Dementors, caught between enemies. It could easily turn into a bloodbath.
Worst of all, Harry didn't know how to help.
It'd been a little over two weeks since his vision, and Voldemort had yet to make a play for the prison. There was no indication of when he would attack, no clue as to how he planned to free his followers.
"Hey, Harry?" Ron asked tentatively.
"Do you think you could….look to see when You-Know-Who plans to take the prison? If we knew when he was going to attack, things might be easier."
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.
"You can't possibly be suggesting that Harry try to break into Voldemort's mind! That's mad!"
"Is it?" Harry asked, intrigued by the idea.
"Harry…"
"It can't hurt to try, Hermione!"
"It most certainly could! This connection isn't a toy, Harry. It's dangerous."
"So is letting Voldemort release all the magical criminals in the United Kingdom!"
Hermione didn't have a response to that, clearly conflicted.
"I'll just try it for a minute. If anything goes wrong, you can call someone. Alright?"
Hermione said nothing, biting her bottom lip, brown eyes full of worry.
"It'll be alright, Hermione. I promise."
"Fine," she said shortly.
"But if it goes wrong, I'm getting Sirius."
"Fine," Harry agreed, offering her a small smile.
Turning away from Hermione, he closed his eyes, focusing all his attention on his magic. He'd never tried to access Voldemort's memories in this way before. If he was honest, he had no idea what he was doing.
He let the sound of his magic fill his ears, trying to find the strain that was Voldemort. He found it easily enough, terrible and violent, dissonant against the deep melody of his own magic.
He reached out for it, letting it grow louder and louder. It engulfed him, sending him swirling into Voldemort's mind. He kept his focus on Voldemort's magic, attempting to cloak his own. He didn't want to be found out. Not after last time.
It was terribly difficult to maintain the melody, taking nearly all his mental energy. He could feel his magic straining against the foreign environment, trying to pull away. He resisted, channeling all his strength into maintaining the connection.
He let his thoughts wander to Azkaban, hoping his magic would guide him toward the information he needed. At first, he got nothing. Then, he was overwhelmed by a wave of information, disparate thoughts bombarding him. There were too many, blending and blurring into an incomprehensible mess.
This was impossible.
Unless…
What if he used emotion? What if he played to his strengths, used the unique magical gift his mother had given him?
He focused on his desire to protect his friends, feeling his magic sharpen and strengthen as the emotion grew. Voldemort's memories took on a different sheen, emotion coloring them. Harry began to sift through the information, searching for excitement and anticipation. One area glowed brighter than the rest, pulsing with strong emotion. Harry drifted to it, reaching out his magic.
Tomorrow
The word came to him suddenly, loudly, clearly. He could feel the way Voldemort's emotions were linked to it, perverse enthusiasm flowing down the link.
The attempt to take Azkaban was going to happen tomorrow.
He could see amorphous plans, forces tied to geography he didn't know and couldn't understand. He tried to decipher it, pushing the last of his strength into the images, trying desperately to make them clearer.
It didn't work.
He was out of energy.
He let himself drift away from Voldemort, falling back into his own mind. He opened his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He was shaky and tired but otherwise fine.
"Well?" Ron said urgently.
"It's tomorrow," Harry breathed.
"It's happening tomorrow."
Ron's face went white.
"We have to tell the Order. Come on!"
Ron pulled him to his feet, not caring as Harry swayed slightly.
"Be gentle, Ron. He looks a bit pale."
Ron ignored her, dragging Harry down the stairs and pounding on the door to the kitchen. Hermione was just behind them, wringing her hands nervously.
There were hurried footsteps before the door flung open, revealing a stern-faced Professor McGonagall.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Professor," Ron said, attempting to push past her.
"We know when the attack on Azkaban is going to happen. It's tomorrow!"
She stared at them, eyes glinting with something Harry couldn't recognize. She pursed her lips, clearly weighing the best course of action.
"You'd best come in, then."
The kitchen looked completely different than it did during the day, parchments and maps scattered across every surface of the table. It was packed full of nearly 30 people: the inner circle of the Order.
Harry had come to learn that the Order of the Phoenix was a far larger network than he'd thought, bringing together large swathes of the Magical World. There were currently members scattered across the globe, working to muster support for the war from other magical communities.
Harry wasn't entirely sure how many members they had. It was a piece of information Dumbledore kept close to his chest, unwilling to share it with anyone.
It was becoming clear to Harry that Dumbledore was far more than just a Headmaster. He had allies in places Harry never would've imagined, powerful men and women who would do as he asked without question. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. What might have been awe-inspiring mere months ago now made him distinctly uncomfortable.
He didn't like the idea of that much power resting with one person, didn't like the thought that they could bend the world to their will. Whether it was Dumbledore, Voldemort, or anyone else, it was dangerous.
It didn't help that Harry's feelings about Dumbledore were now distinctly muddled. Harry didn't know how to feel anymore. He knew he should be angry with the man, furious at him for using him as a pawn. He knew he should be raging, incensed. But he wasn't. Harry couldn't find it in himself to blame the man. All the suffering Dumbledore had caused him was justified. Harry was willing to die for this cause, he had to accept that Dumbledore was willing to let him die for it as well.
He knew what Sirius would say in response to his thoughts. He would tell Harry that he was still stuck in his ways from the Dursleys, still convinced that he wasn't important. His godfather would remind him that he was allowed to get angry when the people who were supposed to protect him failed to do so.
Maybe Sirius was right. Harry just couldn't muster the energy to be angry.
"What's happened?"
It was Dumbledore himself who broke Harry out of his thoughts, asking the question that was written on every face in the room.
Harry found it impossible to speak with all those eyes burning into him. Thankfully, Ron had no such problem.
"The attack on Azkaban will happen tomorrow," he said, voice loud and frantic.
"You have seen this?" Dumbledore asked calmly, staring hard at Harry.
"Yes, sir."
"What time tomorrow?" the Headmaster asked evenly.
"Uhhh.."
Harry scrunched up his face, trying to remember.
"Sometime after midnight. I'm sorry...I can't get anything more specific than that."
Harry silently cursed himself for being so unhelpful. He should have been able to glean more than that from Voldemort's mind.
He was still too weak.
"Thank you for telling us, Harry," Dumbledore said, not unkindly.
Harry nodded, understanding that they were being dismissed. He followed Ron and Hermione out of the room, traipsing after them as they made their way up the stairs.
He was very tired all of a sudden.
"You should go to bed, Harry," Hermione said quietly, leading him toward his bedroom.
"You look exhausted."
"I can't yet," Harry muttered.
"I have to wait for Sirius."
"Oh, right," Hermione said.
"I forgot about the Potion."
One drawback of the Elixir of Lethe was that it had to be taken every night without fail. Withdrawal could be triggered even after taking the Potion only once, resulting in potentially catastrophic symptoms.
Sirius refused to let Harry keep the Potion himself, hiding it somewhere Harry couldn't find it. He knew it was for his own safety, but it was annoying nevertheless. He would have to wait for Sirius to come out of the meeting. Only then could he sleep.
"We'll stay with you, then," Hermione said, settling onto the soft carpet of his room.
"We need to talk anyway."
Harry joined Hermione on the floor, leaning against his bed. Ron sat beside Hermione, looking pensive.
"There's something you're not telling us," Ron said sharply.
"There's some secret that you have. Bill knows it too. And Sirius. What is it?"
Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself. He'd been putting this off for too long. He'd always intended to tell his friends about the Horcruxes, but he'd been stalling, not wanting to burden them any further.
"I'll tell you," he said quietly.
"But you can't talk about it with anyone, alright? Only a handful of people know."
They both nodded, faces sincere. Harry was strongly reminded of all the other times they had worked together, just the three of them, tangled in mystery. He knew he could trust Ron and Hermione.
"Voldemort created something called Horcruxes."
"What?" Ron asked.
"What in Merlin's name is a Horcrux?"
Harry sighed.
"They're pieces of his soul. They tether him to life. It's how he survived that Halloween, and it's how he was able to come back last year."
"But…" Hermione said, brow furrowed.
"Doesn't that make him…"
"Immortal?" Ron breathed, growing pale.
Harry shook his head.
"Not exactly. The Horcruxes can be destroyed. We've already found two and destroyed one."
"But...how many did he make?"
"We don't know."
Silence fell for a moment, horror settling over his friends as they finally understood the impossibility of the task they were facing.
"How do you make a Horcrux?" Hermione asked quietly.
"It must be rather complicated. Otherwise, every evil Wizard would make them."
Harry thought for a moment.
"I don't know much, but I do know that it requires a really complex ritual that needs a lot of power. It has to be done deliberately. It starts with a murder, but it's much more than that…"
Ron shuddered, looking sick.
"That's horrible."
"It is," Hermione whispered.
"It's even worse than it seems," Harry told them.
"He started making them while he was still in school."
"The Diary!" Hermione exclaimed.
"It was one, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"So…" Ron said.
"At sixteen, he planned a murder, executed it in cold blood, and used a dark ritual to create an object that would make him immortal."
Harry nodded.
"That's exactly what he did. He also killed his father and grandparents when he was still a teenager. He's...there's something wrong with him. He's not...he's barely even human anymore."
Ron gulped audibly.
"And you have to kill him."
Harry had known about the prophecy for around 8 months, but he still felt a rush of anxiety every time he remembered the task he had to complete. Voldemort wasn't some evil cartoon villain who would monologue himself into defeat. He was a powerful, sadistic, and intelligent man. He was sane and cruel and terrifying.
At the end of the day, Harry was just a sixteen-year-old boy. He was, in many ways, still a child. He was powerful and fairly intelligent, but he was simply no match for Voldemort. None at all. Tom Riddle was nearly seventy, possessing knowledge and experience that Harry would likely never have.
It wasn't a fair fight. It probably never would be.
Harry had a strange feeling that they would win, a conviction burning deep in his chest. But in all the scenarios he imagined, the final battle with Voldemort ended with two deaths, not one. Harry didn't expect to walk away from that fight.
"You can beat him, Harry," Hermione said suddenly, shattering the fragile silence.
"You must be able to. The prophecy tells us that you can. There has to be a way…"
Harry could see the wheels spinning in Hermione's head, could see her beginning to plot.
"We just have to…"
She was cut off by a knock at the door. It was Sirius, looking stern and worried.
"Clear out, you lot," he said to Hermione and Ron.
"I need a word with Harry."
Harry shifted awkwardly, not liking the sound of that. Sirius waited for the two teenagers to leave before joining Harry on the floor.
"Did you access the connection deliberately?" Sirius asked, voice hard.
"Yes," Harry said slowly, wary of the angry look on his godfather's face.
Sirius' eyes darkened, growing stormy.
"Harry, you can't do that! You can't risk yourself like that."
Harry was overcome with a sudden need to defend himself. He hadn't done anything wrong! He'd helped the Order!
"I was only trying to help! We needed to know when he was going to attack! We needed to…"
"I don't care," Sirius said shortly, eyes blazing.
"You cannot risk your own safety in that way. We do not understand the true nature of this connection. What if Voldemort had been able to possess you? What if he'd been able to override the Potion? What if he'd been able to take control again? Did you even think about that?"
No, he hadn't thought about any of that. He'd been a fool. Again.
"Sorry," he whispered, staring hard at his rug.
"I just wanted to help."
Sirius sighed, anger dropping off his face.
"I know, Harry. But this is not the way to help. Not when we don't fully understand the possible repercussions."
Harry nodded, refusing to meet Sirius' eyes. Why couldn't he do anything right?
"So," Harry said, suddenly breathless
"You're going tomorrow? To Azkaban?"
Sirius sighed heavily.
"You know I have to."
"I know."
He wished it wasn't true, but he knew that Sirius had to fight. He was too skilled to stay at home while battle raged. He was too important, and Harry wasn't important enough to make him stay.
"They need all of us there. We can't lose this fight."
They need all of us…
Panic began to blossom in his chest, constricting his lungs.
"Everyone?" he asked.
"Including George?"
Sirius' silence told him the answer.
"No," Harry said, voice shaking.
"No."
"Harry…"
"He can't go…it's too dangerous...he's not…"
It was getting harder and harder to breathe, oxygen evading him, lungs aching from the strain.
It happened so fast, fear taking over, painting his world with the broad brush of panic. George was going to die...he was going to die…
Just like he'd almost died at the hands of Draco Malfoy. Voldemort was far more dangerous than a sixteen-year-old bully, and he knew how important George was to Harry. George was going to die…
"Harry! Breathe."
He couldn't.
He was choking on nothing, imaginary smoke filling his lungs, brain rebelling against reality.
Memories flooded him, a tide of terror buffeting him, sending him reeling.
He couldn't see anything.
He couldn't hear Sirius.
He was lost.
George was bleeding, red covering his chest, blood saturating the snow beneath him.
Harry's hands were shaking, trying and failing to close the wounds.
Blood was on his hands, staining his fingertips, metallic acidity filling his nose.
He tried to take a breath, tried to pull away, but his mind betrayed him, latching onto the blood and sending him back into terror.
His lungs were bound with steel chains, metal constricting his heart. All he could see was blood...
Blood on snow...
Blood on his hands…
So much blood...
"Damn it, Harry. Breathe."
He finally heard Sirius, felt the hands gripping his arms, felt his breath rattle and hitch.
"Come on, kid. In and Out. Come on."
He finally managed it, gasping in a deep breath, lungs struggling to expand.
Merlin, he was tired.
He slumped against Sirius, boneless and spent. He could hear Sirius' heart beating, going much slower than Harry's own.
"It's okay, Harry. You're safe."
He didn't feel safe.
He was breaking apart, cracking under the strain, slowly losing his mind.
He was fragile and fractured, broken.
He was supposed to be getting better, stronger. Instead, he was debilitated by his past, forced to relive his worst moments, too weak to stop it. He was so pathetic. So profoundly broken. What sort of hero couldn't even think of battle without forgetting how to breathe? Certainly not the one the Wizarding World needed.
They deserved someone so much better than him.
He needed to be better.
Despite his desire to be strong, Harry found it very difficult to calm down, panic pounding through his blood, poisoning his thoughts. Even with his godfather there, it took over an hour for his hands to stop shaking.
He had never been more grateful for the Elixir of Lethe. Without the Potion, Harry was sure that he wouldn't have slept at all, kept awake by the terror in his head.
As it was, he drifted off easily, lulled to sleep by the sweet whispers of oblivion.
…
Harry woke feeling distinctly strange, magic pulling oddly, tugging at him.
It took him only moments to realize that it was Voldemort's excitement bleeding through the link, confusing Harry's magic with the strength of his anticipation.
It felt terrible, evil throbbing just behind his eyes, sending sharp pains across his skull.
Harry sat up slowly, trying to ignore the pressure in his head and the strange mix of terror and excitement fluttering in his stomach.
It was quite late in the morning, nearly noon. Harry hadn't taken the Elixir until just after 3 in the morning. Sirius hadn't wanted him to go to sleep until he was calm, staying with him until he was steadier.
The guilt came quickly, crashing over him in familiar waves. Sirius was going to be fighting Voldemort today, and Harry had kept him up half the night like a literal baby.
He was such a damned burden.
A hot shower helped just a bit, easing the ache in his head to a bearable level. He got ready quickly, avoiding the mirror. He didn't want to look at himself today, didn't want to see the strangeness in those green eyes, didn't want to see Voldemort shining through.
He made his way downstairs, drawn to the voices he could hear coming from the kitchen. He was surprised to see Professor McGonagall sitting at the table, deep in conversation with Sirius.
The twins, Remus, and Bill were off to one side of the room, clearly practicing the Patronus Charm. Harry flinched as he watched them, noting that both twins were only producing silvery vapor. How could they be expected to survive this night if they couldn't even produce a proper Patronus?
George caught him staring, brown eyes meeting his. The silvery vapor pouring from his wand suddenly took shape, solidifying into a fox, darting gleefully around the room.
"Well done, George," Remus exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.
George was still looking at Harry, smiling widely. Harry looked away quickly, panic returning. He couldn't do this, couldn't watch George smile when it might be the last time.
"Harry," Sirius said, beckoning him forward.
"Minnie has some things to discuss with you."
The glare Professor McGonagall flashed at Sirius was enough to make Harry smile, anxiety easing just a little.
"Sit down, Potter."
Harry did so, settling beside Sirius, watching his professor closely from across the table.
"We need to discuss which classes you wish to take next year."
Harry blinked, startled. He hadn't been expecting something quite so mundane.
"Normally, I recommend between 4 and 7 NEWT subjects. Absolutely no more than 7. Even Ms. Granger couldn't convince me to let her do 8. So, what'll it be, Potter?"
Harry thought for a moment. He wanted to take classes that would help him become a better fighter. That meant he needed to say goodbye to some of his subjects in favor of others.
"Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, uh…Potions..."
As much as he didn't like taking classes with Snape, he knew that he needed Potions. The subject could prove useful. Besides, he actually liked Potions. It was just the Professor who ruined things for him.
Professor McGonagall smiled.
"I'm sure Mr. Weasley will be pleased. He was worried you wouldn't want to continue."
Harry furrowed his brow in confusion.
"But Ron only got an Exceeds Expectations...I thought Snape only took Outstanding…"
Professor McGonagall smirked, glancing over at the twins.
"He used to, but a certain apprentice was able to convince him otherwise. I believe you'll have a teaching assistant of sorts during the next two years. Professor Snape insisted it was the only way he could possibly handle taking Exceeds Expectations students."
She rolled her eyes at that, indicating just what nonsense she thought Snape's excuses were.
"Did he really only take Outstanding students?" Sirius asked incredulously.
"That's mad! What about all the professions that require an NEWT in Potions?"
Professor McGonagall's lips formed a thin line, distaste obvious in her expression.
"It's always been a point of contention. That man has been restricting his NEWT Potions classes since he started teaching at Hogwarts. He normally has barely a handful of students. The Ministry has been breathing down our necks for years, complaining about the lack of qualified Healers and Aurors coming out of Hogwarts. They've been relying heavily on foreign schools in recent years. It's quite a disappointment for many young students who would have been qualified under any other Professor. Their career aspirations are stopped by one man's petty need to limit his time spent with students. It's absolutely indefensible, but Albus has always indulged Severus' whims. Now that he doesn't have his 'second job' to hide behind, we're finally able to hold him accountable."
She grinned evilly at that, eyes gleaming. Harry hadn't realized quite how much the woman disapproved of Snape's teaching. He supposed it made sense. The man clearly didn't want to be there, taking a job that could have been filled by a passionate and competent teacher just because Dumbledore wanted a spy in his back pocket.
"I can't believe Albus let him get away with that," Sirius muttered.
Professor McGonagall sighed heavily.
"Severus gets away with far too much. He always has. It's a perk of his status as a spy. All he has to do is complain, and Albus bends to him. I've always thought it was a bit of misplaced guilt on Albus' part. As if he hadn't already done enough by saving Severus from Azkaban."
Harry felt a twinge of anger at the thought of Snape complaining about his lot as a professor. He got to live in a castle, escape Azkaban, experiment in his free time, and get paid well. He hadn't even been a spy for most of his time teaching at Hogwarts. He'd had 13 years of a normal life, free and comfortable. And yet, he had the nerve to act as if his life was a tragedy.
It was infuriating. Especially because Snape's imagined tragedy was Harry's actual tragedy. The loss of Lily was a far greater blow to Harry than it could ever have been for Snape.
"Perhaps George will liven those classes up a bit though," Sirius said, eyes shining with mischief.
Harry grinned at that. George helping Snape teach was sure to be interesting.
If he survives.
The smile dropped off his face as quickly as it had come, panic returning. George might not even live to see the sunrise.
"Your other subjects?" Professor McGonagall prompted, snapping Harry out of his trance.
"Uhhh...Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures."
Harry wouldn't abandon Hagrid. Not after everything the man had done for him.
"Excellent," Professor McGonagall said, jotting something down on a piece of parchment.
"Septima will be over the moon. She's been wanting you in Arithmancy ever since you demonstrated your shield during the Quidditch Final."
Harry had almost forgotten about that. With the excitement of OWLs and the stress of the Department of Mysteries, he'd totally forgotten that his Spell had been on display to the entire school.
"She's been desperate to meet you since the Daily Prophet ran that story calling you the 'Merlin of Spell-Crafting'"
"They called me what?" Harry gasped, staring at her.
He never read the Daily Prophet anymore. It was a bunch of nonsense most of the time.
"Oh, they're calling you all sorts of things these days. I think your foremost title is now 'the Chosen One.' The Wizarding World has become convinced that you are their only hope."
Well, they weren't wrong. It seemed that the Daily Prophet had actually gotten something right for once.
"I also wanted to speak to you about your defense organization. I've been discussing it with Professor Weasley, and we believe the organization would be best if it continued as an open club. Since you will have a competent Defense professor, we think it would be most helpful if it was exclusively a Dueling Club."
Harry groaned at the mention of a Dueling Club, remembering Gilderoy Lockhart's inability to cast even the simplest of Spells.
"Not like that one, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, chuckling.
"There will be a competent person teaching."
"Who?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Well…" she said slyly, glancing at Sirius.
"A certain duo of Order members has insisted that they would be the best option. One has an entire year of teaching experience at Hogwarts, and the other is...well…"
"Me," Sirius said lightly, grinning.
"You?" Harry asked.
"And Remus?"
Sirius nodded.
"Yep! We'll be showing up a few times a week to teach."
Harry just stared, absolutely floored. He would get to see Sirius during the school year. Sirius would be at Hogwarts!
"That's amazing!" Harry exclaimed, truly excited.
"Yes, yes," Professor McGonagall said dryly.
"It's excellent. Now, there are two more things I wish to discuss with you."
She reached into her bag, pulling out a form.
"We need to register your Animagus form. There is a 3 month grace period after the first transformation, and we're just about to pass it. I'm not going to let you be hauled before the Wizengamot. Not again."
Harry took the form, filling it out quickly. The Death Eaters had already seen him transform, so keeping it a secret didn't matter anymore.
He handed the completed form back to his professor, glancing curiously at Sirius.
"Did you have to register?" he asked.
Sirius nodded, looking exasperated.
"Unfortunately, yes. At least I avoided the fine. Madam Bones seemed to think that 12 years in Azkaban was more than enough punishment for being an illegal Animagus."
Professor McGonagall scanned the form quickly, nodding as she read.
"This all seems to be in order. There's just one more thing."
She reached into her robes, pulling out a red and gold badge.
"I'm appointing you Quidditch Captain."
Harry stared at her in disbelief.
"Why?" he blurted out, genuinely confused.
She glared at him.
"You've been on the team for five years, you're a natural leader, the team loves you, you're an excellent player...need I go on?"
"But...I…"
"Honestly, Potter. Just take it!"
"But I'm not the best at strategy…"
"The Captain doesn't have to be. The most important quality is leadership. You can rely on the rest of your team to know their positions."
Harry stared at the badge, conflicted. He really didn't deserve this.
"Take it, Potter."
He wasn't capable of disobeying that voice, reaching out his hand and taking the badge.
"Excellent," she said, standing up.
"I expect you to do a good job, Potter. I quite enjoy having the Quidditch Cup in my office. It suits my decor."
With that, she swept from the room.
Harry stared at the badge in his hand, tracing the golden 'C' with his finger. He knew he should be happy about it, overjoyed, grateful. Instead, he felt unsettled, guilty, unworthy.
Being Quidditch Captain didn't matter. It didn't mean anything. Not when the people closest to him were about to risk their lives. Not when he was supposed to be the one fighting.
"People are usually happy about this sort of thing, you know," Sirius said, nudging him.
Harry forced himself to smile, knowing it probably wasn't at all convincing. He couldn't be happy right now, not with fear pooling in his chest, not with Voldemort tugging at his mind.
He spent the rest of the day desperately trying to distract himself. Professor McGonagall had brought their Hogwarts letters that morning, leaving Harry with a stack of essays to complete. He threw himself headlong into completing the homework, trying to drown his fear in the peaceful monotony of quill on parchment.
It didn't work.
By the time the Order started getting ready to leave for Azkaban, Harry feared he was going to shake apart. They planned to arrive at the prison around midnight, trying to time it exactly right. They didn't want to tip Voldemort off by arriving too early, and they certainly didn't want to arrive too late.
Harry hoped he'd been right about the time. If he wasn't...
He shook that thought away, focusing back on his friends.
Ron and Hermione were worried as well, but not to nearly the same degree. Neither of them knew what loss felt like, neither of them knew just how terrifying Voldemort was. It allowed them to imagine a battle no more dangerous than the challenges leading to the Philosopher's Stone. Only Ginny understood the reality of what was happening. She knew Tom Riddle, knew what he was capable of. She knew the danger her family was walking into.
If Ginny was afraid, she didn't show it, holding her head high. Harry admired her in that moment, admired her strength. He wished he could be half that strong.
They had all decided to stay together that night, dragging sleeping bags into Harry's room. Harry joined Ron, Hermione, and Ginny on the floor, needing the comfort of having them close. He nestled himself into the sleeping bag, amazed by how soft it was. Magic was so amazing sometimes.
Sirius entered the room at just after 11, giving Harry the Elixir. Harry was grateful to be knocked out, knowing that he wouldn't last through this night if he had to wait for them to come back.
"I'll see you in the morning," Sirius said, ruffling Harry's hair.
"Promise?" Harry asked, already slightly loopy from the Potion.
"I promise," Sirius said, giving Harry a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
…
Harry jerked awake not thirty minutes later, heart pounding, scar on fire.
Something was wrong…
Something was…
"Lucius," he said, voice cold.
"Are they in place?"
He had moved up their timeline, anxious to complete this mission. He needed to make sure nothing was being rushed.
"Yes, my Lord," the man said, inclining his head.
"We've set them up inside the lower cells. They'll be ready to act on your command."
"Excellent," he hissed.
"My army will grow tonight."
"Harry?"
Ginny's voice sounded in his ears, miles away.
The Dementors were waiting for him.
He'd spoken to them before, extended his magic into theirs and bartered over souls.
He would need to do it again.
"Ron! Hermione! Wake up! Something's wrong with Harry!"
Harry suddenly felt very cold, fingers of ice weaving into his mind as Voldemort conversed with a Dementor.
It was even easier than he'd expected. The Dementors were hungry. The Ministry had moved away from giving the Kiss in recent months, and the Creatures were desperate.
They would feed tonight.
He entered the prison at last, gliding down the hallways.
The guards had been easily disposed of, corpses finding a home in the black ocean.
He moved from cell to cell, blasting aside the metal, freeing his followers.
He came at last to Bellatrix, releasing her with a single wave of his wand.
The rest were useless to him, petty criminals and…
"My Lord."
A voice startled him, emanating from the cell across from Bellatrix's.
The woman was clearly still sane, eyes gleaming with malice and admiration.
"I believe I could be of service to you," she said, reaching a hand through the bars.
"I know a lot about Harry Potter, and I share your...distaste for him."
He paused, turning to face the woman. He recognized her, remembering her face from copies of the Daily Prophet.
"Dolores Umbridge," he hissed.
"The woman who tortured poor little Harry right under Dumbledore's nose…."
He smiled. She would do nicely.
"Yes, I believe you might be useful…"
"What should we do?"
"I don't know, Ron. The Order just left...I don't know how to contact them. Just...make sure he doesn't hurt himself. He's thrashing around."
He turned to his followers, taking in their determined expressions.
He would add to their ranks tonight. He nodded to the Dementors, indicating their prize.
The Dementors understood his silent invitation, descending upon the remaining prisoners.
Screams filled the night, a symphony of suffering.
It was enough to make him smile.
"My Lord! The Order is here!"
Anger.
Rage.
"Hold them off," he hissed, turning back to the prison.
"I will join you shortly."
His followers rushed away, hurrying to find wands among the ones they'd stolen from the guards.
He had work to do here.
It had been years since he'd used these Spells, but they still felt like home.
Necromancy was magic of the darkest kind, poison to the weak mind.
He'd never attempted to make Inferi in this way before, relying on dead bodies more than soulless wraiths.
He hoped it would work, imagining an army of the undead: whole of body, minds belonging only to him.
He began the incantations, watching with glee as his new followers rose from the ground, all blank eyes and pale skin.
They wouldn't be able to use magic, but they would be useful nonetheless.
He left Azkaban, walking along the rocky shore, drawn to the light of Spell-fire.
His new army trailed behind him, slow but steady.
His followers were not doing well, falling quickly under the combined force of the Order. Many of them were weakened by prison, wasting away.
He saw Bellatrix dueling with her ridiculous cousin, evenly matched.
Sirius Black.
A man who could have been great.
A man who was terribly important to Harry Potter…
Harry's magic stirred, awakening with panic. He needed to do something. He couldn't let Sirius die.
Along with…
He scanned along the beach, searching for red hair.
There.
The boy.
But...there were two of them.
Which was it?
No matter. He would just kill them both.
No.
Harry reached out desperately, grabbing for Voldemort's magic, channeling it away from his wand, pulling it into his own magic.
He moved forward, raising his wand, pointing it at the boys, watching as they dueled next to each other, perfectly in sync.
They could die together as well.
It was a terrible struggle, sapping nearly all his strength as he held onto the magic. He wasn't going to let Fred and George die.
"Avada Kedavra…"
Nothing happened.
His wand fizzled, weak green light sputtering from the tip.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Nothing…
His magic was being drained, pulled away from him.
But how?
It came to him an instant: Potter.
He searched his mind, finding the boy floating there, desperately pulling on his magic, binding it.
Enough!
He had what he needed.
"We are done here!" he shouted, knowing they would understand.
All across the island, Portkeys activated, taking his followers away.
Those he had stationed inside the prison handled the Inferi, shepherding them toward Portkeys.
He activated his own, cursing the nationwide Apparition Wards. He fell heavily into his chair, twirling his wand in his fingers.
The boy was still there, tugging at him, draining his magic.
He wasn't going to stand for this. The boy could not be allowed to exert this much power.
He pushed back, throwing Potter out, forcing him back into his own mind.
Harry gasped, feeling Voldemort's magic slam into his own, shoving him away.
He would make sure the boy never tried this again.
Perhaps…
He smiled again.
He'd never tried this technique before. It was a form of invasive Legilimency, designed to make a person feel as if their every nerve was on fire, every sense expanded. He usually preferred torturing people physically, but this could prove interesting.
It could only be used in close proximity to the victim, but he had a unique connection with Potter. It might just work.
He uttered the incantation, grinning as he felt it take hold.
He doubted the boy would try to contain him again. Not after this.
Harry never heard the incantation.
He could suddenly hear everything, see everything, feel everything.
Every sound was too loud, everything too bright. Even behind his closed eyelids, the world was pure white, burning him.
Then, the actual burning started.
He was on fire, flames licking at his body, pain radiating everywhere.
He couldn't hold back the screams as his body exploded with pain.
He could feel hands grabbing him, but they felt like knives, skin sharp against his.
He screamed louder, begging for them to put out the flames, begging them to help him.
"Stun him, Ron."
"What?"
"DO IT!"
"Stupefy!"
.
.
.
A/N: Chapter 7 is coming on SUNDAY! See y'all then :)
Thank you for the comments and likes! They really mean a lot to me!