Chapter 15
Losing Hope

"My Lord, all is ready for your travel to the chasm," Lucius Malfoy told Voldemort, bowing as he entered the room.

"Good, excellent work, Malfoy. You shall have your just reward," the towering wizard said, turning from his pet serpent towards one of his most faithful Death Eaters.

"Thank you, my Lord." Malfoy left as quickly as he had come.

"Wormtail!"

"Yes, Lord?" a small mousy man asked, emerging from one of the shadowy corners of the room.

"Prepare for a long distance journey. We will arrive at Moody's 'Abyss of the Enemy' yet tonight." He took in a long, shaky breath. "I feel power. My senses are growing stronger." Voldemort turned back towards his serpent Nagini and he stroked her large, triangular-shaped head. "No, I am not ready to face the boy just yet, nor him me. Next year, yes, next year will be the final decisive duel between us. Two of the most powerful wizards of our time will duel...until death." Lord Voldemort let out a shrill unnatural laugh. Still chortling, he muttered to himself. "A mere boy will not be my downfall. I will be rid of him once and for all! Next year, Wormtail, your master will have full power; full strength over all the Earth. Next year..."

* * *

Harry awoke with a start from a dream in a cold sweat. It was all so real. Which it probably was, he told himself uneasily. It was a crisp Saturday morning in February and Harry had a Quidditch game in a few hours against Slytherin. He put on his glasses and slipped out of bed. Fully awake, he knew he would never get any more sleep. Quickly, Harry changed into his robes, grabbed his Firebolt, and walked out of the dormitory. He would just go out to the Quidditch pitch for an early morning ride. The whole castle was open to him, but even exploring the castle had lost its fun over the last few months due to the stress placed upon him with Auror training, Quidditch, and school to think of all at once.

Pretty soon, he became lost in his thoughts and hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Soon Harry ran into something solid. Looking up, he realized it was Dumbledore, still clad in a bathrobe over pinstriped pajamas with matching fuzzy slippers. "Good morning, Harry. Out for an early morning stroll I see?" the elderly man asked, a smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, hello, Professor. I was just going out to the Quidditch field for a quick ride," Harry said, gesturing to his broomstick.

"Ah, so I see. Would you like a quick mug of hot chocolate and a conversation before you go?"

"Sure." Soon, Harry was up in the headmaster's circular office, the portraits of previous headmasters sleeping in their frames. A few of them had fallen off their chairs and a couple more were drooling in their sleep.

"So, Harry," Dumbledore said, magically producing two steaming hot cups of hot cocoa and a pot full of more onto the desk, "there's no point in me attempting to avoid the subject: how are your Auror training sessions going?"

"Tonks says I'm coming along nicely, but I highly doubt that."

"What makes you doubt your progress?"

"Well, everything from it taking me so long to learn the spells to the fact that I have so many things to do all at once," Harry told Dumbledore, who was contentedly sipping the hot chocolate. Soon he had let all his emotions out: the stress from all his N.E.W.T. courses, trying to keep up with Quidditch, and the anger with himself that he was the only one who could vanquish Voldemort. The headmaster patiently listened and waited until Harry was completely finished before starting to talk himself.

"You have shown an extraordinary endurance to keeping up with everything, Harry. Not many wizards your age would be able to handle all the stress placed upon your shoulders. I don't doubt that you will burn out and need a break sometime in the near future. I have arranged with Tonks that during the month of March you will not have any Auror training sessions."

"But, what about Voldemort?"

"What about him?"

"Won't he have the advantage against me?"

"Many grown witches and wizards don't know half the spells you have learned in the past months. If you keep at it without bothering to take a break, you will break. Too much pressure has been placed upon your shoulders. Then during the month of April, the Gryffindor Quidditch team will not take part in any matches. I hope that this will lighten your load a bit. During March, you will be able to focus on Quidditch and your classes while during April, you will be able to focus on your Auror training and your classes."

"What about the tournament for the Quidditch Cup?"

"Gryffindor will be in the running and we shall start the matches a bit early to accommodate to your schedule. I dare say if Gryffindor isn't in the running for the Cup, Professor McGonagall would have my head."

Harry let out a chuckle and Dumbledore smiled. Silence fell upon them as they both drank deeply from their mugs. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"I—I had a dream last night. It was about Voldemort." Dumbledore's mug stopped midway to his mouth.

"What was it about? Did he do anything of importance?"

"Lucius Malfoy entered a room and told Voldemort that all was ready to travel to the Abyss of the Enemy. Then Voldemort had Peter Pettigrew prepare for a long journey. He said they would arrive at the Abyss that same night."

"Which was last night," Dumbledore finished. He sighed deeply. "Harry, do you know what this means?"

"Not exactly, Professor."

"It means that Lord Voldemort is biding his time. Neither of you are ready to face each other just yet, but once you both gain full strength, you will fight in a duel—that will last to the finish."

"That's exactly what Voldemort was saying. So why is he leading the Ministry to the Abyss of the Enemy?"

"His goal is to kill off as many Aurors as possible before facing you. I'm afraid we will have to pay the price to the Death Eaters before the end."

"But I saw Lucius Malfoy talking to Voldemort!" Harry said quickly, an idea formulating in his head. "Isn't that enough to get him into Azkaban?"

"Would it make any difference if he went to Azkaban? There have been so many breakouts that it is pointless to imprison anyone there anymore."

"Why not put Aurors as guards?"

Dumbledore took in a deep breath and looked extremely angered. "Cornelius Fudge still refuses to take Azkaban from the control of the dementors. The thing is that those hideous creatures no longer follow his direction, though he refuses to see it."

"Why don't you take the Minister of Magic job then, sir?"

"Harry, many different people have suggested that to me, but I have refused the position because my work is here. My task is to teach the young people of the Wizarding world about the wonders of their powers. I am not meant to become a Minister, nor would I be able to handle the stress and pressures of the job. Cornelius is more than qualified, he just needs to sort out his priorities once in a while."

They both started sipping their hot cocoa again until Harry once more broke the silence. "How am I to duel with Voldemort if our wands are brothers? Wouldn't Priori Incantatem take place again, like it did when I dueled with him in my fourth year?"

"No. Priori Incantatem is an extraordinarily complex and—odd sort of spell. Wands that are siblings only connect when they first meet each other in a duel. Otherwise, they operate as any two wands would against each other. Little is known on this intriguing event, as it rarely occurs. Priori Incantatem worked to your advantage the last time you actually dueled against Lord Voldemort. You will be unaided the next time you duel against him."

Once again, silence fell over the two. "Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"What was Tom Riddle like when he was in school?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Tom Riddle was one of the most intellectual people that has ever crossed the threshold into this castle. He especially excelled in Charms. Tom knew half the incantations at the level of third year before he even entered the school. An amazing feat, learning two and a half years of material in less than a month. Upon seeing the basic Charm homework pointless, his interests wandered. Having little to no interest in Quidditch, he spent his spare hours in the library, studying. Many teachers found this work ethic the mark of a good student, but I found it increasingly alarming.

"As you know, Harry, I was the Transfiguration teacher when Tom Riddle came to school here at Hogwarts. He did his work in silence, rarely talking to other people. Those endless hours in the library caused him to become quite unpopular. He was an excellent student, yes, but he was starting to study too much.

"It did not surprise me when Tom was named a prefect, nor when he became Head Boy. He was an ideal student, and extraordinarily intelligent. When Tom was in his fifth year, I caught him reading a book dedicated to the Dark Arts. He was emerged in it, and I could tell was reading the words hungrily. An unnatural gleam resided in his eyes as he read. It wasn't just a look of interest, but rather, a look of yearning for power. I tried to take the book away from him, but he turned on me, wand in hand.

"I wasn't going to duel with a student, so I let him keep his book. However, I went straight toward Professor Dippet's office. He was headmaster at that time. I told him about Tom's unnatural behavior, but he refused to do anything about it. He said I should let Tom do his work in peace. After that, I always suspected Tom Riddle of studying the Dark Arts."

"So all that Dark Arts stuff started with his unpopularity?"

"It helped. His enjoyment of telling people what to do also encouraged the Dark power inside of him to emerge."

"I always thought Voldemort just started a group out of school friends."

"Tom Riddle was an extremely handsome boy. From the outside, anyone could see that he could have had the popularity if he had wanted it, but Tom just couldn't seem to see that. He believed all his classmates despised him."

"I never knew," Harry whispered under his breath.

"Few know about Lord Voldemort's past. Not many even know that Voldemort was once Tom Riddle, the intelligent handsome boy who once wandered these same corridors. Now, Harry, the sun appears to be rising. I suggest you get your early morning ride in as soon as possible."

Harry hadn't realized that he was still holding onto his Firebolt. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome. And Harry?" he added before the teenager could walk out the door.

"Yes?"

"Good luck on the Quidditch match today. I'm sure Gryffindor will do splendidly."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Professor."