Author's Notes:This story is now pre-HBP.I would think it's more than obvious now. AndHappy Birthday, Harry and JK! D
I don't like writing Dumbledore, I dunno, it's an art to master JK Rowling's style of the aging Professor. Warning: Manipulative! Dumbledore. Sexual Abused! Harry. Nothing graphic though. Thank you for the reviews!
Remus Lupin knew something was wrong the moment he stepped on Hogwarts grounds after receiving a disturbing letter.
He prayed he wasn't too late.
He barged into Dumbledore's office, not bothering with formalities.
Hermione and Ron were already there, obviously the first ones to know. But they wouldn't be the last.
"Where is he?" he demanded, stalking over to the old man's desk.
The same man who had been his mentor, a friend, anda man he admired and looked up to since he was a small boy, who gave him a chance to live a normal life. Not once, but twice.
But none of this mattered now, it wasn't about him.
It was about Harry.
"Remus, please take a seat--" replied Dumbledore calmly, as if he had invited him over for brunch.
"Have you lost your mind? We need search teams! Maybe even Aurors--" he shouted. "Before Voldemort himself finds him!"
"You will learn, Remus, that when people don't want to be found, you simply can't find them," said Professor Dumbledore.
Remus fumed. How could he so calm? Him of all people should know how dangerous it was for Harry to be unprotected, Merlin knows where--
"So, what is your plan?" he asked, clenching his teeth.
"My plan, as it always as been, is to simply let things play out," sighed Dumbledore. "I've been expecting a rebellion for a long time now, quite natural for a boy Harry's age--"
"So you're just going to sit here?" he asked in disbelief.
He hardly noticed Hermione and Ron with their bloodshot eyes.
Dumbledore had lost his mind. Harry was missing.
They already lost the war before it truly begun.
"I've interfered in his life too much," the old man confessed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I believe I would only do more harm, forcing Harry back."
"That is a load of--"
"You must understand," persisted Dumbledore, standing up, his eyes hard. "This is a challenge only Harry himself can face, he must fact his inner demons in order to achieve greatness, and unfortunately, he must do this alone. If we interfere, it could either slow the process down or make it worse."
Remus Lupin was downright confused. He understood that yes, Harry did need time alone to think, but without protection? And especially now with the war that broke out?
"But he's unguarded--"
"No, he's not," cut in Hermione. "He used the Fidelius Charm."
"But who?"
"We may never know, perhaps it is best that we don't," said Dumbledore, shooting Remus a warning look. "I agree, Harry needs to talk things out, but first, he must realize his fears and doubts in order for him to talk about them to us. If we found him, which I doubt, unless the Secret Keeper comes forth, he will only be angrier and more betrayed. If he feels betrayed, then we will truly lose him completely."
Hermione choked out a sob.
Remus was stomped. Still in shock. Dumbledore obviously had thought this through. Perhaps he was right; Harry simply needed to be alone. Nothing to worry. Sirius had been that way for months after he escaped, and eventually he came back, more alive, more living.
Yes, when this was done and Harry was ready--
He would be livelier.
'Excellent choice, I love the decorations,' laughed the voice as Harry swept back the cobwebs.
'Glad you approve,' he growled.
'I didn't know we knew about the location of this place,' said the voice.
'I didn't…my instincts should've pointed me here,' he confessed.
'Wise choice,' commented the voice.
Harry didn't care that it smelled and was dusty. But it would do.
He took out his small pocket knife and did his nightly ritual.
One for the pain.
Two for sacrifice.
Three for the deaths.
Four for lost love.
Five for betrayal.
He couldn't help but admire the lines and how they flowed down his wrist.
His blood. His life.
It was the most beautiful thing he would ever see.
His blood leaving his body. This was power beyond power, only he could achieve this.
He smiled wickedly.
Sickingly, it was the only time Uncle Vernon wouldn't kick him around, punch him, or knock him out.
No, Uncle Vernon always wanted him to be awake when he performed this sort of punishment.
Always wanted him to 'participate' more like. Uncle Vernon once said it was more degrading to the victim.
He must confess, he only liked it because if he did it right, he wouldn't have to worry about bruises.
He learned to participate more, anything to avoid from blacking out on a daily basis.
Heck, he even offered in exchange of less bodily harm.
Yes, perhaps without Uncle Vernon realizing it, this was a power Harry had over him.
By simply getting on his knees, he learned clever ways to getting his way.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon, I'll make it up to you," he would say, inwardly barging, but knowing, this was his ticket.
He didn't want to thrown around, having to cover all the marks, having to explain to his classmates where he got the new bruises.
It was all Uncle Vernon's idea when he started Primary school, he wasn't a dumb man, and he knew question would arise if he continued the same acts of punishment.
He remembered how it all began.
He was drawing on an old coloring book of Dudley's when his Uncle roughly gripped him by the collar, snarling.
"Your Aunt Petunia got a phone call, today," he began, his eyes dark.
"Please…" was al he could think of.
"I won't let you go unpunished, now, I thought of another way, with in exchange of feeding and clothing you, you ungrateful freak, I figured I would get my pleasure's worth from you," he sneered, a sick grin appearing on his sex.
He was only five, more too young to understand the true meaning behind his Uncle's words.
But it only took five minutes for him to realize exactly what he meant.
"No!" he shouted, waking up and gasping for air, his heart beating a mile a minute.
No matter how hard he tried, he could always be afraid.
He would always be that little boy, helpless and defend-less.
"I suppose I should just save Voldemort the trouble," he said grimly.
Before Hermione to open her mouth and shoot him glares after the three departed from the office, he silenced her with a look.
"Don't look at me like that, Hermione, I thought you of all people would know me better than that," he smiled fondly at the young witch. "After the events of last year, I'm sure we've all realized Dumbledore's ways aren't always the best."
Merlin, he knew thought he say that. Dumbledore always knew everything. Dumbledore was wise and knew how to handle bad situations profoundly.
But not anymore.
"Do you have idea who might've been the Secret Keeper?" he asked sharply.
Harry was smart not to choose Hermione or Ron, that would've made it too obvious, plus judging by the events he had gathered from Hermione and Ron's letters, they would've been willing to tell him the location.
Obviously someone they would least suspect. Damn Harry for thinking like Sirius, making the same assumption.
Both shook their heads sadly.
"Harry has never been close to anyone in the school but us—" said Hermione.
"Yes, but you said so yourself, he has been more withdrawn, wandering off by himself, perhaps he was meeting someone? Without your knowledge?" he questioned, the puzzle seemingly to fit into place.
Ron and Hermione shot each other a look; obviously they had never thought of this possibility.
Merlin.
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