The Weasley family was worried.
Harry had been back from Voldemort's clutches for nearly a week, appearing to be as healthy as can be, if a little weak, yet had not left his room since his return. Both Ron and Hermione had tried talking to him, but each time there was either little or no response, other than a grunt as they left the room. They had hoped each time that this would mean he was finally ready to talk, but it was always in vain. In fact, he had said barely a handful of words since he was brought home by Mr. Weasley, and nothing longer than a sentence.
Part of the problem lay in the fact that they did not know what he had been submitted to, and Harry didn't seem to be about to tell anyone. He had been found in a heap in the phone box outside the Ministry by some officials on their night shift, who had immediately alerted the Aurors who had called off the search. And that was all anybody knew; that he had been missing for twenty four hours, and had turned up on the Ministry doorstep seemingly unharmed but semi mute.
Before the week was out Mrs. Weasley had demanded that Dumbledore come to the house.
"I may very well be the last person Harry wants to see after last summer, Molly, but I will talk to the boy. I have some idea as to what Voldemort wanted to do." But there was no twinkle in the old wizard's eye as he ascended the stairs to the room that Harry shared with Ron.
Harry was lying on his bed staring at the Chudley Cannons poster on Ron's ceiling. Dumbledore knew then that nothing was happening in Harry's head. He was a mere shell of his former self. This would take far longer than the Headmaster had anticipated.
"Harry?"
There was no response.
"Harry?" Dumbledore tried again, and this time there was a slight flicker of life in Harry's blank eyes. Dumbledore smoothed down his long beard and conjured a large armchair to sit in.
"I have some theories as to what happened to you, Harry. I will of course need some response from you to discern whether I am correct."
Again an almost imperceptible movement in Harry's eyes.
"Voldemort kidnapped you, or rather, allowed one of his many followers to capture you for him. I presume, from the details your friends gave me after you disappeared, that you were hit with the Cramoisirus curse. It induces a rapid version of crimson fever, although unlike its virus counterpart, it can be cured with the right antidote." Dumbledore peered over the top of his glasses at Harry, "May I see your stomach Harry? That is the last place it appears, and the last place it disappears from."
After a minute of silence, in which Dumbledore watched the boy anxiously, Harry moved his head slightly. There was no mistaking the gesture, however; he had nodded. Dumbledore slowly lifted Harry's shirt with his wand and saw what he had expected. Tracing his stomach like fine silver threads were the remaining scars from the spell.
"Your friends said that you looked like a vase which had been dropped. A highly imaginative description I thought at the time, but now I see it must have been true." Dumbledore covered Harry back up. "And so it has begun. I shall be brief then. Voldemort wishes to use you as an enemy against yourself. He does not need to know what the prophecy says, although there is no doubt that he does know it by now, but that does not matter anymore. He will enter your mind, Harry, in order to drive you mad. When I first saw you I thought that he had already achieved it, but of course that would spoil the fun for him."
Harry turned his head towards his teacher and uttered four words.
"What does he want?"
Dumbledore sighed. "He wants you Harry. Or rather, he wants you out of the way. You could be useful to him whilst still alive, but if he has you trapped in your own head, you cannot fight him."
"Help me." Harry croaked.
"And we come to the point of my visit." The Headmaster withdrew a vial from his wizarding hat and tapped it with his wand. "There we are. This will heal the wounds Voldemort has inflicted, and not just the physical ones. After you drink it, rest, that is very important. But after that, you should be up and about and getting into mischief again. I think we should have another little chat after you return to school don't you?" With that Dumbledore turned to leave, the sparkle back in his eyes. He turned again at the door. "I shall ask the delightful Mrs. Weasley to help you with the potion. Keep safe until school Harry." The greatest wizard alive left Harry and slowly walked down the stairs to inform Molly that her surrogate son would be back to almost normal very soon.
True to Dumbledore's word, Harry was soon up and back in control of his body and mind, although he was still very subdued. He knew very soon he would have to go back and face Voldemort. He also knew something that no one else did. He was branded with the Dark Mark, and it had yet to fade.
On the last day of the summer, the Weasleys hosted Harry's very belated birthday party. The entire Weasley family, minus one member, and the Order of the Phoenix had all turned out to wish Harry a happy birthday, and in a strange way it comforted him. To all these people, he was not just a weapon against Voldemort. He was an actual person, an actual boy whom they cared about very much. He hadn't even thought about Sirius not being there for a full five minutes.
Ron and Hermione noticed the look of sadness grace Harry's features once again, and hurried to cheer him up.
"Have another butterbeer Harry!" said Ron, thrusting a bottle directly under Harry's nose.
"But you had better avoid the food. I think Fred and George have been at them…" Hermione smiled doubtfully. "We can open presents shortly I think. Wait until you see what Ron and I have got you!"
Harry would have had to have been very cold hearted not to laugh at his friends' desperate attempts to cheer him up. He obliged them with a small chuckle before wandering down to the bottom of the dimly lit garden. He stood there in silence, listening to the gnomes rustling in the bushes, and thought about Sirius once again. The laugh like a dog's bark, his lopsided grin, his good advice. Harry realised he no longer felt the hollow sadness when he thought about Sirius now. He had cried for him, albeit in terrible surroundings, but he had let out the worst of the pain.
"He would be so proud of you, you know." Tonks had crept up whilst Harry was deep in thought, and now stood next to him, watching the boy's face carefully.
Harry acknowledged her presence. "I know."
"They all would actually. You've been through a hell of a beating and still come out unscathed." Tonks laughed. "You must be the luckiest boy I know." And with that she sauntered back up the garden, her hair changing to match he violent purple robes.
Harry stood there a while longer. He was lucky. Probably not the luckiest, six run-ins with Voldemort could hardly be called luck, but in terms of friends, and loved ones, he was as lucky as could be.
Shouts of "Presents!" drifted down from the house, and with one last look into the distance over the hedge, he turned towards the warmth of the house, to join the others.
"How do you know he will come back my Lord?"
Piercing red eyes focused on the bowed shape of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"What I mean is, of course, master, is how can we, I mean you, get him out of the clutches of Dumbledore? Won't he ruin all our…your plans?" Bella stumbled through her question, her fear of her master outweighing the fear of what would happen if their plots were foiled once again.
Voldemort's thin mouth curved into a cold smile.
"What you fail to remember is that the boy cannot resist my call, no matter what Dumbledore does to him. The blind old fool will not be able to see the Dark Mark unless Harry chooses to reveal it to him, which he will not. The boy is far too afraid of becoming evil, and he sees that mark as a sign of evil."
Bellatrix looked uncertainly at her master. As far as she understood his 'plan', it was to get Potter back here, and then send him back out into the world once again. And it made no sense! But the woman was not stupid, and only a fool would have told the Dark Lord that they did not understand his plans. But Voldemort seemed to read her thoughts.
"You see, my dear Bella, each time he comes back here, he will go that little bit further in his mind, and come to rely on me that little bit more. Each time, my power over his will, will grow stronger, until he either goes mad with the pressure, in which case he can then do absolutely nothing to harm me, or he will be such an obedient little servant, that if I told him to kill himself he would." Voldemort's high pitched laughter rang through the hall, and Bella knew better than to not join in.
And it was becoming clearer, in the odd way that Voldemort's plans often did. It would not do to have everyone knowing every detail all at once. She felt a rush of power for her privileged position.
This plan could take months to complete. But either way, Potter would become useless to the rest of the muggle loving wizarding world, and her Lord would have won. Nothing could stop them.
A/N:I officially love all you reviewers! My first story has over twice the chapters and half the reviews of this one, yay!Hehe…. however itwas not one of my best, I kind of boxed myself in... Anyway, here goes the thank yous, I'll try not to make it too long!
Blackcoat-245, HoshiHikari, flyinghigh, QueenWeasel, Anne, diamondgirl9, DoomGazeHell, Michele Malfoy, Horseyfly91, HaRrYrOxMuhSoX, Enola, solo23, Stardustgirl23, and kat, thank you! You're all very sweet grin
Flying High: glad I made you laugh;)
Meganv: I am a muse fan, but this fic actually stemmed from a description of Stockholm Syndrome. (Great song though!)
Chibbers: another chapter for you sweetie, and another button to press! Glad you're enjoying it.
Lil-squirrel, tondo and Shatteredxdream : you will find out soon enough!(hopefully!)
Circe: I know nothing about branding looks innocent honest.
And a HUGE thank you to my wonderful beta Fippets (who is reading over my shoulder…) her stories are great and you should go read them!(after reviewing mine:p)
Thanks guys!
