Embracing His True Self

Chapter 6

Rituals

Voldemort drew the rune circle he had created just hours ago, using his blood in pure form from a large gash in his palm. Inside the runes with him was Ravenclaw's Diadem; this ritual and his Horcrux combined would give him the appearance of his thirty-year-old body, but none of his knowledge would be lost as it merged the two forms together. At least in theory it would, but he was extremely positive it would work― he had done all research. If there was anything he was good at, it would be just that. He would have preferred, but not liked, using his Diary, that would have given him half his soul back, but he was having to use the Diadem; he refused to look like a teenager, not that it was possible at any rate. The diary was lost to him.

Taking a deep breath, he placed the uncorked potion just outside the rune space he'd created, yet within arm's reach so he could grab it when he needed it. Gripping his wand tightly, he began chanting. One by one each rune began to glow brightly, as if it was on fire, as each phrase of the chant reached its crescendo. Three minutes into the chant all the runes were alight with the fiery flames, but it touched nothing but the blood runes Voldemort had drawn up.

Two minutes later a mist began to form around the Diadem, drifting to surround Voldemort briefly before going back into the Diadem. It continued with this cycle until the mist began to become larger each time it went back and forth, until an almighty cloud hovered over the Diadem... before slamming into Voldemort at an alarming pace.

Voldemort screamed in agony, dropping to his knees; he felt as though he was being torn apart again, just like he had that fateful Halloween night. Unbeknown to Voldemort, the other Horcruxes in his desk began to vibrate, but nothing emerged from them, they just felt the presence of their 'host' so close by. Muddled by the pain lancing through him, it took him a few seconds to realize he had to drink the potion…otherwise this torment was for nothing. He just didn't think he could move; no other magic was allowed to co-mingle with the ritual, so he couldn't summon it.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he almost doubled over in anguish just moving his arm but with determination his fingers curled around the unbreakable vial at last. Panting desperately, ignoring the sweat trickling down his body, he drew his arm up, his mouth opening both to take the potion and to scream as his bones protested very heavily at his actions. Gargling the potion, he almost spit it out with a muted scream, but he stopped himself by sheer force of will.

The transformation itself was less painful than his soul piece being rejoined; in fact it was a bit like consuming Poly-Juice potion. His skin bubbled and changed; he was still the same height, but his very pale fingers and hands changed to a healthier colour; skin-coloured, but no less thin―he'd always had elegant, fine hands.

The runes which had just been on fire abruptly blew out as if a sharp wind had swept through the room. The ritual was done; taking a deep breath he wavered to his feet, and began to inspect himself, much like he had done in the Graveyard. Stepping up to the mirror he tentatively touched his cheek, his nose... he had a nose once more. Most importantly, he had his hair back; the only thing that had not changed, he realized, was his eyes. They were still that deep ruby red... he could live with that. No more disgust, no more delays in their plans; he would get his followers' loyalty back and ensure it one hundred percent, and at the same time show what happened to traitors.

Flicking his wand, the blood and the runes were gone leaving the room back in its normal state.

Unfortunately once he was safely ensconced in his bed, his mind wouldn't shut down and let him sleep. His mind kept wondering 'What if?', What if Potter was right? What if all Mudbloods were just descendants from pureblood lines? It meant they did belong in the magical world, but the true Muggles still posed a real danger to the magical world…and Mudbloods came from Muggles; their parents were Muggles, which was still a danger… Squibs shouldn't be allowed leave the magical world. They should remain, it would prevent more influxes of 'Muggle-Borns'. That didn't help all the squibs who'd left before…who knew when magic would spring forth in their families again? Why didn't all the children become magical if they had a pureblood ancestor? Like Potter's disgusting Aunt. Oh, she would die, just as soon as he could get near the family. Potter was his, and nobody hurt what was his and got away with it (with the obvious exception of himself).

Just then Voldemort jumped from his bed as if he'd been scalded, as magic, extremely strong magic, coursed through him, through the manor, and oddly enough, he thought, Potter? Blood wards… impossible…. the blood wards couldn't have just been transferred here! He was the reason they'd been created in the first place… unless… unless they'd never truly held before…until now, for the first time. His declaration of Potter being his had inadvertently caused the wards to spontaneously settle here, of all places. He began to pace, extremely agitated; ever since Potter had shown up things were going wrong. Not bad wrong, just wrong in ways he didn't like.

Merlin, he just wanted to Obliviate the last few days from his mind, go back to the way he was before. His preconceived notions had been shot to hell, in more ways than one.

Hogwarts - Headmasters quarters

Albus Dumbledore lay in bed, thoroughly tired and exasperated. His name was being dragged through the mud; he was moments from losing his position as Wizengamot chief, just because he was trying to alert the world to the danger they were in once more. But that didn't bother him as much as the fact they were also smearing Harry's good name, after he had worked so hard to create Harry in the image of a beloved saviour. He had put him with Muggles to make sure he was humbled, modest and meek, especially when it came to the public. And to build up his image even more, he had put the boy through trials, even setting him up to save the school so the students would tell their parents and news of how heroic he was would spread. Harry was perfect; he couldn't have made him any better if he'd tried harder. Which of course he hadn't, since that had been the Dursleys' job for ten years, and for every summer after he'd started at Hogwarts. He couldn't allow the boy to forget where he truly belonged, after all; he was nothing special, and Harry had to be reminded of that.

No, when the time came, the boy would sacrifice himself for the greater good, allowing him, the great Albus Dumbledore, to finish Voldemort off for good. He would get the praise and accolades while the world mourned their dead saviour, and continue to look to him to lead them. That was the only reason the boy had survived thus far― a dead hero was better than a living one, at least to him. He couldn't have everyone looking to Harry for leadership in the end, now could he? Not with how malleable the boy was; he could make everything Albus had done for nothing.

The only thing that really irritated him was Minerva' constant harassment about Harry's living situation. For the past thirteen years she'd gone on about it; that the Dursleys were the worst sort of Muggles, how Harry was far too skinny when he came back to school each time, and his clothes weren't exactly right. Fortunately with the changing times, Muggles now liked wearing their clothes baggy; hence he was able to get out of that one. Not that it mattered, she'd never let it drop; his only consolation was she fussed about this to him in private. He couldn't let anyone else begin to doubt Harry's living situation. And although he had heard talking here and there that concerned him, he would deal with it soon enough.

He did contemplate bringing the boy to Hogwarts for safety, the Ministry was moving against them, and he knew what they were capable of. He would think on it later, right now he had to allow the wards time to replenish to keep the blood magic appeased and stronger than ever. They were pretty much useless now that Voldemort had Potters' blood running through his veins, but it would still stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters from getting anywhere near Privet Drive. That was the main thing; if he thought for a second that breaking the blood wards would weaken Voldemort, he would do it in a heartbeat.

The Order would keep an eye on the goings-on in the Ministry, and if anything got out of hand he'd bring the boy to safety. He sincerely hoped nothing happened, with all else that was going on; he really didn't want to have to keep an eye on a soon-to-be fifteen-year-old boy. The Order was doing everything they could to get people to join, to see that Voldemort was back; regretfully they weren't having much success. Alastor had gotten three Aurors onside, they were very promising and he was grateful for that.

Glancing at the time, he sighed softly, it was so unbelievably late. Closing his eyes, Albus began to meditate and make sure his mind shields were fully up, giving him peace from all his thoughts and worries. But his mind quieted down at last, and he was just drifting off to sleep when a bright white light caused him to startle slightly. Wide eyed and fully awake now, he sat up. It was a Patronus Message, and it had to be from someone in the Order. Why would they be getting in touch with him so late?

'The wards on Potter's house have disappeared,' the Patronus said in Shacklebolt's voice before it disappeared, leaving the room in shocked darkness.

What the hell? thought Albus, staring dumbly at the space where the Lynx Patronus had been just moments ago. When his mind finally processed the message, he jumped from the bed and hastily began to dress. Not even bothering to remove his nightwear, he just placing a closed cloak over them. Rushing out of his quarters, he closed the door and hastily descended the spiralling stairs in the dark. Only once he was at the bottom did he wave his hands, and his office lit up brightly.

"Fawkes, take us to Privet Drive, immediately!" Dumbledore called out urgently.

Fawkes trilled, calming his human down, before spreading his great magnificent wings. He took fight briefly before landing on the Headmaster, then flaming them from the office to where he had been asked to go.

"Headmaster, what is going on?" Arabella Figg asked as she stared at him in surprise before jumping up from her daisy covered couch. Her cats stared at him before going back to napping; it was night time, after all. She had just been ready to go to bed herself... quite literally, since she'd just turned her TV off.

"The wards have come down," Albus declared, saying nothing else. Fawkes disappeared in a flash of flames as Albus left the squib's home. The old wizard ran down Wisteria Walk, making his way to Privet Drive with haste; he couldn't allow anything to happen to his weapon. He was Voldemort's Horcrux, and only Voldemort could kill him. It was imperative that it was him who did the deed. Since the Dark Lord believed the prophecy, Albus knew that wouldn't be a problem, but he didn't want the boy dead yet, not when the war was just beginning. He needed the boy's aid to help with recruitment for the Order; he brought people hope by just being who he was, as disgusting as that fact was. If he died, people would lose hope; they wouldn't join him in his quest to bring an end to the darkness.

Wand out now, he approached Privet Drive cautiously, but he was surprised to find that there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. No Dark Mark, no Death Eaters, no Voldemort; the area was in darkness. Some houses were still lit like a beacon, but... nothing. Flicking his wand, he realized it was true; the wards were gone. What on earth had happened? If Petunia had done something stupid, he would make sure it was the last thing she did.

"Kingsley?" Albus whispered, looking around the area in front of number four, where Kingsley was keeping watch over the property.

"I'm here," the Auror answered, removing the cloak keeping him invisible to everyone.

"What happened?" demanded the Headmaster.

"I was watching the house as usual, when I felt as though thunder was going through me; the wards caused a backlash," Shacklebolt said while rubbing at his chest as if it pained him. It was a good job the wards hadn't been more powerful; he dreaded to think what would have happened in that case. The probability of his heart stopping due to the magical flux was extremely high. "When I came around, the wards were gone. I cannot feel anything."

"Is Harry still inside?" Albus asked, playing the concerned Headmaster. Nobody would ever find out he was more than willing for Potter to die to end the war. They loved the boy too greatly to forgive even him if they found out; no, it was a secret that would die with him when his time was up. Which would definitely be decades after Potter. What the world didn't know... wouldn't hurt them.

"He should be, but I've not seen him," Shacklebolt admitted. "I was only unconscious for a few seconds until the wards snapped completely." He would never admit how painful it had been, and that the only thing keeping him still standing upright was his sheer stubborn pride.

Making a small noise of agreement, Dumbledore moved onto the house's front step, deeply concerned. The wards should never have broken like that; there was something going on, something he'd missed. He'd impressed the importance of maintaining the wards to both Petunia and Harry; neither would have dared disobey him. Opening the letter box, he pressed his wand inside and chanted out a spell to let him know how many inhabitants were in the dwelling at number four Privet Drive. He expected four to be the total; after all, there had been no attack, he just had to figure out what happened to the wards.

Yet the results were extremely alarming, only three people were in the building. He calmed himself down; just because there were only three people here, it didn't mean anything. Perhaps the husband was out, or the son; there was nothing to say Harry wasn't there. "Point me, Harry Potter!" Dumbledore stated calmly. When his wand didn't even twitch... he became rightfully alarmed.

"Point me, Harry Potter!" Dumbledore declaimed once more a little louder, but again nothing happened.

"He isn't here," Dumbledore admitted, and the boy was obviously out of range for the spell to pick up his magical signature. This was not good news, not good at all.

"He has to be. He hasn't left the property, not on my watch," Shacklebolt objected; he hadn't been outwitted by a fourteen-year-old, he knew that much.

"Alohomora!" Albus muttered, letting himself into the house, not seeing it as breaking and entering―after all, he was Albus Dumbledore.

"Lumos!" Shacklebolt chanted, giving themselves some light as the two wizards began moving around the main floor of the house, checking for any signs of something having gone wrong. Maybe Harry had been killed in the backlash of the wards coming down? The thought left Kingsley cold, but there was no sign of anyone down here. They were probably asleep; it was late. "Downstairs is clear," he whispered so as not to wake the Muggles up.

"Let's check his bedroom," Albus said, before he began to make his way up the stairs. The climb took no time at all, as the house was small. Well, at least compared to Hogwarts and all the stairs they had to climb every day. He was utterly perplexed; where was the boy? He couldn't have gotten past the Order members.

"What the hell?" Shacklebolt muttered on seeing all the locks; why did they have a dozen locks on the door? Not that they were intact, in fact they weren't even latched. Pushing the door open, his wand waved around the room, which was bare. It looked like a squalor area. The room was disgusting, dusty and just extremely shabby, especially when compared to the rest of the house. Considering the boy didn't spend much time here, he might understand why it was bare, but the griminess of it was truly disturbing. "It doesn't even look like it's been used lately; we need to inform the Order, Albus, and find out when they last saw him."

"Yes, we do," Dumbledore agreed looking around. None of this place screamed that a wizard lived there. His trunk and possessions weren't even there. Had the boy run away? When he got his hands on the boy, young Harry would rue the day he decided to try and neglect his duties. He didn't dare wake the Muggles up, so he would have to wait until tomorrow morning to speak to Petunia. He didn't have the same thoughts for the rest of the Order though, as he quickly removed the coin from his pocket and scheduled an emergency meeting.

They had to begin looking for Potter straight away before it got too late.

Half An Hour Later - Order Headquarters

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Tonks asked as she rubbed her sleepy eyes, slumping down on the at least clean chair in the dirty townhouse, aptly named Grimmauld Place. To think her mother had often been here to see her 'aunt' or cousins, Reg and Sirius... Oh, she knew a lot of tales, and they usually made her smile. Not tonight though, since she'd just gotten off a twelve hour shift at the Ministry one hour ago, only to have to make her way here.

"No," Remus replied, shaking his head. He'd made coffee for everyone; it was sitting on the table for them to help themselves. He'd received the meeting notice half an hour ago, but he was already staying in Grimmauld Place anyway so he hadn't had to travel. He had a lot of apologising and catching up to do with Sirius, after all.

"Who's missing?" Tonks wondered, looking around to count heads. Snape, Shacklebolt and Dumbledore; they were the only ones who had yet to make an appearance, she saw.

"Does anyone want some biscuits?" Molly asked, tamping down the urge to do something, anything. She was always anxious these days, despite the fact her family was completely safe here in Grimmauld Place, along with as Hermione Granger. The kids were fast asleep, not that they would hear anything since Albus put pretty strong wards up to keep their meetings a secret.

"No thanks," various voices murmured tiredly.

"How long do we need to sit here for?" Charlie asked his father; he had just gotten here from Romania to help with the war and was exhausted.

"Not long," Arthur assured him. "If you want go back to bed, I'll let you know what happen―" he cut himself off as the Headmaster, Severus, and Shacklebolt made their appearance through the kitchen door. The wards were promptly thrown up by a worried looking Dumbledore. Arthur Weasley wasn't used to seeing the Headmaster looking anything but sure of himself, so he was quite rightfully alarmed by it. Severus moved into the corner, arms crossed as he stared at nothing in particular and looking to be in an even worse mood than usual. Severus did look more exhausted than the rest of them, probably due to his duties; Arthur couldn't help but feel sympathy for the saturnine wizard. It couldn't be easy facing You-Know-Who and lying to him successfully on a routine basis.

"Who was the last person to see Harry Potter?" Dumbledore demanded, not even taking a seat; he stayed standing at the head of the table staring at them grimly. He was speaking solely to those who had been on Potter-watch duty.

"Well…I saw him the second day, doing the gardening," said Dedalus Diggle.

"What's going on?" Sirius asked urgently. What was wrong with his godson?

"Has anyone seen him the last few days?" Dumbledore asked ignoring Black, deceptively calm.

The silence spoke volumes as they looked at each other.

"Where is Harry?" Sirius shouted; he did not like being ignored. "Is he alright?"

"He is…missing," Dumbledore cautiously said. "The wards around Privet Drive have disappeared this evening."

Suddenly everyone who had been tired and sleepy ... discovered that they weren't feeling so tired after all. That grim news had certainly woken them up, injecting fear into their systems.

"What would cause them to disappear?" Molly asked worriedly, wringing her hands together as her fear grew.

"They shouldn't have, that's the problem," Shacklebolt said, evading her question somewhat.

"What do we do? Start looking for him?" Doge asked, sitting up straighter.

"It's too late right now, we have no idea where he could be, and cannot search the Muggle world in the dark. I will ask Tom if he's seen Harry at the Leaky Cauldron ― hopefully he has gone there," Albus said, taking back control of the meeting. Everyone knew that the boy had done that the last time he'd run off. He would also be summoning the Knight Bus, to ensure Harry hadn't used the bus service to go anywhere else.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing while he's out there alone," Sirius cried, worried for his godson.

"Sirius, there is nothing we can do right now. We have to be smart and cautious about this; we must remain calm. He has no doubt gone to the Leaky Cauldron like he did before," Minerva said, agreeing with Dumbledore and supporting him like she always did in public. "Albus is right, Tom will know."

Sirius grudgingly nodded his head, his godson had done that the last time, after all, so he saw no reason why Harry wouldn't do it again. Why had he left Privet Drive to begin with? Didn't he understand the bloody dangers out there now, with Voldemort back? "When we find him, can he stay here?" Sirius asked, his voice hopeful.

"No, he will be going back to his Aunt and Uncle," Dumbledore immediately said.

Sirius just shook his head without replying, giving in, and not demanding anything further.

"I'll begin searching for him in the Muggle world as soon as it's light enough," Remus volunteered.

"I'll help!" Tonks said, always eager to help, "I'll be fine as long as I get to the Ministry on time for my shift."

"Good," Albus said agreeably, "I'll call another meeting later, hopefully by then Harry will have been found." His mind wasn't as easily calmed as his sheep were, though. Although, it was obvious that Harry had left on his own accord, his trunk and all his magical items were gone. If the boy had been kidnapped, he certainly wouldn't have had his things taken with him. He was just worried what could happen if they didn't find the stupid boy first.

"Should I go to the Burrow in case Harry decides to go there?" asked Molly.

"No, it's unsafe to go there, you know that," Albus said immediately. He didn't want her dying on him and leaving him with heartbroken Order members; they would be no use to him like that.

"Why don't you just write to the boy?" Severus suggested sardonically, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. They were idiots, the lot of them.

"I will," Dumbledore said, twitching in irritation at the tone of Severus' voice; he didn't appreciate it at all. He put up with a lot to keep the dark wizard close, since Snape was one of the few Order members to bring really decent information to the table, due to his spying on Voldemort. He kept them one step ahead, otherwise he would have ensured a timely demise for the snide git. The Potions master had brought a lot of trouble to him over the years, especially with the way he treated the students. He could say nothing against it either, since that was exactly how he wanted Snape treating Potter.

"Do we tell the children?" Arthur asked, not sure what he could say to Ron ― how did you tell your son that his best friend had disappeared off the face of the earth?

"Nobody else can know; the more people who do, the more chance of the dark side finding out. That cannot happen; we must get him back," Dumbledore said almost violently at the thought of other people finding out.

"Alright," soothed Arthur, trying to calm the seemingly unhinged powerful wizard down.

"Keep your coins close by," Dumbledore demanded before he quickly Apparated away. He had to speak to Tom immediately.

Severus was the first to follow Dumbledore's lead and Apparate away; he had no desire to spend any time with the idiots in the Order.

The Leaky Cauldron

The Leaky Cauldron was always open, it was the pathway between the Muggle and Magical world, so it was an important establishment. Although, you wouldn't think so just looking at it, and luckily Muggles couldn't, not unless they were with someone magical, of course. Tom wasn't on at all hours though; he had someone working for him during the night for those patrons that needed anything. They didn't serve food during the night ―the kitchens were closed― but they still sold alcohol.

"Is Tom available?" Dumbledore asked, wasting no time.

"No, sorry, he's not," the young wizard replied, barely looking up from his current task.

"I need to speak to him; it's urgent," Dumbledore stated sharply, in no mood to play around. "Tell him Albus Dumbledore needs him." Tom stayed in the Leaky Cauldron, it was his home as well as his job. It had been in the family for two generations, and Albus had known the publican since he was a little boy, clambering around the pub, talking to the patrons.

"Yes, sir," was the night man's swift reply, and then he was moving towards the office and opening the door. The other door on the far side of the office led to Tom's private rooms; he'd never had to disturb him before, so he was a little hesitant.

Knocking on the door firmly, he waited with bated breath.

"Who's there?" came the groggy reply.

"It's Ross, sir, Albus Dumbledore said he need to speak with you, it's urgent," the young wizard tentatively replied.

"I'm coming," Tom said right away, "Let him know I'll be there momentarily."

"Yes, sir!" Ross said immediately, scampering off to tell the wizard what Tom had asked of him.

"He will be with you in a minute, sir," Ross said upon finding the wizard still waiting.

Albus nodded grimly, giving no other thanks or recognition for what the young wizard had done. Waiting impatiently for Tom to make an appearance, each second felt like hours to him; he was feeling at the end of his tether. He didn't think he would get any sleep tonight; he was far too worried about his weapon to rest. Sighing inaudibly, Albus couldn't help wishing he had just kept an even closer eye on the boy; sometimes he was more trouble than he was worth. If he wasn't so important to his plans, he'd leave the brat to make his own way, danger and all; it would be nothing more than he deserved.

"Albus? What can I do for you?" Tom asked, appearing from the office doorway and staring at the Headmaster in obvious concern.

"I need to speak to you in private," Albus said, not wishing for the other wizard to overhear them.

"Of course; take a break," Tom said to Ross, flicking his wand and casting a privacy bubble around them without even waiting for Ross' reply. "What's wrong?"

"Have you seen Harry Potter lately?" Albus urgently asked.

"Harry? No, I've not seen him for a year now," Tom answered; the last time he had seen him was when he had come to them from the Knight bus. Gave everyone a right scare, the boy had, disappearing when the infamous Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban prison.

"Are you absolutely positive?" Dumbledore urgently pressed.

"Yes, in times like these I always demand ID; he hasn't come here…has he gone missing?" Tom asked, concerned for the little boy he remembered so well.

"Yes, but you cannot speak of this," Albus gravely told him.

"Of course, you can count on me; if he does appear here, I'll let you know at once," Tom reassured the genial Headmaster, so concerned now for his missing student.

"Thank you, Tom," Albus gratefully said, his grandfatherly mask firmly in place.

"I'll keep an eye out," Tom added, after a few seconds of silence, Albus just stared behind him, lost in thought. Unlike everyone else, Tom believed Harry and Albus about the fact You-Know-Who had returned.

Albus nodded before Apparating away, to the wards of Hogwarts. Then removing his wand, he slashed it down in a downward motion. Seconds later the large purple tripe-Decker was in front of him, and Stan was giving his speech about the bus.

"Have you had Harry Potter on this bus?" Dumbledore firmly inquired, cutting off the wizard in mid-spiel, having no interest in anything he had to say.

"Potter? No, he hasn't called the bus," Stan said, looking at the elderly wizard in confusion.

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked again, keeping the desperation from his voice.

"Yes, sir," said both Stan and Ernie, staring at Dumbledore now in apparent interest.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said before twisting away and storming off towards the school. Just wait until he got his hands on the boy, he would regret it deeply. In fact he wanted so badly to send him a howler... But he couldn't risk him being in a Muggle environment; an owl would just have to do. If it came to that, he would just follow the owl and see if he could get his hands on the boy that way. Stupid boy, always interfering and messing up perfectly good plans; why, of all people, had it had to be him? Even Longbottom would have been preferable; at least that boy did what he was told.

R&R Please.