Charon

by LF74

No one knows what happened that Halloween night, but Jack Potter is named the Boy-Who-Lived. But what will happen to his brother, Harry, when he is sent to the Dursleys for 'safety'. What will he become? Powerful, Intelligent, Grey Harry. 3 years older than Canon. Alive Potters, Good intentioned but manipulative Dumbledore, AU, graphic in parts

21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

For most people finding the horcrux in this room could have taken days of fruitless searching until finally they just happened across it, undoubtedly in a fortunate moment of luck. For Harry it was much easier; he simply followed the foul stench of evil that crawled slowly across his skin. It wasn't like following a map by any means though, more like asking someone for directions and them saying "that way" while pointing vaguely over their shoulder. There were several times that he had to pick a wandering path at random and then turn back a few seconds later when it began to lead him in the wrong direction. He didn't mind all that much though; it gave him more chance to look around the room.

The room itself was, frankly, ridiculous. It was filled with everything from old textbooks and congealed potions in clouded vials to rotting broomsticks and bloodstained swords. Harry wandered past suits of armour, stuffed trolls, hats, jewellery, shimmering bottles that reeked of ill intentions and what looked like calcified dragon eggs. Broken furniture and all manners of other things were piled precariously at least twenty feet upwards and Harry knew that he must look like a big city tourist peering up at the skyscrapers as he walked past. It would have been so much easier if he could simply carve his path through the chaos like Moses parted the Red Sea but doing so would almost certainly bury him under an avalanche of discarded objects, some of which he knew were less than friendly.

It took almost ten minutes for him to finally navigate his way through the mess to the epicentre of the inescapable blackness where he saw a crown made from weaving strands of silver that twisted to hold a large sapphire at the front perched atop an ugly marble bust. The lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Harry supposed that the sapphire would have once been the same blue as the Ravenclaw crest but now it was dark enough to appear black, and somehow Harry got the feeling it was watching him like a hateful eye. It was reputed to enhance the wisdom of whoever wore it but Harry couldn't think of any way that it would be possible to do that unless Rowena had left a piece of herself in the diadem to act almost like a secondary brain, and if that was true then that would now make it in all likelihood a dual horcrux. He doubted that two souls of such opposite character could cohabitate in the same place.

With a absentminded flick of his wand he conjured a small wooden box and levitated the bust along with the diadem into it, unwilling to cast Fiendfyre in such an enclosed space with so much flammable material around. The darkness that continued to roll off the diadem was starting to get to him, slowly seeping into his pores and making him irritable. He wanted it destroyed as soon as possible.

Before he left he called his own house elves and told them to go through the contents of the room and take anything that was either valuable or potentially useful. No use leaving it all here for decades when he might be able to get some use from it. He made sure that they would be careful as they did so, not that he really needed to. House elves were attuned to magic well enough that they would know when something was cursed.

With that he tucked the box under his arm and made his way quickly back the way he had come towards the door, wanting to get out of Hogwarts to destroy the horcrux as soon as he could. He stopped to reapply his disillusionment charm on both himself and the box before he left the Come and Go Room and made his way down towards the fourth floor where the closest tunnel out of the castle was located. He had to move slowly to avoid the occasional cluster of students wandering through the corridors until he reached a mirror on the wall of the fourth floor that was large enough to fit several people stood side by side in its image.

It was incredibly strange to stare into a mirror and see nothing despite knowing he was stood right in front of it but he discarded the thought as he pressed his palm against the cool glass and channelled a little magic into it, causing the mirror to slide into the floor to leave an equally large passageway. The dim light from the corridor abruptly cut off a few seconds after he entered as the glass slid back into position and an orb of light appeared in front of him with barely a thought as he continued to walk. The passageway hardly thinned from the entrance and flick of Harry's wand sent the rocks that had caved in to block the corridor off flying back into their respective places as another flick conjured thick beams of wood across the ceiling and down to the floor. It was a quick fix that would probably collapse again in a few hours but he would be long gone by then anyway. There was no use in wasting energy to make it last longer.

The instant he passed out of the Hogwarts wards he threw the box to the ground and cast Fiendfyre, again delighting in the horcrux's pained screams. Doing it in such an enclosed space probably wasn't a very good idea but he really wanted it gone. He hated the way he could feel it desperately trying to sink its hooks into his psyche, trying to mould him into another Tom Riddle.

His mind was buzzing as he apparated back to his home to share the news with his ancestors. He would tell Sirius and Dora next time he saw them. There was only two left, and judging by the fact that two of his horcruxes had been objects that had belonged to the founders his theory was seemingly confirmed. He was willing to bet that the remaining two horcruxes were Hufflepuff's cup and Gryffindor's sword. Yes, the sword hadn't been seen in centuries, but neither had the diadem and Voldemort had desecrated that. Just two more to find and then he could kill the bastard and carry on with his life.

~Scene Change~

Voldemort sat at the head of the table in Malfoy Manor as he listened to the members of his Inner Circle report on their assigned tasks. He didn't like being forced to stay here and hence having to rely on someone else's hospitality but it was a necessary evil in his opinion. Lucius would never dare do anything to displease him anyway. The Fidelius charm Barty had only just managed to raise around his filthy father's manor was not a permanent solution because while it removed every memory of the manor from the minds of every muggle, witch or wizard it did not do the same to paper. There would undoubtedly be some sort of written account of it somewhere, maybe even in Dumbledore's notes from when the old man had surely investigated his past. The muggle loving fool digging into his past didn't concern him too much; the hovel where he had hidden the ring was warded far beyond Dumbledore's capabilities and even if the fool did manage to get in he would be killed by one of the curses he had left for him. The curse on the ring was a particular favourite of his. Besides, he was the only one who knew about his horcruxes. Dumbledore would have no reason to go there.

Nonetheless, it would not have taken long for someone to find his former residence, so he had turned to his most faithful to have the privilege of playing host to him. Lucius had jumped at the chance and Lord Voldemort was extremely impressed by the defences the surrounded the estate in rings. Wards within wards arranged in a series of concentric rings, a most intriguing idea. He wondered how many attempts it had taken before the wards stopped collapsing in on each other as would be expected, and how many people died during those attempts.

Macnair had just finished his report on his trip to the continent and the Dark Lord was pleased with the results; many of the more vicious werewolf packs would be making their way to Britain to join his cause along with several covens of vampires, albeit less than he had hoped for. All it had taken to persuade them was the promise of blood and improved rights for their kind when he controlled Britain and later the whole of Europe. It was a lie of course, but he had not built his forces on trust. Werewolves and vampires were as bad as the mudbloods and the blood traitors, but for now they were useful to him. Once that usefulness had waned however, then he would purge the Earth of their repulsive presence.

Bella and the rest of his Death Eaters that he had liberated from Azkaban were finally back to full health, or as close as they could come to full health after over a decade in that hellhole. No amount of potions could fix the damage that place inflicted on a person. Even without them as part of his attacking forces things had been going extremely well as he brought the wizarding world firmly back beneath his heel. The people were terrified, the aurors undertrained and overworked and the ministry was as ineffectual as it had always been, thanks in part to Lucius's subtle manipulations and the rest to Fudge. That pathetic excuse of a wizard had caused so much damage to the ministry's infrastructure – both at Lucius's prod and of his own accord – that it would have been an impossible job for even the most competent of ministers to fix in such a small period of time. With Scrimgeour running things, who was far more interested in keeping his approval numbers up and looking like he was doing something productive, the Ministry was hardly in any better position than it had been when Fudge was thrown out.

Now that his most feared Death Eaters were back to fighting fitness and almost as sharp as they had been in the last war Voldemort decided that he would have a coming out party, and he knew just the place to play host to the celebrations.

Beyond his Death Eaters and the creatures that he had persuaded to his cause the Dark Lord had also been recruiting mercenaries, hired wands, to join him. They would have to be paid of course, but he had little interest in such petty materialistic desires like gold or jewels. Such things were meaningless when compared to sheer power. Besides, it was not his gold that would be paying them – Lucius would foot the bill. He didn't like needing them – they refused to be under any sort of oath and their loyalty was only to the gold which they could earn in his service. Such people could be swayed or could abandon him, and even if they didn't their lack of devotion irked him. But still, needed he believed them to be. The Dark Lord had learnt from his campaign before his 'death', and despite it's very near success he knew there were areas to improve on, and these wizards would do exactly that.

Stronger wards so that the aurors could not so easily respond and no targets could escape. Assassins for prominent targets. Skilled combatants and expert tacticians to supplement or even lead his Death Eaters in attacks. Control over magical beasts like Acromantula and Erumpents that could devastate those that opposed him without him even risking his men. One man claimed that he could control a chimera if they could get a hold of one, a claim that the Dark Lord doubted, but for now they would be his liaisons to the dementors, werewolves and vampires. Macnair may have been sufficient up until now, but these men were professional.

But still, despite the success of his plans and the fearful quivering of the wizarding world, he still found himself plagued with worry. He didn't like nor welcome the feeling; it made him feel like the scared little boy who cowered in his room so he would not have to face his bullies. That made him angry, as angry as he ever had been. He was Lord Voldemort! There was no wizard who could challenge him, not even the great Albus Dumbledore. What did he possibly have to worry about?

'Potter' his mind supplied, and had it been any Death Eater that expressed such a blasphemous belief he would have caused them such agonising pain that they would wish for death. Even as it was his expression twisted into a snarl, causing Mulciber to abruptly stumble over his words. The Dark Lord glared at the man who immediately continued his speech as Voldemort returned to his thoughts, his voice ever so slightly higher than before.

But despite his hatred of the slim possibility that he was actually worried by Potterhe couldn't deny it was just that, a possibility. Ever since that night at the Ministry he had been on edge, both about Potter and the mysterious witch or wizard who stole the prophecy. He had briefly considered whether the two men were one and the same before he dismissed the thought as laughable; according to both Severus and Lucius's son Potter, while skilled for his age, was nothing more than average when it was considered that he had been receiving training from some of the most skilled magicals in Britain since he was nine years old.

That did not do anything to help ease his unease, however. If anything it only fanned its flames – it meant he was dealing with two men instead of one. He needed to listen to that prophecy, but with the orb gone the only person who had heard it in its entirety was Dumbledore. In all likelihood he had also told the parents of the two candidates, Potter and Longbottom, but they were always well protected as well as being skilled wizards in their own right. The four of them were the only Order members that could match his inner circle with the exceptions of Alastor Moody, Dumbledore and Black. Even then they would not be able to match the likes of Bella, Rudolphus, or Rastaban and would struggle against Antonin, Augustus or even Lucius. Capturing one of them was certainly a possibility, but it was also a risk. The members of his Inner Circle knew far too much to be captured. Maybe he would have to look into making an addition to their Dark Marks as some sort of insurance.

No, he needed to find another way to discover the contents of the prophecy. It didn't take more than a few moments for him to come up with a possible alternative and he berated himself for not thinking of it earlier. He wasn't sure if it would work, but if it didn't it was no matter. He would simply accept the risks and capture one of the Potters or the Longbottoms.

"Very good, my Death Eaters, very good. Yaxley, I expect swift progress in our crusade against the Ministry. Until it is brought under my control the war cannot be won and the filth cannot be purged from our world. Do not disappoint me. Leave. Severus, remain."

The Death Eaters stood and trooped out of the drawing room until only himself and Severus remained, his spy still sat in his assigned seat with a single empty chair which had previously been occupied by Lucius separating them.

"What of Potter?"

"He is being trained far more intensely than he was prior to the incident at the Ministry, my Lord. It seems that Dumbledore was scared by your duel and has since rescheduled Potter's defence lessons and several of his free periods to train the boy himself. I know not what goes on in these sessions, unfortunately."

Voldemort wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was pleased that he had scared the old man so much but any extra training Potter received was a drawback. The boy would never be either skilled or powerful enough to concern him, obviously, but he would be able to match some of his Death Eaters. In the end it mattered not; it would be him that Potter would have to face, not any of them.

"Very well. I have one more thing I require of you, Severus; it was you who overheard the beginnings of the prophecy and relayed the information to me. You have been greatly rewarded for your loyalty since then, have you not?"

Snape nodded, the action giving away none of his thoughts, and the Dark Lord continued.

"What I require of you, Severus, is the name of the seer who gave that prophecy."

His spy was silent for several long moments before he spoke.

"My Lord, I was subjected to secrecy oaths by Dumbledore that prohibit me from revealing the identity of the seer by speech, word or magic. If I break the oaths I will forfeit my magic at the very least and likely my life along with it."

Just as the snarled reply was forming on his lips and his fingers grasped at his wand Voldemort saw a small smirk appear on his spy's face.

"However, I can tell you that the seer who made the prophecy resides rather close to where I do."

Dumbledore had always been so overly trusting and as such he had left a few unintended loopholes in his oaths, be they about the prophecy or about his true loyalties, something which Snape had always been able to exploit. Honestly the man wasn't sure how Dumbledore, a silver tongued politician, could be so lax. The headmaster truly believed that he had changed his ways and joined the Light and that his persona was an act so that he could infiltrate the Death Eater ranks when finally the Dark Lord returned. Even Nightshade's speech in the Wizengamot had been unable to sway him to any noticeable degree. How Dumbledore could be so naïve after becoming so intimately acquainted with the shadowed parts of the human soul in the war with Grindelwald and the Dark Lord's first rise never ceased to astound him.

In truth Severus Snape had no particular loyalty to either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord; the only thing he was concerned about was his own survival, and his best chance at that was by acting in the Dark Lord's interests. In a confrontation between the Dark Lord and Potter the boy would be squashed like a bug, there was no doubt about that fact. It did also help that he was working against James Potter, his childhood nemesis. Being forced to interact with the self-important moron who had bullied him for years without giving in to the urge to curse him was a special kind of torture, but he was sure that it would be worth it in the end to see the broken look on his face when yet another of his sons was killed. As for Lily, well, she had abandoned him for Potter over a decade ago. He no longer felt anything for her. She had made several attempts to rekindle their childhood friendship since she had joined the school staff but he had rebuffed each one, and the slight twinge of guilt that would be expected of someone who was hurting someone they had once loved had slowly faded the more he did it.

"Thank you, Severus. I trust you are capable of bringing her to me despite the recent strengthening of the Hogwarts wards?"

Voldemort had been angry in the extreme when he had heard about that, having known about several small weakpoints or even outright gaps since the latter stages of his first rise. He had used said weaknesses several times in the first war to enter Hogwarts in order to recruit students or sent his Death Eaters in using them in order to gather intelligence. He couldn't use them too often without Dumbledore noticing his incursions and by the time he had been in a position that killing the old fool would have brought the country firmly under his control he had heard of the prophecy; Albus Dumbledore was no longer his biggest concern.

He had been saving them for a special occasion this time to maximise the impact his attack had – he wasn't sure exactly when he would have used them, only that he would have known when the opportunity made itself available. Now it never would. He momentarily cursed his decision not to simply sending his Death Eaters flooding in with orders to kill as many as they could whether they were students or professors, but discarded the thought just as he had when he first considered it. The children of Hogwarts were the next generation of Wizarding Britain and so they were needed, even those that fraternized with the mudbloods and the blood traitors. What would be the point in conquering a country only to have no subjects to rule over afterwards?

Snape looked momentarily confused before he nodded and left the drawing room to apparate back to Hogwarts and give his 'report' to Dumbledore. Voldemort understood his confusion to a degree; very few seers remembered the prophecies they spoke or the visions they saw with any degree of clarity, and by all accounts Sybil Trelawney was not one such seer. However, if some could remember but some couldn't, who was to say that the words they had spoken were not still there, buried so deep within their subconscious as to render them unreachable?

It wasn't guaranteed, but it was Lord Voldemort's best hope at discovering the contents of the prophecy. If the seer had no memory of that day in the Hogs Head, well then he would have to accept the risks and attempt to capture the Potters or Longbottoms. It was not an option he was keen on – he still remembered their ferocity during the last war - and it would take many Death Eaters to succeed, but ultimately he needed that prophecy.

~Scene Change~

Despite his confidence in being able to carry out his master's orders, kidnapping Sybil Trelawney from Hogwarts was proving to be more difficult than Snape had been expecting. He had underestimated the level of protection that Dumbledore had laid over the witch; intent based wards over her office and private rooms, tracking charms on her person and even spells that monitored her heartbeat and her adrenaline if ever she was attacked. He couldn't even just stun her in the back and smuggle her out of the castle; Dumbledore would know the moment she was unconscious and be there in an instant. Clearly he too believed that the prophecy was retrievable from her mind just as the Dark Lord did. He did have an advantage, however: Sybil Trelawney was an anti-social drunk who was rarely seen outside her chambers when not teaching, even less so now that war was beginning to bubble over the edges of its cauldron.

He had spent the two weeks since he was told to bring her to the Dark Lord ensuring that he used his advantage effectively and without arousing suspicion. There was a potion that an enhanced the effects of certain poisons, quite a dark potion but nonetheless inexpensive, and one such poison that was affected was alcohol. He had managed to spike her sherry bottles with the tasteless and colourless potion and, as expected, when she passed out unconscious the first time Dumbledore appeared outside her quarters in a flash of flame. Snape didn't know exactly what the old man had done after he let himself in but there had been no suspicion or noticeable change in the headmaster's personality the next morning. He wasn't worried in the slightest, and why would he be? Dumbledore would never think to check for potions or even consider ulterior motives when he found a known drinker passed out unconscious with a sherry bottle in hand.

Since that night the same thing had happened on five separate occasions, and last night Dumbledore hadn't bothered to check on her. Trelawney being drunk had now become almost ordinary, expected or at the very least unsurprising. The old man probably wrote her sudden increase in alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism for the growing tensions both inside and outside the castle. Frankly the potions master was surprised that she had continued to drink after the first night she passed out drunk on her sofa, so maybe there was a hint of truth to that belief. It was either that or she was simply an addict.

Snape waited in the shadows of the corridors hidden beneath his invisibility cloak for ten minutes once his own charms that he had attached to one of the divination professor's countless ridiculous rings, bangles and beads indicated she had fallen unconscious before he silently crossed the corridor, now confident that the headmaster would not be making an appearance. For the next few minutes the only thing visible in the corridor was the tip of Snape's wand that peeked out from beneath his cloak as it swished and twirled through the air as he tried to remove or preferably nullify the various wards that had been raised around the door. The twirls of his wand became sharp slashes as he felt his irritation grow, his each careful attempt to break the wards rebuffed. Wards were not his area of expertise and were a notoriously difficult art that he had not ventured far into, but luckily for him they were not Dumbledore's strong point either.

It took nearly ten minutes of delicate work to temporarily nullify the wards, a task that he knew one of the various ward masters the Dark Lord had hired would be able to accomplish with a few casual flicks of their wand. The door swung silently open with a nudge of his shoulder and he quickly made his way into the room to find his target sprawled unconscious across the sofa, an empty bottle in hand as drool dripped slowly into the shaggy rug and her large glasses pressed into her face. Snape sneered as he took in the pathetic sight, ignoring the fact that it was largely him that caused it.

He pulled a shrunken trunk from the pocket of his robe and resized it with a flick of his wand before he opened it to reveal a deep stone pit, about ten feet deep and five feet wide. Another flick of his wand levitated the unconscious woman into and lowered her downwards until he dropped her none too gently onto the stone floor and he watched uncaringly as her motionless body was forced to bend in on itself to fit. With that he pulled the lid closed and levitated the trunk out of her quarters, having to spend a few minutes reactivating the wards so that Dumbledore wouldn't catch on, and then through several secret passages to the entrance hall.

It would have been so much easier and far less risky if he could simply use one of the secret tunnels that lead out of the castle but they had all been warded when the still as of yet unknown witch or wizard strengthened the wards, even against staff. The identity of this apparent heir of the founders was something that had both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord worried and equally intrigued. It couldn't be Slytherin because the only surviving child of the Slytherin line was the Dark Lord himself, and it also couldn't be Gryffindor because the only surviving members of that line were the Potters. Neither of them were skilled, powerful or intelligent enough to do what the mystery figure had to the wards, so that just left the heirs of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and both those families were thought extinct.

Just as Snape felt the icy breeze against his face he saw Dumbledore walking towards him from the direction of the half-giant's hovel and he inwardly panicked even as his face remained neutral. He hoped that the oaf was being sent on another fruitless attempt at negotiation with the giants; they would squash him like a bug.

"Severus, whatever are you doing out at such an hour? And what is in the trunk?" he asked, gesturing to the fully sized truck that was still floating a few inches off the floor.

Snape cursed the fact that trunks couldn't be shrunk with anything living inside them or else they would die, or worse, as he rapidly came up with a plausible excuse. The effects of shrinking on the human body were remarkably grisly and extremely messy; in most cases the majority of the organs burst, from the eyeballs to the stomach. It was not something that Snape wanted to witness again.

"The Dark Lord has demanded that I brew healing potions of all types and for all ailments immediately. Hogwarts was the only place where I could obtain all the necessary ingredients at such short notice, some of which are too volatile to be shrunken." He lied smoothly and Dumbledore instantly looked concerned.

"Is it possible that Tom is planning a large scale attack in the immediate future?" Dumbledore asked quietly and Snape had to bite back the sneer at the man's continued use of the Dark Lord's birth name. Tom Riddle was human, a limitation the Dark Lord had long since shed.

"I don't know, headmaster, he has not yet shared his plans. It is nonetheless a possibility, as it always is."

Dumbledore nodded tiredly before he walked back into the castle without a word and Snape quickly strode down the path towards the gate, thankful for Dumbledore's trusting nature and his own talent at lying. As a member of staff he was able to leave the grounds through the gate and return through it at any time he wanted, but he couldn't bring anyone back in with him without obtaining the permission of the headmaster to open the gates completely. Dumbledore would be unlikely to allow him to bring in any Death Eaters.

The gate became spectral as he walked unfalteringly through its wrought iron links and the moment he felt himself free of the wards he cancelled his spell to allow the trunk to clunk heavily against the ground. With a final glance back towards the school Snape grabbed the trunk in one hand and disappeared with a soft crack as he allowed himself a moment of pride. He had taken one of Albus Dumbledore's most precious pieces from under his very nose. The Dark Lord would be pleased.

Voldemort had initially been incensed that someone would bother him at such an hour until the lowly brat that had been sent to notify him informed him that it was Severus. Had the man finally captured the seer? Voldemort had been starting to lose his patience, wondering how hard it could be for one of his most skilled Death Eaters to kidnap a pathetic excuse of a witch such as Sybil Trelawney. He was sure that Severus would have attempted to justify the delay had he allowed him to but instead he sent his potions master away as soon as he had confirmed that the trunk indeed confirmed what he had hoped.

After casting locking charms on the door he opened the truck and levitated the drunken woman upwards, smiling in malicious glee as soon as he saw her. Finally, finally he would know the full contents of the prophecy. He would no longer be infected by worry, that filthy parasite that sapped his resolve and weakened his cause.

He forced a sobering potion down her throat before he dragged her from the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness, knowing that navigating a drunkard's mind was far more difficult than a sober one. He took a few seconds to bask in her horrified expression, the way her skin paled and her hands shook to send echoing cracks around the room as her bracelets rattled against each other, the stuttered denials and bug-like eyes widened behind thick glasses. Her terror was as beautiful as any he had seen before and infinitely more satisfying.

Her meagre occlumency shields were penetrated with ease and the Dark Lord latched on to the first memory of Dumbledore he found in her mind, one of the old man in a staff meeting, asking about his students like a concerned grandfather, showing particular interest in the progress of Potter. He discarded the memory and continued down along that vein, swiping away countless memories of Dumbledore as he searched for that fateful day in the Hogs Head.

He found nothing.

Just as he was about to withdraw and torture the woman, call Severus back and then do the same to him for bringing him the wrong seer he found another memory, this one in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts. There had been attempts to wipe the memory, and repeated attempts at that, and then attempts to modify it, repress it or simply block it off. Each attempt had been rebuffed, seemingly by the inherent magic of the prophecy, and each attempt had left a scar on the witch's mind. A few more attempts and Dumbledore would have left the woman brain dead instead of simply eccentric.

Voldemort watched with rapt attention as the seemingly innocuous interview dragged on and Dumbledore's twinkly expression quickly dimmed until, finally, the seer's eyes glazed over and she spoke in a rasping, guttural voice.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

He noticed Dumbledore's shocked face, the few seconds of scheming indecision before he cast what the Dark Lord recognised as a memory charm and told her that there had been an emergency and that he would have to reschedule for a few days later in the Hogs Head. Trelawney left after that with a vague statement that she had expected such a thing to happen, a clear lie, and Voldemort withdrew from her mind and distractedly cast the Killing Curse at the cowering witch. He would give the old man a sliver of credit for so willingly throwing two families that followed him to the wolves, but he had far more important issues running rapidly through his mind.

'His equal?' he thought. What was Potter possibly his equal in? Not skill, not power, not intelligence, not personal experience or in personality. He had no equal; such a thing was a laughable notion. He, who had defied the very laws of nature in return for power, for immortality. No, he was in a realm of his own, far beyond the mere mortals whom inhabited the world. But, he couldn't deny that Potter had been marked. Did that scar on the boy's forehead really mean he was his equal?

What worried the Dark Lord was the "power he knows not". He had travelled the world, learning countless forbidden magics or magics that had been thought lost to the slow trickle of time. There was none alive or dead that had delved as deeply as he had into the grey, the dark and the outright black magic that had faded into the lost corners of the wizarding world, none whose knowledge even rivalled his own. What power could Potter possibly have that he did not know of?

That worry evaporated the moment he considered the next line, though there were still fumes of it lingering in his chest. "And either must die at the hand of the other". The only person who could kill him was Potter. Not Albus Dumbledore, not Amelia Bones, Sirius Black, an army of aurors or the Reaper himself could force him away from this world. Just Jack Potter. He laughed shrilly, maniacal and uncontrolled. Jack Potter was a mere boy and an unexceptional boy at that. He would never be able to kill him, Lord Voldemort, the most powerful sorcerer of all time. His victory was assured.

He briefly considered leading the attack that was now rapidly forming in his mind himself before he decided against it. While it would certainly be a good opportunity to showcase his power and to stoke the fear of the wizarding population, it would not do to put himself on such an even position amongst his Death Eaters. They were his soldiers, his servants, and he was their Lord. To participate in the attack himself would run the risk of giving them the incorrect presumption that he was one of them. He was not, he was better. He was sure that his Death Eaters would be able to carry out his orders without him. His plan would still be a success.

There was another plan forming in his head, a devious, underhanded and utterly beautiful scheme. He felt his thin lips pull into a smirk as his red eyes glittered with cruel excitement. He was going to destroy his biggest hindrance from within. He only wished he could be there to watch.

~Scene Change~

Dumbledore had called an emergency meeting of the Order and so Tonks was sat grumbling in her chair, none too happy to be forced here on her day off. She had been looking forwards to sleeping in until three in the afternoon and then lounging around her apartment in her pyjamas, spending all day doing absolutely nothing. Her one day off a week was often spent with either Sirius, Harry or both but she had decided that she needed to have the day to herself this time; her parents were coming over for dinner tomorrow, and she was being forced to cook. She repressed a shudder at the thought.

None of the other Order members present looked like they had any idea what was going on either by the looks on their faces as she looked around the room. The various 'backroom staff' as she called them were curiously absent to leave only the core members of the group which served to make Sirius's expanded kitchen seem remarkably stark. Moody was staring at each person in turn as he always did, his magical eye whirring around in its socket as he assessed whether their intentions were pure. She didn't think she'd ever get over how utterly paranoid he was, though she supposed that after everything that had happened to him his paranoia was well earnt. The Longbottoms were sat talking in low tones near the head of the table where Dumbledore would sit when he finally arrived while the Potters did much the same opposite, only they had for some reason brought Jack with them. It was a shame Snape wasn't here yet; his face would have been priceless.

Jack kept on sneaking glances at her, presumably wondering if she had worked out how Voldemort had come back from the dead. In true Gryffindor style he was showing all the subtlety of a dying, screeching kneazle, turning his entire head each time, and more than a few people were giving the two of them strange glances or chuckling to themselves. James Potter had a small smirk on his face as he assumed that Jack simply had a crush her. Tonks couldn't repress her shudder that time.

A blur of silver pulled her attention from the section of grey wall she was determinedly staring at in an attempt to ignore the assorted looks that were being shot around the room and she turned to see Fleur sat in the seat that she had been saving for Sirius. They had only interacted a handful of times and she was slightly miffed for a split second at first – her and Sirius always sat next to each other to limit the number of idiots they were forced to interact with, everyone knew that – but then she took in the French veela's appearance. Her robes were as elegant as ever, her hair still glossy and perfectly straight, but her posture was stiff and angled in such a way that she didn't have to look towards the other end of the table where her boyfriend and the rest of the Weasleys were congregated.

"Something wrong?" she whispered as her curiosity got the better of her.

Fleur turned sharply to look at her and the fire that was burning in her blue eyes dimmed slightly.

"Non, it is nothing." she said before she fell silent, her gaze not leaving Tonks' face as she had a silent debate with herself before she returned to looking determinedly away from the Weasleys.

She didn't get a chance to ask any further as she was saved from the uncomfortable silence between the two witches by the emerald flames in the fireplace suddenly billowing and Dumbledore stepping out with an uncharacteristically troubled expression on his face. Sirius wandered through the door almost the very same moment and sent her a betrayed look as he reluctantly dropped into a chair next to the Weasleys. Served him right for always turning up late; she was sure he waited somewhere else in the house and until the wards had told him Dumbledore had arrived before coming in himself.

As always everyone's attention was immediately dragged to Dumbledore, only this time their expressions were far more worried than usual. The old man looked to have aged another decade since she had last seen him, his posture slightly slumped and the twinkling in his eyes nowhere to be seen. His mood seemed to be reflected in his robes – a deep purple dark enough to almost appear black, far from the colourful monstrosities emblazoned with silver stars that he was often seen in. Silently he sat down in his chair at the head of the table and took off his half-moon spectacles to rub at his eyes tiredly before he slipped them back on and surveyed the room. He shot a particularly sorrowful look at the Potters before his gaze returned to the room at large and Tonks wondered what had happened to put that expression on Dumbledore's face.

"Do we know how he came back yet, Albus?" Moody growled without preamble and there were scattered murmurs of assent.

Dumbledore shook his head and Jack shot her yet another look, this one even more insistent than the rest. It was too much to hope for that no one would notice and suddenly all eyes were boring into her.

"Nymphadora, do you know something of importance?" Dumbledore asked with a slight forceful edge to his voice.

Out of the corner of her eye she looked at Sirius who simply gave her a concealed shrug which helped her in absolutely no way whatsoever. Were she able to without incriminating him too she would have sneered at the man. She knew that the game was up now though, so she turned her attention back to the staring witches and wizards.

"I know how he did it." She said with a sigh and simply sat there as the room exploded into noise that only ceased when Dumbledore raised a wrinkled hand.

"It was a heavily modified healing ritual," she continued, "unknown to all but a few people in the world, not a rebirth or resurrection ritual like you probably assumed. And no, I'm not going to tell you how I know, and I suggest you don't try to use legilimency, Dumbledore," she said as she felt the tell-tale tingle against her now much stronger occlumency shields, "my shields are strong and I'm under an oath anyway."

"How did you find out how Voldemort resurrected himself if neither myself nor the Department of Mysteries has been able to discover such information?" Dumbledore asked again as he ceased his legilimency probe, knowing that if she was under oath there was no point.

"I showed it to a friend of mine."

"You showed it to a Dark Wizard? What if he does the same thing as You-Know-Who!" Molly Weasley shrieked. If You-Know-Who used it to come back from the dead then it must be extremely dark magic, and the only people who would be able to identify such magic other than Dumbledore was another Dark Wizard. That was just obvious. But then her mother was a Black, wasn't she? Of course her daughter would be fraternising with such people.

"I say we make her drag her friend in here and get them to tell us." She continued and Sirius couldn't help the snort that escaped at the thought of anyone trying to make Harry do anything he didn't want to do.

"What's the funny, Black? I suppose you'd know a thing or two about Dark Wizards, wouldn't you?"

Sirius ignored the snide barb from the woman, even if it did make him hate her a little more. It was true, in fairness. He hunted dark wizards and used magic that was classified as dark to do it, so technically he was a dark wizard.

"Oh, nothing, I'm just imagining you trying to make him do something that he didn't want to do. That would be something I would pay good money to see. Anyway, we've established that no one is going to tell any of you who figured it out so why don't we move onto the actual reason this meeting was called?"

None of the Order members looked happy, least of all Moody who was glaring at his protégée for keeping so much from him. Tonks glared right back and the veteran auror was impressed despite himself by its depth, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be giving her a piece of his mind at the first available opportunity. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dumbledore scrutinising both her and Sirius as one would a particularly difficult puzzle. There was no way he could force them to divulge any information without killing them considering their oaths and they didn't think that the old man would sink to such a level, at least they hoped he wouldn't.

"I have called this meeting," he said heavily as his eyes turned away from her and Sirius, "because I believe that there is a possibility Voldemort has come into possession of potentially devastating information. I am only waiting for Severus to return with conformation."

Questions erupted around the room as the Order members clamoured to be heard while Sirius and Tonks shared a significant look. The only 'potentially devastating information' they could think of was the prophecy, but how would Voldemort find out the contents of that? Harry had stolen the orb and since destroyed it, it was made to Dumbledore and they doubted he would tell Voldemort what it said, and both the Potters and Longbottoms who would have more than likely been told over a decade ago were still here. How could he have found out?

Dumbledore silenced the noise with a raise of his hand.

"I will only share the information with you once Severus has confirmed my fears, and even then only with the permission of another party." He said with no room for protest before he shared a significant and equally sorrowful look with the Potters that went unnoticed by most. Definitely the prophecy.

For the next few minutes the room remained in charged silence before the door flew open and Snape strode in with his cloak billowing behind him.

"Does he know?"

Snape nodded silently and a look of utter defeat overtook Dumbledore's features while the Potters looked terrified.

"The Dark Lord also gave me this," he said softly as he withdrew a red envelope from his pocket, "to give to you. It is only to be opened in front of the full 'inner circle' of the Order, as the Dark Lord called it, and is cursed to ensure that his condition is met. The Dark Lord gave a magical vow that there are no other spells or curses beyond those to ensure that is opened at the correct time."

The Dark Lord had made no such vow, of course, but he had assured him before giving him the envelope that it was true. The coldblooded smile on his face when he gave him his instructions had Snape on edge, but also equally intrigued as to what the howler would say.

Dumbledore eyed the envelope with distrust as he had Snape place the envelope on the table and then waved his wand over it several times. After almost a minute of spell casting Dumbledore slid his wand back into his sleeve and cautiously dragged the letter towards him.

He spent a few moments staring at the envelope that was sat atop the table as he tried to work out what Tom had written. Could it be the prophecy? Sybil was missing, which was the reason he had called this meeting in the first place so they could arrange a search effort, and Tom was certainly intelligent enough to know the disastrous effect such information would have on morale, but Dumbledore was sure that if he were to release the prophecy's contents he would not do it like this. He would do it in public, have it screamed in Diagon Alley and the Ministry so that every member of the Wizarding World knew exactly how grave their position was. But, of course, there was still a chance that he would do so and simply wanted the Order members to find out in a more… intimate setting.

Truth be told the old warlock had very little desire to open the letter despite his curiosity because of the quickly growing worry that squirmed in his chest the more he considered the possibilities. But he had no choice. His scan of the envelope showed that it was connected to a curse that Severus had unknowingly activated the moment he touched it. If he didn't open it within twenty four hours then his spy and, despite the absurdity of applying such a word to Severus Snape, his friend, would die.

With a final look around the room at the concerned yet interested faces he looked towards the Potters, knowing that given Sybil was missing it was more than likely the letter would be about the prophecy. They looked terrified at the prospect of the elimination of Tom's reluctance to appear openly and undoubtedly knew that it would make him much more brazen in the pursuit of Jack. If he knew that no number of aurors or guards could defeat him then any hesitance on his part would swiftly evaporate. Jack was looking between his parents with an expression of distressed confusion. It was likely that he knew that the only thing that could alarm his parents to this degree was a danger to him. Dumbledore only wished that Jack wouldn't have to find out the exact wording this way.

With a sigh Dumbledore pressed the tip of his wand to the howler and felt his spine shiver as it started to speak. Instead of the deafening sound that a howler normally emitted this was quiet and cold and unmistakably Tom, like a whispered wind on a December night. The malicious glee that dripped from his tone filled Dumbledore with dread and he suddenly felt like ice water was dripping down his neck. Anything that made Tom so happy was bad news.

"Dearest Order members, I have penned this letter to inform you of the lies that Albus Dumbledore has so easily been feeding you. Enemies you may be and still you will die, that Lord Voldemort promises, but nonetheless I feel honour bound to tell you what I have discovered." The envelope said with mock sarcasm clearly heard as all heads snapped towards Dumbledore.

"He says that I am nothing more than a man… that I can be defeated if only you unite together and embrace the light. Nothing could be further from the truth, but still… I invite you to try. I am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth," the voice sneered, "but there is one who is said to be able to defeat me, and only one. That person is Jack Potter. It is a laughable notion that a mere child will ever be able to defeat me, but still the old fool believes it to be true. There was a prophecy made to him before my banishment, you see, the very same prophecy that he commanded you to guard the Department of Mysteries to protect.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

All the Order members were staring at Dumbledore and the Potters while only a few of them made the connection to the Longbottoms. Everyone was far too preoccupied to notice the distinct lack of surprise on the faces of Sirius and Tonks.

"But that is not all, not by far… for you see, one of my faithful servants overheard the first two lines of the prophecy one afternoon in the Hogs Head before he was discovered and relayed the information to his master… and so, I lessened my efforts against the wider Wizarding World in order to concentrate on the two threats to my reign… Jack Potter and Neville Longbottom. I attacked the Potters first, a decision that, as you all know, led to my downfall, temporary though it was.

"But the prophecy wasn't made to Albus Dumbledore in the Hogs Head on that afternoon as I believed…no, it was made several days before, in the Headmasters office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… the Hogs Head was nothing more than performance, a ploy to direct my attention towards two families instead of Britain at large… Albus Dumbledore so willingly threw two families including three young children to the wolves, knowing that there was a chance that I would kill them. Now you see the fiction that is Albus Dumbledore… he will throw each and every one of you away just as he did them… the light does not exist, there is only those that embrace their darkness and those that hide it…"

The voice faded away but hardly anyone noticed. Dumbledore had his head bowed as he tried to avoid everyone's eyes in a childish attempt to hide from the consequences of his actions. Sirius and Tonks had suspected that he had done such a thing but even they were shocked by the confirmation and all the other Order members had expressions of horror on their face as they stared unblinkingly at the man they had before believed to be a paragon of good.

The Potters and the Longbottoms though, Tonks didn't think she could even describe their expressions. Horror, rage, despair, loathing, all emotions which were flitting across their faces almost too rapidly to decipher until finally Lily Potter's settled on utter betrayal.

"Is that true?"

Her words were whispered even as her voice shook, with what no one was entirely sure, but there was no missing the sheer danger that was oozing from her tone. When Dumbledore looked up his eyes were red and puffy as tears streamed down his face to form droplets amongst the wiry hairs of his silver beard and it was clear for all to see that his anguish was real. They would not garner him any sympathy, however, and certainly not from the two families who were now glaring at him.

"Yes."

The wands of Lily and Alice were out in a split second and they started cursing Dumbledore viciously, raining down cutting curses, bone breakers and even fairly extreme pain curses without pause. Within moments he had raised a shield, but had not done so quick enough to protect himself from the cuts that now littered his flesh and the bones which were now snapped like twigs. The spells continued to fly across the room only to bounce harmlessly off his shield, but that did not stop the fist that pummelled into his face courtesy of Frank Longbottom.

It was Moody who dragged Frank off him once he had recovered from his shock, much like Tonks remembered her father doing to Sirius the day Harry 'died', and the spells stopped shortly after. Throughout the whole ordeal neither Jack nor James had moved a muscle as Jack stared at his mentor in dismay while his father simply had a blank look on his face, presumably from shock.

Frank jerked out of Moody's grip and whirled to glare at him as his anger continued to rise. With a final loathing look the two Longbottoms stormed out and were closely followed by the Potters as Lily's wand continued to twitch in her palm and she half dragged her husband and her son from the room.

The atmosphere once the front door had slammed closed was eerily reminiscent of a graveyard; no one spoke, the only sounds in the room being the shallow breaths of the Order members as they continued to look towards the head of the table where Dumbledore was still sat, his posture slumped and defeated. His eyes were dulled and he was seemingly ignorant to the other people in the room. It was almost like he wasn't even there at all, instead trapped within his own mind.

Both Tonks and Sirius thought the atmosphere was strangely appropriate as they looked around the room, because by the expressions on the faces on each and every person present the Order had just died.

AN: Apologies for the long wait since the last chapter and no, I'm not abandoning this one. I had a bit of a personal growth spurt and I'm way happier than I was before so I'm going out more etc. so I just didnt write at all up until like last week, plus writing a pretty dark fic such as this just isn't as easy anymore. This chapter was half done before and I've tried to make sure that there's no big change in tone or anything, not sure if I managed it.