A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I know this makes me lose readers, but I really don't have the ideas and the opportunity to write fanfiction all that often. Other note: I've decided to bring this story somewhat into the line of Order of the Phoenix. Not really with the events, just with what we learn about Harry's past- and with the way that Harry feels towards Dumbledore.

The peace that had flooded the room when the hot chocolate hit Harry's stomach fled suddenly as the door flew open, admitting the headmaster and slamming shut behind him. Both Minerva and Harry jumped in their seats, and only Dumbledore's quick wandwork saved Minerva's carpet from an unpleasant encounter with the remains of her cocoa. "Albus, what on earth...?"

"Sorry, Minerva," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to burst in on you; in fact, I've often been rather severe with Severus about his similar entrances into my study. But something... disturbing... has happened, and I need your help. Now."

"Of course, I'll come straight away." She stood quickly, pulling her robes from a closet and slinging them on over her nightgown.

"What's happened?" Harry wanted to know.

"An emergency meeting of the Order has been called," Dumbledore intoned gravely. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't tell you more until a counteraction has been implemented and we know for certain that secrecy is no longer vital."

"But..."

"You should go to bed, Harry. If possible, I shall speak with you tomorrow. Come, Minerva."

"Professor..."

"Now." Dumbledore looked annoyed, as if he were speaking to someone slightly dense for whom he had to keep repeating himself.

Harry stood his ground, glaring furiously at the headmaster, willing himself to cool down. He didn't want to feel hurt, he didn't want to feel angry; he didn't want things to be like this. He didn't want to be protected or treated like a child. Then don't act like one, said his inner voice. 'Oh, shut up,' he told it. He felt the tears burning their way up his throat, and he swallowed frantically. "Fine. Just let me know when you need someone for Voldemort to point his wand at." His inner voice was having a field day, calling him all sorts of things (juvenile and its synonyms being pretty high up on the list), but he ignored the voice and the room's other occupants and walked out, closing the door softly behind him to salvage what was left of his dignity.

Silence reigned inside for a few moments, and then Minerva spoke. "Oh, Albus. Really."

"What..."

"Oh, how can you be so obtuse? I've spent half the night trying to convince him that he's wanted, and more importantly, needed, that I have plenty of room in my life for both of you, and it's all wasted on him now because you burst in here and treated him as if he were three years old."

Albus bristled, but his scowl held traces of guilt. "He knows very well that he is not a member of the Order. He receives information on a need-to-know basis, and that is only because, as he so eloquently pointed out, he is the one at whom Voldemort wishes to point his wand."

"Albus Dumbledore, for such a wise man you can be a frightful idiot sometimes. Harry wasn't truly asking about the appearances of Death Eaters or Voldemort's next move."

"I see. Please, translate for me; what is it that he wanted?"

"If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell you."

"Ah. Very useful, I must say."

"Oh, I give up. Just make sure that you do speak with him tomorrow. Now, Albus, perhaps we should discuss just what you came to talk to me about."

"Very well. The hiatus is over. Voldemort has begun his campaign. There were four separate Death Eater strikes last night, all of them leaving only corpses and the Dark Mark in their wakes. And..."

Minerva dreaded his next words. "And?"

"One of them was just outside London. The other three were..." He paused for breath. "The other three were increasingly close to Hogwarts."

Minerva sank back into the armchair. "It's a warning," she whispered. "He's almost ready. He wants to show us that he can strike anytime, anywhere. What are we going to do?"

"Fight," said Albus calmly, moving to grasp her shaking hand in his. "I believe the favored Muggle expression is: 'Damn the torpedoes.'"

Minerva smiled grimly. "Yes, damn them; we haven't time for torpedoes. We'd better go and meet the others. You're very lucky, Albus, that they won't dare to start without you. It's the only reason that you can maintain any semblance of punctuality."

"Not only a semblance, my dear. I am never late."

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Harry climbed very slowly into bed. Everything ached, especially his chest. He had listened outside Minerva's door until it was obvious they were heading right towards it, and then he had turned and sprinted all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. It was happening, then. Voldemort was coming for him, and he was climbing into bed while an emergency Order meeting was in session to decide what to do about it. 'This is ridiculous,' he thought. 'They're worried about their world, their futures, their lives. But this is about me. It has been for 15 years. The minute that Professor Trelawney opened her mouth to speak in the Hog's Head, this became my life. My future. Wait a second...'

Harry sat straight up in bed, the wheels turning in his brain. Voldemort had chosen him to be the subject of the prophecy. Voldemort wasn't as obsessed with gaining power as he was with killing Harry. He would do anything to get his hands on Harry: in a second, without even thinking it through, not caring that it might be to his disadvantage... Voldemort had a weakness. Everyone had been going at this backwards. Harry was the liability, Harry was the target; but what if the target became bait, bait that was too hot to handle? Harry jumped out of bed, through the portrait hole (ignoring the Fat Lady's disgusted inquiries as to whether he was in or out) and down the hall. He had to follow them somehow. Somehow, he had to get to that meeting.