"Ah, my friends. How long has it been?" said Lord Voldemort, his hands clasped in front of him. "Ten years it's been since I have last stepped foot in the Ministry. Ten years since I have last revealed myself to the public. Ten years since I have last been thwarted by the so-called Chosen One," the Order fliffvnched. "Yet here we stand. Brought here by my invitation. Perhaps you might consider yourselves as my guests of honor."
"You bastard!" Ron shouted, fury pulsing through his veins.
Voldemort flicked his wand lazily at Ron, who had stepped out of the Order circle with his wand drawn out. But Voldemort side-stepped his curse and sent Ron collapsing onto his knees. His chest suddenly felt congested.
"Ron!" Hermione cried.
She rushed to kneel beside him. He spat out a mouthful of blood. Voldemort had struck him with a Cutting Curse to his chest. But as Hermione moved to heal him, the other Order members shouted in outrage.
"Murderer!" Neville shouted.
He slammed against an invisible barrier in the center of the room. A ripple of laughter crossed the Death Eaters, who were standing behind Voldemort.
Voldemort looked at Neville with gleam in his red eyes. He paced along the barrier, unfazed by the looks of hatred from the Order Members.
"And who is this dogged young man that dares to challenge Lord Voldemort?" he hissed. As he passed through the throng of his followers, the Death Eaters parted to let him pass.
A rough voice from behind Voldemort answered.
"Neville Longbottom, Master."
"That's right," Neville spat, wrestling against the grips of both Remus and Bill.
"Neville Longbottom," Lord Voldmort breathed. "Son of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Perhaps you remember them, Bellatrix?" he said, turning to the Death Eater in question. She lowered her hood and smirked. "The reason for you and your husband's incarceration," Rodolphus hissed behind his hood. "But do not dismay. You shall have your vengeance," he smirked. "in due time."
"Thank you, Master," the Lestranges bowed. They kissed the hem of their master's robes in gratitude before stepping back.
"But this is familiar, is it not?" said Lord Voldemort. "For every idea, there is opposition. For every protagonist, there is an antagonist. For every ruler, there is an adversary. As humans, of course, we recognize these differences. We acknowledge them through either peace or conflict. Yet the root cause for war and suffering are our differences. Or rather, the tendencies of our minds to believe that such differences exist. Our loyalties, our backgrounds, our moral boundaries separate us, prevent us from recognizing the opposing side. It is our differences that lead us to believe that we are enemies. But this is nothing more than a misconception . . ."
Voldemort paused in his speech. Ron, who had been scanning the room for an exit, suddenly stiffened. He noticed that there was a hooded figure dressed in black robes and a cloak, just like the other Death Eaters. His position was slightly different than the rest. Unlike the Death Eaters, he stood two steps in front of the other Death Eaters, yet two steps behind Voldemort. He did not speak. Nor did he even appear to be listening to a word that Voldemort said. His head was bowed towards the ground. As if sensing that Ron was watching him, the figure lifted his shadowed eyes and met Ron's eyes with a hard stare. Ron could've sworn that he saw a flicker of red pass through the figure's eyes before he lowered his gaze again.
"As the fool Dumbledore would say," Lord Voldemort said mockingly. "Let us lay aside our differences. Denounce your previous ways. Your leader has abandoned you. He has been treating you all like pigs for slaughter. And on what basis? On the basis of the greater good? Sacrifice your lives in exchange for peace for the majority, perhaps he would say. But I, Lord Voldemort, treat my followers as equals. I am no coward. I stand beside them in battle and reward them as I see fit."
"You lair!" shouted Tonks, her hair burning red in indignation.
"Do not disrespect the Dark Lord, foolish girl!" Bellatrix hissed from behind Voldemort.
The two glared at each other.
"Anyone who disrespects Albus Dumbledore doesn't deserve respect," shouted Angelina, tightening her grip around her husband's fore-arm.
A ripple of disapproval passed over the Death Eaters. They glanced at each other warily. But the hooded figure standing behind Voldemort didn't stir nor did he lift his head. He remained silent and unflustered.
To Ron's dismay, Voldemort did not appear intimidated at all. He simply looked at them with faint amusement. As if he had expected their reactions.
"Such loyalty," he muttered softly, "Such profound loyalty. Ah, but how familiar this scene is. I remember perhaps, fifteen years ago, when I shared the body of Quirnius Quirrell, I offered my allegiance with a similar-minded boy," Ron quickly glanced at his watch. Dumbledore should be arriving in fifteen minutes. "A boy with determination and loyalty that far surpassed any of yours. I offered him power and greatness, the likes of which he had never seen! And yet . . . he refused. His young mind was defiled with ideas of love and compassion. I knew that these ideas were the product of that senile old fool. Time and time again, I offered the boy a place by my side. And time and time again, he refused . . . I am speaking, of course, of Harry Potter."
Gasps emerged from the Order at the mention of their former friend. They glanced at each other hastily before fixing their eyes on Voldemort. Curiosity seemed to dominate their emotions. But the Death Eaters simply laughed quietly.
"Ah, yes, Harry Potter," he said coldly, halting his pacing near the fringe of the Death Eaters. "The Boy-Who-Lived, or as he is known now as, the Chosen One. The only person alive that could resist my Imperius curse. The one who has challenged me more times than any witch or wizard alive. The one who was once regarded as my downfall . . . The one who now stands beside me as my Right Hand." He gestured to the silent figure standing beside him.
The Order members stilled with shock and despair at the reticent figure of Harry Potter. Some glared openly at him. Others, Hermione especially, looked anguished at the sight of him.
"Harry," she croaked, stepping forward.
Ron, however, held her back protectively. He was slowly losing his temper at the sight of his former friend, though Harry had yet to react or register his surroundings. He felt the air around him condense, which had nothing to do with the spell that Voldemort had cast. He simply stood there and glared openly at Harry's hooded figure.
At the moment, he hated him more than he hated Voldemort.
"Lower your hood, Harry," smirked Voldemort. "There is nothing more to hide."
Harry glanced at Voldemort from under his hood before he nodded. He lifted his hands and lowered his hood. There, beside Voldemort, stood the proof of all they had feared for ten years. The doubts, the uncertainty, the questions that they had built for ten years had banished in that instant.
There was no mistaking him. His dark hair was as unruly as ever. His round glasses gleamed under the light. His cursed scar peeked out from under his bangs. But what stood out this time . . . What distinguished him from the friend that they had known in the past . . . were the piercing red eyes that glared at them from beneath his fringe.
"As you can see," Voldemort continued, amused by the horrified faces of the Order members. "Harry here has denounced his old ways. He has seen the truth. He has accepted it. He will no longer believe in the lies fashioned by the one you claim as your leader," the Death Eaters cackled, yet Harry remained silent. "As you can see, the Prophecy is nothing more than the wishful thinking of fools like Albus Dumbledore. No witch or wizard shall ever challenge Lord Voldemort. Not even the Chosen One, who now stands at my side."
But Ron, feeling fury lick at his insides, violently snapped.
"You traitor!" he bellowed, his voice thundering across the room.
But he didn't care. He was blinded with fury.
He jerked his arm from under Hermione's grip and stepped forward. He began thrusting any curse that he could imagine at the barrier. He hoped that he could break it so that he could tackle Harry to the ground and ring his neck.
He had known . . . he had seen what Peter Pettigrew's betrayal had done to his parents. Pettigrew had exchanged the life of Lily and James Potter for the luxury of his own. In turn, they had left their only son – abandoned and neglected under the so-called care of his relatives. He had endured hell from them. Did that not teach him a lesson? Did it not cross that thick head of his that betrayal was a terrible thing? Had he not nearly killed Pettigrew in his grief over his parents?
No. Instead, he, too, had gone and betrayed his friends.
"Enough, Ron," said Bill impatiently. He tried to disarm his younger brother, but Ron easily dodged his efforts.
"Don't bother," Voldemort smirked. "He shall have his vengeance soon. Before we begin, however, I shall ask you all once again. Who here is willing to denounce their old ways? To serve beside me as my equal? Speak now or forever hold your peace."
Behind him, he Death Eaters laughed.
The room radiated with tension. The Order members glared pointedly at each other, the Death Eaters smirking behind their masks.
But Voldemort spoke.
"So be it," he declared coldly. He turned to the Death Eaters. "Leave no witch or wizard alive. If, by any chance, Albus Dumbledore steps foot into the Ministry, you are to flee at once . . . And Harry," he then turned to the figure beside him and whispered with his eyes fixed on Ron, "Kill him."
And for the first time, Harry spoke.
"With pleasure," he said coldly.
His cloak parted as he drew his wand. He fixed Ron with a glare. The two, once inseparable friends, – once brothers in all but blood – stood glaring at each other with intense hatred on either side of the barrier. One in the name of Albus Dumbledore. The other in the name of the Lord Voldemort.
Voldemort elicited one final smirk before he vanished, no doubt by a Portkey. As he left, the barrier that he had created vanished along with him. Every individual in the room drew their wands and proceeded to cross the place where the barrier had been before. Within a few seconds, the entire room was filled with blasts, shouts, and flashes of light.
They were trapped in there. It was either live or die.
Harry and Ron simply stood on opposite ends of the room, waiting for the other's first move. As Ron glared, he instinctively knew that there was no talking Harry out of this. His gaze was cold and unyielding. A stark contrast to the friend that he had once known.
He was either going to die by Harry's wand or kill Harry himself.
"Stop this, Harry!" Hermione cried, stepping in between the two men "You can't approve of this. V-Voldemort – he's lying to you, Harry! Can't you see it?"
"Don't bother, Hermione," Ron said, a bite in his tone. "We're just another victim in his eyes," he then asked bitterly. "How many innocent people have you killed there, mate?"
"Not enough to fill a graveyard," he replied coldly. "There's still room for one more."
He then flicked his wand curtly. Ron shouted and tackled Hermione to the ground as a chandelier came crashing down from above them.
They missed it by an inch.
"Hermione," he yelled, pulling her to her feet. He dragged her behind a tapestry near the walls and grasped her by the shoulders. "If you can't concentrate, then leave. This isn't the Harry that we knew before. He will kill you."
Yet Hermione remained ambivalent. She sensed that the friend that she had once known was still there . . . but hidden. After all, she had not missed the change of his eye color.
"No, Ron," she shook her head stubbornly. "Something isn't right. This isn't the real Harry. I can't explain it, but maybe we should wait for Dumbledore to settle this," when Ron opened his mouth to retort, she whispered softly. "Just don't hurt him, Ron."
He pecked her on the forehead.
"I won't hurt him," he promised. But they yelped when the tapestries suddenly caught fire. Hermione, however, reacted and extinguished it with water. Ron quickly, and rather reluctantly, dragged her back to the battle. "Go. I'll hold him off."
With a determined nod, she rushed back to the battle, joining Ginny and Luna against Bellatrix Lestrange.
He then turned his steel gaze onto the dark-clothed figure standing in front of him. It wasn't going to be easy to keep his promise to Hermione. His blood drummed with thundering hatred for Harry. He had heard . . . He had seen all of the crimes that Harry had committed. He had to lift the bodies of his victims. He had to inform their families of the crime. He had to watch them weep in sorrow. All on account of his once friend.
"Go on, Potter," he spat in disgust. He refused to recognize this – monster as the Harry that he had once known. "Don't want to disappoint your master, do you?"
Swiftly, he fired the disarming charm, but Harry simply deflected it with a wave of his hand.
"Not likely," he replied flatly.
But Ron was startled when Harry suddenly flicked his cloak. His cloak fell around his thin figure, as if he had surrendered. For a heart stopping minute, Ron thought that he had gotten his friend back. That Harry had merely fooled everyone by offering allegiance to Voldemort. But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind did the ground below him tremble and collapse. Ron, however, quickly levitated himself to avoid the fall. But Harry immediately countered him.
"Not so fast," he warned.
His wand appeared once again in his hand. A blinding light emitted from his wand, and Ron went crashing down into the floor beneath him. His back hit the tiled floor with a loud crack. Groaning, he felt like his breath had been knocked out of him. With a shuddering breath, he lifted himself by his arms.
He looked around and found himself in one of the Auror's office. The room was vacant, a large oak desk and a chair near the front. Stacks of parchment leaned precariously on the desk. Pictures and startled portraits were plastered against the walls. He hoped that at least one of the Aurors had heard his crashing and perhaps come to the aid of the Order. But he startled at the sound of shattering glass.
Bloody hell.
Ron rolled aside as shards of glass rained down from above him. Quickly climbing to his feet, he summoned his wand and quickly cast a shield against the incoming curses from behind him. Suddenly, the walls above him collapsed. The debris nearly fell onto his head, but he lifted his left hand and halted it in midair. With one hand holding up his shield and the other holding the debris, he was slowly losing strength. Sinking to his knees, he concentrated intensely on the two spells.
"You're not as bad as I thought," said a voice near him.
Ron looked up, startled. But he was too late. He was blasted against the desk, sending parchments flying around him. He groaned as the cracked wood stabbed into his shoulder. Squinting his eyes open painfully, he looked up when a shadow crossed his vision. A wand was pointed directly at him, eager to seal his fate.
"Going to kill me, mate?" he whispered, staring stubbornly at the cold red eyes. There was no mercy in his gaze. Ron's hand reached discreetly for his wand. "Do it, if you'd like. No one will regret it as much as you will."
He must have imagined it but a flicker of hesitance crossed Harry's eyes. His wand, however, remained firm and unwavering. Taking advantage of his inattention, Ron reached out to grasp Harry's wand and twisted it to where his curse would hit the wall. Shards of glass from the cracked portraits pierced their skin. But Ron quickly blasted Harry across the room, sending him crashing him against the bookcases that aligned the walls.
He stood breathing heavily with both wands in his hand. But as Harry attempted to climb to his feet, Ron quickly strode across the room and wrapped his hands around his throat.
"I never took you as a coward, Harry!" he bellowed, slamming him against the glass ornaments on top of the bookcase. The broken glass stabbed his body before he was slammed roughly against the ground. Shattered wood pierced the top of his head. Groaning, Harry reached up to clutch his head. But as blood descended down profusely from the spaces between his fingers, Ron realized with a sense of dread in his heart what he had done.
He had broken his promise.
He had hurt Harry.
Harry, however, glared fiercely at him from his position on the floor. Before Ron could blink, he banished in an instant. Ron knew that he had vanished beneath the Invisibility Cloak. But Ron's heart pulsed madly.
How could he fight if he couldn't see his opponent?
But Harry had weakened. He couldn't have travelled far. Ron focused on hearing and looked towards the ground for shoe prints. The door to the office remained cracked but shut. He glanced around the room for movements when he heard it. The faint crack of wood. But as he whirled around and cast his shield in the direction of the sound, he realized that he had been tricked.
The curse had come from above him.
He gasped in pain when his back hit the cracked door. His wand clattered to the floor. He looked up only to find that Harry had summoned his wand. Kneeling, he coughed blood beside Harry's feet. But Harry merely studied him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
"What's the matter?" said Ron hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. "Too cowardly to do it, then? What are you waiting for? For hell to freeze over?"
But as Ron rose to his feet, he felt a pressure on his knees. He sank back down again.
"No," Harry replied nonchalantly, draping his cloak around himself again. "I'm trying to figure out the best way to send a message."
Before Ron could think, he felt as if chains had wrapped around his hands and feet that floated him back into the Atrium. Before he reached the ground, he was blasted again. He felt himself flying through the room before he was suddenly halted and dropped down softly. He looked around only to find his brother, Fred, nodding at him before returning to his duel against Avery.
Weak and exhausted, he climbed painfully to his feet. With a sudden dread in his heart, he realized that he could not win this fight.
Not against Harry.
Harry had always shown an aptitude to Defense against the Dark Arts. He had always been the best at dueling, the best at keeping his cool in difficult situations, the best at defensive and offensive spells. That had been his strength. He had even surpassed Hermione through sheer natural talent. He had even startled his teachers and his peers. But then Ron remembered that he didn't have to win this fight. He only needed to stall for a while longer.
But where the hell was Dumbledore?
Before he could think, he felt himself rise above the ground by his throat. Breathing heavily, he peered down with sheer revulsion at the figure below him. Harry's hand tightened around his throat. He had abandoned all magic, and instead, opted for the slower method.
"Let this be a lesson," he hissed, clenching his fist. "to anyone who dares to cross the Dark Lord." With that last note, Ron was slammed roughly against the wall.
He felt the ropes of the tapestries wrap tightly around his hands and feet that kept him upright. Harry, in turn, stepped back. Ron clenched his teeth and suppressed a scream as his muscles contracted painfully. Harry was pouring every ounce of hatred and bitterness into him. With the pain pulsing through him, every excuse that he had given Harry faded from his mind.
He didn't care what kind of suffering that Harry had endured. He didn't care that he had been orphaned at an early age. And he certainly didn't care that he had been the first to accept Ron for who he was, rather than compare him to his brothers. He couldn't stifle the pain. Instead, he elicited a long, drawn out scream that vibrated across the room.
There were also others that had suffered, perhaps not as much as him, but they had endured hell as well . . . And yet, they were never bitter or vindictive. They were kind and compassionate . . . like the Harry that he had once known. But as he felt his consciousness fading, he heard an anguished cry from the other side of the room.
"Harry!" cried a female voice, sprinting across the room. As she approached, she slammed across an invisible shield from behind Harry. "Please stop this, Harry! You can't do this. Please don't hurt him!"
Harry halted his curse.
He shifted his attention to the anguished girl. Ron panicked when Harry glared at her.
Oh, God.
Not Hermione.
"Stay out of this," he snapped, throwing Hermione an irritated glance. His wand steeled in Ron's direction. "You're not part of this."
Hermione continued to fight against the shield.
"Oh, this is stupid, Harry!" she cried, though the force of the shield was throwing her backwards, "How can you do this? Can't you remember? We were friends before. Does that mean nothing to you?" tears sprang in her eyes when Harry refused to lower his wand, "Look, I don't know what Voldemort has done to you, and I know that you think that we've abandoned you, but we can figure this out together. We've always had," she lowered her gaze, "I know that we should've never stopped looking for you, but Harry, believe me when I say that we searched every inch of London to find you. And you're here now . . . Please, Harry. See reason."
But as Hermione continued to beg, something flickered in Harry's eyes. But only Ron could see the change. His eyes darkened. He reached up to clutch his forehead as if in great pain.
"I said, stay out of this," he growled, his eyes glistening with pain.
His wand shook, though it was hardly noticeable. But as he removed his hand from his forehead, his composure returned. Lifting his wand, he steadied it in Ron's direction. Ron saw his lips utter the curse and closed his eyes as Hermione's screams pierced his ears.
"Harry, no!" she screamed.
A flash of light blinded their eyes.
Ron felt the ropes of the tapestries loosen until he slammed to the ground, groaning and cursing profusely.
Harry's curse had hit the wall.
Distraught, Hermione sank to her knees and sobbed, her bushy locks sticking to her face. But as she regained composure, she realized what had happened. Harry, too, looked startled and irritated as he glanced at the doors.
They were saved!
To their surprise, Albus Dumbledore stood, with all of his glory, pointing a wand in Harry's direction. They could feel the intense magic radiating from his form. He looked grave but solemn.
His steel gaze remained fixed on Harry.
"Hermione," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on Harry. "Ron is injured. If you will, kindly escort him out of the Ministry. He has done his part well tonight," when she glanced worriedly at Harry, he added sternly. "I will deal with Harry."
She nodded and crossed over to her husband. She glanced one last time at Harry before she felt the pull in her navel and banished on the spot. All around the room, the sounds of injured Order members disappearing filled his ears.
But Albus trusted them enough to fend for themselves.
Instead, he kept his gaze firmly on his former student, the one that he had long yearned to meet again, the one who had caused him much guilt and anguish, the one whose glaring red eyes shattered his heart. With a sudden dread in his heart, he realized his mistake.
Harry had never learned Occlumency.
"You have failed here tonight, Harry," he declared softly. Harry clenched his teeth. "In your efforts to kill Mr. Weasley, you have failed to prevent my entry," Albus noticed that Harry's hand clenched around his wand. He knew that he was going to fire a curse. "Tell me, Harry, what is the consequence for your failure tonight?"
Narrowing his eyes, he said.
"Your life."
Albus quickly cast a shield against the incoming curse. He slid a few feet away near the fountain in the center, slightly repelled by the curse. But as he recovered, a wave of water rose above the fountain and circled around him until it had formed into a ball. But he simply manipulated it until it had formed into a thin line that he used to wrap around Harry. He needed Harry to be still. As he did, however, Harry immediately vanished from beneath it and reappeared behind him.
But this time, Albus was ready.
He blasted him to the wall, narrowly avoiding the duel between Remus and Crabbe. As he approached him, however, he looked down sadly at his weakened form.
"Ah, Harry," he shook his head in anguish. "How I sought to protect you," he stepped back as a curse rushed past his ear. "How I mourned for you," he looked down in weary sadness as Harry stumbled to his feet with a hand clutching his side. "Even now, I can hardly stand before you without marveling the fact that you are alive, that you are healthy, despite all of the suffering that you have endured, despite all of the deceit brought on by Voldemort. Harry, I can only hope that you will find it in yourself to forgive me – for an old fool's mistake."
But there was that determined expression in his eyes again. Albus recognized that look. He would not surrender. But Albus wished that he would. He did not want to hurt Harry. Not while knowing that he was not only hurting Voldemort, but also the real Harry beneath the surface.
But Harry rose to his feet, breathing heavily. His robes were torn and drenched with blood. His head was bleeding profusely. Albus tried to approach him before another curse caused him to step back.
"Call off your Order," he said stiffly, conjuring a full shield against the incoming curses. "Then we'll talk."
"The Order?" Albus inquired calmly. "The Order serves to fight against every inhumane act that Tom Riddle has committed. Not unlike what you had done during your five year stay at Hogwarts. You fought him, Harry! You defied him in the name of your parents, your friends, your peers," as Harry clasped his forehead, Albus knew that he was getting through to him. "Your compassion for others, Harry, your love for your parents gave you the strength that he never had. Your mother . . ." he lowered his voice. "Lily's sacrifice. Surely you will not lay it all to waste. Tom Riddle can never understand what is like to feel, or to be, loved. He can never possess your mind as long as you continue to feel love. But your bitterness, Harry, your grief, is strengthening his grip on you."
With a heavy heart, he approached the young man.
Harry had a palm over his face. He was groaning in pain.
"Lay it all aside, Harry," he said softly, placing his dead hand on his shoulder. "If not for your friends, remember your mother."
"I never knew her," Harry whispered from behind his hand. His voice was still bitter. And Albus hurried to settle his worries.
"But you do," he said firmly before a smile dawned his features. "She lives within you."
Harry remained silent for a long moment with a hand over his face. Albus could see his struggle to fight off Voldemort. The words were sinking in slowly, yet his magic still vibrated with Dark Magic.
Voldemort's presence was still in the room.
Suddenly, he removed his hand and stepped back.
"If you really cared for me," he hissed. But Albus froze at his next words. "you would do what you should've done ten years ago."
Harry tossed his wand aside as he waited for Albus's next move. He stood tall before the elderly man – daring him, challenging him to do it. To kill him. But Albus's breath hitched in his throat. Again, he was forced into this dilemma. Again, Voldemort was inviting him to kill, not only a part of himself, but another soul as well. But he couldn't do it. He cared too much for Harry. To kill Harry. To kill the son of James and Lily Potter, who had, for the past ten years, brought much pain and suffering to countless victims.
But Harry himself was innocent. He had never intended to commit those crimes. He was forced into that situation. The lips that had uttered that Killing Curse was his, but the soul present in that vessel at the time was not. It had never been his choice. Albus remembered telling him that choices define the individual.
But where would the justice for the victims lie if the suspect himself was not punished? What is the verdict for a criminal with two faces, one benign and one corrupt? Should both be punished, or only one of them? But if both faces occupied the one body, then the hand that lifted the weapon was the same . . .
But then, he thought of Harry's immanent fate . . . He was never meant to have survived as an infant. Not while Lord Voldemort lives on in his veins. But if he killed him now . . . If he killed him for his crimes . . . Albus feared what would await him after. But as he looked into his cold red eyes, he made a decision.
Lifting his wand, he watched as Harry eyed his wand warily before he shouted.
"Legilimens!"
Harry deserved a second chance.
As Albus entered his memories, he was appalled by what he witnessed. He watched as Voldemort poured every ounce of hatred for Harry onto him. The private meetings between him and Voldemort were nothing more than torture sessions, where Harry would lay bleeding and trembling after prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. He watched dreadfully as Harry leaned against the bars of his cell, his life leaning precariously close to the end. He watched as Harry struggled to heal himself. The fact that he had immersed himself in healing spells made sense now. It was for his own survival as well as a useful tool for others. He watched as Harry constantly endured his worst fears in the dungeons – the Dementors.
However, as he sifted through his memories, Albus slowly grew desperate. He couldn't find the memories of Harry's five years in Hogwarts. In fact, he couldn't find a single memory of Ron, Hermione, Remus, or the Weasleys. He couldn't find a memory of Hogwarts at all. Not of his Sorting, not of Hagrid, not of Dobby. All he found were memories of the Dursley's as well as bits of himself and the ten years with Voldemort.
A deep-seated sadness overcame him. He realized what Voldemort had done.
Lowering his wand, his eyes watered as Harry screamed and sank to his knees with both hands over his head. As if his head had split open. His screams echoed across the room. A sick tale of what he had endured.
"My dear boy," he said wearily. How could he have let this happen? "My dear, dear boy. What have they done to you?"
He had failed him. He had sworn . . . He had promised himself to protect the boy at all cost. For James and Lily. The two that had been the pedestal of hope, the pedestal of optimism. James had always been the enthusiast, the one whose grin strengthened the hopes of the ones around him. And Lily . . . dear, sweet Lily . . . the one whose gentle heart warmed the fiercest villain's . . . the one whose lovely green eyes sparked with hope and innocence . . . But their son . . . Their son had seen too much, had been through too much that he was left almost . . .
Broken.
He was an echo of his parents. Yet, shared none of their hope and enthusiasm. His hard demeanor, haunted eyes, and scarred body distinguished him from his parents. The spark of innocence that was once there had extinguished somewhere around his Third Year at Hogwarts.
Albus should have known that it was fruitless to try and keep it.
But Harry's screams died down after what seemed like an eternity. His breaths, too, settled. He lowered his hands to his knees, a sense of resignation in his posture. He remained still for a long moment before he snapped his head up at the sound of blasts and shouts within the room. As he looked up, Albus realized with faint hope in his heart that Harry's eyes were green once more.
"You won't do it, then?" Harry asked softly, his gaze fixed on the battle. Albus, however, startled. It seems like Harry had been conscious during his possession.
But Albus gave him a regretful look.
"It is beyond my powers, Harry," he shook his head. "I care too much for your well-being to commit such an act." He wanted Harry to understand that.
Harry's gaze remained averted.
"Not even for the greater good?" he muttered, a slight bite in his tone. He then looked at him through accusing green eyes.
So he knew of Albus's past.
But this was a discussion for another time.
"No, Harry," he replied softly. "Not even for the greater good."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and appraised his honesty before he slowly rose to his feet. Suddenly, he summoned his wand to his hand before he turned to the battle with a steel gaze in his eyes. It was a look that was reminiscent to his past self that Albus's heart soared with joy. He watched with a sense of pride in his heart as Harry rushed towards the center of the room with his wand in his hand.
And Albus did not stop him.
"Enough!" he bellowed.
A blinding light emitted from his wand that disarmed both Order members and Death Eaters and sent them all crashing against the walls. The whole room merely looked at him in astonishment.
"Call off the others," he demanded, glaring at the Death Eaters. "We're done for the day."
It was only then did they notice the intimidating figure of Albus Dumbledore standing behind him. They regarded him with both surprise and disdain before they collectively vanished on the spot. And Albus let them go . . . For Harry's sake. If Voldemort suspected Harry of disloyalty, he would have his head on a silver plate.
Albus, in turn, nodded at the questioning eyes of the Order members. They offered Harry confused but admiring glances before they, too, disappeared on the spot. Soon, the room emptied until only Harry and Albus were standing in the room.
Ah, how he wished to confess everything right then and there. To empty his burden, to implore for his forgiveness. But before either of them could say a word, a rustle at the entrance that was previously barricaded, but that Albus had broken through, caught their attention. To Albus's dread, the Ministry members had returned to their workplaces. Their eyes were fixed, not on Albus, but on the figure behind him. And one thought crossed Albus's mind . . .
Not Harry.
Quickly, as the muttering of the Ministry members amplified, Albus stepped in front of Harry. As if shielding him from the horrified looks of the Ministry members. With a sudden sense of dread, he realized rather reluctantly what he had to do. He would have to trust Harry to return on his accord. He confirmed this when the crowd suddenly parted and the Minister of Magic was let through. He flinched back violently when he looked at Harry's bloody form.
"Good God, Albus," he breathed in astonishment. Suddenly, however, his features fused into an angry snarl as he snapped. "What in the bloody blazes is Harry Potter doing in the center of my Ministry?"
But the name echoed across the crowd, each marveling the return of the famous Harry Potter.
"Your Ministry, Rufus?" Albus asked calmly. "I seem to recall that the Ministry houses more than one individual. Not only of that of it's Minister, but also of countless of witches and wizards that can also contribute to discussion," he then lowered his eyes so that he was looking at him from above his spectacles. "But perhaps, of course, I am mistaken." His eyes twinkled at the ripple of unsettlement that he had caused in the crowd.
But the Minister looked as if his eyes would pop out of his head.
"Now see here, Dumbledore," he growled, stepping forward and glancing warily at Harry. "The previous Ministers might have approved of your funny business, but I won't have it. To defend Harry Potter when you know of his actions, you know of his crimes, why, is a crime in itself. He is a threat to established order and should be arrested at once. The Courts will decide if he should be administered the Dementor's Kiss."
At the last statement, Albus abruptly lost his humor and stepped forward, his eyes flashing dangerously. Intimidated, the Minister stepped back.
"Harry is no more of a criminal than you and I, Rufus," he stated firmly. The Minister blanched. "What crimes he has committed are the direct influence of Lord Voldemort," many gasps emerged from the room. "It is an influence beyond his control, beyond his will. He should not be held accountable for his actions."
"Not be held accountable?" the Minister sputtered. "Have your wits left you, Albus? What will you inform his victims? Or their families that he has torn apart? Where is their justice, Albus? Is your faith in Harry Potter stronger than your compassion for his victims?"
"Ah, Rufus," he shook his head wearily. He did not want to turn around to look at Harry's expression. He could only guess what he was thinking. "You have narrowed my field of view to fit your own. I will not choose between one or the other, for I have both faith in Harry Potter and compassion for his victims. But these victims should place the blame where the blame lies. And it is not on Harry Potter. But rather, on Lord Voldemort."
Then he stepped forward again in emphasis.
"Do not allow your fear to cloud your judgements, Rufus! By arresting Harry Potter, you are losing a vital ally in the war. He is not your enemy and never was. He has defied, and continues to defy, Voldemort on countless occasions. See reason, Rufus. See matters beyond the surface and not by what they appear to be."
But the Minister continued to shake his head profusely.
"You're mad, Dumbledore. Utterly mad," he muttered, his eyes bulging. Abruptly, he turned around to bellow into the crowd. "Aurors! Aurors! Arrest this man at once!" he yelled, pointing to Harry.
With a heavy heart, Albus turned to Harry, whose turbulence etched across his features. He looked worn and tired. A heavy burden had settled on his shoulders. Albus wished that he could return him to his friends, perhaps have Madam Pomfrey heal his injuries, or even give him a comfortable bed, one that he had not seen in ten years, to sleep on. But alas, as he met his gaze, he knew that he had to send him back to Voldemort.
And the worst part was, he didn't know if he would ever meet him again.
"You must leave, Harry," he stated softly as the rushed footsteps of the Aurors approached them.
With a hint of hesitance, he nodded and stepped back into the shadows. As the Aurors neared him, he vanished at the spot. Albus mourned his absence as he, too, activated his Portkey. As he returned, he wondered with a sense of dread in his heart if all of the Order members were well and alive.
A/N: Not the easiest chapter to write, but definitely enjoyed writing it. I love Dumbledore in the books. A lot of times, writers often miss that he's a really emotional person, even though he's always really clever and witty. Anywho . . .
Lemon Drop?
Reviews appreciated.