"It's time Albus," McGonagall's tired voice ended the silence that had overtaken the office. All the remaining members of the Order had gathered in the Headmaster's Office along with the Professors, bar Severus Snape, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hestia Jones. The latter two were currently surveying the grounds and guarding it. The news of Harry's inevitable demise surfaced quickly after the Ministry had been overthrown. Everything had gone wrong so fast. Dumbledore paced back and forth behind his desk, his old hand latched onto his beard.

"It cannot be-"

"You are the only one who can stop him. Why must you rely on this prophecy so relentlessly?"

"Harry must be the one to stop him."

"Harry is a child, a boy!" The shrill woman bellowed. "He has had to bear this burden for too long, this is not his war. It is yours." Her tone left no place for an argument. Albus stopped his pacing. Was she right? Had he been blinded by mere words? No. He had heard the prophecy, he had been there. It was absolute. His mind was reeling.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had been trying to escape through the Floo Network, Umbridge catching them before they could foolishly follow after their friend. They had been questioned, and Hermione had to think fast and told her that Harry had run to Dumbledore. She told her that Dumbledore was indeed in the Department of Mysteries, in hopes that Umbridge would alert the authorities, and Aurors would be dispatched. She had been quick on her feet, trying to think of any way to get Harry some sort of support. When they tried to question further Hermione, she gazed straight into Snape's eyes.

"It's Sirius." The witch stressed. To most, it could sound like a simple comment about how serious the situation was, however, Severus Snape was not your average wizard. Although he hadn't reacted in the slightest, Hermione knew that the point had gotten across.

The moment Snape's services were no longer needed he immediately alerted the Order before being summoned by the Dark Lord moments after. The message hadn't made much sense, but they were able to sort out that Harry was at the Ministry of Magic because of Sirius thanks to Hermione's wit.

Sirius, however, had no idea as to what was going on. After brief questioning, they all agreed the only goal was to find Harry and make sure he was safe. The Order was dispatched and the first problem they encountered was that the Floo Network to the Atrium was swamped. It was anarchy. There must have been a backup, some sort of gross influx of wizards trying to go through all at the same time. [1]

Tonk's had stood in the green flames repeating "Ministry of Magic!" for five minutes yet she remained in the fireplace. Things were not faring better on the other side either.

The Death Eaters had gathered in the Atrium, one of the followers had shot a morsmordre and it swam above the fountain hauntingly. When the Aurors got word of something amiss at the Ministry, they had all Floo'd and were the first to witness the carnage. Ministry officials were lined up, execution-style, Death Eaters lined the walls menacingly. A large group of workers for the Ministry had been incarcerated or incapacitated by magic. Forced to bear witness to the planning. The Aurors had no choice but to put their wands down and surrender, fearing they may hit innocents. It was a total takeover. One of the most surprising parts was that there was a group of Ministry Officials who stood with the Death Eaters. The Ministry's Headquarters had been taken. During the same time, an attack was made on Azkaban. Any remaining Death Eaters in the prison had been released.

The moment the Floo Network was back up and running, the Order had taken their chance. Upon entering the Atrium, they were bombarded with spells. Red and green light flared through the air. The Order was overwhelmed, it was them versus a horrid army. There seemed to be a moment of hope when Dumbledore came through his Floo, but it was short-lived as the battle became an execution order. Every Death Eater in the vicinity threw their best, people they thought were civilians joined in, and Dumbledore could see they were fighting a losing battle. The Order fled.

Only when they regrouped at 12 Grimmauld Place did they realize the loss. Elphias Doge, Mundungus Fletcher, Arthur Weasley, and Remus Lupin had never come back. Dumbledore knew it was only time before Hogwarts became the next target. Through their grief, the remaining Order members had made their way to the castle. Hogwarts could not fall. Albus relented that it was the safest place to be.

This is where they found themselves after it all. Safeguarded behind stone walls, with time running out.

Albus Dumbledore would have to face the Dark Lord in a last attempt to stop this from solidifying. But he wasn't going to be able to. He knew this, with all his magic he did. Without Harry, they were doomed.

"Filius, it's time."

"Albus! We cannot hide here forever, this will only hold them back for so long! Minerva is correct, V-Voldemort must be stopped." The squeaky man pushed. But Albus wasn't having any of it.

"The students need to be shielded. It's time. We will discuss this after Hogwarts is made impenetrable." No one could fight that this was necessarily a bad idea, but they knew he was using it as a way to stall the inevitable. Flitwick huffed and gave in. His students needed him. He called on Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey to assist him. The amount of magic required to shield the entirety of Hogwarts was more than he had. With the four of them, they made their way to the courtyard. Filius instructed each witch to face a different direction until all were covered. Each wizard pointed their wand, making a human compass, and began to chant.

"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." They cast in unison, long sparks of silvery-blue shot out of the tips of their wands. Holding steady, a barrier started to form. Each blast of the incantation helped grow the barrier, it was a sea of light, rippling against the starry night.

"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." The lines crossed into each other, and four parts of a shield became one. The wands began vibrating in their master's hands.

"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." The blue globe completely encased the grounds. The outside world was gone, and they could only hope this would be enough.

Lord Voldemort strolled into his newly acquired building. The Ministry had been a sweet, sweet gift that he had stolen. It was rightfully his. He was exactly right where he was supposed to be, in charge, on top. The opposing Aurors had been taken care of, replacing the very prisoners they had put into Azkaban themselves. They would be dealt with soon, loyalty or death. Voldemort would have nothing more than complete control.

The lines of civilians and Ministry workers on their knees gave him a sick sense of joy, a delicious thrill. Those closest to the Dark Lord, who had been brave enough to look up from their bowing positions, made audible gasps. Varying shrieks of horror arose, like a wave. The realization that Lord Voldemort walked the earth, proof of it in front of their eyes. The Death Eaters demanded respect for their Lord, directing their wands to those who refused to quiet down. They were permitted to use people as examples should they need to.

At the fountain, there were three kneeling figures and one body. They were of importance because they were members of Dumbledore's resistance. Voldemort had wanted them alive, he had questions to ask, answers to take. One of the men had been unlucky, however, and took a misplaced diffindo to his lower throat. Without immediate medical care, he was doomed. No one in the throws of the battle was able to get to him. An unfortunate loss truly.

The remaining three men had been taken down with passive spells or succumbed to their injuries and captured. Behind each live member stood a Death Eater. His most loyal. Bellatrix stood behind Remus Lupin, the werewolf. The lower half of her face was caked in dried blood, an injury from the boy earlier. In her love for the battle, she must have chosen to ignore the injury. Her nose was visibly broken.

"My Lord." She said in reverence while bowing slightly, not moving from her post. The others followed her movements. Her captive was fairing well enough. He had a ghastly cut above his left eyebrow, still bleeding. Without his hands-free he was unable to wipe it away, causing his right eye to be the only sight he was granted. He was breathing heavily and sloped over.

The next over was Yaxley, the man that had shown his worth with this coup. Voldemort had given him a task and he had completed it with acceptable results. Yaxley held a familiar face, Arthur Weasley. Scorching anger tumbled in his ribs as he remembered Harry's visions of his loved ones. This was one of Harry's weaknesses knelt in front of him. Subdued, helpless. Another show of how fate truly favored Lord Voldemort. The man seemed half alive, he didn't have many visible wounds, only small cuts and bruises littered his exposed skin. He didn't seem to be able to hold himself up, however, as Yaxley had a harsh grip upon the man's collar. Tugging harshly when he threatened to topple over.

Yes, he would use this well.

"Yaxley, throw that man into the holds. Make sure his wounds are seen to, I need him alive and well." Without hesitation, the Death Eater muttered a 'Yes M'Lord' and stunned the elder Weasley. His body hit the wooden floor with a solid thump. Lupin and the other man both began to struggle, Bella hissed grabbing hold of the werewolf's hair and sticking her wand under his chin.

Lucius' ward was an infamous man, Mundungus Fletcher. His leg was broken, snapped at the shin, yet he tried his hand at standing in protest. Lucius grabbed hold of the man's shirt, holding him in place while he stepped into the broken limb. Fletcher cried out in pain, folding in on himself, it must have been pure agony.

"You sick fucks." He spat. Lucius silenced him and continued to apply pressure on his lower leg. The man screamed in silence.

Arthur Weasley's body was levitated, then walked to one of the many fireplaces. They were gone in a flash of green.

Voldemort held his arms out and turned around slowly. The Atrium was as quiet as when it was empty.

"My fellow wizards, my people ." He smiled, exposing his tooth-filled mouth. "Today begins anew. The end of this broken era has come." Allowing his arms to drop, he let his wand slide out into his palm. The sight of it caused visual distress, and many made to move away from their new leader. "You will all be given a fair and just trial. An easy answer to an even easier question. Will you join me? Or will you die... like vermin, hiding in the streets." Bodies shifted uneasily as the Dark Lord started to roam, his robes creating an illusion of black waves. "You are important people, ones who have jobs, families. Duties to fulfill. Should you join me willingly, and with absolute loyalty, you will be allowed your positions." His voice lowered. "There will be nothing to fear, your lives needn't come to an end, help me build us back to greatness!" With a motion of his hands, the Death Eaters began hollering, cheering.

"Greatness!"

"Our Lord is merciful!"

"Loyalty or blood! "

"Stand with me! Swear to me! " And people did. One by one, dozens upon dozens of wizards started to stand. Remus Lupin watched on in horror as civilians and Ministry Officials stood, pledging themselves to a great evil out of fear.

This was only the beginning.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he was able to enjoy such a long bath. The water refused to cool, so he was able to lay in it for as long as he wished. He closed his eyes, and let his finger graze the water's surface. His fingers looked like prunes, and his bones had been warmed to their core. The bath allowed him to move his body in a way that allowed a much-needed reprieve from the pain in his knee. His leg, suspended in the water, was a bruised mess. The pain from his limbs had let him forget about the other problems. His elbow was sore, hitting it off metal was a sure way to make it so.

His head felt foggy, he swore he could feel the tattered edges of his mind from Voldemort's assault. It was a terrible ache, there was a stiff tension in his neck from it. Harry's face was bruised as well. His cheekbone was swollen, and it stuck out further than the other. Just at the edge of his eyebrow, there was a shallow cut. His glasses had caught on his skin, and pulled. He had taken them off when getting into the bathroom after catching sight of his appearance. Harry had gazed into the mirror and didn't like what he'd seen. It was too much. It meant it was real. He had abandoned the spectacles on the counter and blindly ran the bath. Undressing was a chore in itself, but he achieved it.

Harry looked over to where his filthy clothes lay. He didn't want to have to put the soiled clothes back on, but he also didn't want to move around starkers. To be caught naked by the Dark Lord? Again, hilarious to witness his reaction, mortifying to think about. He could always wrap himself up in the sheets. Then his bath wouldn't go wasted, and he'd have coverage. If Voldemort didn't like it, he could suck an egg. The only issue with this is that he wouldn't be able to maneuver around wrapped up. He'd be virtually stuck in place, like a helpless burrito. Harry threw his hand impulsively into the water, splashing the calm waters. Water sprayed onto the tiled walls, and over the edge of the tub. He was frustrated.

The teen drew in a deep breath and shimmied himself down into the water completely. He submerged his whole body and shook his head. His hair waved elegantly in time with the water. It made him think of the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. Of course, this was a lot less cold, and not as life-threatening. Actually, that was debatable. Anything to do with Voldemort was life-threatening. He didn't have to recover something he lost? Nope, that wasn't true. He had to try to recover his freedom. Try again. This wasn't a plot designed to capture Harry and use him for nefarious Dark Loud schemes? Ah, bullocks. Foiled again.

Suddenly Harry sat up in the bath, realizing he had been under for too long, and tried to fill his lungs with beautiful, wonderful oxygen. He couldn't breathe underwater this time afterall. He coughed loudly, expelling the liquid from his nose and throat. That was one way to die. Drowning himself in the bathtub by accident. The peaceful atmosphere now ruined, Harry searched the bottom of the porcelain for the plug. Harry listened to the demented noise of the drain swallowing the dirt until it made its last little gurgle. He used his good leg to lift his body while bracing himself on both edges of the tub with his hands. He had to swing his hip to the side and use the momentum to right himself on the edge. He looked down to the floor at his jumper and jeans and wrinkled his nose. Yeah, there was no way he was putting any of it back on. Reaching for the towel on the rack, Harry started to dry himself off limb by limb.

He remembered when they were very little and Dudley would get out of the tub, Petunia would do the shimmy to dry him. Placing the towel on his head and ruffling his hair through the fabric. Then do it to the rest of his body. Dudley loved it. It always made him giggle. She never dried Harry off, he would stand there shivering and have to wait for Dudley's already wet towel. Then he'd have to pat himself dry. When he was that small, he didn't understand at all why he wasn't treated like his cousin. He thought he was bad. Sometimes he still feels that way.

Standing up, putting all of his weight on his good leg, Harry wrapped the damp towel around his waist like a skirt. He did that often in the quidditch change rooms at school, it was weird being around a whole group of people where everyone was naked. Ron always laughed at him when he got flustered, teasing him. Harry didn't care what they said, it was weird being naked in a room filled with your mates. Especially when in the midst of having your hormones on steroids. No thanks. He'd rather hide away in a wardrobe and pretend to be a clothing hanger. Alone in the comfortable dark surrounded by clothes.

Speaking of clothes, there was a dresser in the other room. What were the chances they had clothes in them? It was worth a look.

Using the sink's counter, Harry hopped to the door. He paused to grab his glasses and placed them on his face, continuing his weird hop. Opening the door proved that he was still an idiot because he had to back himself up to open it fully. The air outside the bathroom was chilled, and goosebumps racked his flesh. Using the door frame and walls, he hobbled his way towards the dark wooden piece of furniture. It was a tall dresser, reaching just under his shoulder. It had four large drawers, and two half-sized ones at the top. Probably for socks and undergarments. Grabbing the ornate handle he opened the top left drawer, empty. Pushing it closed, Harry reached for the right side, preparing himself for disappointment. Yet he opened it and was pleasantly surprised to find some pants. So he was allowed underwear, but not socks? Rude.

Grabbing the top pair, a soft grey, he closed the drawer and opened the third one. Inside was a large amount of black cloth. He wasn't sure what it was until he pulled it out, and revealed black robes. There were four or five in the drawer. Harry only needed the one for now and closed the drawer. He threw the underwear and robe onto the carpeted floor and checked the rest of the drawers. They were all empty, surprise-surprise. Thankful for what he did have, Harry eased himself onto the floor and began to dress. The pants were a size too big, the label reading one-size-fits-all. Lies. The robe was definitely not meant for him, as it swallowed him whole. Lifting his arms, his hands were hidden from view underneath the long sleeve. Were these Voldemort's robes? That thought made Harry pause, squinting suspiciously at the cloth.

"No," He refused to believe it. "Absolutely not."

"Talking to yourself already, Harry?" Harry Potter flinched so hard he knocked his glasses off and screamed like Ron when he found that spider in his bed. The teen inhaled loudly and grumbled.

"What is wrong with you?" The teen felt for his glasses and placed them on his face once more before turning to glare at Voldemort. He didn't like being on the floor, looking up at the man. He struggled to stand quickly. If he leaned on his left leg, he could do it. Voldemort took in his appearance, his damp hair and lack of footwear. The man's face looked almost surprised that Harry knew how to open doors and use plumbing.

"I see you've found the bathroom."

"I see you like to point out the obvious." The man's wand was out faster than his mind could comprehend it.

"Crucio." Harry dropped from his pathetic posture and landed back on the ground. It seemed the Dark Lord had finally had enough of him. He writhed for less than five-second before the curse was lifted. "Try me again, Harry Potter." His voice was low, and Harry was trying really hard not to take that as a challenge. Expectant was the impression he got over their link, Voldemort kept his wand arm trained on his crumpled form.

"I'm good." He was not good. Voldemort sighed as if he was disappointed with Harry. A flutter of annoyance brushed his side of the link and Harry was hit with the curse again. He was held under longer this time. He cried out loudly, his voice cracking as his throat convulsed. Knives sliced between his finger and toes, his skin was being peeled back layer after layer. It was all too much.

ENOUGH! STOP!

Harry pushed what he was feeling back through the link, imagining the tube again. This time he stuffed his pain into it instead of his hatred.

The curse was lifted, and Harry knew that it had worked as the room was now filled with someone else's screaming.

Notes:

[1] I researched what I could about the Floo Network, there is no definitive information about how it works. Whether it is manned in a way that stops anyone from Flooing into another with the use of the Ministry Department of Magical Transportation (there is a Floo Network office), or if there is a series of complex spells or charms that perhaps create a queue, much like a printer. The Death Eaters had taken control of the Ministry in the evening, making me believe they had control over the Floo Network. It makes sense to me that they would keep it locked down until they were ready.

Also, Voldemort almost exclusively speaks to Harry in Parseltongue, and Harry replies in English.