Harry's gasp reverberated through the small, dimly lit room, his eyes snapping open as he was abruptly thrust back into the harsh embrace of reality. He shuddered, the haunting, visceral darkness of his recent nightmare still clinging to his senses like a malevolent ghost. The abruptness of waking up was as unsettling as the nightmare itself. The transition from one horrifying realm to another offered him no respite.
His trembling fingers reached instinctively for his throbbing scar. The mere touch of it sent a jolt of anxiety coursing through him. Was it a real vision, or had it been just another twisted dream? Attempting to slow the erratic thumping of his heart, the raven-haired teen sucked in a gasping breath. The experience had felt horrifyingly real, drawing an involuntary shudder. Had Voldemort sent it, or was it just another one of those sinister illusions, like the one that had lured him to the Ministry a few months ago?
"Merlin," he whispered, shaking his head, his bleary eyes struggling to focus. Harry groped blindly on the rickety nightstand beside his uncomfortably lumpy bed, searching for his glasses. Once he found them, he pushed them shakily onto the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. What he had witnessed was too vivid, a foreboding omen of his dearest friends in peril, captives of the malevolent wizard who had haunted his life for years.
Sliding out of bed, Harry began to pace the small chamber. He had barely taken four steps before he found himself standing at the room's single window. He turned abruptly and trudged back toward his bed, perching himself uneasily on the edge of his battered school trunk. His surroundings were barren and devoid of any personal touches. The Dursleys had never spared him so much as a speck of dust to make the room feel like his own. Everything he held dear was locked away within that trunk, a stark contrast to the warm, welcoming environment of Hogwarts.
With a frustrated grunt, Harry's hand shot up to his scar as another wave of pain surged through his skull. The last time it had hurt this intensely was when he had been in the presence of Voldemort himself. So, either Voldemort was lurking nearby, or the dark wizard's power had grown exponentially. Neither possibility offered any solace. Another agonizing spasm of pain gripped his scar, dropping the trembling youth to his knees as he fought to maintain consciousness amidst the searing ache in his temple and forehead. Harry would have wagered a baby dragon that Voldemort not only had increased in power but was also lurking just outside his door, reveling in the agony he could inflict upon the vulnerable teenager.
A sharp tapping at his window captured his attention, coinciding with another twinge of discomfort from his scar. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself unsteadily back up and took a wobbly step toward the window. At this rate, he thought bitterly, his scar might kill him before he had a chance to rescue his friends.
Brushing his unruly hair out of his eyes, Harry approached the window, where a disgruntled brown barn owl impatiently pecked at the glass. Cringing, Harry unlatched the window and opened it partially, careful not to make too much noise. As soon as the window was ajar, the owl swooped in with an irritated hoot, landing on his bed and extending a leg with an air of pompous impatience. Sighing, Harry moved toward the bird and retrieved the letter. With another irritated hoot, the owl departed. Hoping for useful information, Harry quickly unfolded the parchment to reveal Dumbledore's distinctive, looping script occupying a small portion of the page.
Harry,
Remain at the Dursleys. I am on my way.
Albus Dumbledore.
Frustration and anger surged within Harry as he crumpled the letter and hurled it at the wall in futile annoyance. Dumbledore's message provided no real information, just another cryptic directive. It had been like this throughout the summer, with no hint of news about the resurgence of the wizard who had murdered his parents and repeatedly sought to end his life. It was infuriating. In fact, it had been a recurring theme throughout his life. No one, not even Dumbledore, had seen fit to offer him a shred of information, except when circumstances had forced their hand. Harry had been plagued by half-answers and vague promises of future revelations since he first entered the wizarding world. Even before that, his own aunt and uncle had concealed the truth about his parents' fate and his innate magical abilities.
Suddenly, a surge of anger fueled his magic, and the parchment burst into flames, its ashes drifting to the wooden floor. Harry watched the embers fade away into the cold, still air, startled by the unexpected display of wandless magic. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sense that something terrible was happening, and he was left in the dark, powerless to intervene.
A soft cough from behind jolted him back to the present. He turned to find none other than Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Dumbledore entering the room, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Their silent entrance indicated that they had used spells to muffle any noise and remain undetected by the Dursleys. Harry hoped that meant his aunt and uncle were blissfully unaware of their presence; he had no desire to endure his uncle's tirades in addition to the mounting concerns that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
As he stared at their unexpected arrival, he couldn't help but notice the distress etched into the usually cheerful faces of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley's red-rimmed eyes revealed that she had been crying, and dark bags hung beneath them. Harry's heart sank as he realized that the nightmare he had just witnessed might be more than a product of his own imagination. He felt a rising dread as he took in their downcast expressions, fearing the news they carried.
"Potter, put away your wand at once and cease performing magic before the entire Ministry descends upon us," Snape snapped, his black eyes glowering at the pajama-clad teenager.
"I don't have my wand out, sir," Harry replied coldly, lifting his empty hands. His response seemed to surprise the rest of the room, but his focus remained on Dumbledore. He had little patience for the dour Potions Master, whom he still blamed for his godfather's death.
"So, it's true?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though it was more a statement than a question. He could sense the despair radiating from the Weasleys.
Dumbledore's usual twinkling blue eyes had lost their sparkle as he nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so, my dear boy."
Nodding in acknowledgment, Harry turned and sat down on his bed, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the spot where the crumpled letter had landed. He had entrusted Dumbledore to keep his friends safe, to protect them from the looming threat of Lord Voldemort. Yet now, his two best friends were evidently in the clutches of the very man who had haunted his nightmares for years.
"How did you find out?" Dumbledore inquired quietly as he stopped before the shaken teen.
Harry glanced down at his hands in contemplation. His revelation would likely ostracize himself even further from the Headmaster who already feared that Voldemort would continue to use the mystifying link shared through his scar as a means to circumvent Dumbledore and the Order's attempt to repress the dark arts and its users. And likely Snape would go on a diatribe on how he was senseless child that thought his connection with the Dark Lord made him special and that he was purposely putting all of them at risk since he could not block his mind.
"A dream," Harry admitted, lying would not help them solve anything. "I saw them with him. And Malfoy as well as his snake," he added as an afterthought. Maybe it would provide a hint of where they were being kept. "He held them in a cell, it was made of stone and dark. I didn't see any features that indicated where they were, or at least none that I remember. He said he would not kill them yet, that they were bait." He regarded the Headmaster thoughtfully, genuinely concerned about the pain he had experienced earlier. It seemed to have finally subsided for the moment to his immense relief. "And then my scar hurt. As bad as it does when he's near me. Almost as bad as when we fought at the ministry." He left unsaid that he meant when the resurrected dark lord had tried to possess him. That was a horrible detail he hoped was not common knowledge with the rooms occupants.
Dumbledore sighed, looking far older than ever before. It seemed that the great wizard whom so many admired was finally beginning to fall from the pedestal that had been set so high. "Don't fret Harry, Voldemort is not near here nor does he know that you live anywhere in this area. But I do believe that this confirms my suspicion that he has indeed grown stronger. Not just magically but also in his ability to control the connection that the two of you share. I had thought with the visions he sent you of the Department of Mysteries, that he did not have complete control to send you visions whenever he desired. Those had seem more spontaneous and when you were in a highly emotional state. But that this happened again this evening and he made certain you knew, it shows a level of control over your link I had not realized."
"Wonderful," spat Harry bitterly. He had no clue how to take that. So Voldemort could literally send him visions whenever he desired. That did not bode well for his sanity. But there were more pressing matters to discuss. "So what's the brilliant plan to get them back?"
Again Dumbledore sighed, and Harry almost growled in annoyance. He did not need this right now, his friends were at the mercy of Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore only stood before him looking old and fragile. He had trusted the wizard to protect them, to keep them safe. Part of the reason he kept coming back to this abysmal existence with his magic loathing relatives was because Dumbledore assured him that it was the safest option for all. Yet his two best friends had clearly been kidnapped under the Order's nose. And for all he knew, they could already be dead, or worse, tortured into insanity, because a maniac sociopath decided he had nothing better to do than constantly attack an almost sixteen year old boy.
Worse, he had no confidence that the vision he'd seen was the entire truth. Voldemort already had demonstrated his ability to make Harry see anything when he'd tricked him into his ill-fated rescue attempt for his godfather which had resulted in his last hope at a family being killed because of his very actions. He had no possible way of knowing the condition his friends were in and if what he'd seen was reality.
"Please tell me you have a plan," Harry practically hissed, anger roaring in his skull. He didn't even trust that it was his own, versus and implant from Voldemort after everything he'd been through and experienced the previous year. Shadows of the dark lord constantly whispering in, seducing him behind the eerie link which the headmaster had yet to provide a satisfying answer to, constantly put him at fear that Voldemort had some unknown powers over him. "You were supposed to keep them safe."
"Potter," McGonagall admonished, but there wasn't as much heart in the rebuke as she would normally provide. Mrs. Weasley let out a giant sob which she valiantly tried to hide as she turn and clung to her husband who wrapped his arms around her, whispering soft nothings into her unkempt hair. It was clear neither of them had slept this night. He wondered when the actual abduction has occurred and if anyone else had been injured.
"Harry, I know you're distraught. Please try and remain calm. I intend to fill you in as best I can." He paused, glancing at Snape thoughtfully before continuing. "Two letters arrived about an hour ago; one addressed to me and the other to you."
Dumbledore pulled out two black parchments, one opened and one still sealed. On the top of the unopened one in a metallic acid green ink Harry saw his name written in a small, spidery script. Lifting his own, Dumbledore began to read in a dejected voice,
Albus,
By now you have noticed the absence of two of your pupils and known associates of Harry Potter. You will give him the second letter or have the weight of Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger's deaths on your conscience. Mrs. Weasley let out a louder sob, clinging to Mr. Weasley, who held her tightly, whispering comforting words into her disheveled hair. I will know if anyone but the boy opens the letter. I believe you know by now that everything concerning myself and Harry Potter is extremely serious to me, and my threats should be treated with the same gravity. I will kill the Mudblood and the blood traitor if you do not comply.
Provide Mr. Potter with the letter containing my terms; if he agrees, then his two friends will be released alive and free. I do not care if they live or die, and I can find more 'spares' should he ignore my demands. I will not kill the boy; I wish only to speak with him. I guarantee you, by an oath bound by my magic, that him reading the letter will cause him no harm and that the letter contains only words, with no deceit or embedded magic. The decision to act and save his friends is his alone.
Time is of the essence, and my patience wears thin.
Lord Voldemort.
Silence hung heavy in the room as Dumbledore finished reading the chilling letter. Harry could only gape at it in shock, realizing that whatever Voldemort demanded of him, it would undoubtedly come at a steep price.
"Well, Harry?" Dumbledore finally asked, his voice laden with sorrow and worry. "There is magic within my letter; I can verify that the oath Tom made is genuine."
Harry hesitated, struggling to process the overwhelming situation. His friends' lives hung in the balance, and he felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He knew he had to read the letter to understand Voldemort's demands.
"I don't see any other choice," Harry said slowly. "I need to read the letter, Headmaster. At least then, I'll have some idea of what he wants."
"You can't seriously be considering it; it's obviously a trap," Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her nostrils flaring with indignation. Harry shot her a sharp glare, even though she couldn't see it or chose to ignore it.
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore implored, though there was less force in his rebuke than usual. "I believe Harry understands the gravity of the situation. But I think Harry should hear my perspective before making any decisions."
Harry nodded in agreement, still reeling from the horrifying realization that his closest friends were in the clutches of Lord Voldemort.
"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began, as if speaking to a child, much to Harry's chagrin. He wanted to strangle the old wizard. "I understand your concern for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, a sentiment I share more deeply than you can possibly imagine. However, I don't believe they are in immediate danger as long as Voldemort wants you to come to him. We are doing everything we can to locate them."
"But Professor—"
"Harry, please, give an old man a few moments," Dumbledore interrupted, holding up a hand. Harry clenched his jaw but acquiesced, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "We both know that Voldemort doesn't have your best interests at heart. Even if he doesn't physically harm you at first, you will be subjected to his relentless manipulations if you agree to his terms."
"But what if he kills them?" Harry blurted out, his anxiety spilling over. "I can't let someone else die at that monster's hands just because he's trying to get to me."
"Your attitude, as noble as you believe it to be, has already led to a tragedy and needless loss," Snape interjected, drawing everyone's attention to him. The Potions Master had retreated to a corner of the room, leaning against the bare wall, silently observing the debate with his lip curled in a cold sneer. "Allowing Potter to possess anything Voldemort desires would be unwise. He's not ready for the mental games and manipulation that would ensue, especially so soon after the death of his godfather."
Harry's eyes bore into Snape's with a mixture of fury and grief, the words still echoing painfully in his ears. The harsh, callous words had cut straight through him, awakening a torrent of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface. He knew deep down that he bore most of the responsibility for Sirius' death, and Snape's blunt revelation had only fueled his self-loathing. But what infuriated him even more was Snape's refusal to help him when he'd been pleading for assistance during that dark time when Umbridge had held him and his friends captive. If Snape had put aside his loathing for Harry's godfather for even a moment and offered his aid, perhaps he wouldn't have felt compelled to rush headlong into the dangerous mission at the Department of Mysteries.
Despite the maelstrom of emotions surging within him, Harry clenched his jaw and remained silent, the fiery anger in his eyes communicating his feelings more effectively than words ever could. Snape, however, seemed impervious to his outrage, as if discussing Sirius' death was no more significant than talking about the weather. He continued to speak, each word twisting the knife deeper.
"This is exactly what he wants," Snape continued, his tone devoid of empathy. "The Dark Lord is well aware of his vulnerability at this moment. One must wonder why he has chosen to contact you so abruptly when he has shown no previous interest in mere conversation."
A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone contemplated Snape's words. Finally, Professor McGonagall broke the stillness, her voice tinged with concern, "Surely you don't think You-Know-Who is trying to recruit the boy?"
Snape turned to Dumbledore, his black eyes intense. "Headmaster, has that possibility not crossed your mind?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his usually twinkling eyes dimmed with worry. His silence spoke volumes, revealing his inner turmoil and the gravity of the situation they faced.
Harry stared at the three professors, his thoughts racing. Was that why Voldemort was suddenly interested in him? To persuade him to join his ranks as a Death Eater? It was hard to fathom, considering Harry's unwavering opposition to everything Voldemort stood for. Why would the Dark Lord waste his time on such a futile endeavor?
"Headmaster, why would Voldemort want to recruit me?" Harry finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him. He deliberately used Voldemort's name, refusing to play into the fear associated with it. "I mean, he's been trying to kill me since I was a baby. Why the sudden change?"
Dumbledore's eyes met Harry's, and the old wizard's expression was heavy with concern. After a prolonged and weighty silence, he began to speak, his words laced with a hint of uncertainty. Harry found it disconcerting to witness Dumbledore's usual unwavering confidence faltering in the face of this new threat.
"I believe Tom has come to realize how remarkably similar the two of you are," Dumbledore revealed, his gaze unwavering. "You both share certain qualities—cleverness, cunning, determination. You both possess the ability to communicate with snakes, a skill he holds in high regard. He may see elements of his younger self in you, Harry. It's not about you being alike in your moral principles; it's about your shared qualities."
Harry shook his head in disbelief, unable to accept the idea that he had anything in common with the murderous monster who had killed his parents. "We are nothing alike," he protested vehemently. "He's a homicidal maniac."
"Harry, I don't mean it in that way," Dumbledore explained patiently, holding up a hand to quell Harry's objections. "You both had difficult childhoods and possess qualities that he covets. I'm not saying you share his evil, but he may recognize certain attributes in you that resonate with his own past. And your ability to thwart him repeatedly, especially during your recent encounter at the Ministry when you expelled him from your mind, may have made him reassess his approach."
"He did what?" Professor McGonagall gasped, her hand over her heart. Her shock was palpable, and Harry inwardly cringed. He hadn't intended for the revelation of Voldemort's possession to be made so public. He hadn't wanted everyone to know the extent of the connection between them, even though he had successfully expelled the Dark Lord from his mind due to the strength of his love for Sirius.
"And Headmaster, that's absurd. If Potter is that similar to Him then why was he placed in Gryffindor?" Continued a very flustered McGonagall.
"I must admit that I am rather curious about that as well," drawled Snape. "Even though he would clearly never fit in with the Slytherins, he lack any sort of common sense or sense of self-preservation, it is peculiar that you have identified so many of our cherished traits."
Harry glared up at Dumbledore, strongly wishing this conversation had not turned down this path. He did not feel like explaining why he was only in Gryffindor because he had begged the hat to be there and that, in fact, it had wanted to put him in Slytherin. Dumbledore seemed to notice his discomfort because he quickly cleared his throat making Harry wonder if the old man was privy to the hats inner musings and knew what the teen was feeling
Dumbledore raised a hand to forestall any further comments, and Harry sensed the older wizard's silent acknowledgment of his discomfort. It was as though Dumbledore understood the turmoil that Harry's connection with Voldemort had stirred within him.
"Harry's house placement is not our primary concern at the moment," Dumbledore said, his voice soothing and paternal. "Dealing with Voldemort's demands is our top priority."
Turning to Harry, the raven haired teen stared back at the old headmaster who had never seemed as old and frail as he did in that moment. Where was the man who had vanquished the previous Dark Lord Grindelwald? Where was the man who had so fiercely fought against Tom Riddle in the Ministry of Magic, meeting his spell for spell? The man before him was but a shell of the strong wizard that Harry at least respected despite disagreeing with how much information he constantly withheld from the youth.
"You now know everything that we do and what we suspect. Voldemort is the master of manipulation, and will go to any length to achieve his goals. I must insist that you remain out of his influence and do everything within you power to avoid contact with him. We can't lose you, my boy."
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. He had expected to be included in any plans to rescue Ron and Hermione. "You can't be serious. You expect me to stay here while my friends are in danger?"
"Harry, we must ensure your safety," Dumbledore implored, his eyes filled with a deep concern that unnerved Harry. "If Voldemort's ultimate goal is to turn you, then we mustn't give him the opportunity to do so."
Harry clenched his fists, the frustration and helplessness surging within him. He couldn't accept the idea of staying put while his friends were at the mercy of the Dark Lord. He couldn't let another person he cared about die because of his actions or inaction.
"What if he kills them while we wait?" Harry's voice trembled with anguish. He felt his scar tingling with pain again, as if the peculiar connection he shared with Voldemort was reacting to Dumbledore's refusal to give him the unopened letter. It felt as if the connection itself was urging him to act, to do something to save his friends.
"Use your brain, Potter, it is there for a purpose" Snape interjected coldly. "Taking the letter now is exactly what the Dark Lord wants. What if it states that you must turn yourself in immediately? What if it's an ultimatum? The headmaster is protecting you. Until we know the contents of the letter, Voldemort cannot make his next move. Capturing Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would be pointless if he cannot use them to bargain for your freedom. Your recklessness is once again pushing out any reason. You will just get them and yourself killed."
Harry glared at Snape, his frustration mounting. Even if the potion master's words were true, he knew it was delaying the inevitable. Voldemort himself held his friends, the Order would not suddenly infiltrate the snake's lair which had eluded them since his rebirth. "You care nothing about Ron or Hermione," snapped Harry, standing up with his fist balled. "You would love to see both of them dead, you're as dark as Voldemort! You enjoyed it when Sirius died, you despise anything that I care about. I have no reason to trust you at all."
"That's quite enough," Dumbledore's voice rang out.
Harry glared between the two men. He wasn't even close to finished. "Tell me that you have any clues as to where they are," he asked, his voice cold and harsh. He hated that his tone made Mrs. Weasley flinch, that he was the cause for this entire mess that they were going through. But he was done being a meek puppy that coward with its tale beneath its legs. Voldemort had killed too many that he cared about, he would not let another corpse cool because of his poor actions or inaction.
"Promise me you can get them back tonight! Because the way I see it, you've never entered any of Voldemort's secret hideouts." He could feel magic converging on him again, answering his call for strength in his despair and anger. He forced himself to keep a tight hold on it, to not let it be unleashed, knowing that appearing sporadic and volatile would do the opposite of allowing him any hope to be included in any attempt to rescue his friends. Though, he could already see the writing on the walls, Dumbledore would not give him the letter, the one sure piece of information that would tell him how to save them, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
"If you have no clue where they are then I won't risk their deaths on vain hopes that you will suddenly figure it out in the next few hours. And even more unlikely, that you will successfully rescue them from a prison that has never been breached. I know what happened in the old war. People went missing and were never seen again. Not unless you count their skeletons being paraded for the world to see as a warning for those who would dare oppose a psycho dark lord!"
"Harry enough!" Harry shivered a pulse of the old wizards own significant power washed over him. "Arguments and anger will bring us no closer to our goals and is precisely what Voldemort thrives on. Do not give him the satisfaction of turning those we trust against each other. Professor Snape is only expressing very valid concerns."
With a 'hump" Harry roller his eyes dramatically, he had never and would never trust that greasy, overgrown bat that had sold his soul to Voldemort once already. He had no doubt that the man only did what was in his own interests, he would serve the master that promised him the greatest rewards. And with Voldemort steadily gaining power and influence, Harry doubted the potion master would stay on the side of the light, if that was a side he had ever been on.
"Foolish arrogant child who always thinks he knows best, is there no bounds to your ego?" Black eyes bore into emerald as the potion master took an angry step forward.
"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore intervened, silencing Snape's harsh remarks. "We must act quickly now. I will contact the members of the Order, and we will hold a meeting to discuss our course of action. Harry I want you to stay," he stuck up a hand forestalling Harry's arguments. "And on no uncertain terms are you allowed to leave this house. I told you all that I have because I trust that you can be involved in what's going on without making hasty and irrational decisions. Do not prove me wrong, understand?"
"Then take me with you, let me help!" Harry begged. If Dumbledore would not give him the letter, the least he could do was take Harry from his horrid aunt and uncles house. He was useless here. He wanted to help. He of all people had the best chance to access Voldemort, to know his plans.
"You know we can't do that. The blood wards will protect you Harry. We must keep you safe. Please promise me you will not leave." Staring from the headmaster to the Weasley and McGonagall, Harry opened and closed his mouth in disbelief. How could Dumbledore be so blind? His irrational desire to protect Harry was only hurting him. Voldemort has made it abundantly clear over the years that he could and would find a way to get Harry. He'd stolen him from the very school grounds that were touted to be impenetrable. He'd kidnapped his two best friends who had supposedly been safe and protected by Dumbledore's Order. It was clear that no one was actually safe.
"Please, you can't leave me here. Not like this. Not with them at his mercy. I have to do something to help them. It's my fault he took them!" His voice broke, a horrific weight of mounting horror and despair crushing him as he stared up at the man he had thought invincible. Who now only starred back with dead blue eyes, not a spark of the light and confidence he'd grown accustomed to seeing. What had changed? Why did he see Dumbledore like this for the first time. Had the headmaster truly thought Ron and Hermione safe? Had Voldemort surpassed Dumbledore's power and taken them from beneath the very crooked nose he now gazed upon with dread and anger? Was that the reason that the elderly wizard was projecting countenance of concern, instilling no confidence in the youth that he would save his friends?
"The more you argue, the more time we waste," Snape drawled, sneering down upon the shaking teen. "Are you so selfish that you will waste the little time we have to try and rescue your friends?"
With a reluctant shake of his head that seemed to satisfy the old wizard as consent to stay, Harry frowned down at his feet. How could they just ask him to sit idly by and do nothing?
"I'm sorry my boy, we must go," announced Dumbledore, turning back towards the bedroom door. "Know we are doing everything in our power to protect your friends."
"I don't understand why can't I come?" Asked Harry, one last time, knowing it was hopeless. "I think I have a right since this all concerns me. It's me he wants."
"Harry dear," sobbed Mrs. Weasley, "you are too young to get caught up in such terrible matters as these." She flung herself upon him, embracing him bodily. Harry sank into the hug, feeling his feeble resolve crumble as he buried his head into her shoulder, tears escaping his clinched eyes. Ron and Hermione had been captured by Voldemort. A Dark Lord who has no reservations against torture or killing any who stood in his way, who'd spent the last five years scheming and plotting and growing his own power to finish the job he'd set out to do nearly sixteen years ago on that fated night he'd murdered Lily and James Potter.
"Young or not, I already am caught up," murmured Harry softly, clinging to the women who had become a mother to him. "So there isn't much you can protect me from, now is there?" He pulled back, glancing from her to Arthur. The Weasley patriarchy stood shakily behind his grieving wife, discretely trying to blink his own tears from his grief-stricken gaze.
"I am so sorry," Harry murmured, turning away from both of them. "It's my fault he took them. That they are in danger."
The hug engulfing him increased to almost bone shattering strength. "Don't be silly, dear. You cannot control the actions of one as dark as him. This is not your fault."
Swallowing, he didn't have a response. He knew the truth. His eyes jerked towards the potion master, the one man who he knew would not shrink from the reality that it was their friendship with him that had led to these events. Merciless black eyes met his stare, conveying the truth he knew in his heart. The sneer that met him said everything the Weasley's would not admit, that it was Harry's fault that their youngest may already be dead.
He turned back the headmaster, the man he had counted a mentor and almost friend, steeling his nerve. "You're making a mistake," he declared, his voice cold to his own ears. "I may still be a student, but nothing between Voldemort and myself has ever been simple. Keeping my in the dark won't benefit anyone."
"Always have to contradict those who are so much wiser than yourself, don't you Potter," hissed Snape, "for once just do what you're told and stop stalling us."
"That is quite enough, Severus" intervened Dumbledore. "But it is true, we must not waste any more time. Harry I will be in touch, do nothing rash."
And with that Dumbledore and the others vacated the room leaving a very angry and miserable Harry staring hard at the spots they had just left.
AN: Alright! Here's Chapter 2. Would love any thoughts/ideas. Is there anything you want to see? I have my outline for the next 10 chapters but can make some tweaks if there are requests. Thanks for reading!