Harry lay alone in Ron's bed. Despite his protests against receiving special treatment, Molly had insisted that he get his own room again. He gazed at the chipped ceiling above, his thoughts adrift in a sea of chaos. The night was unusually still, offering a sharp contrast to the unrest within him. With a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, focusing intently on his meditation. He concentrated on smoothing his breathing and fortifying the mental shields guarding his mind. As he drifted towards sleep, a part of him remained alert, half-expecting and half-dreading a summons from Voldemort. But as the night wore on, no such call came. Puzzled yet relieved, Harry eventually succumbed to a surprisingly restful slumber.
Morning light peeked through the curtains, gently rousing Harry from his deep sleep. He made his way to the breakfast table where the Weasleys had already gathered. Despite feeling internally uneasy, he tried to engage with the lively banter around him. Mrs. Weasley, the epitome of maternal care, bustled about, fussing over the food. Ginny's laughter filled the room, clear and joyful, as Fred and George playfully made fruit race around the room.
Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley was completely absorbed in his latest discovery – a battery and a flashlight. He examined them with childlike wonder and curiosity, flicking the flashlight on and off repeatedly, momentarily blinding himself each time. "Simply magical!" he exclaimed. His fascination provided a comforting sense of normalcy. It was almost as if nothing had happened, as if there wasn't a war being waged outside.
The day unfolded in a manner both unremarkable and monotonous, until the Weasleys' grandfather clock struck noon. Its deep chimes resonated through the air. As the last echo faded, Dumbledore and Moody made their entrance. Dumbledore, clad in flowing robes of deep midnight blue and adorned with subtly twinkling silver stars, stepped through the back door, closing it after the ex-auror made it through. His piercing blue eyes, a fusion of keen alertness and a hint of fatigue, swept over the room with an air of solemnity, finally resting on the raven-haired teenager. The atmosphere underwent a subtle but unmistakable transformation with his arrival. Harry, staring back at the elderly wizard, experienced a surge of anticipation.
"Harry, may I see you in the living room? I'd like to take a look at your mark," Dumbledore asked in his calm, measured tone. Harry stood and followed the elder wizard to the privacy of the neighboring room, acutely aware of Ron and Hermione's concerned glances as they retreated.
In the quiet seclusion of the room, Dumbledore peered intently at Harry's exposed arm as the teenager wordlessly pushed his sleeves up. The mark's sinister serpent eye seemed almost sentient, its gaze unnervingly lifelike. Harry watched Dumbledore's face, the aged wisdom in his expression offering a stark contrast to the mark's dark malevolence.
"Professor, how will you test it?" Harry asked, hating the anxiety in his voice.
Pulling out a large leather bag from the folds of his cloak, Dumbledore began to produce several ancient-looking stone runes from within it. Each rune varied in shape and size – some round, others square, and a few with holes at their centers. Harry stared at them curiously; ambient magic seemed to radiate off them, pulsing gently in time with the teen's own heartbeat.
"These runes," Dumbledore began, "will help us discern the magical properties of your mark. They are used to identify different types of links that a ritual may bind to your own magic. Each rune will illuminate in different colors, revealing the nature of the enchantment if it is active within you and fueled by a foreign presence." He arranged the runes in a circle on the floor, motioning for Harry to stand at its center.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. In all his research, he hadn't encountered any spells or methods to detect the true nature of his mark. Still, he couldn't discount the possibility that Voldemort had hidden such information from him intentionally.
Dumbledore chose a rune, a round one with the top cut out in the shape of a half-moon, and held it up for the youth to inspect. "Each of these represents a different facet of magic. This particular one is linked to your senses—your perceptions of reality, cognition, what you smell, touch, and feel. If the mark connects Tom to your senses, it will emit a blue light. It won't reveal the full extent of his influence over your sensory magic, but it will guide us in determining the necessary precautions and defenses to shield you from harm."
Harry didn't like the sound of that at all. Voldemort could manipulate what he felt? His actual senses? It seemed like a tremendous power to have over another. "You believe he can do that through the mark?" Harry asked warily, glancing at his arm.
The elderly wizard shook his head, his expression somber. "We won't know until the ritual is completed. There are numerous ways a ritual can interact with your magic. The fact that it was consensual, regardless of the pressure you felt, allows his magic to potentially invade yours differently than if it had been forced. Once the ritual is done, we will have more information. Shall we proceed?"
With a heavy heart, Harry nodded. Dumbledore raised his wand and began to chant a long, complex Latin incantation. The runes responded: one glowed light red, another silver, a third black, and the fourth gold. Four of them illuminated, while six remained dark. The one that remained dark was the blue one linked to sensory control, which brought Harry a sense of relief. However, with four runes lit, Harry feared the extent of control he had unwittingly granted Voldemort.
"What did you discover?" Harry asked as the runes faded.
Dumbledore regarded the stones thoughtfully. "Much of what I suspected. The magic Tom performed aligns with his paranoia and desire for control. I'm sorry, my dear boy; this is far from ideal. But now that we know, we can work on better protecting you." Harry loathed the sympathy in the Headmaster's eyes as if he were looking at a lamb awaiting slaughter.
"Just tell me the extent of his control over me," Harry requested, desiring facts over platitudes. He had made his choices, done what he needed to do. What he needed now was knowledge, not sympathy. His choice could not be undone but if he at least knew what power the mark had over him, then he could better plan to mitigate the mark, if not someday remove it all together.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression genuinely melancholic. "Very well. The red represents dreams, the silver represents essence, the green is submission, and the gold represents magic."
Harry stood there, his thoughts racing to understand the revelation. Dreams made sense, as Voldemort had always been able to access his dreams, possibly through the scar on his forehead. Essence was unclear to him. Submission was likely a result of his pledge to be the Dark Lord's apprentice, which made sense as well. However, deeply troubling, was wondering if Voldemort could force him into submission if he resisted an order. The thought terrified him more than he cared to admit.
The last aspect, gold, did not bode well either. The possibilities of how magic could be used to control him were numerous. Could Voldemort suppress Harry's magic, rendering him powerless? Could he manipulate Harry's magic, forcing him to practice dark arts against his will, or even use Harry's own magic as a weapon against his loved ones?
"What kind of power does he have over these four areas?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with anxiety.
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, his contemplation evident as he seemingly weighed the decision on how much to disclose.
"You can't keep this a secret from me, especially something this important," Harry argued, his anger simmering beneath the surface. What was worse, he knew he wouldn't be able to tell if Dumbledore lied or omitted any crucial information.
"I don't intend to keep this a secret," Dumbledore replied, his tone slightly harsher than Harry was accustomed to, almost admonishing. "But I don't possess complete knowledge about this magic yet. I don't want to offer false hope or needlessly alarm you. Regrettably, this only indicates the type of magic connecting you to another. The six runes that remained unlit signify that he cannot control your emotions, your memory, your energy, cognition, nor is Tom's magic directly linked to your life source. He can't kill you through the mark, erase or manipulate your memories, attack your physical form, or distort your perceptions. Fortunately, many of the controlling aspects that could result from such a dark ritual are absent from your mark, except for one."
"Submission?" Harry ventured.
Dumbledore nodded. "I'll need to conduct further research. It could be as benign as sealing through magic the agreement you entered into during your apprenticeship. According to ancient laws, this would grant him certain rights concerning his claim over you. If my suspicion holds true, he has magically asserted himself as your guardian."
Harry recognized this revelation as consistent with what Voldemort had admitted earlier. However, did not want to divulge the specifics of that conversation to Dumbledore, especially the part about the heirship, and instead feigned surprise and indignation.
"He can't be my guardian!" Harry exclaimed, a scowl firmly etched on his face. "He murdered my parents! He tried to kill me. Surely, he's not fit to be anyone's guardian, let alone mine. The Ministry wouldn't grant him that, would they?" The last question held genuine curiosity.
Dumbledore sighed. "I wish it were that straightforward, my dear boy. If you willingly became his apprentice under the intent of this ritual, he would have a strong claim. However, several factors are in your favor. First, he remains in hiding and has not openly revealed himself. Second, he is wanted for crimes against the magical community. If he were to claim guardianship and demand your return under the Ministry, we could counter by insisting he stand trial for his actions during the first war and since his resurrection. The Ministry would not enforce his claim of master and apprentice if you filed for him to be an unfit master due to his crimes. He'd have to stand trial and be found innocent before attempting to assert rights over you as a guardian and master." Harry snorted, the idea of Voldemort willingly standing trial appearing preposterous.
"Yes," Dumbledore continued with a slight smile, "that is highly unlikely indeed. As it stands, I don't foresee any avenue for him to claim guardianship over you, and you are not far from reaching your majority. In apprenticeships, once you come of age, prior agreements become null and void. It's a law of old designed to protect young witches and wizards from exploitation. You can enter into another apprenticeship as an adult; many young witches and wizards do so if they wish to further their studies under a master in a particular field after Hogwarts. The terms and conditions vary for each. My hope is that you will never again find yourself in a position where Tom can wield that kind of power over you. I am confident that we can keep you safe until you reach your majority."
"You mean keep me here, force me to stay in hiding?" Harry questioned, struggling to hide his displeasure in his voice.
Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing stare. "I hope you don't perceive it as being forced, Harry," he admonished gently. "This is the safest place for you until we can formulate a plan. It's a temporary arrangement. My hope is that once we finish upgrading Hogwarts' security, the school will reopen, and you can continue your studies from there, ensuring your safety."
Reluctantly, Harry acquiesced, knowing that showing unhappiness about being here wouldn't serve him well. "I understand, and I'm at least with my friends," he conceded, his gaze dropping. He hated pretending to be meek after he'd learned to be strong and stoic in the snake's den. But desperate times called for desperate measures. "What about the gold, my magic... what does that mean?"
"Once again, I'll need to conduct further research, but I suspect it gives Tom a direct link to your magic. He could potentially block you from accessing it, rendering you powerless," Dumbledore explained.
"That sounds terrifying," Harry murmured.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I suspect that with the fear of the prophecy hanging over him, Tom wanted a way to neutralize you as a threat. His love for magic would make him feel that being able to sever you from yours is the ultimate form of control."
Harry suppressed a shiver. "Can he do that from anywhere?" The idea of Voldemort turning him into a Squib, unable to help anyone, was beyond disturbing. If he'd known that was at stake, he's not sure what he would have done. How was it possible someone could have so much power over another?
"No," Dumbledore reassured him, shaking his head. "The wards here will prevent him from having that level of control. They block malicious magic from entering. I trust your sleep has been undisturbed? He should not be able to access you through the mark or any other means while you're within these protections."
Harry nodded, his thoughts immediately flashing back to his first night at the Burrow when Voldemort had visited and tortured him. Clearly, he had not been protected. This realization destroyed any confidence that the wards would protect him from Voldemort's other forms of control if that was what Dumbledore was counting on. The Dark Lord had once again shown his strength and magical prowess, with Dumbledore remaining completely oblivious. Had Voldemort been angrier, could he have already turned Harry into a squib? At least this offered some explanation for why the old wizard had waited a few days to examine the mark; he must have believed Harry was safe.
Worse was Harry unable to speak about the dream. Doing so would arouse Dumbledore's suspicions about why he hadn't reported it on the first night. It would reveal that Voldemort now knew that Dumbledore and Harry both knew of the Horcruxes. Dumbledore would never trust Harry with sensitive information again.
"So, the dream rune means he could access my dreams if I'm not in a protected place like this?" Harry asked, wondering about the effectiveness of his Occlumency. Had it worked the previous two nights now that he was deliberately trying to guard his mind at night? Or had Voldemort merely granted him a night of reprieve? The uncertainty worried him.
Dumbledore grabbed the ruin that had glowed red, staring at it pensively. It was a rectangle with a small hole drilled through the center. "Yes, for the most part, I'm afraid so. I will add protections over the mark that should shield you more thoroughly. I don't advice leaving because you are safest here, but the protections I'll cast will allow you to be able to go outside the wards and not fear being immediately targeted."
The teen hoped that was the case, but Harry was quickly losing confidence that he could be protected in any form. At least he was getting some answers about his mark. "And essence?"
"That means he will be able to track you, sense your presence."
"So, I'm not truly safe from him anywhere?" Harry inquired. "How long will whatever magic you plan to put on the mark last?"
"There are locations with strong magic, such as Hogwarts or the Ministry, where he won't be able to sense you due to the abundance of ambient magic. As for the binding spell I will create, that should prevent him from having any remote control of the mark and will last for a few weeks before I need to strengthen it. As long as he doesn't get you within his reach again and remove it, I can keep you safe. You won't need to worry about what he can do through the mark."
Harry nodded, looking thoughtfully out the window. He genuinely hoped Dumbledore could deliver on his promises. At least it meant there was potential magic out there that could protect him and offer hope for his future. He'd have to learn it so that he could bind the mark himself and not be reliant on Dumbledore. Presently, he was basically trading one leash for another. For now, though, the situation looked grim. Voldemort was clearly not as contained as the light side had hoped, leaving Harry neither safe nor free from the Dark Lord's influence.
"Thank you," he said after a pause, turning back to Dumbledore.
"I will add the protective enchantments now," Dumbledore continued, waving his wand in a complex pattern. Silver sparks and pearl-white wisps emanated from his wand, wrapping around Harry's arm and mark. It felt like a cool cloth laid over a burning wound. Havert shivered slightly as the chilled magic settled on him, in him. "There, this should shield you from direct influence, but it's not foolproof. If Tom contacts you physically, he could break through these protections."
Top of Form
Harry laughed nervously. "Good thing he can't get in here, right?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled momentarily. "Indeed, Harry, you are safe here. But remember, without these protections, the mark grants him significant power over you. He could, if he desired, sever your connection to magic when you meet next."
Harry absorbed the gravity of Dumbledore's words, feeling their weight settle heavily upon him. He understood the warning was meant to dissuade him from returning to the Dark Lord, an unnecessary reminder of Voldemort's extensive power over him. "I get it. I'm safe for now, but in his presence, everything changes. Especially now that he'll know I'm aware of the mark."
The headmaster nodded solemnly. "Yes, Harry. But we'll do everything to prepare you for that encounter. You're not alone in this," he said, his words a mixture of caution and reassurance. "You are being remarkably brave about this, Harry, and mature. You are truly becoming a formidable wizard who I am proud of."
Harry ducked his head, feigning bashfulness at the praise while inwardly simmering with frustration. The compliment felt hollow, given the ongoing lack of transparency from Dumbledore. If the headmaster truly respected him, he would include him fully in their plans. He wasn't truly safe, and he resented being kept in the dark. But he recognized that he had a role to play. "I'm grateful you can block him, that I'm safe from this mark, safe from him."
Nodding in acknowledgment, Dumbledore stood. "I should let you get back to your friends. I suspect they were not happy to have you separated from them even for this short of a time."
A faint smile played on Harry's lips as he felt genuine gratitude welling up within him. "They're really good friends."
Upon returning to the kitchen, they found the Weasley clan waiting for them.
"We have a way to protect him," Dumbledore reassured them, much to Harry's annoyance. The headmaster had no clue how wrong he was.
Molly let out a huge sigh of relief and rushed over, enveloping Harry in another bone-crushing hug. "Thank Merlin," she whispered.
Ron and Hermione greeted him with hopeful looks as he extricated himself from Molly's embrace. He offered a slight shrug and forced a small smile, aware of the expectation to seem relieved that Dumbledore was supposedly protecting him.
"I'm sure Mr. Potter could use some fresh air after being indoors with me all morning," Dumbledore suggested, clearly aiming for dismissal. "While the children stretch their legs, perhaps I could trouble you for a cup of tea, my dear Molly?"
It was evident that Dumbledore intended to stay behind for a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Moody. With a sense of reluctance, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry quietly exited the kitchen, affording the adults some privacy. Annoyed by the exclusion, Harry followed the other teenagers to the garden. They settled into the cool afternoon air, and Harry began recounting what he had learned from the runes.
"Blimey, mate! He can take your magic?" Ron exclaimed, his shock mirroring the initial disbelief that had gripped Harry upon learning of it. For a fleeting moment, Harry contemplated sharing the details of his dream with his friends but ultimately decided to keep it to himself. After deceiving Dumbledore, he couldn't risk the information reaching the headmaster.
"Yeah," Harry began thoughtfully, "Dumbledore seems to believe he can't do it from a distance, not with the protections he's placed on my arm and the wards surrounding this house. But honestly, it's not something I'm eager to put to the test, you know?"
Hermione frowned, her insatiable curiosity prompting a flurry of questions. "How can he be so certain? This is an enormous risk; what if the protections fail? What if there are other ways to activate the mark? I don't like it at all. If there's still a possibility that he could block your magic, we need to find a way to remove it. You won't be able to hide here forever."
Harry gave a resigned shrug, the same thoughts already crossing his mind. "Agreed, but there's not much we can do now. It's not as if there's a safe way to test it. And no one knows how to remove the Dark Marks. I'm guessing this one is just as difficult." He glanced down at his robed arm, scowling faintly. So much trouble from such a small thing.
"That's rough, mate," Ron offered, ever the master of insightful commentary.
Ginny shot her brother an exasperated glare and shook her head. She seemed as troubled over the discussion as he felt. But, they would not stumble upon any answers anytime soon. Harry, longing to move on, asked if they wanted to play a game of Quidditch. Hermione declined, but Ginny dashed back into the house and up the stairs to fetch Fred and George, who eagerly abandoned whatever mischief they were involved in to join the game.
As Harry lifted off on his worn Comet broom, he felt a moment of escape from his fears and anxieties. The wind danced playfully through his hair, tousling it in every direction. The sensation was liberating. For a precious few hours, he could immerse himself in the sheer joy of flying, alongside his friends, leaving the weight of his worries behind on the ground.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The next two days passed in relative peacefulness. Harry experienced no unwelcome visitors in his dreams, and he couldn't determine if it was due to his reinforced mental shields or the protective enchantments Dumbledore had woven around the mark. The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with a lingering sense of impending ill-fated providence that would soon be destroyed. It felt like he was waiting for a hidden bomb to detonate and shatter the fragile illusion of peace and freedom that had slowly been enveloping him.
Harry had remained within the Burrow, not trying to leave, nor had not been offered. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion regarding his intentions until he had a concrete plan in place. Order members came and went, occasionally holding meetings from which the trio was conspicuously excluded, much to their frustration. The only silver lining was that Fred and George, being of age, were permitted to attend most of these gatherings. They diligently shared everything they learned with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. However, Harry couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment when he realized they weren't missing out on much.
The Order seemed to be primarily operating in a reactive mode, focused on thwarting or slowing down the Dark's plans to infiltrate the Ministry, control the media, and influence Wizengamot. It appeared that because Voldemort was not launching overt attacks, the Order struggled to recruit and rally people willing to stand up against the darkness, fearing retaliation. News of the attack on the Burrow and the incident on the Hogwarts Express had spread far and wide, casting a shadow of fear across the wizarding world. Voldemort hadn't done much but was willing to act against those who stood against him. It was an effective scare tactic.
Perhaps the most surprising revelation from the twins was the growing whispers that Harry had managed to escape, though nothing official had been confirmed. Harry's feelings about this were mixed. He was relieved not to be placed on a pedestal by the light side, but he also worried about what would happen once word spread that he had eluded capture. Would he be summoned to the Ministry for questioning? Fred had mentioned that Minister Bones knew of Harry's presence with the Order, and he understood she was aligned with Dumbledore. Perhaps he wouldn't face a trial, not unless Voldemort decided to leak information about Harry's recent foray into Dark Arts, casting him in a more sinister light and making him a subject of fear and suspicion. Under Fudge, Harry would have already been carted off to Azkaban.
The most challenging moments of Harry's days were when he found himself in the company of Moody. The retired Auror's scrutinizing gaze made it abundantly clear that he viewed Harry with suspicion. Both his magical and real eye were always fixed on the young wizard. It was on the third day of this discomforting scrutiny that Harry's pent-up frustration and annoyance at being confined finally reached a boiling point, and it happened while he was sitting alone in the garden.
Moody's sudden and uninvited presence shattered the brittle peace that had settled around the teen as he stared out over the meadow. Glancing up, he met the grizzled Auror with a façade of calm. "If you have something to say, just say it," he challenged, his voice more resolute than he felt. "You've been following me, trying to get me alone for days."
Moody, eyes as hard as flint, gruffly spoke. "Boy, I want to trust you, but your time with the Dark is hard to overlook. I just want some time to talk, just you and me. If you're honest, you have nothing to fear."
A surge of anger and frustration coursed through Harry. "I haven't turned to the Dark side. If that's good enough for Dumbledore, shouldn't it be good enough for you?" He wasn't entirely sure whether he cared about Moody's opinion, but he was tired of being watched.
"Dumbledore has a knack for seeing the good in everyone, even when it's not there," Moody retorted.
Harry agreed, not that he'd admit that aloud. "Surely you can find someone better to direct your suspicions toward than a sixteen-year-old who hasn't even finished school. Maybe you should focus more on the war against Voldemort instead of stalking and accusing a teenager."
Moody released a snort in response. "So eager to claim you're just a boy now, but equally willing to assert your adulthood when you want to attend Order meetings."
"If I can't have it both ways, neither should you," Harry argued, frustrated. "Dumbledore treats me like a child; clearly, I'm not part of the meetings. I'm in the dark about most things, so you're wasting your time. I'm not some sort of spy."
"And I doubt you are as clueless as you'd claim. Not every wizard has been taught by the Dark Lord himself," Moody pointed out.
Harry exhaled, his patience at its end. "Nor have they had the privilege of having him murder their parents, torture them, or kill those they care about. Trust me, Moody, Voldemort doesn't have my affection or loyalty. I did what I had to do to survive, to protect others. And I'm grateful Dumbledore rescued me."
They stared at each other. Everything, except for the last part, had been completely true. It defied logic for someone with Harry's past to want to side with a man like Voldemort. Yet, Harry bore a mark and a soul bond that inescapably linked him to the dark wizard. Until he could resolve either of those, he didn't see any other options. Not if he wanted to keep his friends alive. Or retain his magic — a new incentive he wasn't pleased about discovering.
"That's precisely it, Potter. I want to believe you, to trust you, believe that you won't run back to the Dark, to the supposed power you've been exposed to. Maybe you didn't want this, but it happened, and the reality is that trust is a fragile thing these days. He's proven to have a lot of holds on you."
Moody paused, giving him a knowing look. "He made you submit once. I'm not saying you had much of a choice, and I'm glad you survived it, but history has a funny way of repeating itself, lad. I've been in this business a long time. Just trying to gauge where your head's at, help you before you do something you can't come back from."
Harry shook his head, finding it hard to believe he was engaged in this argument. However, a small part of him was impressed by Moody's logic; he was the only one looking at it eyes wide open. He did intend to return to the Dark, and Moody's intuition would have been impressive if the suspicions hadn't hit so close to the truth, threatening everything Harry was trying to accomplish.
"Perhaps there's a way I can prove my commitment to you and the entire wizarding world?" Harry proposed, his half-formed plan finally bubbling to the surface. He had been mulling it over for a few days, and the urgency to act grew stronger with each passing moment. If he didn't find a way out of the Burrow soon, who knew what Voldemort might do? If he could win Moody's support, he was confident the stubborn ex-Auror could convince Dumbledore as well.
Moody regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue. "What are you thinking, lad?"
Harry leaned forward, determined. This might be his only chance; he needed to sell it. "The vote for Dumbledore's removal as Chief Warlock is approaching. Most believe he'll be ousted. You've all said that both sides would listen to me. What if I testified on his behalf? I could tell the Wizengamot that it's a mistake to fire their greatest advocate of the light and replace him with a dark puppet. It's something that could stop it from happening."
Moody studied Harry thoughtfully, and the young wizard couldn't help but hold his breath, waiting for a response.
"That's not a bad idea," Moody finally conceded with a nod. Harry's heart lifted at Moody's unexpected agreement. He had hoped his plan would find some favor with the seasoned Auror.
"Really?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with relief. "Do you think it could work? I mean, would my testimony actually make a difference?"
Moody gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "It's hard to say for sure, but your story carries weight. You've seen both sides, and people might be willing to listen if you can paint a convincing picture of what's at stake. But you need to be prepared, Potter. The Wizengamot isn't known for its fairness or impartiality. You'll face scrutiny if you open yourself up to it."
Harry nodded; he'd already seen the ministry at its worst. It was as much of a snake's den filled with self-serving and poisonous vipers as Slytherin's manor. But if all went according to his plan, he'd never actually see the inside of the Wizengamot. "I understand that. But if there's even a chance that I can help Dumbledore and prevent the Dark from gaining more influence, I have to try."
"Alright," the ex-auror conceded. "I'll bring you to the meeting tonight and we can discuss it."
A few hours later, Harry found himself the center of all the Order members' attention. Harry glanced around at all the faces curiously staring back at him. Most of those who had Apparated into the meadow the day he'd been 'rescued' were present, crammed into the small living room. That Dumbledore held these meetings in such a setting was a stark contrast to what Harry had witnessed in Slytherin's manor. It seemed to only further highlight the extreme distinctions between how the two sides were fighting this war.
"Thank you all for coming; we have much to discuss with the upcoming Wizengamot vote about to occur." Dumbledore opened. "Harry, I believe that Alastor says you have an idea that might help the light not get ousted from power in the next vote?"
By 'light,' he had just meant his position of power. Harry supposed if you were the self-acclaimed leader of the light, then the old wizard would think himself and the side of the light one and the same.
Harry took a breath, stepping forward. "What if I spoke at the Wizengamot meeting and defended you? I could share part of my experience over the last few months, let them know what the real threat is. Could that help maintain Dumbledore's position as Chief Warlock?" Harry asked, his voice steady. The teen's suggestion hung in the air, a bold strategy that momentarily stilled the room. The members of the Order, seated around the old wooden table and spread out over mismatched couches and chairs stared at him, their expressions a mixture of surprise and contemplation.
The silence lingered for a moment before Moody, his magical eye whirring, broke it. "If there's anyone who could counter the opposition against Albus, it's likely the boy," he said, giving Harry a nod of approval. Harry was beyond relieved he'd been able to get the paranoid wizard on board. The Order was more like sheep than anything; they would follow the strongest. Unless Dumbledore was strictly against this, there should be no other complaints.
Harry could feel Dumbledore's gaze on him. "My dear boy, I would hate to subject you to the harsh realities of our political battles," Dumbledore said, his tone tinged with concern. Yet, there was a hint of consideration in his voice; he hadn't outright rejected the idea. Why would he if it kept him and power and forced Harry to overtly take a stand against Voldemort again? He just didn't know that Harry had no plan to take a stand. He would use his Portkey and escape before anyone knew what had happened. It would be perfect.
Encouraged by Dumbledore's response, Harry pressed on, his resolve hardening. "If the Ministry believes my opinion carries weight, that I have any influence over public opinion, then publicly expressing my confidence in you should carry some weight," Harry argued. He could be of use to the Order if they were willing to allow it. Harry knew there were some risks he'd have to talk them out through. They would have to let him leave the safety of the Burrow and interact with those deemed not as trusted.
"I would be safe; I'd be with Order members the entire time. And no one would expect it if we didn't announce it beforehand. Plus, you said the bindings you placed on my arm would protect me. I'll be in and out before anyone is the wiser if we do this right. And people deserve to know what he's doing, what he's capable of…" The members of the Order exchanged looks, weighing the potential impact. Harry's suggestion wasn't just about preserving Dumbledore's position; it was also a move that could sway public opinion at a crucial time.
They debated for a while, but ultimately, it was decided to allow Harry this opportunity to change the tides for the light. Hiding his glee, Harry didn't even argue when they asked him to leave for the rest of the meeting.
The next day Harry found himself again disturbed by Moody. It was late afternoon, and the raven-haired teen was seated in the living room reading a book to Ron's horror and Hermione's pride. His two friends, content that he was alright, had snuck away to Ron's room where Harry suspected they were snogging. Their relationship was clearly one of the worst-kept secrets in the Order.
He had just turned the page, reading through Percy's old seventh-year DADA book when Mad-Eye approached Harry with a challenging glint in his non-magical eye. "Potter, you must be growing bored with all this idleness," he grumbled, his voice tinged with a mix of provocation and amusement. Clearly, his decision to trust Harry had been made now that Harry was taking a stand for the light at the Ministry. "How about a duel to shake off the rust?"
Harry hesitated, his mind racing. He knew Moody's reputation as a formidable duelist and ex-Auror. A part of him was wary, suspecting this might be a test to gauge whether he used Dark Arts. Yet, another part of Harry craved the challenge. He missed the rigors of daily training and the thrill of testing his abilities. A duel with Moody was a chance to gauge his own progress, to see how he stood against such a seasoned wizard. And he would have to be able to fight without using dark magic if he hoped to return to the Dark side but not be consumed by it.
Harry's desire for action won over his caution. "Alright, Moody," he said, eager to see how he stood against this legend. As he stood, he gripped his wand a little tighter, mentally preparing himself for the duel.
Moody's grin widened, revealing a row of uneven teeth. "Good lad," he said approvingly. Harry followed him outside to the meadow.
As they squared off in the open, Harry felt a surge of adrenaline. He was keenly aware of the need to balance his performance – to fight well without revealing the darker aspects of his recent training. It was a delicate dance, test his abilities while not using anything that would draw suspicion upon him. The duel with Moody was not just a physical battle but a mental one.
They both nodded towards each other.
The duel started with Harry casting a quick but silent Expelliarmus, aiming to disarm Moody, but the seasoned Auror was too quick, countering with a non-verbal Protego shield charm. Harry then swiftly shifted to offensive spells, sending a series of silent Stupefy blasts towards Moody, who deftly dodged them, shockingly nimble despite his scars and deformities.
Moody, grinning fiercely, launched a surprise Impedimenta jinx, which Harry narrowly avoided with a roll on the grass. The spell whizzed past him, leaving Harry's heart pounding. He knew he had to up his game.
In the heat of the moment, as Moody prepared for another attack, an instinctual urge surged within Harry to use a dark spell he'd perfected with Voldemort – one that would glue Moody's tongue to the roof of his mouth, rendering him speechless. The spell was on the tip of his tongue, a reflex born of his recent training. But at the last second, Harry caught himself. While effect, it was also considered dark. Instead, he shot a series of birds out of his wand that swarmed the ex-Auror, who quickly incinerated them all.
Harry barely ducked a body-binding curse. Suddenly, the meadow was enveloped in white smoke. Harry coughed, holding his sleeve up to his mouth and nose. Unlike when Bellatrix had done this, it wasn't mist or fog affecting the senses. This was actual smoke choking him out.
Harry swirled his wand. "Ventus," he muttered around coughs, a gust of wind whipping his shirt and pushing the smoke away. Within a second, the meadow was clear, but as the teen glanced around, he couldn't see Moody. He'd vanished. Crouching, Harry cast the disillusion spell on himself and a silencing spell on his feet, quickly moving from the spot he'd just been in. There were a few trees and bushes nearby. Was he hiding in them? He glanced around, his heart beating in his chest as he tried to detect Mad-Eye.
"Point me," he muttered, his wand spun, pointing directly at Harry's chest. Heartdropping, Harry quickly dived out of the way. A red stunner zipped through the space he'd just been in, coming from behind.
"Well done, lad!" A voice boomed from behind him. Harry pushed himself back up to a knee, flicking a twig off his robes. Moody stepped from behind a tree, his wand lowered. "We don't need to go to the point of hurting each other; this isn't life or death. So, let's call this one a draw, what say you?"
Harry nodded, lowering his own wand. Voldemort would never call a draw, but Harry wasn't eager to show the Auror everything he had learned. And while he'd held his own for several moments, he wasn't sure he could win without using something truly powerful that might actually hurt the aging wizard. For now, it was enough to get to practice on a new opponent and see how someone who wasn't Voldemort fought. It was exactly what he'd needed.
Top of Form
That night, Harry wasn't all that surprised to find himself in the dreamscape. But this time, the environment was altered. The eerie surroundings felt like a distorted version of reality, with the air heavy and charged, carrying an ominous sense of foreboding. Shadows danced on the periphery of his vision, giving the dream an eerie and surreal quality.
"Have you enjoyed your little vacation?"
Turning slowly, he found Voldemort standing before him. The Dark Lord's presence was as chilling and commanding as ever, casting a long, dark shadow across the dreamlike landscape. The swirling mists seemed to bow before him.
"You are running out of time, Harry," Voldemort's voice echoed around the dream landscape, a cold whisper that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Your opportunity to willingly join me is rapidly vanishing. You know that I am not known for my patience."
Despite the fear gnawing at his insides, Harry maintained a composed exterior. He had mostly mastered the art of concealing his emotions during months under the Dark Lord's watchful eye; it was crucial he showed no signs that might prompt Voldemort to take his recapture into his own hands. "I have a plan," he said, his voice unwavering, determined. "I will be able to leave the day after tomorrow. I've told Dumbledore and the Order that I'll speak in defense of Dumbledore at the Wizengamot when they vote on his position as Chief Warlock."
Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed, a dangerous curiosity glittering within them. "I fail to see how your speaking on behalf of the old man benefits me?" he asked, his voice laced with venom and dripping with skepticism.
Harry took a deep breath, confident his plan would succeed. "I won't actually testify. I still have the portkey you gave me. I'll escape before the session starts. Dumbledore will be so distressed discovering my disappearance that I'm certain it will cause him to lose his composure. Moreover, Amelia Bones is aware that they have me. If they lose again, it will solidify the argument that he should not be in control of anyone."
A slow, cold smile curled Voldemort's thin lips, casting an eerie light on his pale face as the misty shadows formed and dispersed around them. "Clever, Harry. Very clever indeed," he purred. "But remember, if you fail, there will be... repercussions. If you are not back by Thursday, or if you do anything to help him keep his position, I will be very displeased."
Harry nodded, the weight of Voldemort's warning settling on him heavily. He knew this was his only chance to escape before anyone was harmed. If he failed, he wasn't sure what the Dark Lord would do. The dream began to fade, the swirling mists dissipating into darkness, and he awoke with a start. Lying in the dimly lit room, he knew he was about to do something he may never be able to return from. But he had no choice but to execute his daring plan, even if it meant betraying the Order.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
As Harry stepped into the grandeur of the Ministry of Magic, it wasn't the building's magical magnificence that overwhelmed him, but the memory that this was the very place where he last saw his godfather. His own foolishness had led to Sirius being killed just a few floors below. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus his mind on the present. He needed to concentrate. The vast atrium echoed with the hustle and bustle of ministry officials, their footsteps resonating on the gleaming marble floor. Above, the enchanted glass ceiling offered a glimpse of the cloudy London sky. Golden plaques and statues of renowned witches and wizards adorned the walls, their faces stern and solemn.
His heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he navigated through the Ministry. He knew he shouldn't openly defy Dumbledore and the Order by attempting to escape in their presence. Desperation gnawed at him, and as they approached the entrance to the Wizengamot chamber. He had to find a way to slip away unnoticed before they entered.
Turning to Arthur Weasley, he mumbled, "Excuse me, Mr. Weasley, I need to use the restroom. Could you direct me?"
Arthur Weasley, clearly preoccupied with the impending proceedings, nodded absently and gestured down a corridor. "Of course, Harry. Just down the hall, take the first left, and you'll find it there. But be quick; the session is about to start. I'll wait for you right here."
Harry nodded his thanks and hurried down the indicated corridor, his heart racing with the gravity of his impending actions. He found a secluded spot away from prying eyes and pulled out the portkey from under his shirt. "Safety," he hissed. To his dismay, it remained stubbornly inactive. "Safety," he hissed again, but nothing happened. "Safety," he repeated in plain English. Closing his eyes, his heart sank. It wasn't working; he was trapped within the Ministry's confines.
He stepped from the bathroom, panic gripping him. What was he going to do? His plan had been to escape discreetly before anyone noticed, but now he had no choice but to follow Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley through the grand corridors of the Ministry.
As they walked through the ornate entrance to the Wizengamot, Harry's eyes were irresistibly drawn to a chillingly familiar figure – Lucius Malfoy. Clad in robes of impeccable tailoring, Malfoy exuded an aura of haughty disdain, his silver cane catching the dim light. However, as Harry's gaze lingered, he realized it was not Malfoy who ensnared his attention. It was the distinct magic emanating from that side of the room, a magic Harry had come to know all too well.
Standing beside Malfoy was a man who, at first glance, appeared unremarkable. Yet, a closer look revealed an unmistakable aura, the aura of Tom Riddle. This figure, cleverly disguised with glamours to resemble a wealthy but ordinary wizard, radiated an undercurrent of dark, sinister magic. His normally cold, red eyes were masked by a mundane light brown, but the malevolence and cunning in his gaze pierced through, sending an involuntary shiver down Harry's spine.
The bustling entrance was a blur of motion and whispered anticipation, with ministry officials and representatives brushing past in a hurried flow. Harry's attention was momentarily diverted by the passing crowd. When he looked back, the figure that he was certain was Voldemort had merged into the sea of people, vanishing like a ghost, leaving behind a lingering, unsettling sense of dread that clung to the air. Harry's heart beat faster as he walked next to Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore; neither had seen Malfoy or the man who had been standing next to him.
Inside the chamber, Harry was ushered by Arthur Weasley to a section reserved for witness testimonies. The chamber was imposing, its walls lined with dark wood panels and the ceiling high above them. The members of the Wizengamot sat in tiered rows; the faces of the witches and wizards who were slowly taking their seats painted the picture of a mixture of curiosity and solemnity.
As Arthur was momentarily distracted by a portly woman inquiring about some mundane departmental matter, Lucius Malfoy silently emerged from the shadowed alcove of the side wall.
"I'd say I'm surprised to see you here, Potter. However, I am not," he drawled, his silver eyes staring disdainfully at the young wizard.
Harry's gaze flickered to Mr. Weasley, who was still absorbed in conversation with the woman, then to Dumbledore, who was making his way toward Minister Bones. "My portkey isn't working," Harry confessed in a hushed tone, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of Voldemort, but the dark figure was nowhere to be seen. Had what he saw been an illusion, a trick of his stressed mind conjuring the worst scenario?
Lucius's expression shifted. Harry wasn't sure what he saw. It almost seemed like pity, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a bland mask of indifference. "Indeed, the plan has changed. Our Lord requires proof of your alleged allegiance. If you have truly sided with him, then you must publicly oppose Dumbledore," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Harry felt an icy chill cascade down his spine, his entire body tensing in foreboding as he grasped the full extent of what was being demanded of him. Malfoy's words echoed in his ears. He glanced again towards Dumbledore, who was meticulously preparing the stage for the impending session. In that brief moment, the enormity of his predicament crashed over Harry like a tidal wave. The gravity of the situation, combined with the stark realization of Voldemort's masterful manipulation, weighed heavily on his young shoulders. This was not merely a game of chess; it was a dance with the devil, and every move he made could alter the course of the war. Harry knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Of course, Voldemort would seize such an opportunity. It wasn't enough for Harry to plan a return to him; Voldemort would force Harry to destroy the light and any hope of returning to it in the process.
Lucius's lips curled into a thin, unfeeling smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "If you please our Lord, then I suspect you will find safety once again in our midst," Harry caught the emphasis on 'safety,' the activation word for his portkey.
The silver-haired Lord Malfoy took a step back, turning away. "Choose wisely," he murmured in parting. "I doubt you'll get this chance again." With that, Lucius Malfoy melded back into the crowd.
As Arthur Weasley returned to his side, Harry was left to grapple with the enormity of what had just occurred, his mind racing to find a way out that wouldn't destroy his chances of ever being trusted by the light again. With Voldemort present, the likelihood of escape was zero. Worst, this entire session could erupt into a bloodbath if Harry chose incorrectly.
He shook his head, barely comprehending what had just transpired. "Fuck."
AN: Happy New Year! To start 2024 off right here's another chapter! Tho, I think Bakeku67, TheReader81 and Juliejo might be the only ones who actually reads this lol. So thank you for the continued support and awesome reviews 😊