Planning

Sleep eluded Harry for the remainder of the night. He tossed and turned, finding no true rest. Subconsciously, he knew he dreaded that each time he fell asleep, Voldemort would summon him to the dream landscape from which he had just awoken. Could he shield his mind before going to bed to prevent being summoned? Was that even possible, given the magical connections he and the Dark Lord seemed to have?

Groaning, he swung his legs out of bed, resting his head in his hands and gripping his messy hair tightly. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but things had gone from bad to significantly worse in just one day. Despite being the Dark Lord's heir and having a soul shard in him, he found the most shocking revelation was that he was somehow a prisoner of the Order of the Phoenix, needing to escape to return to the side of his parents' murderer.

He let out a heavy sigh and turned his gaze toward the window. The dawn was just beginning to break, casting a soft light that made the frost-covered garden and meadow sparkle. The tranquil beauty outside was a stark contrast to the turmoil within Harry, a reminder of the peaceful world that lay just beyond his reach. Would nothing ever be normal for him again?

"What am I going to do?" he muttered. Did he trust that Voldemort would not just lock him up if he returned? He needed to think like a Slytherin would. The Dark Lord had not shown any surprise about Harry being a Horcrux. But that didn't mean much. Harry would have thought the wizard would become livid that Dumbledore knew about them and was plotting to destroy them. That Dumbledore had revealed Harry was one would surely concern Voldemort, right? The Slytherin's greatest enemy now held a piece of the Dark Lord's immortality.

Worse was Harry now had to worry about what Dumbledore would do. The situation had changed. Harry honestly believed Dumbledore would not immediately kill him to destroy the shard. The headmaster had seemed deeply troubled that Harry held the soul piece and was determined to remove it. While Dumbledore was a manipulative old man, Harry did believe the man cared for him. That he at least valued life in the general way that seemed to align with those who fought for the light. He hoped the old man cared beyond that, seeing Harry as his student, even a mentee of sort. A pupil who ways trusted the headmaster more than he had any right to. This gave Harry a sliver of hope that, despite the disastrous circumstances, there might still be a way for him to remove the soul piece without dying.

But Harry couldn't help but wonder about Dumbledore's ultimate intentions. What would he do if he couldn't remove the soul shard? If anyone was magically strong enough and had a deep enough grasp of magic to do so, it was likely Dumbledore. But if he failed, Harry wasn't sure what would happen. He didn't trust Dumbledore to value Harry's life over the supposed greater good.

And regardless of the soul piece, that didn't mean the self-proclaimed light lord was not above using Harry. The Gryffindor had already seen that time and time again. The headmaster would continue to manipulate and maneuver Harry to do exactly what

Dumbledore thought was best. The raven-haired teen was increasingly realizing that what was best for Dumbledore was not what was best for Harry. Neither of them wanted the Dark Lord to run around unchecked, but nothing Dumbledore had done to date had been successful. Harry, at least, was making some progress. As Voldemort's apprentice, he was on the inside. He was able to debate the Dark Lord and try to sway him. Despite what Dumbledore claimed, no children and fewer innocents had been harmed. Harry had to call that a win.

And Harry, finally willing to admit this to himself, had realized that as he approached majority and his powers continued to grow, he didn't want to be a docile pawn, a puppet to be orchestrated. Right or wrong, it was his life to live. His decisions to make. He should be allowed to fight in this war as he saw fit.

Rising from his bed, Harry reached for his wand and the pouch he had tucked under his pillow. He had draped his robes over a chair the night before and, not wanting to rummage through Ron's belongings, he sniffed them cautiously. Satisfied they were passably fresh, he pulled them on. A quick glance in the crooked mirror confirmed his rumpled appearance; his hair was a mess, but overall, he looked mostly presentable. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his poor night's sleep, yet a sense of urgency, a restlessness to act, energized him. He needed to figure out how to leave the Burrow. He wouldn't passively sit by and trade one form of captivity for another.

Descending the stairs, the aroma of Mrs. Weasley's cooking sparked a rumble in his stomach. The teen was hungry – he had barely eaten the previous day – and now that he had had a moment to adapt to his new situation, his appetite had returned with a vengeance. He entered the brightly lit kitchen, a faint, musty aroma of old books mixed with the persistent scent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking welcomed him, creating a comforting atmosphere.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted warmly, bustling around the kitchen, magically controlling a bowl of batter while simultaneously shifting the sizzling bacon on the lit stove. "Breakfast will be ready shortly."

"Harry, good to see you up and about," Authur Weasley added, shifting in his seat at the kitchen table and gesturing for Harry to join him. He nodded toward a steaming cup of coffee.

Harry gratefully accepted the coffee and took the seat beside Mr. Weasley. "How did you sleep?" Mrs. Weasley inquired.

"Alright," Harry responded, his voice subdued. "It's strange, moving from one bed to another, but I'll adjust." He took a sip of his coffee.

"That's to be expected, dear. I'm sure you'll need a few good nights of sleep before you start to feel normal again," Mrs. Weasley remarked kindly. "You've been through a lot."

Harry nodded, turning towards Mr. Weasley, eager to get some answers to the hundreds of questions he'd been dying to ask since his alleged rescue. "How are things? What's happening at the Ministry? Do they really accept that he's back?"

The elderly ginger shifted in his seat, glancing at his wife, not immediately answering.

"Please," Harry implored softly, "I need to know something. After being his prisoner for months, keeping me in the dark doesn't help. Do you really think you can hide the war from me?"

Behind him, Molly Weasley huffed heavily. "You're far too young," she admonished, much to Harry's annoyance. "It's not a proper conversation to have with a teenager."

"I'm less than a year from adulthood. You can't honestly expect me to just turn 17 and be an entirely different person? Hiding the facts from me isn't doing me any favors," Harry argued. Molly frowned, a hint of hurt washing through her concerned brown eyes.

Mr. Weasley grimaced as well but seemed to at least acknowledge Harry's point. "He's right. He's young, but he's also involved. It's only fair he knows what he would learn from anyone at the Ministry or in the newspapers."

Harry, feeling Mrs. Weasley's disapproving gaze on him, appreciated Mr. Weasley's candor. A dim spark of hope swept through him that he might actually get some answers. It was absurd to think they could shield him from reality, especially considering what Voldemort had just subjected him to.

"You-Know-Who has been relatively quiet, but it's widely accepted he's back," Arthur continued. Molly's movements in the kitchen grew more vigorous, an obvious sign of her annoyance. "Many saw him at the Ministry last year, and the attack on the Hogwarts Express has convinced the doubters. But rather than starting an all-out war, he seems to be biding his time, much like last year when he focused on obtaining the prophecy. It seems he's now fixated on another goal."

"And what's that?" Harry ventured to ask, dread pooling in his gut.

Arthur's expression darkened. "We believe he's trying to infiltrate the Ministry, methodically replacing those who oppose him with his own supporters. His goal seems to be to shift the balance of power subtly in his favor." Harry recognized that; it aligned with what he had observed in the meeting he attended with Voldemort.

"And then what?" Harry pressed, his thoughts drifting to the pouch concealed in his robes and the Slytherin book containing magic that would help Voldemort shed his Tom Riddle persona. Was that enough to absolve him of his crimes and allow him to walk freely again? It didn't seem like it should be, but Harry had seen the ministry do dumber things. "Even if he rearranges the Ministry to his liking, won't people resist a Dark Lord's rule? Wouldn't they remember the horrors of the first war?"

Mrs. Weasley clanged another pot down with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

"You'd hope so," Arthur agreed with a troubled frown. "But fear has a way of silencing opposition. People do remember the first war, which actually makes them more hesitant to act, fearing it might escalate the situation. Right now, it's a tense standoff, uncomfortable but not openly violent. Dead bodies and Dark Marks aren't a common nightly occurrence like in the last war. Since Voldemort appears more restrained this time, some wonder if his intentions might be different, if he's not seeking another outright war."

Mr. Weasley gave Harry a long, contemplative look.

"Arthur, don't," Molly Weasley cautioned, sensing where the conversation was heading.

"He needs to know," Mr. Weasley countered firmly. Harry tensed, sensing that the conversation was about to take an unsettling turn.

"What do I need to know?" Harry asked softly, a sense of foreboding settling over him.

Mr. Weasley sighed, looking suddenly older and much more tired. "Word has spread that you were captured and trained by him. And concurrently, the attack on the Hogwarts Express happened without any casualties. There's speculation that you played a role in tempering You-Know-Who's actions. People are beginning to believe that you're the reason no children were harmed. That you somehow saved them."

A chill ran through Harry. Was this a deliberate manipulation by Voldemort, or had his actions inadvertently saved lives? He was unsure whether to feel relief or horror. Was Voldemort crafting a narrative that portrayed him as more reasonable, provided Harry was by his side? Wouldn't that just place more weight on the young Gryffindor's shoulders to be their savior? It fed into the belief that he was the hero they all were demanding. It was absurd on multiple levels. The very people who had called him an attention-seeking liar were saying he could stop the strongest Dark Lord of their time from killing. Harry was certain he did not have that power, at least not yet. But almost worse, it made it sound like him being with Voldemort was almost a good thing. How in Merlin's name did Voldemort manage to pull that one off? The Ministry was filled with complete idiots.

Harry shook his head, absorbing the information, his mind racing with the implications. "This makes it seem like the wizarding world almost saw my capture as a positive thing," Harry remarked, disbelief coating his voice. How could this be happening?

Another pot clanged violently against the stove. Harry tensed at the sound. Caught up in his thoughts, the noise pulled him back to the present.

"Mr. Weasley, what do you think it all means?" Harry nervously asked, suddenly needing an outside perspective. Dumbledore had suggested that Voldemort had already planned a change in tactics. Harry wasn't sure whether to believe that he had influenced the Dark Lord or if this was all part of Voldemort's grand design.

"You being captured was certainly not a good thing," Arthur quickly interjected, raising both hands as if to emphasize his point. "I don't want you to think that for a moment, Harry. What happened to you was terrible. He took you against your will, and from what you've shared, your experience was horrendous. It should never have happened, and under no circumstances should you consider going back to him. I just want you to be aware of the narratives being spun about him and about you.

"You asked me to trust you, and I've never been anything but in awe of your maturity and ability to handle what is thrown at you. But regardless of what the world thinks, how he spins this, you know he's evil. He's a murderer, and him in power will not be good for our world.

Just because people are too afraid to openly stand against him does not change that truth. He's still a Dark Lord who is willing to torture and murder to get his way."

Harry felt his cheeks burn; ducking his head, he quickly took a big gulp of coffee. He knew Mr. Weasley was right, that Voldemort truly was evil. He was dark. He liked harming people. He liked controlling Harry. And, yet, Harry still felt that he had to return to him. Right or wrong, Harry had seen firsthand what Voldemort would do to control him. If returning meant the Dark Lord did not kill innocents and children to appear more rational, then that was achieving what Harry had set out to do. He was a sixteen-year-old boy who hadn't even finished school. Anything powerful he knew; it was thanks to Voldemort.

He set his coffee back down, staring at the rising steam thoughtfully. "I appreciate you being honest with me, Mr. Weasley. Truly. And I understand what you're saying. I know he's dangerous. That he wants to take over. But I would rather be aware of what he's trying to do than blind. That's what lured me into the Ministry last year, not knowing the truth. So, thank you."

Mr. Weasley reached out, gripping Harry's shoulder affectionately. "I am so glad you are back," he said, his voice breaking slightly. Harry thought he heard a loud sniff that sounded a lot like a sob from behind, but when he glanced over his shoulder, Mrs. Weasley was busy chopping up fruit.

Soon enough, the sounds of footsteps were heard stumbling down the stairs. First Fred, then George, perhaps the opposite honestly, then Hermione and Ginny, followed last by Ron yawning loudly and looking disheveled.

As the morning progressed, the Burrow's kitchen filled with the comforting sounds and smells of a bustling family breakfast. Fred and George's banter added a light-hearted tone that did a remarkable job of masking the underlying tension of Harry's recent experiences which fought to linger heavily in the air.

Mrs. Weasley, the ever-attentive hostess, bustled around, serving generous helpings of eggs, bacon, and toast. "Eat up, Harry dear, you need your strength," she urged warmly, piling his plate high.

Hermione and Ron, sitting across from Harry, exchanged glances. "Harry, you're looking a bit better this morning," Hermione said thoughtfully, her concern obvious. "Did you sleep okay?"

Ron chimed in, smiling largely around a large bite of toast. "Yeah, mate, you look less like a ghost today. That's a good sign, right?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ginny, seated beside Harry, offered a small smile. "It's nice to have you back with us, Harry," she said softly, reaching over to give his arm a reassuring squeeze under the table before turning back to Fred and George, swatting at them as they tried to steal her bacon.

Harry lips twitched in amusement, grateful to be around them and still feel accepted. This was a much more enjoyable meal than the stoic and uncomfortable ones he'd endured at Voldemort's side. "Thanks, I slept... well, as well as I could," he replied, avoiding too much detail. "It's good to be back."

The conversation around the table was a careful blend of everyday topics and gentle inquiries into Harry's well-being. Arthur Weasley, looking over at Harry, said, "We're all just glad you're safe now, Harry. You've been through a lot."

Fred, a mischievous glint in his eye, belted out a hearty chuckle. "Yeah, and now you're back to enjoy Mum's cooking. Lucky you escaped her famous apple fly-pie! Maybe it'll make a comeback!"

The table erupted in light laughter. Ginny nudging Harry playfully. "Don't mind them; they're just upset they got caught trying to blow up dessert the other night and have been on dish duty all month."

As they continued eating, Harry found himself slowly relaxing into the familiar, familial environment. The love and care of the Weasley family, combined with the presence of his closest friends, offered him a semblance of normalcy amidst all the chaos and terror he had endured. He knew it wouldn't last, but for now, he wanted to enjoy it. This is what he was fighting for.

After finishing his breakfast, Harry excused himself from the table. He was thankful for the Weasleys, but they were a lot, especially all of them at once. He needed some solitude, a chance to reflect and figure out what he was going to do.

The Gryffindor stepped outside into the Burrow's garden, greeted by crisp morning air and long shadows stretching across the dew-laden grass. Settling onto a bench, he flicked his wand to cast a warming charm, his gaze wandering over the garden. Unlike Voldemort's grand, extravagant grounds, the homely charm of this place had a unique allure. Did he miss the constant hum of dark alluring magic that seemed to surround the manor? He did sort of miss the lessons. They were challenging, but he'd grown so much. Time seemed to blur as he sat there, lost in thought. He wasn't sure how long he sat when his solitude was finally disrupted.

A faint shadow approached, and Harry looked up to see Ginny. "Mind if I join you?" she asked softly.

"Of course not," Harry replied, a slight smile gracing his lips.

They shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ginny spoke. "I'm sorry for what you went through. I can't imagine..."

Harry nodded, touched by her compassion yet feeling self-conscious. He wondered if she saw him as weak for being captured. Or perhaps worse, as a monster for taking the brand of his parents' murderer. But with the smallest ray of hope, he suspected that Ginny, of all people, who had also felt Voldemort's manipulative influence through the diary, might understand him better than others.

"It was challenging," Harry admitted cautiously. "He's scary but brilliant…. Voldemort has a way of invading your thoughts, making you doubt everything. Forcing his control over you."

Ginny's expression grew somber. "I've had a taste of that," she said quietly, clearly recalling her ordeal with the diary. "It's like battling your own mind."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, finding truth in her words. "It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. He warps your thoughts, preys on your fears... But he can also make a lot of sense. About some things at least."

He could feel her steady eyes on him. "He does. Well, he did," she amended. "It still messes with me sometimes. The things he said. What he talked me into doing. The gaps in my memory." She shuddered. "He was so persuasive."

Harry looked at her, wondering why he'd never had a real conversation with her about her experience. She probably knew Voldemort better than any of the others. Granted, it had been a teenage version, but it was still Voldemort.

"You did manage to throw away the diary, you did fight him."

Pink tinged her cheeks. "Until I saw you with it. I was so scared he'd tell you things I'd written. That were deeply embarrassing to an eleven-year-old… I didn't think I couldn't risk it. So, I stole it back..."

Harry frowned, his eyes drawing in consideration. It was sort of similar to what he was going through; he was afraid for others, afraid of what the Dark Lord would do to get back at Harry. Ginny had feared the same thing. And almost died for it. What was the lesson he was supposed to take from it all?

"Did you ever suspect he was evil, that he was using you?"

Ginny looked thoughtful. "Not at first. Once I started having the memory gaps, when I saw what was happening in the school, then I began to suspect it might be related. But he, Tom… was so convincing. I was such a fool. I should have realized what was happening sooner…"

"You're anything but a fool." Harry wasn't sure what to think. Was he being a fool? Was he in essence stealing his own version of the diary back by trying to escape and return to the Dark Lord? "I feel like I lost to him. I took his mark. I'm so scared about what he will do, how he will retaliate," he admitted. He wasn't ready to admit his secret plan, but maybe he could allude to it enough to get Ginny's thoughts.

"But you survived. You escaped," Ginny asserted, her eyes ablaze with determination. "He didn't defeat you. And you're here now, away from him."

Harry let out a heavy sigh, a mix of gratitude for Ginny's faith competing with his own very real lingering fears. "Yea. Maybe… This house is unplottable, but that doesn't mean we're safe," he said, his voice heavy with uncertainty. "Ron and Hermione were captured. Your home was attacked. We could have lost everything. We still can."

"I know," Ginny murmured, her voice trailing off as she thought about how close they'd come to losing it all.

Feeling a surge of frustration, Harry balled his hands into fists. "I'm so sick of feeling powerless!"

Ginny looked at him. Leaning forward, she grabbed one of his hands, conviction radiating in her light brown eyes. "You're not powerless, Harry," she argued, shaking her head. Harry frowned. "Both sides are desperately trying to get you. You might be the most powerful player in this whole war."

Harry shook his head, disagreeing. He was sixteen. He didn't know any magic compared to proclaimed champions of the light and dark. It was absurd to think he could sway anything. "I doubt Dumbledore or Voldemort would see it that way," he said, a hint of cynicism creeping through.

Ginny's response was firm, her lips curving into a reassuring smile. If the conversation wasn't so bleak, he knew it would have endeared her to him even more. "Then why are they both so determined to have you?" she asked. "Harry, they want you to feel powerless so you don't realize how much you can actually do. But believe me, you do have power. The entire wizarding world is watching you. Yes, we're young, but you're almost an adult, and you've already done so much. Ron may shy away from politics and pureblood ideology; truthfully, I hate most of it, but there's a reason the ministry is always writing about you. Why everyone reacts to what you say or do." She raised her eyebrows knowingly. "You have power, Harry. You just need to figure out how to use it, that's all."

Harry looked at her, perhaps for the first time really seeing her. She was so certain he could do this. She didn't even know he was thinking about returning to the dark, using this supposed power to fight for the other side.

"What if people don't like how I use my power?" he asked softly, meeting her eyes with serious intent. "What if they don't agree with my decisions?"

Ginny met his stare with her own. "Are you fighting for the right things? Do you still care about people? The innocent? Children? Muggleborns? Are you trying to gain power for yourself, or are you trying to do something good in this horrible war?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Of course I care about them! That's what's been guiding me this entire time. I don't want power. I've never wanted it. I just want a normal life. But clearly that won't happen." Too many powerful wizards kept mucking it up.

"Then who cares what others think? You're doing what's right. You can stand before the entire Wizarding world and not feel bad as long as you're fighting for what you believe in." She paused, biting her lip. Her cheeks turned a shade redder. "I don't say this lightly; I've never met someone more selfless than you. You fought a basilisk to save me in your second year.

You fended off all those dementors to save your godfather, who you barely knew. You risked expulsion to teach us to fight last year. Trust yourself, Harry, I certainly do."

Harry turned back to the garden. Her words comforted him more than she could ever know. He doubted she knew exactly what he was planning, but that trust in him—that he was still good despite all the bad happening—meant everything. They stayed like that for a while longer until Mrs. Weasley summoned them in for lunch.

The rest of the day continued to be mostly uneventful. No new guests from the Order popped in. Though, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did receive an owl that left both of them visibly upset.

When Ron asked about it, they plastered fake smiles on their faces and said it was nothing.

Harry found himself lost in thought on more than one occasion, staring absently out the living room window to his friends' worry and annoyance. Ron had gone so far as to loudly drop a book right next to him, startling him out of his reprieve. The youngest ginger male had blushed, apologizing and mumbling something about being clumsy but Harry suspected it had been on purpose to try and draw his attention. Ron had then challenged Harry to wizard chess, which he accepted, happy that it would be a game they could play mostly in silence, not desiring another soul-searching talks yet. He was shocked that, while he didn't win, he gave Ron a run for his money. It was the best he'd ever played, and even Hermione looked impressed. After dinner, knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, he nodded to Ron and Hermione to follow him out into the garden. He didn't want to risk them being overheard.

They were bundled in mismatched scarves and hats, providing ample warmth against the cold. In the garden's chilly night air, their breaths formed little white puffs as they huddled together.

"How are you holding up, mate?" Ron broke the silence, his concern evident. Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's a lot, you know? So much has happened."

Hermione draped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. "We're just relieved you're back and safe," she said softly.

Harry remained silent at her words. 'Safe' was a relative term; they were far from it. Why did everyone insist on saying that?

Hermione, sensing his discomfort, continued cautiously, "Ron mentioned the talk you two had when you first got back to the Burrow. About your fears of us being captured again."

Harry looked at them, his eyes searching theirs. "Aren't you worried about that?"

"Of course, we're concerned," Hermione replied, her tone taking on a lecturing quality that brought a small smile to Harry's face. He had missed this. Missed them. "But that doesn't mean we give up. We keep fighting."

"I haven't given up," Harry said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. Ginny's words had helped him gain perspective. "I know where I stand. I want this war to end, and everyone safe. But we're not living in a storybook. Voldemort is growing stronger every day. He could take over the Ministry any day now."

"There's got to be a way to stop him," Ron said, anger lacing his words. "The Ministry can't be that oblivious."

"It's the Ministry; being oblivious is practically their job," Hermione quipped, though her eyes mirrored the gravity of the situation.

Harry's brows furrowed, worry washing through him. "I'm scared he's become too strong, beyond anyone's ability to stop him. If Dumbledore could have, he would have already." His mind raced through the daunting task of finding the Horcruxes. Five pieces of Voldemort's soul were still out there, making him nearly invincible. Harry wondered if getting closer to Voldemort might help him uncover their locations. Dumbledore hadn't made any headway, or at least hadn't trusted Harry enough to say what and where they were. And it didn't sound like Dumbledore trusted anyone else in the Order with the knowledge either. If Dumbledore was failing, then Harry couldn't help but feel like it was left to him to figure it out.

Hermione nodded. "It's frightening. He's like a shadow, not an army we can fight. It's not as if Death Eaters are parading in the streets. People disappear, but it's rare and hard to track when and why, no one dares to speak out, fearing for their own safety. It's awful; we don't know if they're dead or being held captive."

Harry's thoughts drifted to the young girl he knew was being held at one of the Malfoy estates. "I think he's taking them, using them as leverage," he said softly.

"Do you think or do you know?" Hermione pressed, giving him a scrutinizing look.

Harry shook his head, his voice low. "Please, don't ask questions that could put you in more danger. I don't know where they're held, or how we could rescue them. If there was a way to help, believe me, I would. But even mentioning this, if Dumbledore were to act on it, it could endanger innocent lives, we're talking young children. We have to be certain they can be rescued."

"He's using children as hostages?" Hermione gasped, while Ron turned visibly pale.

Harry looked away, nodding, his voice tinged with resignation. "For what it's worth, I believe they're unharmed for now. They'll likely be released once he achieves his goals."

"That's horrific," Hermione exclaimed, appalled by the notion. "And what if he doesn't?"

Harry nodded; the same fears had been in the back of his mind. "Yes, it is." He agreed. "But keeping his word is his method of securing power. He did the same with me, releasing you and helping Moony. He's strategic, no longer as indiscriminate in his cruelty. He'll release them because it serves him better in the long run. They'll owe him or know he could always do it again. He's no longer this bloodthirsty tyrant seeking power through sheer force. He's being smart this time."

Ron looked nauseated while Hermione appeared deep in thought. "You've really come to understand how he thinks," she observed quietly.

Yes, Harry realized, he had begun to understand Voldemort's mindset. But what did he do with it? "Perhaps, but that does me no good if I stay here hiding and no one in the Order trusts me enough to include me in their plans."

Ron and Hermione exchanged another glance, one that seemed heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"What is it?" Harry asked warily. He was beginning to get nervous when they looked at each other like that. It was like they'd created their own unspoken language made from head tilts and eye gestures.

"Harry," Hermione began, clearly cautious, her voice soft as she glanced from Ron to Harry. "You know you can be honest with us. We're your best friends, remember?"

Harry felt a sense of unease. He didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"Are you considering going back to him? Like you almost did in Diagon Alley?" Hermione asked directly.

Harry was taken aback. How did they guess? Did Dumbledore suspect as well? "Why would you think that?" he asked, trying to sound offended but only managing to sound weary.

"It's not hard to see, mate," Ron said, shrugging. "You tried to bolt when we found you. And let's be honest, you don't seem thrilled to be back here. You're always lost in thought or staring out the window. And you clearly don't believe we're safe. Something big is weighing on you."

Harry felt his anger flare, struggling to keep it in check. "Of course, I'm preoccupied!" he snapped. "I was captured, tortured, and branded by the man who killed my parents! He forced me to learn dark magic!" Harry was shaking now, it was the first time he'd been able to voice any of this and actually feel it. This wasn't a show in front of Dumbledore and the Order. He was with friends that he loved more than his own blood. And, saying it out loud a second time, felt almost worse than when he'd recounted his tale the previous day. "My parents would be disgusted with me. And the worst part? He treated me better than the Dursleys ever did. Even with all the torture, he actually treated me like I had value." He clamped his mouth shut, regretting the outburst, especially the last part. He hated that he had said it. He hated that it was true.

Hermione and Ron looked at him, eyes wide, shock and concern consuming their features. It was clear they thought their friend was teetering on the edge of a breakdown. Harry almost wanted to laugh. If he were honest with himself, he knew that he was. He'd been through more than most. And it wasn't even close to over. The war hadn't even started in earnest.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. "None of this is your fault."

"But it is," Harry mumbled, his voice muffled by Hermione's hair. "I agreed to be his apprentice."

"He forced you," Ron interjected firmly.

Harry pulled back, meeting their eyes. "Maybe, but I knew what I was agreeing to. He's bound me with a magical mark; it's not something I can just walk away from."

"But Dumbledore—" Ron began.

"No," Harry cut him off sharply. "I'm not going to sit around like a prisoner waiting for Dumbledore to sort this out. He doesn't have all the answers. Last night, he shared some of the reasons Voldemort can't die, he was vague and made me swear not to share it with anyone, but I'm certain he doesn't know how to stop it. I'm not sure he ever will. He had fifteen years to figure this out after the first time I was attacked, and nothing happened. The dark is only growing stronger, and the light is getting weaker."

"But what can we do?" asked Hermione, sharing another glance with Ron. "I know it looks bleak, but we're still students. Do you think we can do things that Dumbledore can't?"

Harry took a deep breath, willing to take a risk and reveal some of his plans to get a sense of their initial reactions. "What if I use this position Voldemort wants to give me? Voldemort's beginning to trust me. He let me leave the manor. What if I can earn more of his trust and uncover how to defeat him? By teaching me, he's making me stronger; we've started to practice some really powerful magic. Maybe he'll give me the skills I need to change this war."

"It sounds like you're talking about using dark magic to fight him," Hermione cautioned, Harry could feel her subconsciously shifting away from him. "That's not the right way for us to fight this war. He wants to turn you into a monster, you can't let him."

Harry offered a soft smile, shaking his head earnestly. "Hermione, I hated learning the Unforgivable Curses. I won't use them again, and I never used them on anyone. Trust me, I'm not talking about going dark. I won't lose who I am."

"But he could change you," Hermione argued. "Everyone knows how manipulative he is. How powerful he's becoming. What dark magic can do to you. How long would it take you to get strong enough to actually challenge him? A lot could happen. What if he wins before you have a chance to stop it? What if he sees through your plan? What if he just uses you, then kills you once he wins?"

"Then we're right back to where we are now, Hermione." Didn't they understand that if they did nothing, Voldemort was already going to win? Nothing had succeeded in stopping him, and at least this way Harry could protect them. Could shape the war. Could try and help others.

"Harry," Ron whispered, leaning in. His eyes shifted, glancing into the night, clearly fearful they could be overheard. "This is really dangerous. You just escaped. You can't honestly want to return to him. Return to that life. You said he almost killed you… won't he be furious you escaped? What if he just locks you away? Or worse…"

Harry hated how quickly Ron was able to voice everything he was feeling. How he could cut right to the heart of his fears. He didn't dare tell them he was communicating with the Dark Lord in his dreams.

"I know," he whispered, lowering his voice as well. "I'm not saying that's what I'm going to do either. I just," he paused, shrugging. "I need to do something, and we all know they won't let us join the Order. I'm trusting you both with this. I'm not saying I'll do it, so please don't say anything. But you're the only ones I can trust with these thoughts. Who I can trust to help me come up with a real plan. Because we have to do something. If we don't, then I know you're not safe. Your family isn't safe. And I refuse to just sit in this house and hide. So, help me come up with a better way or help me take the only option we actually have because I'm done hiding or just being a puppet."

They stared at each other, warm breath rising gently in the cold night air. Hermione leaned into him. "Don't do anything rash Harry," she whispered. "You know that we're here, we're with you. But please, just don't do anything you can't reverse. We need to think this through."

Harry met Ron's eyes. He could see the fear and concern in his friend as he nodded in agreement. Harry sighed silently. He wasn't sure that he could promise them that, but he was grateful that at least for now, they were still on his side, even as he contemplated doing the unthinkable.

AN: Reviews, reaction and feedback always welcome if you are enjoying this fic!