The dimly lit Black Manor gave Hadrian Black the seclusion he never realized he craved. Outside its wards, the wizarding world reeled in confusion and frustration.

No one truly understood why Harry Potter's disappearance struck such a deep chord—but they felt it. The Boy Who Lived wasn't just a person; he was a symbol. And now, without warning or explanation, he was gone.

Cornelius Fudge read the Daily Prophet with trembling hands.

BOY-WHO-LIVED MISSING!

MINISTER UNDER PRESSURE AS HARRY POTTER DISAPPEARS!

His pudgy fingers gripped the parchment tightly. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Ever since he'd worked tirelessly to discredit Harry Potter and Dumbledore, Fudge believed he'd put an end to their "fearmongering." He had buried Voldemort's supposed return with clever PR and a firm grip on the press.

But now? A missing Harry Potter might undo everything.

"They'll be saying he was kidnapped by Death Eaters next," Fudge muttered under his breath, pacing the Minister's Office as Percy Weasley scribbled notes nearby. "Or worse, that we're responsible for his disappearance!"

Percy paused his writing. "Minister, it's possible the boy ran off on his own. From what I've heard, Harry Potter is rather… unpredictable."

"Yes, yes," Fudge waved a dismissive hand. "But no one will believe that, will they? They'll think he's gone into hiding—or worse, that Dumbledore's stashed him away somewhere." His face darkened. "That man. Always meddling…"

To keep control of the narrative, the Ministry doubled down on public displays of authority. Aurors were dispatched to "aid" in the search, although their efforts focused more on visible raids and interrogations than actual investigation.

Fudge took to the headlines again, emphasizing unity:

MINISTER FUDGE PROMISES ANSWERS!

"THE MINISTRY WILL LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED," SAYS SCRIMGEOUR.

But behind closed doors, Fudge's paranoia grew. Harry's absence wasn't just inconvenient—it was dangerous. Without Harry Potter, the fragile facade of stability Fudge had so carefully cultivated began to crack.

Beyond the Ministry's gilded walls, another group struggled to make sense of Harry's disappearance

Ginny stormed into the room, her face flushed with fury. Without even glancing at the others, she ripped the latest issue of The Daily Prophet out of her bag, crumpled it slightly in her grip, and slammed it down on the table.

"Listen to this garbage," she growled, stabbing her finger at the bold headline. "'Harry Potter: The Latest Victim of Delusion.' She's calling him a victim like he's some sort of tragic madman. 'Unstable, unpredictable, dangerous, and out of control…'" Ginny's voice was thick with disgust as she quoted, "'Potter, once lauded as a hero, now spirals into fits of paranoia and outright fantasy. Is this the boy the wizarding world pinned their hopes on? Or are we witnessing a dangerous breakdown?' She's painting him like—like—he's cracked up! Are they for real?"

Hermione snatched the article from Ginny's hand. 'Harry Potter's recent so-called disappearance is just the latest example of his erratic behavior. The Prophet's reporters have yet to receive confirmation on his whereabouts—official sources claim that his actions, including claiming to have witnessed dark forces at work, show a troubling descent into madness.' She's clearly been fed some Ministry line to keep pushing the same nonsense—how can anyone think this is a anything but a smear campaign ?" Hermione said while scanning the article,

Ginny crossed her arms, her teeth grinding in fury. "She's twisting everything! Not a single word about Voldemort, just 'Potter's apparent tendency toward dramatized paranoia.' Oh, and don't miss this part: 'Rather than confront his demons—both real and imagined—Potter retreats into his delusions" She laughed bitterly. "Like he's the problem and not—" She cut herself off with a vicious wave of her hand. "The Ministry pretends like nothing's happening, and then they pull this!"

Ron was sitting with fingers clenched and his face pale with anger. "You know they've been feeding the press whatever fits their agenda. How can they make Harry the bad guy after everything we've seen? The Ministry's not even pretending anymore—everything from this article sounds like it came directly from Fudge's office. They need to keep people distracted. They need to make us all look stupid for believing Harry. The bigger the cover-up, the crazier the story they paint about him!"

Ginny's face hardened with fury. "Look at this bit—'The notorious 'Dumbledore's Army' may just be taking Potter further into the realms of extreme behaviors. Dangerous associations with individuals of questionable mental health speak volumes about the misguided judgments.' I mean—what crap! And they had the gall to print this just after Fudge went on his press tour last month—straight from his office!"

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, fists clenched as she stewed. "And here she goes again: 'There are growing concerns within the wizarding world that these delusions could become far more dangerous, considering Potter's previous history of recklessness and a troubling inability to deal with loss.'" She threw the article onto the table with a sharp exhale. "What does she even know about the 'loss' he's dealing with?"

Ginny snapped. "Nothing."

"We have to do something. We can't just let this slide," Ron muttered, clenching his jaw tightly. "Not when they're making it sound like Harry's the problem. This is—it's all just smoke and mirrors to protect the Ministry."

Hermione slammed her hands down on the table, eyes ablaze. "And don't get me started on this line: 'Potter's so-called defenders continue to spread alarmist rhetoric, encouraging a backlash against those in authority who are simply trying to keep the peace.'" She rolled her eyes sarcastically. "'Trying to keep the peace,' my foot. Peace doesn't mean ignoring a dark wizard in power!"

Ginny's expression was fierce, eyes flashing with the determination that had taken root in her. "I'm sick of this. Sick of them pretending that Harry's the issue and not Fudge's incompetence. It's not Harry who's the problem, it's people like him, those who are content with leaving everyone blind to the truth."

Ron threw his hands up in exasperation, already knowing their feelings echoed one another's. "Exactly! This—this is nonsense! And it needs to stop."

"There's no way they can keep hiding the truth, but they'll try. You'll see—people will start to believe the lies if we don't show them how wrong it is," Ginny said firmly. She then turned to Ron and Hermione, her eyes hardened with resolve. "And we stand with Harry, no matter what the Prophet says. No matter what Rita Skeeter tries to do to make him look crazy."

They all nodded in silent agreement.

Meanwhile, at Grimmauld Place's dinning room, the mood was dire.

The Order of the Phoenix had always operated with incomplete information, but this was different. Harry's disappearance left a gaping hole in their efforts. They didn't know why Voldemort wanted him so badly; they only knew he did.

"It's not like Harry to just vanish," Tonks said, frustration lacing her tone as she paced the room. "Someone must've seen something."

"But who?" growled Moody. "We've got Death Eaters crawling in the shadows, a Ministry that'd love to pin anything on us, and now this? He's not exactly a needle in a haystack, but—"

"Maybe he chose to disappear," Kingsley said, his voice calm but firm. The others turned to him in surprise.

"Harry wouldn't just run," Sirius snapped, sitting stiffly in a corner , his face flushed with frustration.

"He might, if he thought it was the only way to keep himself—and us—safe," Kingsley countered. "Think about it. The boy's been under constant scrutiny since he was a baby. If he found a way to escape that—at least for a while—could you blame him?"

"Kingsley's right," Remus said quietly. "We don't know what Harry's been thinking. Not really. And if he did make this decision…"

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over them.

The meeting at Grimmauld Place had finally ended, though its tension lingered in the dimly lit sitting room. The other members of the Order had dispersed to their quarters or disappeared into the night on errands. Now, only Ron and Hermione remained.

Hermione sat cross-legged in one of the worn armchairs, a massive tome on advanced tracking spells balanced on her lap. She wasn't reading it, though. Her fingers idly traced the embossed title as she stared into the crackling fire.

Ron was pacing. His socked feet barely made a sound on the creaking wooden floor, but his agitation filled the space.

"This is bollocks," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Absolute, bloody bollocks."

"Ron, keep your voice down," Hermione said quietly, though her tone carried little reprimand.

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" he snapped, spinning to face her. "That I'm fine with everyone sitting around, waiting for Harry to decide he's ready to come back?"

Hermione met his glare. "We don't know what's going on, Ron. We don't even know if he can come back. If he's safe. If he's even—"

"Don't." Ron's voice broke, and for a moment, the anger drained from his face, leaving only fear behind. "Don't even think that."

Hermione flinched but nodded. She shut the book on her lap and set it aside. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't understand this. Why didn't he say anything? Not to anyone? Not even to us?"

Ron sank onto the couch opposite her, his hands dangling between his knees. "Because that's Harry, isn't it? He never asks for help. Never lets anyone in when things get too much. He just bottles it all up until he—"

"Runs," Hermione finished softly.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling fire.

The firelight flickered across the walls of the sitting room, casting long shadows as Hermione set aside another fruitless tome. Ron sat slumped in the armchair across from her, chewing on his thumb, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Neither had spoken for several minutes. The tension in the room had become almost unbearable.

Finally, Ron broke the silence. "You don't think…" He hesitated, gripping the edge of his chair. "You don't think this is our fault, do you?"

Hermione looked up sharply, her expression stricken. "Ron, what are you talking about?"

Ron gestured vaguely in the air between them, his face flushing. "I mean, the letters! The way we answered him—everything. He'd write, asking us all these things about what's going on here, about what to do next… and what did we say?"

Hermione flinched, guilt rippling across her face.

"Every bloody time," Ron continued, his voice rising. "'Dumbledore said this.' 'Dumbledore said that.' Like we didn't even have minds of our own anymore."

"You think I don't know that?" Hermione snapped, though her voice cracked under the weight of her guilt. "You think I haven't gone over every single letter we wrote to him?" Hermione took a slow, shaky breath. "I can't stop replaying the letters… everything we said… like maybe one word would've been enough to change it all.Do you remember what he said in the last one?"

Ron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Something about 'not bothering us anymore,' like we had more important things to worry about."

Hermione nodded miserably. "He stopped writing after that." Her voice trembled. "All those questions he asked—about the Order, the prophecy, what we thought he should do next… we kept telling him, 'Trust Dumbledore.' 'Follow his lead.' But what about us, Ron? He trusted us, and we just—"

"—passed the buck to Dumbledore," Ron finished bitterly. "Yeah, I know." He slammed his fist against the armrest, making the old chair creak. "We treated him like he was just another problem to be managed. No wonder he—"

"Ran away?" Hermione interjected. "Do you really think Harry would just abandon us like that? No, Ron. He hasn't run. He's… he's doing something, something he thinks he has to do."

Ron frowned, though his anger seemed to deflate. "What? What could be so important that he wouldn't even tell us?"

Hermione's eyes glistened, the flames in the hearth reflecting in her unshed tears. "I don't know. But whatever it is, I think he felt like he couldn't trust us with it. Not anymore."

Ron sat back heavily in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. "Merlin, Hermione… we're his best friends. How did we let this happen?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "We thought we were helping him by listening to Dumbledore. We thought we were protecting him. But all we've done is make him feel more alone."

For a while, neither of them said anything. The only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire.

Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice small but determined. "We're going to fix this. Somehow, we're going to find him. And when we do, we're going to remind him that he's not alone in this—no matter what he's up against."

Ron nodded slowly, his jaw tight. "Yeah. And if he thinks he can just shut us out and carry everything by himself, he's got another thing coming. We're not letting him face this alone, Hermione. Not this time."

"He shouldn't have to do this alone," Ron said finally, his voice shaking. "Whatever it is—whatever he's going through—we're supposed to help him. That's what we're here for. That's what friends do, Hermione."

Hermione reached across the small table separating them, her hand brushing his. "I know."

Ron's head shot up, his blue eyes wide with frustration. "I can't stand this, Hermione? Sitting here, not knowing if he's okay? Not knowing if he's out there being… being—" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly. "We'll find him, Ron. If anyone can, it's us."

He huffed a bitter laugh. "You sound just like Dumbledore. 'When Harry's ready…' Like he's supposed to magically show up and tell us everything's fine. What if he doesn't? What if he—"

"Stop." Hermione's voice cracked this time, and Ron fell silent. She looked away, blinking back tears. "Don't say it, Ron. I can't… I can't hear it."

Ron paced again, his hands running through his hair. "I should've said something—done something!"

Hermione stood quietly, trying to reign in the rush of emotions. "Ron, we can't undo it. We wrote what we thought was right… but I can't help but wonder if I missed something—if we failed him somehow.

They sat in heavy silence, the weight of their shared fear filling the room.

"We have to keep looking," Hermione said after a moment, her voice steadier now. "There has to be something—some clue we're missing. Harry wouldn't just vanish without leaving a trace. Even if he didn't mean to."

Ron nodded, though his expression remained stormy. "Fine. But if we find him, he's got a lot of explaining to do."

Hermione let out a soft, humorless laugh. "That's if I don't strangle him first."

Despite the grimness of their situation, Ron couldn't help but smile faintly. "Save some for me."

Dumbledore's Office

The office was unusually cold despite the flickering warmth of the fire in the hearth. Fawkes sat on his golden perch, watching intently, his feathers ruffling with agitation. Albus Dumbledore stood at the window, gazing out into the stormy night, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The weight of the situation hung over him like a storm cloud.

Behind him, Severus Snape waited, his robes billowing faintly as though he, too, had carried in the weight of Voldemort's fury. The tension was palpable.

"You knew this would happen," Snape began, his voice sharp but controlled, cutting through the silence. "You knew Potter was different. Unpredictable. But even I did not anticipate that he'd simply… vanish."

Dumbledore sighed heavily and turned to face Snape, his age showing more than it ever had before. The twinkle in his eyes was dim, replaced by a deep weariness.

"I did not expect this, Severus," Dumbledore admitted softly, lowering himself into the chair behind his desk. "I trusted Harry to endure… as he always has. I underestimated how the burdens we placed upon him have grown to outweigh that trust."

Snape's expression tightened, his dark eyes narrowing. "If he did leave of his own volition, he's more reckless than even I gave him credit for. Do you have any idea how the Dark Lord is reacting? He believes Potter has a plan—a weapon, even. He's becoming more volatile by the second. He believes—"

Snape paused, his tone laced with a hint of hesitation. "He believes Potter is coming for him. That this disappearance is part of some grand offensive strategy."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore said quietly, though his expression betrayed neither relief nor alarm.

Snape's lip curled. "And what, pray, should I tell him when he summons me again? That you, the great Albus Dumbledore, have no answers? That Harry Potter is not hiding under your cloak of protection but has slipped through your fingers entirely?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Tell him whatever you must to preserve your position, Severus. What you tell him now is of no consequence—only that we remain in a position to act when the time comes."

Snape's voice grew colder. "And what makes you so certain this isn't Potter stumbling into Voldemort's clutches as we speak? This isn't one of your precious chess moves, old man—this is real. If the boy dies because of his 'free will'…"

Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing him. "Harry is alive."

The quiet conviction in his voice stilled even Snape's sharp retort.

"And how, exactly, do you know that?" Snape asked, skepticism thick in his voice.

Dumbledore glanced over at Fawkes, whose golden-red feathers shimmered faintly in the dim light. The phoenix let out a low, mournful cry, his head tilting as if he, too, was waiting for an answer.

"Because the wards around Privet Drive remain unbroken," Dumbledore replied at last, his voice tinged with both hope and pain. "Harry could not have left them through magical compulsion, nor would he have been taken by force. He left by choice, Severus."

"By choice," Snape echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. "So, what then? This is some grand act of rebellion? Your 'chosen one' has chosen not to be found?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Harry is not rebelling. He is seeking. He believes there are answers he can find elsewhere—answers he feels we are too unwilling or unable to give him."

Snape's sneer returned. "And while your faith in the boy comforts you, you'll forgive me for worrying about the cost. The Order is in chaos, the Ministry is devouring itself, and the Dark Lord is spiraling into paranoia."

"You are not wrong to worry," Dumbledore said solemnly. "But Harry must find his way back to us, not as a pawn on the chessboard, but as himself. I have asked too much of him, placed too many burdens on his young shoulders without offering the solace he needs."

Snape scoffed. "Sentimentality is hardly going to bring him back. You must act before the damage becomes irreparable. Voldemort's madness will only grow."

Dumbledore did not respond immediately. He looked to Fawkes, whose mournful gaze met his own. The phoenix let out another low cry before flapping his wings, a flurry of golden embers falling gently to the floor.

"Even Fawkes knows the path ahead is unclear," Dumbledore murmured. "But he also reminds us that from ashes, there is rebirth."

Snape's patience wore thin. "Philosophy and phoenixes will not shield the boy when the Dark Lord catches up with him. You cannot sit idly by."

"I am not idle," Dumbledore replied softly but firmly. "But I am trusting Harry to make his choice. His path. His destiny."

"And if his choice leads to ruin?" Snape demanded.

Dumbledore's gaze hardened, his voice low and resolute. "Then we will be there to help him rebuild. Until then, we prepare. We protect what we can. And we trust that, in his heart, Harry knows he is not truly alone."

…exactly, can you be so certain of that?" Snape demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. There was no malice in the question this time, only a begrudging curiosity.

Dumbledore opened his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, there was the faintest glimmer of the twinkle that had once defined him. "Because I know Harry. For all his unpredictability and his recklessness, there is one thing I do not doubt—his will to fight for what he believes is right, even in the face of impossible odds."

Snape sneered but didn't respond. He crossed his arms, glancing toward the Phoenix, who now let out a low, mournful trill. The sound filled the silence that followed, echoing like an unspoken lamentation.

"The world does not yet understand the importance of Harry," Dumbledore continued, rising from his chair with an uncharacteristic urgency. "But mark my words, Severus—Harry will return when he is ready, and when he does, the very fabric of this war will shift. His choices, however difficult and inscrutable they may seem now, will guide us toward what is to come."

Snape looked skeptical. "Assuming, of course, he does not lose himself in the process. The weight you've placed on his shoulders… It's not a question of if he'll break—it's when."

Dumbledore hesitated at that, his usual composure faltering slightly. "That, too, is a possibility I have considered. But for all his burdens, Harry possesses a strength that even he does not yet recognize." His gaze turned contemplative. "I only hope he finds it in time."

Snape let out a quiet scoff. "A child should not bear the weight of prophecy alone, no matter how 'strong' you deem him."

Dumbledore's face softened with a measure of sadness. "I am not blind to that truth, Severus. The choices I've made… they will be judged harshly, perhaps rightly so. But I act in hope, because in Harry, I see the glimmer of what this world could become. He is more than a piece on this board, Severus—he is the hope of an entire generation."

Snape regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned sharply on his heel. "Hope is a fragile thing, Headmaster. Let us see if Potter can hold onto it."

And with that, he swept out of the room, his black cloak trailing like a shadow behind him.

Dumbledore watched him leave, the words lingering in the cold air. He turned back toward the window, his reflection faint and ghostlike against the stormy night beyond. Fawkes gave another mournful cry, and Dumbledore reached up, brushing his fingers against the Phoenix's warm plumage.

"Hold on, Harry," he murmured into the stillness. "Wherever you are—hold on."

Fawkes let out one final, soothing trill, the sound carrying through the room like a promise. But Snape turned, his cloak billowing as he swept out of the office, frustration etched across his face.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Dumbledore allowed himself a brief moment of vulnerability. He leaned back in his chair, gazing into the fire.

Far away from their search, Hadrian sat alone in the cavernous Black Manor.

They were searching for him—he could feel it. He imagined the chaos he'd left behind, the desperate attempts to locate him. The guilt should have been overwhelming.

But it wasn't.

Instead, Hadrian found a strange solace in his isolation. The heavy expectations, the endless questioning—gone. For once, there was no prophecy looming over him, no battle he had to fight.

But the voices in his mind weren't so easily escaped.

Arcturus was cold and calculating, a quiet presence that offered sharp clarity and haunting truths. Voldemort's remnants were harder to manage—chaotic flashes of anger, cruel whispers that taunted his every thought.

It didn't matter. For now, Hadrian didn't have to act. He didn't have to be Harry Potter.

Somewhere, the world searched for him. Somewhere, the Order carried his weight. But here, in the heart of Black Manor, Hadrian could finally breathe.

The shadows pressed closer, a comforting cocoon of silence. Let them search, he thought. Let the Ministry spin its lies, let the Order chase ghosts. He would return when—and only when—he was ready. And his mind was his own.