Discussions

Harry's gasp reverberated through the small, poorly lit room, his eyes snapping open as he was abruptly thrust back into the harsh embrace of reality. He shuddered, the haunting images of his recent nightmare still clinging to him.

His trembling fingers instinctively reached for his throbbing scar. The mere touch sent a jolt of pain coursing through him. Was it a real vision, or just another twisted dream? Attempting to slow his erratic heart, the raven-haired teen sucked in a gasping breath. The experience had felt horrifyingly real, leaving him unsure what to believe. Had Voldemort sent it as a warning of what awaited his friends, or was it another illusion, like the one that had lured him to the Ministry a few months ago?

"Merlin," he whispered, shaking his head, his bleary eyes struggling to focus. Harry groped blindly on the rickety nightstand beside his lumpy bed, searching for his glasses. Once he found them, he pushed them shakily onto the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to regain his composure.

Sliding out of bed, Harry began to pace the small room. After just four steps, he found himself at the room's single window. Turning abruptly, he trudged back to his bed and perched uneasily on the edge of his worn school trunk. He looked around, his immediate surroundings barren of any personal touches. Everything he held dear was locked away in his trunk, a stark contrast to the warm, welcoming environment of Hogwarts that he missed dearly.

With a frustrated grunt, Harry's hand shot up to his scar as another wave of pain surged through his skull. The last time it had hurt this much was when he had been in Voldemort's presence. Either Voldemort was lurking nearby, or the dark wizard's power had grown enough to reach Harry from anywhere. Neither possibility offered any solace. Another agonizing spasm of pain ripped through his scar, forcing him to curl in on himself as he fought to maintain consciousness. Harry would have wagered a baby dragon that Voldemort not only had increased in power but was also standing just outside his door.

A sharp tapping at his window captured Harry's attention. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and took a wobbly step toward the window. At this rate, his scar might kill him before he had a chance to rescue his friends.

Brushing his unruly hair out of his eyes, Harry opened the window for the disgruntled brown barn owl. The bird swooped in with an irritated hoot, landing on his bed and extending a leg with an air of pompous impatience. Sighing, Harry moved toward the owl and retrieved the letter. With another irritated hoot, the owl departed. Hoping the letter contained something useful, Harry quickly unfolded the parchment and was met with Dumbledore's distinctive, looping script.

Harry,

Remain at the Dursleys'. I am on my way. Albus Dumbledore.

Frustration and anger surged within Harry as he crumpled the letter and hurled it at the wall in annoyance. Dumbledore's message provided no real information, just another cryptic command he expected to be obeyed. It had been like this throughout the summer, with no hint of news about the resurgence of the dark wizard who had murdered his parents and repeatedly sought to end his life. It was an infuriating recurring theme that had been occurring his entire life. No one, not even Dumbledore, had seen fit to offer him a shred of information, except when circumstances had forced their hand. Harry had been plagued by half-answers and vague promises of future revelations since he first entered the wizarding world. Even before that, his own aunt and uncle had concealed the truth about his parents' fate and his magical abilities.

A surge of anger seemed to suddenly fuel his magic; the parchment burst into flames, its ashes drifting to the wooden floor. Harry watched the embers fade away, startled by the unexpected display of wandless magic. He wasn't surprised his magic was acting out; he felt overwhelmed by the fear that something terrible was happening, and he was powerless to do anything.

A soft cough from behind jolted him back to the present. He turned to find none other than Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Dumbledore entering the room, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Based on their silent entrance, it seemed likely they had used spells to muffle any noises to remain undetected by the Dursleys. Harry hoped that meant his aunt and uncle were blissfully unaware of their presence; he had no desire to endure his uncle's tirades when all he wanted to do was find out the truth about his friends.

As he started at their unexpected arrival, he couldn't help but notice the distress etched into the usually cheerful faces of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley's red-rimmed eyes showed that she had been crying, dark bags hung beneath them. Harry's heart sank as he realized that the nightmare he had just witnessed was likely more than a product of his own dark imagination. He felt a rising sense of dread as he took in their miserable expressions, fearing the news they carried.

"Potter, put away your wand at once and cease performing magic before the entire Ministry descends upon us," Snape snapped, his black eyes glowering at the pajama-clad teenager.

"I don't have my wand out, sir," Harry replied coldly, lifting his empty hands. His response seemed to surprise the rest of the room, but his focus remained on Dumbledore. He had little patience for the dour Potions Master, whom he still blamed for his godfather's death.

"So, it's true?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though it was more a statement than a question. He could sense the despair radiating from the Weasleys.

Dumbledore's usual twinkling blue eyes had lost their sparkle as he nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so, my dear boy."

Nodding, Harry turned and sat down on his bed, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the spot where the crumpled letter had landed. He had trusted Dumbledore to keep his friends safe, to protect them from the increasing threat that was Lord Voldemort. Yet now, his two best friends were held prisoner by the very man who had been trying to murder him for years.

"How did you find out?" Dumbledore inquired quietly as he stepped near the shaken teen.

Harry glanced down at his hands in contemplation. His revelation would likely exclude himself even further from the Headmaster who already feared that Voldemort would use the mystifying scar link as a means to get at Dumbledore and the Order. Worse, Snape would likely go on a rant about how he was a foolish child who thought his connection with the Dark Lord made him special, claiming that he was purposely putting all of them at risk since he could not block his mind.

"A dream," Harry admitted, knowing lying would not help them solve anything. "I saw them with him. And Malfoy as well as his snake," he added as an afterthought. Maybe it would provide a hint of where they were being kept. "He held them in a cell, it was dark. I didn't see anything that indicated where they were, or at least none that I remember. He said he would not kill them yet, that they were bait." He regarded the Headmaster carefully, genuinely concerned about the pain he had experienced earlier. To his immense relief, it seemed to have finally subsided. "And then my scar hurt. As bad as it does when he's near me. Almost as bad as when we fought at the ministry." He left unsaid that he meant when the resurrected Dark Lord had tried to possess him. That was a horrible detail he hoped would never become common knowledge to anyone else.

Dumbledore sighed, looking far older than ever before. It seemed that the great wizard whom so many admired was finally beginning to fall from the pedestal that had been set so high. "Don't fret, Harry, Voldemort is not near here nor does he know where you live. But I do believe that this confirms my suspicion that he has grown stronger. Not just magically but also in his ability to control the connection that the two of you share.

His eyes looked miserable, like he did not want to reveal such a burden to the teen. "I had thought with the infrequent visions he sent you of the Department of Mysteries, that he did not have complete control of when and how you saw these visions. Those had seemed more spontaneous, only when you were in a highly emotional and vulnerable state. But tonight reveals a level of control over your link I had not realized."

"Wonderful," spat Harry bitterly. He had no clue how to take that. Did that mean that Voldemort could literally send him visions whenever he desired? That did not bode well for his sanity… But there were more pressing matters to discuss. "So, what's the brilliant plan to get them back?"

Dumbledore countenance fell further; Harry almost growled in annoyance. He did not need this right now; his friends were at the mercy of Lord Voldemort, Dumbledore needed to have a plan, not just stand there looking old, frail, and broken. He had trusted the wizard to protect them, to keep them safe. Part of the reason he kept coming back to this abysmal existence with his magic-loathing relatives was because Dumbledore assured him that it was the safest option for all. Yet his two best friends had clearly been kidnapped under the Order's nose.

And for all he knew, they could already be dead, or worse, tortured into insanity, because a maniacal sociopath decided he had nothing better to do than constantly attack an almost sixteen-year-old boy.

"Please tell me you have a plan," Harry practically hissed, irritation pulsing through him. He didn't even trust that it was his own, versus an implant from Voldemort. No matter what, he could not seem to escape the deadly wizard. Would there always be shadows of the Dark Lord constantly whispering to him, causing him pain, and basking in the power that the Slytherin heir seemed to always have over the teen? "You were supposed to keep them safe!"

"Potter," McGonagall admonished, but there wasn't as much heart in the rebuke as normal. Mrs. Weasley let out a giant sob which she tried to hide as she turned and clung to her husband who wrapped his arms around her, whispering soft nothings into her unkempt hair. It was clear neither of them had slept this night. He wondered when the actual capture had occurred. How long had his friends been at the mercy of his enemy?

"Harry, I know you're distraught. Please try to remain calm. I intend to fill you in as best I can." He paused, glancing at Snape thoughtfully before continuing. "Two letters arrived about an hour ago; one addressed to me and the other to you."

Dumbledore pulled out two black parchments, one opened and one still sealed. On the top of the unopened one in metallic acid green ink, Harry saw his name written in a small, spidery script. Lifting his own, Dumbledore began to read in a dejected voice,

Albus,

By now, you have noticed the absence of two of your pupils and known associates of Harry Potter. You will give him the second letter or have the weight of Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger's deaths on your conscience. No harm will come to him by the letter, but if he does not comply, the same cannot be said for his friends. The decision to save his friends is his alone.

Lord Voldemort.

Silence hung heavy in the room as Dumbledore finished reading. Harry could only gape at it in shock, realizing that whatever Voldemort demanded of him, it would undoubtedly come at a steep price.

"Well, Harry?" Dumbledore finally asked, his voice laden with sorrow and worry. "I know how this looks, but we must be cautious; Tom is very powerful and manipulative. He cannot be trusted."

Harry hesitated, struggling to process the overwhelming situation. His friends' lives hung in the balance, and he felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He knew he had to read the letter, that he would likely agree to Voldemort's demands. He couldn't let his friends die in his place. Such a cost was unacceptable, and he wasn't willing to make that sacrifice.

"I don't see any other choice," Harry said slowly. "I need to read the letter, Headmaster. At least then, I'll have some idea of what he wants."

"You can't seriously be considering it; it's obviously a trap," Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her nostrils flaring with indignation. Harry shot her a sharp glare which she promptly chose to ignore.

"Minerva, patience, please," Dumbledore interjected, though there was no force in his rebuke. "I believe Harry understands the gravity of the situation. But I think Harry should hear my perspective before making any decisions."

Knowing it was the only way he might be given the other letter, Harry reluctantly nodded in agreement. He could all but predict that Dumbledore would not let him act as he saw fit. It was beyond infuriating.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began, as if speaking to a child, much to Harry's frustration and humiliation. He wanted to strangle the old wizard. "I understand your concern for Mr.

Weasley and Miss Granger, a sentiment I share more deeply than you can possibly imagine. However, I don't believe they are in immediate danger as long as Tom wants you to come to him. We are doing everything we can to locate them."

"But Professor—"

"Harry, please, give an old man a few moments," Dumbledore interrupted, holding up a hand. Harry clenched his jaw but acquiesced, his frustration barely simmering beneath the surface. "We both know that Tom doesn't have your best interests at heart. Even if he doesn't physically harm you at first, you will be subjected to his ruthless influence and manipulation if you agree to his terms."

"But what if he kills them?" Harry blurted out, his anxiety spilling over. "I can't let someone else die at that monster's hands just because he's trying to get to me."

"Your attitude, as noble as you believe it to be, has already led to a tragedy and preventable death," Snape interjected, drawing all eyes to him. The Potions Master had retreated to a corner of the room, leaning against the bare wall, silently observing the debate with his lip curled in a cold sneer. "Allowing Potter to possess anything the Dark Lord desires would be unwise. He's not ready for the mental games that would ensue, especially so soon after the death of his godfather."

Harry's eyes bore into Snape's with a mixture of fury and grief, the veiled accusation echoing painfully in his ears. The harsh, callous words had cut straight through him, awakening a torrent of emotions that had been boiling beneath the surface. He knew that he bore most of the responsibility for Sirius' death, and Snape's blunt revelation had only fueled his self- loathing. At the same time, he equally blamed the potion master for the role he played in the whole ministry disaster. If Snape had put aside his loathing for Harry's godfather for even a moment and offered his aid, perhaps he wouldn't have felt compelled to rush headlong into the doomed rescue mission.

Despite the maelstrom of emotions surging within him, Harry clenched his jaw and remained silent, the fiery anger in his eyes communicating his feelings more effectively than words ever could. Snape, however, seemed impervious to his outrage, as if discussing Sirius' death was no more significant than talking about the weather. He continued to speak, each word twisting the knife deeper.

"This is exactly what he wants," Snape continued, his tone devoid of empathy. "The Dark Lord is well aware of his vulnerability at this moment. One must wonder why he has chosen to contact you so abruptly when he has shown no previous interest in mere conversation."

A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone contemplated Snape's words. Finally, Professor McGonagall broke the stillness, her voice tinged with concern, "Surely you don't think You-Know-Who is trying to recruit the boy?"

Snape turned to Dumbledore, his black eyes intense. "Headmaster, has that possibility not crossed your mind?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his usually twinkling eyes dimmed with worry. His silence spoke volumes.

In disbelief, Harry stared at the three professors, not believing what he had just heard. There was no way that Voldemort's sudden interest in him was driven by a desire to force him to join his ranks as a Death Eater. The wizard had murdered his parents and was constantly trying to kill Harry. Why would the Dark Lord waste his time on such a futile undertaking?

"Headmaster, why would Voldemort want to recruit me?" Harry finally voiced. "I mean, he's been trying to kill me since I was a baby. Why would that suddenly change?"

Dumbledore's eyes met Harry's, the old wizard's expression heavy with concern. After a prolonged and weighty silence, he began to speak; Harry did not like the uncertainty his words were laced. It was beyond disconcerting to witness Dumbledore's usual unwavering confidence faltering in the face of this new threat.

"I believe Tom has come to realize how remarkably similar the two of you are," Dumbledore revealed, astonishing the teen. "You both share certain qualities—cleverness, cunning, determination. You both possess the ability to communicate with snakes, a skill he holds in very high regard. He may see elements of his younger self in you, Harry. It's not about you being alike in your moral principles; it's about your shared qualities. The power he thinks you hold and what you might yet still be capable of."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, unable to accept the idea that he had anything in common with that murderous monster. "We are nothing alike," he protested vehemently. "He's a homicidal maniac."

"Harry, I don't mean it in that way," Dumbledore explained patiently, holding up a hand to quell Harry's objections. "You both had difficult childhoods, and you possess qualities that he covets. I'm not saying you share his mannerisms and his thirst for power and control, but he may recognize certain attributes in you that resonate with his own past. And your ability to

thwart him repeatedly, especially during your recent encounter at the Ministry when you expelled him from your mind, may have made him reassess his approach with you."

"He did what?" Professor McGonagall gasped, her hand over her heart. Her shock was palpable, and Harry inwardly cringed. He hadn't intended for the revelation of Voldemort's possession to be made so public. He hadn't wanted everyone to know the extent of the connection between them, even though he had successfully expelled the Dark Lord from his mind due to the strength of his love for Sirius.

"And Headmaster, that's absurd. If Potter is that similar to Him then why was he placed in Gryffindor?" continued a very flustered McGonagall.

"I must admit that I am rather curious about that as well," drawled Snape. "Even though he would clearly never fit in with the Slytherins, he lacks any sort of common sense or sense of self-preservation, it is peculiar that you have identified so many of our cherished traits."

Harry glared up at Dumbledore, strongly wishing the conversation had not turned down this path. He did not feel like explaining why he was only in Gryffindor because he had begged the hat to be there and that, in fact, it had wanted to put him in Slytherin. Dumbledore seemed to notice his discomfort because he quickly cleared his throat, making Harry wonder if the old man was privy to the hat's inner musings and knew what the teen was feeling.

Dumbledore raised a hand to forestall any further comments, and Harry sensed the older wizard's silent acknowledgment of his discomfort.

"Harry's house placement is not our primary concern at the moment," Dumbledore redirected, his voiced projecting a soothing quality frustrated Harry. "Dealing with Voldemort's demands is our top priority."

Turning to Harry, the raven-haired teen stared back at the old headmaster, who had never seemed as weak and incompetent as he did in that moment. It was clear that losing two of his students had taken a huge toll. Where was the man who had vanquished the previous Dark Lord Grindelwald? Where was the man who had so fiercely fought against Tom Riddle in the Ministry of Magic, meeting him spell for spell? The man before him was but a shell of the strong wizard that Harry had at least respected, despite disagreeing with how much information he constantly withheld from the youth.

"You now know everything that we do and what we suspect. Voldemort is the master of manipulation and will go to any length to achieve his goals. I must insist that you remain out of his influence and do everything within your power to avoid contact with him. We can't lose you, my boy."

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. He had expected to be included in any plans to rescue Ron and Hermione. "You can't be serious. You expect me to stay here while my friends are in danger?"

"Harry, we must ensure your safety," Dumbledore implored, his eyes filled with a deep concern that unnerved Harry. "If Voldemort's ultimate goal is to turn you, then we mustn't give him the opportunity to do so."

Harry clenched his fists, the frustration and helplessness surging within him. He couldn't accept the idea of staying put while his best friends were at the mercy of the Dark Lord. He couldn't let another person he cared about die because of his actions.

"What if he kills them while we wait?" Harry's voice trembled with anguish. He felt his scar tingling with pain again, as if the peculiar connection he shared with Voldemort was reacting to Dumbledore's refusal to give him the unopened letter. It felt as if the connection itself was urging him to act, to do something to save his friends.

"Use your brain, Potter, it is there for a purpose," Snape interjected coldly. "Taking the letter now is exactly what the Dark Lord wants. What if it states that you must turn yourself in immediately? What if it's an ultimatum? The headmaster is protecting you. Until we know the contents of the letter, Voldemort cannot make his next move. Capturing Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would be pointless if he cannot use them to bargain for your surrender. Your recklessness is once again pushing out any reason. You will just get them and yourself killed."

Harry glared at Snape. Even if the Potions Master's words were true, he knew it was delaying the inevitable. Voldemort held his friends; the Order would not suddenly infiltrate the snake's lair, the Dark Lord had successfully eluded them since his rebirth. "You care nothing about Ron or Hermione," hissed Harry, standing up with his fists balled. "You would love to see both of them dead; you're as dark as Voldemort! You enjoyed it when Sirius died; you hate anything that I care about. I have no reason to trust you at all."

"That's quite enough," Dumbledore's voice rang out.

Harry glared between the two wizards. He wasn't even close to finished. "Tell me that you have any clues where they are," he demanded, his voice cold and bitter. He hated that his tone made Mrs. Weasley flinch, that he was the cause for this entire mess that they were going through. But he was done being a meek puppy that cowered with its tail beneath its legs.

Voldemort had killed too many that he cared about; he would not let another corpse hit the ground because of him.

"Promise me you can get them back tonight! Because the way I see it, you've never entered any of Voldemort's secret hideouts." He could feel magic converging on him again, answering his call for strength, responding to his despair and anger. He forced himself to keep a tight hold on it, to not let it be unleashed, knowing that appearing sporadic and volatile would do the opposite of allowing him any hope to be included in any rescue attempts. Unfortunately, he could already see the writing on the wall; Dumbledore would not give him the letter, the one sure piece of information that would tell him how to save them, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

"If you have no clue where they are, then I won't risk their deaths based on empty hopes that you will suddenly figure it out. Worse, even if you find them, how do you plan to rescue them from a prison that has never been breached? I know what happened in the old war. People went missing and were never seen again. Not unless you count their skeletons being dropped in the streets as a warning for those who would dare oppose this psychotic Dark Lord!"

"Harry, enough!" Harry shivered as a pulse of the old wizard's own significant power washed over him. "Arguments and anger will bring us no closer to our goals and is precisely what Voldemort thrives on. Do not give him the satisfaction of turning those we trust against each other. Professor Snape is only expressing very valid concerns."

With a huff, Harry rolled his eyes dramatically. He had never, and would never, trust that greasy, overgrown bat who had sold his soul to Voldemort once already. He had no doubt that the man only did what was in his own interests; he would serve the master that promised him the greatest rewards. And with Voldemort steadily gaining power and influence, Harry doubted the Potions Master would stay on the side of the light, if that was a side he had ever been on.

"You are a foolish and arrogant child who always thinks he knows best, is there no bound to your ego?" Black eyes bore into emerald as the potion master took an angry step forward.

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore intervened, silencing Snape. "We must act quickly. I will contact the members of the Order, and we will hold a meeting to discuss our course of action. Harry, I want you to stay here," he stuck up a hand, forestalling Harry's arguments. "And under no uncertain terms are you allowed to leave this house. I told you all that I have because I trust that you can be involved in what's going on without making dangerous and irrational decisions. Do not prove me wrong, understand?"

"Then take me with you, let me help!" Harry begged. If Dumbledore would not give him the letter, the least he could do was take Harry from his horrid aunt and uncle's house. He was useless here. He wanted to help. He, of all people, had the best chance to access Voldemort, to know his plans.

"You know we can't do that. The blood wards will protect you, Harry. We must keep you safe. Please promise me you will not leave." Staring from the Headmaster to the Weasleys and McGonagall, Harry opened and closed his mouth in disbelief. How could Dumbledore be so blind? His irrational desire to protect Harry was only hurting him. Voldemort had made it abundantly clear over the years that he could and would find a way to get Harry. Just a year ago, he had stolen the teen from the very school grounds that were plauded as impenetrable. And now, he'd kidnapped his two best friends who should have been protected by Dumbledore's Order. It seemed beyond clear to Harry that none of them were safe, that Dumbledore could no longer protect them.

"Please, you can't leave me here. Not like this. Not with them at his mercy. I have to do something to help them. It's my fault he took them!" His voice broke, a horrific weight of mounting horror and despair crushing him as he stared up at the wizard he had thought invincible. Who now only stared back with dead blue eyes, void of the sparkle of light and confidence he'd grown accustomed to seeing. What had happened? Had the Headmaster truly thought Ron and Hermione were safe? Had Voldemort surpassed Dumbledore's power and taken them from beneath the very crooked nose he now stood before?

"The more you argue, the more time we waste," Snape drawled, sneering down at the shaking teen. "Are you so selfish that you will waste the little time we have to try and rescue your friends?"

With a reluctant shake of his head that seemed to satisfy the old wizard as consent to stay, Harry frowned down at his feet. How could they just ask him to sit idly by and do nothing?

"I'm sorry, my boy, we must go," announced Dumbledore, turning back towards the bedroom door. "Know we are doing everything in our power to protect your friends."

"I don't understand why I can't come?" asked Harry, one last time, knowing it was hopeless. "I think I have a right to; this all concerns me. It's me he wants."

"Harry, dear," sobbed Mrs. Weasley, "you are too young to get caught up in such terrible matters." She flung herself upon him, embracing him bodily. Harry sank into the hug, feeling his feeble resolve crumble as he buried his head into her shoulder, tears escaping his clenched eyes. Ron and Hermione had been captured by Voldemort, a Dark Lord who had no reservations against torture or killing any who stood in his way, who'd spent the last five years scheming and plotting to finish the job he'd set out to do nearly sixteen years ago.

"Young or not, I already am caught up in this war," murmured Harry softly, clinging to the woman who had become a mother to him. "So there isn't much you can protect me from, now is there?" He pulled back, glancing from her to Arthur. The Weasley patriarch stood shakily behind his grieving wife, discreetly trying to blink his own tears from his grief-stricken gaze.

"I am so sorry," Harry murmured, turning away from both of them. "It's my fault he took them. That they are in danger."

The hug engulfing him increased to almost bone-shattering strength. "Don't be silly, dear. You cannot control the actions of one as dark as him. This is not your fault."

Swallowing, he didn't have a response. He knew the truth. His eyes jerked towards the Potions Master, the one man who he knew would not shrink from the reality that it was their friendship with him that had led to these events. Merciless black eyes met his stare, conveying the truth he knew in his heart. The sneer that met him said everything the Weasleys would not admit, that it was Harry's fault that their youngest might already be dead.

He turned back to the Headmaster, the man he had counted as a mentor and almost a friend, steeling his nerve. "You're making a mistake," he declared, his voice cold to his own ears. "I may still be a student, but nothing between Voldemort and myself has ever been simple.

Keeping me in the dark won't benefit anyone."

"Always have to contradict those who are so much wiser than yourself, don't you, Potter?" hissed Snape. "For once, just do what you're told and stop stalling us."

"That is quite enough, Severus," intervened Dumbledore. "But it is true, we must not waste any more time. Harry, I will be in touch; do nothing rash."

And with that, Dumbledore and the others vacated the room, leaving a very angry and miserable Harry staring hard at the spots they had just left.