Darkness Within

by whimsical musings 1

On the fateful night when Ron and Hermione were abducted, the wheels of destiny began to turn. For Harry, the kidnapping of his friends shattered the illusion that the light side could protect those he loved. An ultimatum was presented, and a decision was made. Now, Harry stands at a crossroads: Can he protect those he loves without losing himself in the process?

17. The Order

The Order

Harry slammed to the ground, his feet barely managing to keep him upright. His eyes darted around frantically as he quickly assessed his surroundings. Instinctively, he shifted into a defensive stance, his wand raised in preparation for an attack.

"What have you done?" Harry's asked, tense with dread as he watched Ron awkwardly pick himself up from the grass-covered ground. His friend's landing had been anything but graceful.

Rubbing his behind and grimacing in pain, Ron cautiously observed the raven-haired teen. Harry's wand wasn't pointed directly at him, but its raised position and Harry's tense stance made it clear that Harry was far from calm.

"Mate, we're at the Burrow. You're safe," Ron assured him.

Harry glanced around, his gaze confirming Ron's claim. The familiar sight of the Burrow unfolded before him; they stood in the meadow just outside the back garden. Memories flooded Harry's mind – playful afternoons spent de-gnoming the garden, laughter echoing in the warm air, and the comfort of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. The ramshackle house, with its haphazard structure and chimneys pointing in various directions, stood as a beacon of safety and warmth. The garden, usually bustling with activity and the chatter of the Weasley family, was quiet now, adding a surreal layer to the scene.

Harry slowly lowered his wand, his posture relaxing slightly, yet a sense of unease remained. "The Burrow," he murmured, more to himself than to Ron. Despite the familiarity of the place, the circumstances of his arrival cast a shadow over the nostalgia.

Ron, noticing Harry's lingering tension, tried to offer some reassurance. "I know it's a lot to take in, but you're out of danger now. We'll figure this out, I promise. Dumbledore can fix this."

Harry faced Ron, his expression clouded with growing dismay. "Ron, I'm not sure if 'out of danger' covers it at all," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of the meadow and the comforting sight of the Burrow offering a stark contrast to the darkness and danger he had just been yanked from. "The Burrow was attacked before.

How can it be safe now?"

"Bill's set up new wards, the strongest there are. The place is now unplottable. No one can get in or out unless they use a portkey made by Dumbledore. It's a bit inconvenient, but it's the only way to ensure there's zero chance of the Death Eaters attacking again, since they know where the house is and all," Ron explained, trying to reassure Harry. The redhead didn't realize his words had the opposite effect.

Harry's mind raced as he considered his options. He thought about grabbing the portkey hidden under his robes and trying to escape, but he suspected that the Order's wards at the Burrow would be even stronger than those that had contained him in Diagon Alley. After the attack earlier that summer, it would be beyond foolish to assume anything less than the best protections available were - over the house. Dumbledore wouldn't have sent him here unless he believed it to be at least temporary safe. However, Harry knew that once Voldemort discovered what had happened, that Harry was out of his reach, there would be hell to pay. If Ron's words were true, he would need to learn more about these new wards and bide his time. He'd need to make them think he was grateful for this "rescue," or he risked being confined as securely as he had been at Slytherin Manor.

The thought of being trapped, even in the safety of the Burrow, made Harry feel a surge of claustrophobia. He glanced around, acutely aware of the barriers, both seen and unseen, surrounding him. The whimsical charm of the Weasley family home felt more like a gilded cage, albeit one that held the promise of temporary rest. The truth was, he doubted it would be all that different from the prison he had just left.

Harry's brooding thoughts were interrupted as two arms suddenly encircled him tightly. Instinctively recoiling, he tried to pull away before realizing it was only Ron. His best friend was embracing him. He could feel the tremble in Ron's shoulders, a clear sign that his friend was struggling to hold back tears.

"Mate, I was so worried," Ron's voice was thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been awful. Did he... did he torture you?" Ron's voice faltered, and he quickly shook his head, as if chastising himself. "Wait, I'm sorry. You probably don't want to talk about it." He stepped back, but his hands remained firmly on Harry's shoulders.

Looking into Ron's eyes, Harry saw they were rimmed with red, the wetness glistening, reflecting his friend's deep concern and relief. "I'm so glad you're safe," Ron muttered, his gaze locked onto Harry's.

"Ron," Harry sighed, his own tumult of anger and frustration softening in the face of his friend's sincere concern. The wave of emotions that Ron's vulnerability and genuine worry stirred within Harry was palpable. Despite the turmoil swirling within him, Harry managed a small, grateful smile.

"I missed you too, more than you can imagine," Harry affirmed, realizing only then the immense relief he felt at being near his friend, knowing he was alive and safe. "But you shouldn't have done this. It's not just about getting me away from him. I'm... I'm not safe to be around right now. I don't know if he can track me." His voice faded, a shiver running through him as he contemplated the grim repercussions of Voldemort's inevitable reaction.

Fear and guilt competed in his distraught mind. The Gryffindor was acutely aware of the lengths to which Voldemort would go to maintain control, not only over him but also against those close to him. Having invested so much in Harry, Voldemort would undeniably stop at nothing to get him back. And now, with this escape, all the trust and semblance of freedom he had been granted would vanish. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was now in a significantly worse situation than before.

"I appreciate you coming for me, I really do. But Voldemort... he won't take this lightly," Harry said, his gaze dropping as he finally returned his wand to its holster.

"We know, mate. But Dumbledore will protect you. He won't let him get to you again. You're safe here," Ron tried to assure him with a conviction that seemed to falter under Harry's intense scrutiny.

Harry fought to keep his face neutral, to hide the scowl of frustration he felt, his mind racing as he considered whether it was even worth trying to make Ron understand the gravity of what he had done by taking Harry against his will. He knew Ron had the purest intentions and thought he was helping. He also knew that Voldmort would not care.

"We're not safe," Harry stated, holding on to the faintest speck of hope that his friend would believe him over blindly following Dumbledore. Ron was stubborn, but in the end, he had always chosen Harry. He hoped that would be the case now. He'd hate to think his friendship would be ruined when he was doing what he ultimately believed was right. "And even if the Burrow is unplottable, what then? Will everyone just stay here for the rest of our lives? You and Hermione, you'll be his first targets. And if he can't get to you, he'll go after your dad, your brothers. What about Ginny? Or Neville? Are we all just going to hide here while he wins the war?"

"We were already targeted; he was always after us," Ron countered, resigned but not dissuaded.

Harry shook his head, a pained expression crossing his face. "No, Ron, not like this. I don't know what you've heard, but I accepted being his apprentice to protect you all." He swallowed hard; the weight of his decision heavy in his heart. "I had stipulations: I don't torture or kill. But an agreement was made. Me for everyone else. It's different now. I've broken that agreement. It'll be more personal for him. He won't allow this, and I really don't think Dumbledore can keep everyone safe. He didn't when you and Hermione were first captured. I was captured too. I never willingly surrendered to him." He met Ron's eyes squarely. "Do you really think he can protect everyone? Tell me the truth, not the blind trust we've always just accepted. Would you risk Hermione's life on it?"

Ron's expression shifted from determination to uncertainty, the gravity of Harry's words clearly sinking in. He hesitated, his gaze flickering away before meeting Harry's eyes again. "I... I don't know, Harry. I want to believe he can protect us, but after everything that's happened... it's hard to be sure. But that doesn't mean we quit. Right? We know there are risks. This is a war; that's the reality. And I'm going to fight, even if that puts me in danger."

The silence that followed was heavy. Harry could see the internal struggle in Ron's face, the conflict between his innate trust in Dumbledore and the harsh reality of their situation. He knew his friend was brave, ready to fight. But was he willing to risk Hermione? His mother? His sister. It was what Harry had already had to wrestle with. Harry had thought he would always fight, that there was nothing that would make him give up. But then Voldmort had captured his friends and then Lupin's life was hanging in the balance. Harry had been powerless to do anything but submit. He would do anything to save his friends. He already had, and it was all backfiring marvelously.

Ron squared his shoulders, new resolve forming. "Harry, we can't just give up hope. Dumbledore has been fighting Voldemort longer than any of us. He has a plan." He looked so certain. Harry loved that about his friend, the loyalty and desire to fight, but he hadn't gone through what Harry had. He hadn't been imprisoned for months, taught and punished by the Dark Lord himself. He hadn't seen exactly what Voldemort was capable of. Harry was certain he was stronger than Dumbledore. And Ron hadn't been faced with that reality, that choice to surrender or watch everyone he cared about die. There was no way his friend could truly understand.

Harry nodded, not wanting to argue further. He knew he needed a plan. Perhaps he could persuade Hermione and Ron to assist him, but first, he had to break their unwavering loyalty to Dumbledore. On some level, he understood that loyalty; he, too, had once shared it.

However, the harsh realities of the world had taught him that things weren't always so black and white. Maybe he could convince them that he actually had a way to influence the war, just from the other side.

"I hope he does, mate. But Voldemort... he's not just after me anymore. He's after all of us, and he's not going to stop," Harry said earnestly, hoping his friend took him seriously. "He's more cunning and powerful than I ever could have imagined. Promise me you'll be careful."

As Harry's words hung in the air, a sudden flurry of movement broke the stillness around them. One by one, members of the Order of the Phoenix began to appear in the meadow, each appearing with the characteristic jerk and stumble of a portkey arrival. Harry and Ron turned towards the burst of activity unfolding around them. The once tranquil meadow was now abuzz with a growing group of familiar faces materializing one after another – Kingsley Shacklebolt with his imposing stature, Mad-Eye Moody with his ever-watchful magical eye, and even Professor McGonagall, her expression stern yet tinged with concern.

Dumbledore appeared last, exuding an authority that contrasted sharply with the dark and oppressive presence of Voldemort to which Harry had grown accustomed. He stepped towards the newly reclaimed teen. His blue eyes, simultaneously warm and piercing, fixed on Harry, palpable relief unmistakable in his gaze. "Harry, my dear boy, I'm glad to see you safe," he said, his voice serene as he moved closer to the young wizard.

Harry struggled internally to maintain composure, striving to mask the stress and dread coursing through him. He was convinced that Dumbledore would never condone his decision to return to Voldemort. The elderly wizard had never truly respected or trusted him.

Dumbledore had kept him in the dark, never sharing important information or providing the training that would have made him a genuine asset in the war. And Harry didn't expect that to change now. If anything, he anticipated that Dumbledore might view him with increased suspicion, wondering if he had been corrupted by Voldemort's manipulations.

But Harry understood his own motives. He believed he was acting for the right reasons. In his heart, he felt that he could have a more significant impact and protect people in the upcoming war from within the ranks of the dark, rather than from the side of the light. It was a path fraught with peril and moral ambiguity, but Harry was resolved to walk it, believing it to be the only way to safeguard those he cared about and potentially turn the tide in the fight against Voldemort. The headmaster wouldn't like it which meant he couldn't know until it was too late, until after Harry had escaped.

"Headmaster," Harry acknowledged with a nod, his voice steady but his mind racing. He glanced around, taking in the presence of everyone gathered. It was an overwhelming experience, especially after spending so much time in isolation or solely in Voldemort's company. Hermione stood a short distance behind him, her eagerness to approach him tempered by a cautious restraint. She had clearly picked up on Harry's reluctance back in Diagon Alley and now watched him with a mix of relief and apprehension, wary of his once legendary temper.

"Hermione," he whispered softly, taking a step towards her. Despite his frustration with the situation, he couldn't deny the overwhelming relief he felt at seeing her, at seeing all of them safe. It was, after all, what he had been striving for, the very reason he had accepted Voldemort's apprenticeship.

Noticing his softened demeanor, Hermione quickly closed the gap between them, dashing towards him and wrapping Harry in another bone-crushing hug. Harry couldn't help but wonder when Hermione, so slight and small, had grown so strong. He responded in kind, embracing her just as tightly. A wave of relief washed over him, assuring him that Ron, Hermione, and most of the Order members were safe and unharmed. He rested his head against her bushy hair, allowing himself to just appreciate the moment. That they were safe and, for now, back together.

"Oh, Harry, dear!" Molly Weasley's voice, warm and laden with maternal concern, rang out across the yard. Harry barely had time to react before she emerged from the back door of the Burrow, her apron fluttering behind her as she hurried towards him.

"Thank Merlin, you're safe!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. Molly, the very embodiment of love, reached them in a few quick strides. With an almost overwhelming force of affection, she enveloped both Harry and Hermione in a hug that only a mother who had weathered countless fears and sleepless nights could give. Her embrace was both comforting and protective, a tangible expression of her relief and worry.

Overwhelmed by Molly Weasley's intense embrace, Harry soon reciprocated, his cheeks coloring slightly as he realized the emotional vulnerability of the moment. "Hi, Mrs.

Weasley," he greeted, his voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of embarrassment. Standing there, enveloped in her caring arms, he was acutely aware of the eyes of the entire Order of the Phoenix on them, who had formed a protective circle around him.

As Harry extricated himself from the hug, his gaze swept over the gathered members of the Order. He caught the reassuring look from Remus Lupin, whose kind and weathered face stood out beside Nymphadora Tonks, her vibrant pink hair adding a touch of lightness to the serious gathering. Mad-Eye Moody's piercing gaze made Harry slightly uneasy; both of Moody's eyes, one natural and one magical, were fixed intently on him. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that Moody, more than anyone else, might view his recent actions with suspicion, perhaps even considering him a traitor who had embraced the darkness. And honestly, he would not fault the man if he felt that. In Harry's mind, he had. He deserved to be called a traitor for what he planned to do.

Beside the towering figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt stood Arthur Weasley, along with Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur. Harry's brief wonder about Ginny's whereabouts was answered when she suddenly appeared, rushing out of the Burrow. She halted a few steps away, a blush coloring her cheeks as she saw him already being fussed over. "Harry," she said softly, her eyes conveying a mix of relief and unspoken feelings. Harry smiled warmly at her, his heart lifting with the knowledge that she was safe. That it didn't seem like she hated him for being the reason her brother had been kidnapped.

His survey of the Order members was swift, noting many familiar faces and several more he didn't recognize. They had all come for his rescue, a gesture that might have been touching if not for his deep-seated doubts about their effectiveness. Despite their good intentions, Harry couldn't mask the fear that their time was running out, that every moment he spent here put them all in greater danger.

"Come now, give the boy some space," Moody grumbled, moving closer to Harry. His magical eye whirled in its socket, scrutinizing Harry intently. Harry couldn't help but tense up as the grizzled auror approached him. "You've been through a lot, lad. You should come with me. We'll get you settled inside. I don't like lingering out here in the open, even if the wards are up and running."

Moody gestured towards the Burrow, indicating for Harry to follow him inside. Harry, immediately wary of the suggestion, cast a quick glance towards Dumbledore. The Headmaster's gaze hadn't wavered from Harry since his arrival, a look of deep contemplation etched on his face.

Turning to Ron and Hermione, Harry noticed their frowns, mirroring his own uncertainty. They seemed equally cautious about Moody's sudden insistence. Had the paranoid former- Auror already spoken out against Harry in previous Order meetings?

"Yes, of course!" Molly agreed eagerly, her hand gently nudging Harry's shoulder. "I'm sure you're famished. I'll whip up a huge celebration meal. You'll feel right as rain in no time."

Resigned and without a clear alternative, Harry allowed himself to be guided inside. For the moment, he felt stuck and realized he needed to bide his time and be smart. If he gave them any reason not to trust him, it would be impossible to escape.

They made their way across the garden and into the kitchen. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny formed a protective circle around him as they entered. Dumbledore was already close by, and Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall positioned themselves on either side of the kitchen table.

"While Molly makes what I'm sure will be another award-winning meal, as unpleasant as it is, there are things we must discuss, and time is of the essence. Please, Harry, if you would, I'd like you to join me in the living room," Dumbledore requested, his grandfatherly tone leaving no room to argue. "I know you must be exhausted from your ordeal, but a conversation now would be quite beneficial before you are allowed rest."

Harry nodded in reluctant agreement, steeling himself for a discussion that he suspected would be more of an interview than a casual chat.

"Perhaps just Harry for this," Dumbledore suggested, casting a pointed look at Harry's friends.

Harry shook his head, a surge of defiance coursing through him. His friends were deeply involved and had every right to know the risks and realities of their situation. "I would prefer they stay," he stated quietly but firmly. Ginny's face lit up at his insistence, while Ron and Hermione's expressions hardened, their own concerns apparent when Dumbledore attempted to exclude them.

Molly Weasley, sensing the tension, interjected, "I could use some help in the kitchen," reaching for Ginny and Ron's arms.

"No," Harry countered firmly, his resolve clear. "I'm sorry, but I want them with me. They deserve to know the truth, and it would only mean I'd have to repeat everything later." While he wasn't particularly worried about recounting the events to them afterward, Harry was more intent on resisting Dumbledore's subtle attempts at control, ensuring he had support among his friends in a gathering that he expected would be dominated by the adults that Dumbledore approve to have around him.

Dumbledore's expression shifted into a frown, but after a moment's consideration, he gave a nod of acquiescence. "Alright," he conceded. "However, there are certain matters I wish to discuss later that will require privacy, just between you and me."

With a sense of impending gravity, Harry followed the venerable Headmaster into the living room. Settling onto the couch, he was flanked by Ron and Hermione, their presence a comforting reassurance. Ginny, not wanting to be left out, found a spot on the arm of the couch next to Hermione, squeezing in close.

Dumbledore, with a flick of his wand, conjured several additional seats. Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and Remus Lupin all took their places in the newly formed semi-circle. It became apparent to Harry that the rest of the Order had either been dismissed or were not included in this initial gathering. Harry braced himself, anticipating that what was about to unfold would be far from a casual conversation and more akin to a thorough and exhausting interrogation.

Dumbledore began, his tone the epitome of earnest concern. "My boy, I must first express how relieved I am that you are safe and back with us. The ordeal you've been through is unimaginable, and while I know recounting it will be painful, I ask for your complete honesty. Tom is a master of manipulation, so please do not feel embarrassed or guilty about any of your actions. We are here to support you and understand the circumstances you were faced with. This will help us best prepare and ensure everyone is protected against what is yet to come."

As Dumbledore spoke, Harry's gaze shifted to Mad-Eye Moody, who wore a distinct frown. Harry could tell that the seasoned auror might not entirely share Dumbledore's empathetic stance. Internally, Harry felt a mix of relief and defiance. Though he had learned some dark and dangerous spells during his time with Voldemort, he took some solace in the fact that he hadn't used them against anyone.

Harry nodded, his mind already made up about not disclosing everything. The events had unfolded so rapidly, leaving him with little time to formulate his own strategy or to carefully consider which details to share. He needed to be cautious to ensure his story aligned with his larger goals. That he didn't say anything that would make them doubt his sincerity and desire to stay with the light until he had a chance to make the decision to stay or leave himself. And in his heart, he knew he'd already made up his mind. At least for now, he needed to get back to the dark before Voldmort did anything that would forever ruin the lives of those Harry cared for.

"Alright," he agreed, his voice soft, his head dipping slightly in a gesture that conveyed his inner turmoil. "What do you want to know? I must admit, all of this is a lot to process, and I feel a bit overwhelmed." He hoped that portraying himself as exhausted and somewhat disoriented would be a plausible approach, providing him with an excuse to be selective in his responses or to delay revealing certain details. It would not only buy him some time but also align with what the Order might expect of someone who had just returned from an ordeal like his. It was a delicate balancing act, one that required him to tread carefully.

"Maybe start from the beginning, the night you were taken. I understand that you ran away from your aunt and uncle's house?"

Harry's frowned as he thought of that fateful night when everything had changed, the night he was taken. He recalled the dreadful, rain-soaked night vividly. Voldemort had manipulated his dreams, his uncle had turned violently against him. Forced to flee, he had walked right into Voldemort's trap. It felt like a lifetime ago, a night when he had been so sure he was going to die.

"I didn't run away from them," Harry clarified, bringing his focus back to the room filled with anxious faces. "Voldemort placed my uncle under the Imperius Curse. He tried to attack me and kicked me out of the house. I had no choice but to leave, and Voldemort was waiting for me. He'd clearly planned it all." Harry's voice was steady, but the memories were painful. "He said he'd release Ron and Hermione if I cooperated. He already had my wand. So, I did; I surrendered. He took me to his manor... tortured me." Harry paused here, the recollection of that initial night of terror and pain vivid in his mind. Draco had told him he nearly died.

As he mentioned the torture, Hermione's grip on his hand tightened, her support palpable. Ginny let out a small whimper, and even Remus Lupin seemed visibly shaken. Harry avoided looking at anyone but Dumbledore, finding the act of recounting these events more challenging than he had anticipated. Reliving the fear, the pain, and the sense of utter helplessness was a harrowing experience.

"With curses?" Dumbledore clarified.

"Albus!" McGonagall rebuked, outraged at the question.

Harry shook his head, his expression a mixture of resignation and detachment. 'Why does it matter?' he thought. "He used the connection with my scar that time. It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse, but I've also endured that one quite a few times over these past few months too," he said, his voice steady but his frown deepening.

"The attack was too much, though. It knocked me unconscious for days; I was later told that he almost killed me." Harry's thoughts drifted back to the day Draco had visited him in his room, a memory that stood out starkly.

The atmosphere in the living room grew heavy with tension. Faces around him were etched with disbelief and horror, a silent testament to the severity of what he had endured. Harry tried to ignore the looks, to detach himself from the emotional weight of their reactions. He knew he needed to maintain his composure and focus on navigating this conversation carefully while grappling with his own turbulent emotions. He had spent little time reflecting on his ordeal, recounting it left him feeling unexpectedly raw, exposed. He had been powerless to do anything, to stop Voldemort, to fight back.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore murmured, his expression one of deep remorse. "We will ensure you receive the medical attention you need."

Harry shook his head slightly. "I think I'm alright now. That was months ago. I believe Snape was forced to brew something to aid my recovery." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "Where is Snape?" Harry asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Had Snape anticipated this turn of events, or had he finally revealed his true allegiance to Voldemort?

"Severus will not be joining us here for the time being," Dumbledore replied, his response veiled in ambiguity.

"Is he the reason I was... rescued by the Order?" Harry almost said 'captured' but swiftly amended his question.

Dumbledore's posture, weighed down by age and secrets, seemed to consider his words carefully. "I understand you have many questions, Harry, but let's focus on your experiences for now. We'll have the opportunity to discuss other matters later."

Harry's face contorted into a scowl. It was a familiar pattern; Dumbledore was keeping him in the dark, particularly about Snape's role in everything. His frustration was tangible. It seemed that some things hadn't changed; he was still being kept in the dark. Even about his own supposed rescue.

"Please continue, Harry. After you were given treatment, what happened next?" Dumbledore prodded gently.

Harry cast his mind back to those initial days. "He... Voldemort met with me. We spoke. He said he wanted me to join him, claiming I'd be more useful to him alive than dead..." Harry's voice trailed off, his mind revisiting those moments. "He offered me a position as his apprentice. I refused at first. That's when he attacked the Burrow." Harry paused, his gaze shifting to Lupin, recalling how close he had been to losing him.

Dumbledore, picking up on Harry's hesitation, gently coaxed, "You made a bargain with him to save Remus?"

Harry nodded, his voice barely audible. "Yes," he whispered, struggling to hold Lupin's gaze, which was filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. The idea that he had been a catalyst for

Harry's surrender seemed to weigh heavily on the werewolf. "And what was the nature of this bargain?" Dumbledore pressed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, aware of the judgment his confession might evoke from the staunchly light-aligned members of the Order. "Harry, it's alright. We understand some of what transpired," Remus interjected softly, his voice reassuring. "You did what you had to, to survive. To save me. No one blames you."

Despite Remus's words, Harry's eyes flickered briefly to Moody, whose expression was harder to read. Nodding slightly, Harry continued, "I agreed to become his apprentice, to learn from him." His resolve strengthened as he spoke. "But I made it clear that I wouldn't torture or kill for him."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "And he accepted those terms?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

Harry responded with a nod, his own surprise still evident. "Yes, he did. He even allowed me to modify the original deal I made during the attack here, when I thought Remus was dying." The memory of that fear-laden moment was still vivid in his mind – the desperation to save someone who had been a mentor and friend, to prevent another loss akin to that of his parents and Sirius. "I had agreed too hastily then, without setting any terms. But later, he consented to avoid attacking children and innocents and to reduce unnecessary violence."

The room filled with skeptical looks. "He allowed you to negotiate those terms? He agreed to them?" Arthur Weasley's voice carried a sense of astonishment that mirrored what Harry had initially felt.

Harry's nod was more assured this time. "I was just as shocked. I had asked him why he was willing to negotiate at all; he already had what he wanted. He'd saved Moony, I had agreed to be his apprentice. But Voldemort said he wanted a willing apprentice, not one who would oppose him at every turn. He believed if he conceded on these points, I would be more accepting of the role he wished me to take."

Dumbledore nodded. "I think in this instance he was willing to concede to gain something he valued much more than killing innocents. And as we've seen, his tactics have changed; he might have already planned to lessen the harm to innocents to keep the ministry tame. It made it seem like he was consenting to something he already planned to do."

Harry didn't know. He'd like to think he'd had some influence on the wizard, that his actions had saved lives, but maybe Dumbledore was right, and he'd just fallen more easily into the manipulative dark lord's hands.

"Perhaps," Harry conceded, not inclined to debate the point. "I had already agreed to his deal to protect Moony, so in a way, Voldemort's concessions did give me some comfort that my friends wouldn't be targeted directly."

Dumbledore, leaning forward with keen interest, posed his next question. "And how did you conclude this negotiation? How did he ensure you would uphold your end of the agreement?"

Harry's gaze dropped to his right arm, hidden beneath the black fabric of his robes. His eyes shifted, briefly tracing over the fine quality of his dragon-hide boots, wondering how his appearance, marked by such attire, was perceived by the Order members.

"He marked me," Harry admitted softly, acknowledging the heart of his dilemma. He wondered if Voldemort could sense him even now, if the mark allowed him to bypass the Burrow's protective wards. Harry knew he had to be completely honest about this; any omission could endanger everyone present.

"It's not a Dark Mark, but Voldemort claimed he could use it to summon me," he continued, his throat tightening. "He also said it could prevent me from turning against him in the future." Harry's voice faltered as he scanned the room, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him. "I believe it could be used to kill me, though I'm not sure how. I tried to find more information, but there wasn't much to go on. And I don't know if he can track me with it."

Turning to Dumbledore, his expression grave, Harry added, "My being here might be putting everyone at risk." The weight of that possibility hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the dangerous game they were all a part of.

"I assure you, Harry, Voldemort cannot breach these wards. They are among the strongest ever conjured. However, I am very interested in examining this mark. I suspect I might be able to counteract some of its effects and ensure your safety," Dumbledore stated with a sense of confidence that seemed to belie the gravity of the situation. Harry nodded, though internally, he struggled to keep his doubts from surfacing.

The reassurance offered a sliver of hope, but Harry couldn't shake off his distrust. He knew Voldemort had likely anticipated the possibility of Harry seeking Dumbledore's help, especially considering the Dark Lord's penchant for thorough planning and foresight. The prospect that Dumbledore might not be able to neutralize or understand the capabilities of the mark was a true reality that weighed heavily on the teen's mind. If they got this wrong, not only would Harry likely be recaptured, but Voldemort might still track down everyone and kill them as well to punish Harry's perceived escape.

"After I accepted the mark, things became somewhat of a blur," Harry continued, his voice tinged with a mix of reflection and unease. "He trained me; we met almost every day.

Surprisingly, Voldemort allowed me quite a bit of autonomy in what I learned. He didn't just force dark arts upon me or try to turn me into some mindless practitioner of dark magic. He taught me dueling, potions, even wizarding history."

As Harry recounted these details, he couldn't help but marvel at the breadth and depth of knowledge he had acquired in such a short span of time. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him – the effectiveness of learning under the constant shadow of fear and the threat of torture. It was a harsh and unconventional method, one that yielded results but at a great personal cost. This sarcastic thought, though unspoken, reflected the complex feelings he harbored about his time with Voldemort - a mixture of resentment, astonishment, and a begrudging recognition of the skills he had gained. Voldmort had prepared him more to face this complicated world in three months than Dumbledore had done in over fifteen years.

"What kind of dark magic did you learn, lad?" Moody interjected, leaning forward with a keen interest. His question, the first not posed by Dumbledore, seemed direct and unyielding.

Harry shifted his gaze from Moody back to Dumbledore. "I haven't gone dark," he stated firmly, feeling the need to assert his stance.

Moody's response was gruff but not accusatory. "Didn't claim you had, but the dark arts can change you. They affect your mind. Hopefully, your teacher at least warned you about that."

Harry worked to keep his expression neutral, resisting the urge to scowl at Moody's insinuation. His experiences had given him a more nuanced understanding of magic. He no longer believed everything the light had said about light and dark magic was accurate. "He did," Harry replied with a hint of defiance. "He explained how it affects your emotions, can influence you, and leaves a residue. He actually waited quite a while before introducing anything too powerful." Harry hesitated, weighing how much more he should disclose. His eyes flickered to Dumbledore and then to Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, both Aurors, wondering how they might react to his revelations.

Kingsley's deep, smooth voice broke the silence, offering reassurance. "Harry, we understand you were in a very difficult situation. You shouldn't be afraid to reveal what you had to learn. We'll figure out how to handle it if it comes to light with the Ministry, but anything you say here will be kept confidential."

Ron chimed in supportively, giving Harry a nudge. "That's right, mate. We know you had to do it; you didn't have a choice. And you already said you didn't use dark magic on anyone."

Nodding, Harry felt a small sense of relief, yet he remained cautious. He decided to disclose just enough to be believable, to maintain their trust that he was being honest, but not so much that he might reveal that he liked learning gray magic and there were some pretty amazing dark spells he was glad to have studied as well.

"We began with a lot of what you might call 'gray magic' at first," Harry started, noticing Hermione's immediate reaction. He suspected she had never delved into the subtle distinctions between different types of magic, or she would have mentioned it before. "As for the dark arts..." Harry's cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I found myself drawn to learning healing magic, and there's quite a bit of dark healing magic. I chose to focus on those spells. It satisfied Voldemort because it was still within the realm of dark magic, but for me," he paused, suddenly self-conscious about discussing such a taboo topic, "it felt like something that could still help people."

"Dark healing spells and rituals can be very dangerous," Dumbledore interjected with a note of caution.

Harry simply nodded, acknowledging the truth in Dumbledore's words. "I know." But they could also save a lot of lives, help a lot of people, he silently added.

Sighing, Dumbledore continued, "What else did you learn?" The elderly man was clearly disappointed that Harry wasn't as appalled as he could have been.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he was incriminating himself despite their encouragement. While the Order might understand he was coerced, he doubted they would easily accept or forgive his foray into dark magic. "Maybe you would prefer to show me," Dumbledore suggested kindly. "It might be less painful than recounting everything." It was accompanied by a gentle nudge to Harry's occluded mind that stunned the teen.

Harry's sharp emerald gaze stared up at the headmaster in shock, his now racing heart betraying his alarm at the sensation of Dumbledore probing at the edge of his mental defenses. The idea that Dumbledore, a paragon of the light, was attempting to invade his mind without permission was deeply unsettling, especially after months of Harry experiencing Voldemort's similar invasion whenever the Dark Lord felt like it. And he had not been allowed, nor had the power, to tell the Dark Lord no.

"No," Harry firmly declined Dumbledore's suggestion, shaking his head. He strengthened his barriers, rejecting the headmaster's probe more aggressively than he intended to. He couldn't believe the Headmaster had tried to enter his mind. There was no way he knew Harry could protect himself, it was something he'd failed miserably at his entire fifth year. "I can speak about it. It's just not easy."

"Are you sure? It truly might be less painful and it would give me a better understanding of what you went through without you having to relive it like this," Dumbledore persisted as he pushed again, testing Harry's mental defenses,

Growing angry, Harry was resolved in his refusal. "No. Please stop trying. My mind is one of the few things I would like to maintain as my own. I've had enough of wizards violating my freedom of late," his retort was a sharp, an edge entering his voice. The principle of the matter was enough to drive the refusal, but worse was the possibility of Dumbledore uncovering his plans to return to Voldemort the first chance he could.

Dumbledore's lip twitched downward, revealing the barest hint of irritation at being denied before calming his face. Harry doubted he would have noticed it if he hadn't spent so many hours trying to learn how to read the Dark Lord in an attempt to not be punished every time he frustrated the wizard. "Did Tom frequently invade your mind?"

Harry shrugged, deliberately avoiding Dumbledore's gaze. "Yes, sometimes. Not as often as you might expect, but he made it clear he could access my thoughts whenever he wanted.

And I certainly wasn't strong enough to stop him."

"You have strong shields, though. They're quite impressive, considering you must have only started studying occlumency recently," Dumbledore observed.

Harry's cheeks flushed with the compliment, though it stirred a different reaction than similar praise from Voldemort. Where Voldemort's approval might have sparked a sense of accomplishment, Dumbledore's words felt almost like a veiled criticism. Disappointed that he'd mastered powerful mind arts at the hands of the Dark Lord.

"Did Tom personally teach you these skills?" Dumbledore inquired.

Glancing up, Harry nodded. "Yes, in a way. I mostly learned from books and practicing on my own. But Voldemort would test me, providing guidance when I couldn't grasp certain techniques." Harry's admission was careful, revealing just enough to satisfy their curiosity without delving too deeply into the details of his tutelage under Voldemort.

The truth was Voldmort had spent many hours helping Harry navigate his own mental landscape. Rarely had the Dark Lord just invaded it to violate Harry's thoughts. He'd been deliberate and instructive. Once Harry had learned the basics, he had grown surprisingly adapt at the mind arts in a very short time. And Voldmort had actually been proud of his accomplishments. He wondered if the Dark Lord had a scenario like this in mind when he taught him, the light side trying to glean Harry's dark secrets.

Dumbledore appeared to accept Harry's response with a thoughtful nod. "Then, let's revisit an earlier question. What was your training like? What other dark arts were you taught?"

Harry was reluctant to delve into the specifics of his training, especially the wandless and silent casting, as well as the numerous spells that blurred the line between gray and dark magic. The ones he'd actually enjoyed learning. Hoping to divert their focus, he decided to reveal something that he knew would capture everyone's attention. "He forced me to learn the Unforgivable Curses," Harry admitted, his voice low.

The tension in the room was palpable. "I only had to cast each of them once, but it was terrible. I hated every moment of it." His sincerity was evident, and he knew that if anyone was trying to gauge his feelings about dark magic, this confession would clearly illustrate his aversion. At least to those three spells. The very idea of exerting such total control over another, inflicting pain for the sake of it, and the haunting image of the green light of the Killing Curse – a sight all too familiar from his encounters with Dementors – still plagued his nightmares.

The Order members exchanged somber glances, their faces etched with a blend of concern and understanding.

Moody, ever the skeptic, voiced his inquiry. "I thought your terms were no torture. Why agree to learn a torture curse then? Or the killing one?"

Harry turned to face Ron. "Did you ever get a letter from me while I was with Voldemort?" he asked, noting Hermione and the others perking up at the mention.

"A letter? While you were... there?" Ron asked, confusion evident in his voice.

Harry nodded, his expression somber. "Early on, he let me write one, said it would be sent to you. To both of you." He added, nodding to Hermione. "I tried to explain what happened, that I didn't want you all doing anything rash to rescue me," he added, smirking slightly and earning chuckles from some in the room. "I got a response, seemingly from you. It sounded like you, but it was cocky, bold, even rude. It insulted Voldemort multiple times and claimed I would be soon freed, that I could defeat him."

Recalling this memory was painful. He had been terrified, thinking Voldemort would kill Ron for his perceived arrogance. "I was scared he'd kill you, he threatened that he would, so we made another deal. I'd learn the three Unforgivable Curses, not use them on people, but just learn them. In return, he wouldn't punish you."

"Ronald!" Ginny and Hermione exclaimed in shock.

"Son, what in Merlin's name," Mr. Weasley muttered, equally stunned.

"Harry, I swear!" Ron stammered, his eyes darting around the room. "I didn't write that. I didn't get a letter from you. I would never keep something like that from the Order!"

Harry nodded, trying to calm the escalating emotions. "I know. Voldemort said he used the Imperius Curse on you to write it. It was a trick to test me, to see how I'd react. He wanted to teach me not to save people without considering the consequences."

"Well, you do have a hero complex," Hermione remarked fondly. Harry rolled his eyes, giving her a playful shove. He did, and it was what had kept them alive so far. He would never regret that. There wasn't much in this life he valued, but his friends were certainly at the top of that list.

"That sounds quite manipulative," Dumbledore observed thoughtfully as if he needed to make Harry aware that the Dark Lord was a bastard that would do anything, harm anyone to get his way. "He orchestrated all of that to teach you a lesson, to get you to agree to more dark arts?"

Harry nodded. "Everything about him was manipulative," he agreed seriously, hoping his sincerity would alleviate any fears that he had become a willing follower of Voldemort. He hadn't, not in the way they might fear. Instead, he had realized that he could use Voldemort's desire for a willing apprentice to his advantage. Voldemort wanted Harry to choose his side freely, and by appearing to do so, Harry gained a pivotal role in the war. However, now, with the Order's involvement, Harry feared that delicate balance he'd maintained was ruined. "I upheld my end of the bargain, I studied as his apprentice, but he knew I hadn't embraced the Dark Arts, that I would never learn those curses without being forced."

The room settled into a weighty quiet as the Order members absorbed the details of Harry's time with Voldemort. Each revelation seemed to deepen their understanding of what he had endured, eliciting looks of alarm, curiosity, and fear of just what Voldemort was willing to do to control a teenager, even if that teenage was fated to be his downfall.

Dumbledore, breaking the hush, spoke with a tone tinged with an emotion Harry couldn't quite identify. "Harry, while the knowledge you've gained was acquired in dire circumstances, you must be vigilant. It's easy to be drawn in by the allure of power; the dark arts are subtle and insidious. You must remain cautious. Promise me that you will refrain from continuing to practice them."

Harry nodded, his mind acutely aware of the precarious nature of the skills he had learned. "I promise, Professor," he responded, his tone solemn. "I only did what I did to keep everyone safe. I couldn't see another option. I wasn't going to be able escape on my own and he'd already shown he could capture those I cared about. I never wanted to learn dark magic." Internally, though, he harbored no intention of completely abandoning the use of the spells he had learned. While he abhorred those intended purely for torture, many of the spells he had mastered were practical and could offer protection. They were far more effective than the basic spells taught at Hogwarts, especially as they moved closer and closer to all out war.

Dumbledore's gaze became more intense, probing. "And during your... sessions with Voldemort, did he reveal any plans or insights into his strategies or weaknesses?"

Harry paused, carefully considering his next words. He had to navigate this conversation delicately, aware that anything he revealed could be seen as a betrayal by Voldemort, potentially leading to repercussions he wasn't willing to pay. If was able to return to him, he was certain he'd have to admit to everything he told the Order. "He didn't share much about his broader plans with me," Harry admitted truthfully, choosing his words to maintain a balance between honesty and discretion. "His focus was more on training me, shaping me into his vision of an ideal apprentice. I've only been to one Death Eater meeting, and even then, it seemed he was more interested in showing me off than in discussing any substantial plans. He cared more about using me than anything else. I'm still a teenage in his eyes. A prisoner. I didn't have a part to play in his planning.

"Besides telling you about every individual training session or each time that I manage to make him mad, that's all that happened. I wish I had more helpful things to reveal about his plans, but I know he doesn't fully trust me. He kept me in the dark. I didn't even know he'd attacked the Hogwarts Express until weeks after the event."

As Harry spoke, the members of the Order mulled over his revelations, each person likely grappling with the ramifications of what he had shared. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the first to speak, his deep voice resonating in the room. "Harry, you've endured an ordeal that few could withstand. Your resilience and strength are truly commendable."

Moody, his magical eye continuously scanning the surroundings, grunted in agreement. Harry was surprised by the grizzled auror's acknowledgment. "The lad's got grit, that's for sure.

There's hope in that. Be careful though, the dark arts can be addictive, don't allow yourself to be ensnared. If you'd spent much more time around it, you could have a serious problem on your hands." The teen wasn't sure if that meant the one-eyed man believed him entirely, but at least he wasn't calling for Harry to bound and locked in a room.

Harry offered a small, grateful smile in response to the supportive words from the Order members, yet internally, he was grappling with unease. He still felt like a mere pawn in their eyes, a piece to be maneuvered in the war. However, he took some solace in the fact that he had managed to get through this initial questioning without raising too much suspicion, a small yet significant triumph in the midst of this unexpected turn of events. It had been difficult, but he felt like the meeting had been a win for him. Now that it was over, he realized he was completely exhausted. It had been a tiring day on multiple accounts. He barely held back a yawn.

Dumbledore, observing Harry's fatigue, leaned forward, catching the teen's eye. "Harry, I can see that you are exhausted, and I want to echo the sentiments of the others. What you have managed to do under such extreme circumstances is truly commendable. Maintaining your sense of self in the face of Voldemort's manipulations is a feat that many experienced witches and wizards could not achieve." He sighed, suddenly seeming as old as he truly was. Harry sensed what he felt was genuine regret. "There is just one more matter we need to discuss today, and then I will let you rest. Unfortunately, I must ask that the rest of you leave us for this part."

The room filled with a mix of confused and skeptical glances. Ron and Hermione looked towards Harry, clearly seeking his approval or reassurance before they, along with the other Order members, reluctantly exited the room.

Once they were alone, Dumbledore's expression softened, conveying both a sense of burden and responsibility. Harry braced himself for whatever this final discussion entailed, hoping that it would not complicate his already precarious situation further.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, voice tinged with something Harry couldn't quite read. Perhaps regret? "I should have imparted this knowledge to you sooner. However, I was reluctant to prematurely end your childhood. It's never easy for an old man to force a young person to face such harsh realities."

Harry fought off his immediate desire to scowl, a mix of frustration and resentment simmering within. Dumbledore's words felt like just another excuse, another aspect of his paternalistic approach that often left Harry more frustrated than reassured.

Dumbledore, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact, continued, "To fully grasp the situation, I must explain a branch of magic that is far darker than anything taught at Hogwarts. It's perhaps the darkest magic known, and I sincerely hope Voldemort didn't compel you to engage with it. Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Harry, though still irked, found himself leaning forward, curiosity piqued despite his reservations. "A Horcrux?" he asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "A Horcrux is a deeply forbidden and incredibly dark form of magic. It involves splitting one's soul and concealing a piece of it in an object. As long as the Horcrux remains intact, the creator can achieve a form of immortality."

Shock and intrigue flickered through Harry's. "That's how he's become immortal?" He asked, the enormity of the revelation was surprising. So, this was the secret to Voldemort's survival. If they destroyed it, could he die? "Can they be destroyed? Can we make him human again?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Harry. That he embarked on this shows a level of desperation and foolishness that few possess. It's a path marked by sheer wickedness, one no wizard with even a fragment of morality would consider. Creating a Horcrux requires an act of violent murder and a ritual so vile that it renders the soul in two. This is important for you to understand because it's intricately connected to your own past."

Harry's discomfort intensified. "What does this have to do with me?" he asked, his voice laced with a growing sense of dread. Did Dumbledore think he'd created one on Voldemort's order?

Harry could tell what was about to be revealed was important. That for once, Dumbledore was giving a critical piece of information that had previously been withheld. "Voldemort, in his quest for immortality, created several Horcruxes. More than any sane person would ever even consider. One of them, unintentionally and unknowingly, became you, Harry. When he came to kill you and the spell rebounded, he'd already conducted the ritual to use your death to make his last one. When the act of murder failed, the spell rebounding on him, his soul was still split and the shard latched onto you. You are a living vessel carrying a fragment of his soul."

A heavy silence enveloped the room as Harry processed this startling truth. The implications were staggering, his connection to Voldemort that was far more intricate and dangerous than he had ever imagined.

Harry's expression shifted from disturbance to denial as Dumbledore's words sank in. "Me? A Horcrux?" The concept seemed almost too bizarre and horrifying to believe. He was a living vessel for a part of Voldemort's soul? The notion was as unsettling as it was overwhelming.

He thought being Voldemort's heir was bad, this was beyond anything he could comprehend.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, his face etched with regret. "I am sorry, Harry. This truth is a heavy burden, and I regret both having to share it with you and not sharing it with you sooner. It was my hope to protect you, to allow you some semblance of a normal childhood before confronting you with such a dark reality."

Harry, still reeling from the revelation, tried to process what it meant for him, for the war… for his future. "So, this... this is why he's always been able to get into my head? Why we have this connection?" he asked, both curiosity and dread coursing through him.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "The connection between you and Voldemort is deeper than we initially realized. It's why you can sense his emotions, see into his thoughts. Why he can cause you pain through your scar. It's a connection born of the vilest soul dark magic."

Harry leaned back, feeling as if the room had suddenly grown colder. The implications of being a Horcrux were enormous…terrifying. He was part of the reason that Voldemort could not die?

"Why tell me now?" Harry asked, he felt himself shaking. He suspected he was going into shock.

Dumbledore leaned forward, genuine sadness consuming the old wizard. "I believe it's important for you to understand why Voldemort has always been so consumed with you. Why he now is so intent to draw you to his side when all his attempts to kill you failed. On some level, I think his soul craves to be near its other pieces. That it's driving him to desire you join his side. You might perceive his teachings as alluring, and I'm sure you value the power and knowledge he's imparted. But it's vital to recognize that once he realizes the truth, his priority will be to protect his most valuable asset – his soul. He will always prioritize its safety over yours. I fear the prison he might craft for you to keep the soul safe."

Dumbledore's voice softened, tinged with a deep sadness. "You will play an essential role in the battle against Voldemort, Harry. You are more than a beacon of hope; you are the key to ending his immortality. The prophecy foretold it." A prophecy the Dark Lord was refusing to believe, Harry thought sardonically, but didn't share. He had bigger concerns at the moment.

"How?" he asked, the dread evident in his voice. "Can it be removed? Does it have control over me? Does he know?" The thought that he might be under the influence of a fragment of Voldemort's soul, that his desire to return might not be his own but a manipulation of the soul shard, was terrifying.

Dumbledore's gaze held a mix of somberness and determination. "The bond you share with Voldemort is intricate. The soul fragment doesn't exert direct control over you, but it forges a connection. It's the reason you can sense him and why your scar pains you when he's near or feeling strong emotions. However, I believe the fragment within you is minuscule, a mere sliver of a soul since he had already severed it so many times before. Your own soul is dominant. The fragment won't control your actions, but it could make it easier for Voldemort to track you, particularly when combined with the mark you now bear. It may grant him some awareness of your location and emotions. Your proficiency in Occlumency will be invaluable in shielding your mind, he didn't realize the protection he was giving you by teaching you the skill. And no, I don't think he knows. He never would have let you out of his sight if he did."

Dumbledore paused, his expression reflecting the gravity of the situation. "As for removing the Horcrux, there is no precedent for this. We have never encountered a living Horcrux before. While there are methods to destroy a Horcrux, none that we know of would spare the life of the host. Rest assured, I am exploring every possible avenue and will find a way to safely extract it from you."

Harry tried to process this daunting information, feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of what it entailed. The Horcrux within him added an alarming dimension to his already complex predicament. Was it true? Did he believe Dumbledore? And did he trust that he was telling him everything?

Suddenly, with the weight of Dumbledore's revelations bearing down on him, Harry found himself grappling with an even more difficult question, one that seemed inescapable given the circumstances. He looked up, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And if you can't? Does this mean... to defeat Voldemort, I have to die?"

Dumbledore's face, already marked with the lines of many years and many burdens, seemed to age further at the question. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice gentle yet heavy. "Harry, the soul shard you hold of Voldemort is indeed a part of his immortality. As long as it exists, he cannot be truly defeated."

Harry felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The implications of Dumbledore's words were clear and terrifying. He was not just fighting against Voldemort; he was intrinsically tied to him in a way that might require the ultimate sacrifice. It wasn't that he had to kill Voldemort to win, it was that he might actually have to be the one to die.

Dumbledore continued, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "But know this, Harry – our fight against Voldemort isn't just about one person's sacrifice. You are not alone. I will explore every possibility and exhaust every avenue. I will not rest until I find a solution. And we must first find the other soul shards, which will be no easy task. We have time, and I am beyond relieved that you are safe back with us."

Harry didn't feel relieved at all. He'd never felt further from it. "Do you know what they are?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "We have some leads. I believe Voldemort has created a total of six Horcruxes, including the one within you. As to what they are, I still need to confirm them and find them."

Harry shook his head, the magnitude of the task sinking in. Voldemort was cunning and meticulous; the remaining Horcruxes would undoubtedly be hidden with extreme care and protected by powerful enchantments.

"It sounds like an impossible task," Harry voiced his thoughts aloud. "Voldemort is clever. He would have hidden them well and ensured they were guarded."

Dumbledore acknowledged Harry's concerns with a nod. "Indeed, Voldemort would leave nothing to chance when it comes to protecting his Horcruxes. However, we have resources and knowledge at our disposal. We have already made progress, and we will continue to do so. It's a daunting task, but not an impossible one."

Was it possible, could they actually kill Voldemort? He hadn't thought the wizard was completely immortal previously, he was embarrassed to realize he didn't know what he thought. Obviously, he had survived the killing curse rebounding that night he tried to kill Harry. But Harry had survived the original casting, and he certainly didn't think himself immortal. Was it better or worse to know the source of the Dark Lord's continued existence? As the information began to settle, it actually seemed worse in that there were five hidden and obviously protected soul shard, six if he was truly one himself. They could be anything and be anywhere. Did he think they would be able to find them, that the most powerful wizard he'd ever seen would be defeated?

"I want to be a part of this, Professor," he said resolutely. "I can't just stand by while others risk everything. I need to be involved. I need to know what is happening."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with an expression of blended admiration, concern, and remorse. "Your courage is truly commendable, Harry," Harry found himself actually believing the elderly wizard was sincere as he said it. "But we must proceed with caution. Your safety and well-being are our utmost priorities. We will involve you as much as possible, ensuring that it's safe for you to do so. However, our current priority is to ensure you don't fall back into Voldemort's hands. You can see why it's critical you aren't captured again. Given that Voldemort has already lost you once, I doubt he will give you another chance to escape should you be recaptured. And particularly not if he discovers that you inadvertently carry a piece of his soul. We must do everything possible to prevent him from finding out. I must ask you to keep this information to yourself for now, even from your closest friends. I regret burdening you with this, but it's essential you understand the importance of not attempting to escape or doing anything that could compromise your safety until we can remove the Horcrux and ensure your wellbeing."

Harry stared at him, blinking once then twice. That was it, after all this, Dumbledore wanted him to be a good boy and just hide away? He was the supposed prophesized one. He allegedly carried a piece of the Dark Lord's soul! He was barely a half year from reaching his majority and taking up the Potter Lordship. Frustration and anger welled up inside Harry. It dawned on him that this was the real reason Dumbledore had shared this information – to dissuade him from any notions of returning to Voldemort's side or tying to run from the Order. Dumbledore had effectively painted a scenario where Voldemort would never trust Harry again, while subtly suggesting that the Dark Lord would not risk his soul if he knew the truth about Harry. It was a manipulation, more so than anything Voldmort had ever done. At least the Slytherin Heir was upfront about forcing Harry to do his will. He didn't hide it or pretend like it was in Harry's best interest when it was truly serving himself.

Expectant blue eyes stared at him intently and Harry realized Dumbledore was waiting for his response. That he just assumed Harry would accept his exclusion in the Horcrux hunt until Dumbledore deemed Harry useful was insulting. "I won't tell anyone," Harry agreed numbly, truthfully he was uncertain about sharing this secrets with Ron and Hermione. The idea of being linked to Voldemort's immortality was unsettling, and the last thing he wanted was for this information to become public knowledge. He trusted his friends implicitly, but the potential risks, such as someone like Moody deciding to just Avada him and be done with it, couldn't be ignored. He would have to think about whether or not he could share such a horrific secret with them. And if doing so would make them targets for Voldemort since he certainly would want his secret kept.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "I'm sure you'll have more questions, Harry. We can discuss everything in more detail once you've had some time to recover. Additionally, there are aspects of your time at Slytherin Manor that we should explore further."

Harry merely nodded in response, eager to end the conversation. The day had been filled with revelations. He had discovered not only his lineage as an heir to Slytherin, Gaunt, Black, and Peverell, but also the shocking truth about carrying a fragment of Voldemort's soul. On top of that, he now felt like a prisoner in a completely different setting. While the Order hadn't explicitly said so, Harry suspected he wouldn't be allowed to leave any time soon. It was clear Dumbledore did not want him to leave at all. The weight of these revelations was overwhelming and frightening, leaving him with a deep sense of unease about what the future held.

After their conversation, Dumbledore soon left the Burrow, politely declining Mrs. Weasley's invitation to stay for an early dinner. Harry, meanwhile, sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by an array of comfort foods like chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, homemade honey loaves, and pumpkin tarts. Despite the delicious spread, he felt numb, barely touching his food. He was certain he was in shock, processing the day's revelations. Hermione and Ron kept casting him concerned looks, while the rest of the Weasley family and their guests expressed their happiness at his return. Yet Harry found it hard to stay present, his thoughts constantly drifting.

He was certain Voldemort would have noticed his absence by now, and the thought of how he might retaliate weighed heavily on the teen. He feared for the safety of his friends and loved ones, knowing they would be targeted. Moreover, Harry now harbored a fear of returning to Voldemort, especially if he discovered the Horcrux within him. His world seemed to be unraveling once more. He had no one and nowhere to go where he wouldn't be a prisoner. It was a bleak realization. He'd never felt more trapped. Not just by the roof and walls but by destiny. Fate was a bitch.

"Harry, do you want to go outside?" someone asked, snapping him back to reality. "We can hang out in the garden."

Realizing that all eyes were on him, Harry found they had at some point moved back to the living room, now only in the company of the Weasleys, Lupin, and Tonks. He had been lost in thought, staring blankly out the window for who knew how long. He wasn't even sure how he got there.

It had been Hermione who asked. Ginny nodded next to her; delicate worried brown eyes focused on him, filled with concern.

"Umm," he hesitated, meeting the room's hopeful glances. "I'm actually exhausted," he admitted truthfully. "I think I need to sleep. Sorry, I do want to catch up, but I just need some time. I might just head upstairs."

"Of course, Harry dear," Molly said understandingly. "Take Ron's bed for tonight. He can bunk with the twins."

The twins groaned, and Ron turned red, jabbing at Fred—or maybe George—who loudly complained about Ron's snoring.

"He's louder than a dying Hippogriff!" "Am not!"

Harry managed a weak chuckle and excused himself, heading upstairs to Ron's room. He noticed the fresh sheets and a set of comfortable sleeping clothes laid out for him. Absently, he noted the stark difference in quality compared to what Voldemort had provided, a thought that he quickly forced himself to dismiss. Worse, he realized he was just swapping one gift of clothing for another. He didn't even have his own clothes to put on, which left him feeling strangely empty.

Given he was the heir to five noble lines, he had absolutely nothing of his own to show for it but his wand and the pouch which was a gift from Voldemort of all people. Changing quickly, he stashed his pouch and wand under his pillow, forcing himself to not contemplate the gift hoping no one would inquire about his visit to Gringotts. He wasn't sure what he would do if he was asked to turn over the contents. Voldmort would be livid, and on some level, he still thought returning to the Dark Lord his best action. The wizard might never let him leave, but that was better than whatever retaliation he was certain the malicious Slytherin had planned for his perceived escape. Slipping under the covers, Harry curled into a ball, hoping sleep would provide some respite from the unrelenting dread and horror that had gripped him since his return to the Order. As he closed his eyes, sleep quickly beckoned him, eagerly Harry let himself succumb to the temporary escape from the waking world.

S~s~S~s~S~s~S~s~S~s~S~s~S~s~S~S~s~S~s~S~s~S~

Harry's eyes blinked open, his surroundings a disorienting blend of the familiar and the uncanny. Shock rippled through him as he recognized this place—a haunting terrain he had navigated before, not in the tangible reality of waking life but in the unsettling realm of dreams. A shuddering breath escaped him as he took in the room's details, each element echoing with an eerie familiarity. It was a surreal déjà vu, a mirror image of the room he had dreamt of before the Dursleys attacked him, kicking him out of their home. The couch, the rug, the table—every aspect replicated with unsettling precision. His improvement in the mind arts whispered that this was no ordinary dream; it was a manifestation of something far more ominous.

Backing away, Harry felt the solidness of a wall against his back. The air crackled with foreboding as he braced himself for the inevitable.

"You tried to escape me."

The proclamation hung in the air like a malevolent presence as searing pain erupted through Harry's scar.

Gasping, he crumpled to his knees, hands instinctively flying to his forehead as he cried out in agonizing torment. Waves of scorching, blinding pain surged through him, threatening to split his skull in two. In that tortured moment, time lost its cohesive thread, and he cowered on the floor, utterly helpless to the relentless assault on his senses.

"Please, stop" he begged, tears streaming from his eyes.

Mercifully, the torment ceased. Gasping for air, Harry lowered his hands to the floor, his strength barely enough to stave off a complete collapse.

"You deserve no mercy, boy. I told you what would happen if you disobeyed. You can't escape me. I hope you've realized that you doomed them all for nothing."

Footsteps approached, their ominous cadence signaling Voldemort's presence in this dream landscape that he knew was somehow very real.

"I didn't run," he gasped, desperately trying to regain his composure. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts, to stop any retaliation against the others. "I swear it. Please don't do anything to them! Let me explain."

Pushing himself up, Harry met the blazing scarlet eyes of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord loomed before him, a silhouette of malice, black robes cascading around dragon leather boots, a silver snake emblem proudly displayed on the clasp. The air crackled with tension as the dream unfolded its sinister display, where the boundaries between nightmare and reality blurred into an unsettling tapestry.

"I didn't betray you, I didn't run" Harry repeated, maintaining direct eye contact. Voldemort closed the remaining distance, his hand gripping Harry's chin, tilting his head up. Startled emerald eyes met murderous scarlet ones. It was clear what the Slytherin Heir wanted, what he was demanding.

Taking a deep breath, Harry deliberately dropped all his mental shields, allowing the Dark Lord unfettered access to the recesses of his mind. The very thing he had denied Dumbledore earlier that day. Harry knew with certainty that he could not evade Lord Voldemort; this was exactly what he had feared would happen. The wizard had breached his dreams even before his capture, and now, marked by the man, there was no telling what type of access or control he had.

Voldemort entered his mind without remorse, the intrusion triggered another wave of searing pain. Harry's scar pulsed with discomfort as a torrent of images rushed before him. Ron and Hermione urging him to join them, his stubborn refusal, his attempt to flee the Order.

Running into Dumbledore who forced his return to the Burrow, the strained confrontation where Harry denied the old wizard access to his memories, Harry's own plan to escape as soon as he could find a way, the disappointment etched on Dumbledore's face as they discussed dark magic, and the consequential discussion of Horcruxes—all laid bare in the recesses of his thoughts.

The intrusive presence in his mind withdrew, leaving Harry on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. He blinked, attempting to dispel the lingering spots that clouded his vision—the aftermath of the tumultuous intrusion into the depths of his memories. With a moment of uncontrollable terror, Harry realized Voldemort had seen the Horcrux discussion; he now knew Harry harbored a piece of his soul.

"He told you."

Harry's eyes snapped open. Fear gripped him as he looked up at the figure before him. He bore a fragment of this man's soul—the same soul that had taken his parents' lives, attempted to end his own, waged war on everything Harry held dear, and had coerced his submission to the dark. The very soul that would likely now drive Voldemort to imprison Harry forever.

"You knew?" Harry's surprise was tinged with an undercurrent of inevitability.

"Of course," the wizard stepped back, slowly walking toward one of the windows, gazing out with pensive contemplation. "It is my soul; I could sense it. At first, I wasn't sure what drew me to you, why I could sense you and you could sense me. But it quickly became apparent what you had become. What that means."

"What does that mean?" Harry dared to whisper. "That you are mine."

Harry dropped his gaze again. The strength to shout out boasts of resolve, claiming that Voldemort would never own him, eluded him. He had declared such defiance before, yet he still bore the man's mark, studied dark magic under his tutelage, and had even attempted to flee the Order to return to the murderer of his parents. With this new revelation, would Voldemort now seek to imprison him and never let him see the light of day again?

"I didn't run from you," Harry repeated instead, the words hanging in the air, their weight uncertain in the face of the complex dance between master and apprentice, predator and prey, Lord and Heir, immortal and soul carrier.

Voldemort's gaze remained fixed on the world beyond the window, as if contemplating the teen's words, considering his own response. The silence in the room was heavy, fraught with the unspoken tension that lingered between them.

After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort finally turned from the window, his expression unreadable. "What to do with you, my exasperating little lion? Only you could take such a simple task and turn it into such an exceptional disaster. I should just kill them all and be done with it."

Harry's heart sank at those words, "please," he pleaded. "Don't make this a bloodbath. I can fix this. I can still be your apprentice." He'd just seen they were all safe. He couldn't let them be in danger again.

Voldemort stepped away from the window, fixing his piercing gaze on Harry once more. "Survival and ambition—such competing desires. I am pleased that you still hold on to both. You, Harry, are bound to me in ways you cannot comprehend. My unexpected heir. My apprentice. A piece of my immortality. As long as you wear my mark and bear a piece of my soul, understand that you are undeniably mine. Mine to do with as I please. I want to make you great, to give you power. I had already started to do so. And yet the first time you leave my side, you end up back with Dumbledore and the light." There was frustration and disappointment in the statement. Harry wasn't sure what to think. What was real and what was manipulation. Did it ultimately even matter?

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. The weight of the mark on his forearm seemed to intensify, the black ink twisting and writhing with an eerie life of its own. He couldn't deny the connection, the shared magic that bound them together. He could feel it. Perhaps more than ever now that he knew exactly what it was that caused it. Beyond that, he was also Voldemort' magical heir. How had they become so indiscernibly connected? Why was fate so cruel?

"I didn't choose them. You saw in my mind. I chose you." Harry was shocked at the conviction in his voice. He really had. Even with the revelation of the soul shard, Dumbledore had only done it to encourage Harry to hide. To stay out of the fight. To be controllable. There was so much he didn't know about the Horcrux, that he desperately sought to understand, he knew the only way he would get answers was with Voldmort. The man had never sugarcoated anything. He controlled the teen with an iron fist, but he did not fear Harry gaining knowledge and power. He encouraged it. It was actually a relief to realize Voldmort knew about the soul, that it didn't change anything.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked, his voice wavering between vulnerability and defiance. "I'm locked in this home, and Dumbledore is the only one who can make portkeys to leave. I'll do what I must to make this right. Please don't kill them; our deal still stands. I will return to you."

Voldemort approached, closing the distance between them. He let out a soft laugh. "Such loyalty, such dedication, to willingly return to my side." He paused, glancing down at Harry. Shamed radiated through the teen. "This pleases me. As my apprentice, no my heir, you are destined for greatness, Harry. But only if you embrace what I have to offer. I hope you see now that the light seeks only to use you. But without giving you any power. I at least have something to offer you in return for your loyalty. Can you say the same about Dumbledore?"

Forcing himself to remain calm, Harry shook his head. He hated how true the words were. He loved his friends, it was truly amazing to see them alive and happy. But he didn't want to remain a prisoner for the rest of his life. He'd never been allowed to leave the Dursley's, now he could not leave the Burrow. Voldemort had actually given him the freedom to leave the manor, had allowed him to enter the Slytherin vault, had given Harry back his own Potter legacy. Everything about this day had cemented one awful realization. If this war was inevitable, then Harry actually preferred to be with Voldmort. At least then he knew what was going on and was allowed to fight in some small way.

He swallowed, realizing he had to play this right to guarantee his friends' safety, to protect his own future freedom. "You're right," he agreed. "You do have much to offer. There is nothing left on the Light side for me. Please, our agreement still stands," he forced his voice to be as bold as possible. "I have not betrayed you, just give me some time. I can convince them I've returned to the light and will get my freedom back. Then I will return to you."

Scarlet met emerald. Finally, the Dark Lord nodded. "One way or another, I will get you back. Consider this your next test. Return to me before I grow bored of waiting. Accomplish this and I will consider not punishing you for this transgression. But know this, I don't like having what is mine being taken. And I am not a patient master."

"I know," Harry replied, believing it to his very core. "I just need some time." He paused, a thought suddenly striking him. "And it benefits you to wait. To not attack them. If you act out now, it might harm your plans. Dumbledore will use it to get the ministry to fight back more fiercely. I'll find a way to escape."

Voldemort observed Harry for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "Very well, Harry. I will grant you this opportunity to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my patience for leniency. If you fail, there will be consequences, not just for you but for those you care about."

Harry's throat tightened at the thinly veiled threat, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "I understand," he said, although part of him shuddered at the thought of willingly returning to Voldemort's side now that he knew he carried a piece of the wizard's soul. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but it was the only way he saw to protect those he loved and to buy time to figure out a way to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Don't take too much time, Harry. I expect to hear from you soon." With those final words, the dreamlike vision began to fade, the room dissolving into the shadows of unconsciousness.

Harry awoke with a start in Ron's bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The vision had felt so real, so vivid. His scar ached fiercely. The torture had certainly been real. He lay there for a moment, gathering his thoughts, the weight of his conversation with Voldemort pressing heavily on him. He had to find a way to escape. It was his only way to protect any of them.