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Chapter Text

Harry's eyes fell on the dead body lying on the floor. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Slowly, he approached the body. Was this a trick? Was Moody pretending to be dead? If not, who had killed him?

Just then, the door of the office burst open. Instinctively, Harry raised his wand and prepared to battle whoever was there.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Dumbledore. Harry's wand flew out of his hand and the headmaster caught it. Professors Snape and McGonagall were on either side of the headmaster. The Minister followed on their heels.

Everyone looked around, taking in the scene at a glance. Professor Moody lay dead on the floor and Mark Twist was standing over the body. Shocked eyes stared at the boy.

Realizing what they were thinking, Harry shook his head vehemently. "No!" he said. "I didn't kill him! He tried to kill me! I don't know why! He said he had put my name in the Cup and that he would kill me for Voldemort." Harry hesitated. Then, remembering, said, "No. That's not right. He said that he'd do something else that Voldemort would like more. He said I'd be blamed for Cedric's death and I'd go to Azkaban." There was a beat of silence. "I didn't kill Cedric!" Harry's voice rose shrilly. He could hear himself start to sound hysterical.

Dumbledore obviously thought so because, although his eyes were hard and cold, he spoke quietly, trying to calm the boy. "So, you killed Professor Moody because you thought he was trying to kill you?"

"No!" yelled Harry. "I didn't kill him. He stunned me and, when I woke up, he was dead. I don't know how or who killed him. I didn't kill him! I swear! This must be some plot of Voldemort's."

The Minister flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name and spoke up. "There is no plot by You Know Who. You killed Diggory and then Moody. It's obvious: you wanted to win the Triwizard Cup and you killed Diggory when he got there before you. Then, Moody must have found out the truth somehow. Maybe he finally figured out how you were able to trick the Triwizard Cup into naming you champion. You killed him to protect your secret."

"That's not true! I saw Voldemort reborn, I tell you. Voldemort killed Cedric! I wouldn't have hurt Cedric, I swear. I wouldn't hurt anyone! Please. You've got to believe me." Harry looked from one adult to the next, desperately seeking some friendly face.

Fudge clearly didn't believe a word Harry said. It was difficult to tell with Professor Snape, who regarded Harry with narrowed, considering eyes. Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to be ill. Finally, Harry looked at Dumbledore and begged him with his eyes. Silently, Harry thought, ‘I'll forgive you. I'll forgive you for leaving me with the Dursleys if you just believe me now and help me. Please help me!’

Dumbledore stared at Harry without saying a word for a long moment, his blue eyes, normally twinkling, now as unyielding as iron.

It was in this moment that Dumbledore recalled everything Mark Twist had done in the last four years he’d known him, every instant he had surprised or worried him, every major choice he had made and every notable word he had said.

His thoughts strayed to how frighteningly familiar the boy was. How much he reminded him of Tom Riddle, even without him being a parselmouth. So independent and untrusting of adults, so strong and regal. A natural born leader with immense magical potential. So much potential that Dumbledore privately admitted it may even rival what Riddle’s had been at Twist’s age. Dumbledore thought about Twist’s sorting, how he seemed to sometimes hold himself back and wait to act until the situation moved in his favor. He recalled the visit to Twist’s house where he learned Twist’s family was devastatingly poor, wary of magic, and (if his father’s words were anything to go by) almost dismissive of Mark. And then, of course, there were the lad’s impenetrable occlumency shields.

It was all so unnerving, but Dumbledore refused to act on impulse.

Instead, he continued to gaze into the pleading eyes of the young man who had stopped Voldemort from gaining the Philosopher’s Stone, saved Ginny Weasley from the basilisk, destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary, freed Dobby from Lucius Malfoy, cast a corporeal patronus to protect a man (for good or ill) from dementors, revealed the false Harry Potter, and demonstrated true nobility in trying to save all of the hostages in the second task. Year after year, when it counted the most, the boy had done what was right instead of what was easy.

This boy was no murderer.

Dumbledore glanced at Moody’s body, narrowing his eyes as he suddenly realized something. Why had Alastor not taken Mark to the infirmary as he had asked? Alastor would never disobey an order from him, especially considering the circumstances. Something was definitely wrong here.

“I believe you, Mark,” Dumbledore said finally, looking back into the boy’s eyes.

Harry’s legs almost gave out from immeasurable relief. Someone believed him!

The Minister sputtered. “N-now see here, Dumbledore, even you can’t deny what the evidence is saying. Check his wand!”

“Very well.” Dumbledore touched his wand tip to Harry’s wand. “Priori Incantato!"

As Voldemort's wand had done such a short time before, Harry's wand started to regurgitate a shadow of the spells it had performed, in reverse chronological order. A flash of green light filled the room. McGonagall gasped aloud. Harry's mouth dropped open. Dumbledore's jaw clenched. Harry's wand belched out a few flashes of light indicative of stunning spells and the impedimenta jinx. Finally, after the group saw a flash of light signaling the use of the expelliarmus spell, Dumbledore lifted his wand and Harry's wand fell silent.

Harry raised stunned eyes to the headmaster, his throat so tight from horrified disbelief that he could barely breathe. Dumbledore’s expression was rigid.

“It would appear, Dumbledore, that Mark did indeed kill Professor Moody. He no doubt killed Cedric too,” Fudge exclaimed.

Harry adamantly shook his head even as his body began to shake. “No.” The word was thin and low, reminiscent of a gasp from a dementor.

Fudge snorted. "It's clear. He took Diggory's wand. You saw the expelliarmus spell. He probably used Diggory's own wand to kill him. Twist thought he'd get away with killing Diggory because everyone would think he had been killed by one of the dangers in the maze. Everyone knows the Tournament is dangerous. But, by killing Moody, he gave himself away for both murders."

"Voldemort did this! I…I just don't know how," Harry cried before giving a start at feeling a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He slowly looked up and found it was Dumbledore’s hand.

"It is true, Headmaster, that the Dark Mark that was branded on me when I was a Death Eater has been growing clearer all year. When the Dark Lord touched the mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. A short while ago, it burnt black. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the mark burn. The Dark Lord may indeed have returned," Severus said.

The Minister backed away from Snape. "You're mad. Insane. You-Know-Who has not returned."

“There have been signs, Cornelius, as I have been telling you,” Dumbledore stated. “Looking at all of the pieces, this very well may be an elaborate plan to make an innocent boy take the blame for the murder of two wizards —all to hide the truth of Lord Voldemort’s return.”

“No, this is just some attempt to save your student!” Fudge retorted. “I should have known you would try to shield him — a muggleborn!”

Dumbledore’s hand tightened on Mark’s shoulder, but instead of being painful, Harry found it reassuring.

“Well, justice will be done here, Dumbledore! He will be tried for the murders of Cedric Diggory and Alastor Moody. The truth will be made known, and then he will go to Azkaban where he belongs!”

“I will not stand in the way of justice, Minister, I promise you. Mr. Twist will stand trial, as circumstances demand it, but since he is innocent, he will cooperate fully. Right, Mark?” Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded numbly. He felt so raw that he was beyond feeling any gratitude or fear. He swayed on his feet. Suddenly his injuries were making themselves known.

“I will accompany Mr. Twist to the infirmary and, once he is healed, I will deliver him to the Ministry so he can wait there for his trial as the law demands,” Dumbledore stated.

“Aurors will handle that, Dumbledore; that is their job, after all,” Fudge sneered.

“I insist, as he is one of my students, but the Aurors are welcome to join us, of course.”

“Peh. This will make no difference, Dumbledore. Do as you wish!” Fudge said before storming off.

O o O o O

Hours after being healed in the infirmary, Harry turned over in his cot and faced the wall of the cell at the Ministry.

He let out a ragged breath as he placed his hand where Dumbledore had gripped his arm before he left, telling him, again, that he believed him. He honestly couldn’t remember a time an adult had ever told him that and it made him feel. . . . Well, he didn’t have a word for it, but it took away some of the pain he was feeling and helped him ignore the hateful looks he was receiving from the guards.

He only hoped the investigation turned up something that could refute all the evidence currently stacked against him.

O o O o O

Muggleborn on Rampage

Terror at the Triwizard Tournament

By Rita Skeeter

Tragedy struck at Hogwarts last night when a muggleborn student at the school killed another student and teacher in cold blood. Readers may recall that, last Halloween, muggleborn Mark Twist had deceived the Goblet of Fire so that he was named as one of the champions representing Hogwarts at the Triwizard Tournament being hosted this year at the school. Last night was the final task and, fearing that Cedric Diggory, a wizard with far superior skills, would win the Cup, Twist shocked the school by killing the handsome pureblood.

Minister Fudge confirmed that, in an act of the utmost cowardice, Twist apparently stole Diggory's wand and heartlessly used that wand to kill its owner. Then, having discovered a taste for blood, Twist killed Alastor Moody, a renowned ex-Auror who had taken a temporary teaching position at the school. Headmaster Dumbledore himself confirmed that Twist's wand cast the killing curse. It is suspected that Moody discovered that the muggleborn had killed Diggory. To prevent his teacher from revealing this secret, Twist murdered Moody. Twist was caught in the act of killing Moody and was taken into custody.

"It is a terrible tragedy," said Fudge late last night. "It's hard to believe that such a young boy could be so evil. What is even more troubling is that Dumbledore is falling for his lies despite the evidence clearly showing that he’s guilty.”

"He's so disturbing," said one of the guards at the Ministry. "When asked what had happened, he says that You-Know-Who has returned and that he's the one who killed Diggory and Moody. It'll give you chills to hear that boy call You-Know-Who by his name."

Perhaps Twist plans on entering an insanity plea when he is tried before the Wizengamot this week on two counts of murder. We have seen how devious he is already. He may be hoping to avoid Azkaban in favor of a soft cell in St. Mungo's. We can only hope that the Wizengamot sees through the sick lies of a depraved mind.

This reporter predicted the danger Twist posed to the champions. We must ask why the Ministry and Hogwarts did not do more to protect our children, the most precious resource we have.

A concerned parent, Narcissa Malfoy, whose son, Draco, is in Twist's year at Hogwarts, had this to say. "I shudder when I think that my son was so close to this psychopathic killer every day. I know that people don't want to admit it, but blood will tell. It's no coincidence that this heinous act was committed by a muggleborn. Those born of wizard blood have too much nobility to behave so heartlessly."

With the recent news that muggles were responsible for abusing Harry Potter, it is no wonder that many question whether the wizarding world should reconsider our relationship with muggles. While not everyone will agree with Mrs. Malfoy's views (at least not publicly), more parents are expected to put pressure on Professor Dumbledore to halt the practice of permitting muggleborns to attend Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, Mark Twist is under heavy guard at the Ministry. "He's clearly a Dark Wizard in training, if you ask me," said another official, speaking on condition of anonymity. "Everyone knows the rumor that You-Know-Who killed his first person at the age of sixteen. Twist is only fourteen. If he's not stopped now, he'll be worse than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

In the name of Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory and Alastor Moody, we call upon the Ministry to stop Mark Twist. Stop him now.

Dumbledore pursed his lips as he all but slammed the paper down. Sitting alone in his office the morning after the murders of Cedric and Moody, Dumbledore felt sickened by what was happening.

Snape had returned to Voldemort while Dumbledore accompanied Twist to the Ministry. Using his well-honed cunning, Severus convinced Voldemort that he was still loyal while discovering the truth.

Barty Crouch Jr. was alive and, unbelievably, had been impersonating Alastor Moody for the entire school year before killing the real Moody and framing Twist. He had also been the one who had placed Twist’s name in the Triwizard Cup so as to bring the boy to Voldemort. Shock followed shock. Peter Pettigrew was alive as well, having framed Sirius Black, just as Twist had said — and it didn’t end there. Peter, on Voldemort’s orders, had killed Diggory before performing the ritual that had given Voldemort a new body.

Dumbledore was now immensely grateful that he had carefully evaluated the situation and had supported Mark. He imagined things would be much worse if he had denounced the boy.

However, things were still looking pretty bleak.

With the Daily Prophet stirring up hatred against Twist (and all muggleborns), Dumbledore feared that attacks against muggles would increase once more, as they had done in the weeks following the news that Harry Potter’s muggle relatives had abused the boy. He also knew it was going to be extremely difficult to convince the Wizengamot that Twist had not murdered Diggory and Moody — no small thanks to that morning’s article.

But he wouldn’t let Twist take the fall. Doing so would go against everything he believed in and had fought for since defeating Grindelwald.

He only saw two lawful options. Convince the Wizengamot to use veritaserum on Mark or have Severus completely obliterate his cover by taking the stand. He hoped the first option would be enough, but if not, after discussing it with Severus, he would give up his spy.

Thinking it over, it wasn’t really a hard choice. Sacrificing an innocent boy to Azkaban could never be justified, and having Severus take the stand would prove to the Wizarding World that Voldemort had returned, especially if he brought his pensieve. He was certain, if done correctly, that would force them into action, particularly with Madam Bones as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That would be worth losing Severus as a spy.

Although the corruption in the Ministry ran deep, Dumbledore strongly believed it was not beyond repair. There were good people in the Ministry, they just lacked cohesive motivation. Dumbledore sighed. Harry Potter might have been able to provide that motivation, but with his disappearance and the circumstances surrounding it . . . a ‘cause’ of the worst sort had formed instead. Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in disgust. Such a mistake. He should have pushed harder, refused to give Harry to that family and refuted the law by looking deeper. Why had he not suggested an assessment period for the Dursleys? Ensure the muggle family was the best choice?

But he already knew the answer. The wards had held too much promise and the fear of another tragedy like the Longbottoms occurring had been raw in everyone’s minds not long after Harry had been placed. And he had hoped and believed a woman whose son was near the same age as an orphaned child before her would open her heart and welcome him in.

If only she had.

He glanced at the clock and got up. He needed to reinstate the Order of the Phoenix and get things moving. Their first meeting in over a decade would be held in Hog’s Head in an hour and there was much to begin.

O o O o O

Harry stared at the breakfast they brought him. He was starving, but he didn’t feel he would be able to keep it down. His thoughts strayed to Cedric. It seemed so wrong that he should eat while Cedric. . . . His stomach throbbed in hunger and he guiltily nibbled the edge of the slightly burned slice of toast. Slowly forcing as much as he could down, he pushed the tray away.

He wondered when Dumbledore would be back, or when someone would come to get his statement (interrogate him). He hugged his knees. Voldemort had certainly done a fabulous job of framing him, but he had a trump card Voldemort didn’t know about. Harry relaxed a bit.

It was time to reveal that he was Harry Potter. Once he did, there was no way he’d be sent to Azkaban. Everyone would believe that Voldemort had returned and fall over themselves to apologize. He closed his eyes. It was really a good thing that he wasn’t really an unknown muggleborn. The prejudice in the wizarding world was arguably worse than most places in the muggle world! Harry glared at the wall. Once he had resumed his real identity, he would remind everyone that his own mother had been muggleborn!

Meals came and went and hours past, the guards leaving and taking his tray without saying a word or even meeting his eyes. It was really disconcerting.

Finally, he heard the key turn in the lock of his cell and the door opened. Dumbledore swept into the room. Harry bounced to his feet, a tentative smile on his face.

“The Ministry has almost finished their investigation and I have finished preparing your defense. I have proof that you did not kill Cedric Diggory or Alastor Moody, but I’m hoping I will not need to reveal that evidence,” Dumbledore promptly explained.

Harry frowned, confused. “I don’t understand. How else will my innocence be proven?”

“I plan on convincing the Wizengamot to administer veritaserum, if you’d be willing. Giving it to a minor is frowned upon, but considering the circumstances, I can’t imagine them putting up a fuss,” Dumbledore explained.

“I’m willing, but are you sure that will be enough?” Harry asked, realizing this would fit right along with him revealing his true identity.

“If it’s not, I’ll disclose the other evidence I have,” Dumbledore promised.

“What is the other evidence? If you don’t mind me asking,” Harry asked, quickly adding the second bit after a thought.

“I can’t tell you that, Mark, but I will do everything in my power to prevent the Wizarding World from making the same mistake they had with Sirius Black,” he said pointedly.

Harry’s eyes widened. “You know he was framed? That I was telling the truth last year?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for not believing you when you had told me, but at the time. . . .”

“Well, at least you heard me out,” Harry said distractedly.

Dumbledore stilled. “Have you contacted your parents?” he asked after a moment.

Harry thought for a moment before shaking his head, deciding his words carefully. “Not yet. I’m hoping I won’t have to tell them anything, but . . . if things don’t work out . . . I think I’ll tell them that I’ve been accepted into a study abroad program. I wouldn’t want them to worry if there’s nothing they can do to help me.”

Dumbledore frowned. “You won’t be convicted. The truth will be known one way or another.”

Harry smiled softly, imagining the Wizengamot reacting when they hear him say his true name under veritaserum.

“I’m sorry, I need to go now, Mark, but I will act as your defense during the trial which should be in a few days. I may not be able to visit you until the day of the trial though,” Dumbledore said, turning toward the door. “The next few weeks are likely going to be very difficult, so just do your best to remain calm. Being aggressive now would only cement feelings against you.”

“I understand. Thank you, sir,” Mark said, standing to see him leave while suddenly wondering if he should tell Dumbledore who he was right there.

However, before he could utter another word, Dumbledore stepped out and closed the door.

O o O o O

SPOILERS BELOW

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ROUGH SUM UP of ‘The Hidden Hero’ chapters 1 through 19:

After the accidental apparition onto the roof event, Aunt Petunia takes Harry aside and (not so nicely) tells him the truth about magic, the prophecy Lily had told her, his parent's death, and Voldemort. She tells him she knows he's going to go to Hogwarts soon and wants no part in magic. She then tells him she's kicking him out in the morning. The next morning, he focuses on hiding himself and not looking like Harry Potter anymore—understanding dark wizards will likely want to harm him. His magic responds and Mark Twist is born - he has a long nose, light brown hair and slightly small, brown eyes. A simple face that can fade into the background. With his desperation urging his magic to help him, he can apparate and change his appearance (including age) at will. It is also later learned, due to his untrusting nature and need to hide, he is a skilled Occlumens. He leaves and finds work busing tables and things. One day, he sees some kids playing and, wanting to play as well, he ages back down to 11 (still as Mark Twist). Soon after, he gets his letter.

The next few years major canon events occur, only with Mark Twist in the place of Harry. He enters Hogwarts as Mark Twist, a poor muggleborn (no one even suspects he's really Harry Potter), and Dumbledore is concerned over the similarities between him and Tom Riddle throughout - although pleased when he does good (protects the stone, saves Ginny, frees Dobby, etc).

Key events to know within The Hidden Hero:

In third year, 'Harry Potter' is found. In the end, the real Harry reveals who he really is (a runaway Muggleborn from the States). The search for Harry Potter resumes.

At the end of third year, no one believes Sirius Black is innocent, not even the Order. They believe Sirius confounded Mark. Mark was also unable to tell Sirius who he really was before Sirius had to flee.

That summer, Dumbledore goes to Mark's place of residence (a Boarding House), to meet his parents. Harry does some quick maneuvering and manages to meet with Dumbledore as Mark's 'father' without Dumbledore any the wiser.

Harry/Mark is not as close to Hermione or Ron/The Weasleys as he was in canon (though he still considers them friends)—in fact he's not really all that close to anyone. When his name comes out of the Goblet, no one believes he didn't put his name in, not even Ron and Hermione after the First Task. The only person who eventually comes to believe him before Voldemort returns is Cedric.

By Chapter 19, NO ONE knows Mark Twist is really Harry Potter.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Harry breathed heavily and raised his head from the pillow to look around the room, searching the corners as if expecting a Death Eater to jump out at him. When he assured himself that he was actually alone, he laid his head back with a thump. Wow! He had been back in Voldemort’s head. There was no doubt that he had seen through Voldemort’s eyes. Harry shivered.

‘Don’t lie!’ he commanded himself, sternly. ‘I didn’t just see through Voldemort’s eyes, I . . . I might as well have been Voldemort! I felt what he was feeling and thought what he was thinking. Heck, I felt his glee at learning what was happening to -me-. Somehow, we are connected. I’ve suspected it before, but now that Voldemort has regained a body, our connection is stronger. I can see what he’s doing more clearly than ever and I am in his thoughts.’

It was terrifying. Harry tried to control the rising fear from clouding his brain as he forced himself to look at it objectively. ‘I can take advantage of this, he told himself. I might learn something important that I can eventually tell Dumbledore to help fight him. Let’s just hope that this connection doesn’t run both ways. I don’t want Voldemort peering into my head!’

Harry sat up shakily. Well, at least he now knew who had killed Moody. He had recognized Barty Crouch, Jr.. Obviously, Crouch was no more dead than Pettigrew. And, taking a leaf from Pettigrew’s book, had framed another for the murders he had committed.

He traced the hidden scar on his forehead as he slowly caught his breath, wondering if he could go into Voldemort’s mind at will now before allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

Two days passed, and every morning the guards kindly placed the Daily Prophet’s drivel on top of his lukewarm food. He refused to give them the satisfaction of reacting to it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t seething inside. He put the disgrace-for-a-paper aside and focused on eating.

He had experienced a few more visions, but hadn’t gotten anything worthwhile from them; however, he believed he was making progress in entering and exiting Voldemort’s mind at will, and what was more was that Voldemort seemed utterly oblivious. Harry only wished he could stop his scar from hurting.

Dinner came and went, and soon the light in his cell went out, prompting him to remove his shoes and place them under the little cot he slept on. Halfway through removing his shoe, the door to his cell suddenly slammed open and four aurors stormed in, wands out.

Before Harry could even look at their faces one of them grabbed his arm, twisted him around and shoved him against the wall. The man quickly patted him down, searching for any weapons.

Harry heard the click click of high-heeled shoes before he was roughly turned back around. Blurrily, he blinked at the form before him, a witch he had never seen before. She was wearing a pleasant smile, which didn’t reach her eyes. On her black robes was a pink broach and she had a frilly pink bow on top of her head. Despite these small signs of feminine softness, Harry noted the hardness in her eyes that called to mind his Aunt Petunia. She looked like a toad eying a juicy fly. He suspected, in alarm, that he was the fly she was intent on swallowing.

“Hem, hem,” the woman coughed delicately. "Mark Twist. I am Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. I have been placed in charge of the security around you.” She pulled back and gestured to two of the guards. "Go get them."

They scurried from the room and Harry wondered where they had gone. There were still two guards remaining, one on either side of him.

"You are a dangerous criminal, Mr. Twist. So, it is my responsibility to make sure that you are not given the chance to escape. The Minister has faith in me and it is not misplaced. I will do what needs to be done," she said with an uppity huff.

Harry felt the room become colder. A fog of despair started to descend upon him. No one loved him. He would rot away in Azkaban and no one would care.

Harry shook his head. Where had these thoughts come from? Then, Harry understood as the door opened again and, standing beside the two guards who had returned, were two Dementors. They floated into the room.

The guards next to Harry recoiled a bit, but Umbridge cast a Patronus. The little kitten gamboled around the room, warming the air. Harry was protected from the effects of the Dementors but he continued to eye them with concern.

Umbridge gestured to the Dementors with her wand. "They are here to escort you to Azkaban, Twist. We must ensure you never escape justice."

"What? I haven't had a trial yet. I haven't been sentenced to Azkaban!" Harry argued.

"That's a formality only, Twist. Everyone knows you are guilty."

Harry clung to a bit of hope, even as he felt his fear soar. "Dumbledore believes me, he won’t allow this.”

Umbridge laughed. “That mudblood lover won’t be in power long enough to be able to do anything once he learns where you are. It’s pointless to argue, Twist. You’re going to Azkaban, and it’s where you will stay.”

“You can't do this. It's illegal! I have a right to a trial!" he shouted, standing awkwardly since he was now only wearing one shoe.

Umbridge's smile faded and an ugly look came over her face. "You talk about rights. You mudblood. You killed a pureblood wizard and a former Ministry employee. You are lucky I don't tell the Dementors to administer a kiss right here."

Harry shrank back against the wall. The way Umbridge looked, and the excited expression in her eyes as she mentioned the Dementor's kiss, made Harry scared that she might change her mind and order the kiss after all. His blood froze.

"Please. I'm innocent and I can prove it." Harry heard the fear in his voice and he could tell that it pleased Umbridge.

She had a satisfied smirk on her face. "Liar!"

She raised her wand at Harry. "No!" he yelled.

"Stupefy," she shouted. A red beam flew from her wand and hit his chest. He crumpled without another word.

"Take him," she ordered. The Dementors swooped down and carried the teenager from the room. Umbridge and the guards followed and closed the cell door behind them.

O o O o O

Less than a week after Dumbledore had left Twist in the Ministry cell, and less than 48 hours since Umbridge had given the order, the Supreme Mugwump stormed into the Minister’s office in a fury.

The arrangements for the trial the following day had been cancelled and when he had inquired about Twist’s current location (as he was no longer in the holding cell), no one could tell him where he was!

“Now see here, Dumbledore, we could not safely hold him in the Ministry any longer. For the safety of everyone, he’s been placed in an undisclosed location and will remain there until our investigation is finished,” Fudge stated.

“‘An undisclosed location’?” Dumbledore asked, his voice dangerously sharp.

“F-for the safety of everyone, it had to be done,” he reiterated.

“Where is Mark Twist?” Dumbledore asked, but by the look in Fudge’s eyes, he already knew. He demanded anyway. “Tell me.”

Fudge began to tremble as Dumbledore’s magic bled into the room and throbbed. “Azkaban. There’s nothing you can do, Dumbledore. The boy brought it upo—” His knees almost gave out as a wave of Dumbledore’s magic rushed over him, and he would have collapsed if Dumbledore hadn’t promptly turned and left.

O o O o O

Voldemort laughed and laughed and laughed. Tears were threatening to actually gather in his eyes as he read the paper (special edition), printed hours before that very evening.

Apparently, due to concerns rising from the Ministry holding Mark Twist within the public building, the Minister had held an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot early that morning. Without the knowledge of Albus Dumbledore. In that meeting, the Minister and his underlings had acted quickly, convincing enough members of the Wizengamot to remove Dumbledore from his post due to ‘mental instability’ and — it only got better! — the necessity of moving Mark Twist to Azkaban.

The paper went on to detail the Minister’s heart moving speech about the difficult choice that had been made for the good of the wizarding world. The boy, after all, had killed the renowned ex-auror, Alastor Moody, one of the best aurors who had ever worked for the Ministry. There was no refuting it. The killing curse had been cast by Twist’s wand, which had been in his hand when he had been found standing over the body of the ex-auror. The evil muggleborn was guilty.

Voldemort continued reading, his glee immeasurable as the paper went on, this time about Dumbledore.

One article went into what may be going on with the venerable Headmaster, suggesting he may be in denial over what had happened, unable to believe one of his students had killed another and one of his professors, one of his good friends. Or perhaps he refused to see the truth, too proud or senile (or both) to admit he was wrong about muggleborns. Thus, he was going along with Twist’s asinine story of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning and being responsible for the murders. The article closed by saying Dumbledore should be pitied instead of hated for trying to shield a boy who was now reaping what he had sown.

Voldemort was enjoying his day.

O o O o O

Dumbledore closed his eyes as Fawkes crooned on his shoulder. Angry magic swirled at his center. He knew the Ministry had no intention of ever giving Mark Twist a trial, especially now that he had been ousted from the Wizengamot. Which now meant the two legal options of saving Twist from Azkaban were null and void.

Opening his eyes, he scanned his office and came to a decision. With a nod, he set to work, hoping Twist would be able to hold out until he could act.

O o O o O

There was very little light in the cell. There was only a bed, a blanket and a chamber pot. The sole illumination was coming from a small skylight, high in the ceiling. Despite knowing it was useless, Harry tried opening the door to his cell. It was firmly closed, of course. When his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Harry stared out the small dirty window inset in the door. The bars covering the window made it difficult to see but there was little worth viewing anyway. All he saw was a stone wall opposite his cell. He looked down at himself. He had exactly what he had on when he had been stunned, including only one shoe.

Harry felt his body start to shake. He pulled the blankets around himself more firmly but he had never felt so cold in his life. He wondered whether it was fear or if the Dementors were already affecting him. There were no Dementors close by at the moment and he was grateful for this small favor. But, they were surely going to come and then what would he do?

‘Go crazy,’ the voice in his head tormented.

‘No! Sirius Black was able to stay sane and he was here for twelve years! I can do the same.’

‘You’re not an animagus,’ reminded the voice.

‘I’ve got to prove my innocence! I’ve got to tell someone I’m Harry Potter.’

At that moment, Harry heard a swooshing sound coming down the corridor. The air turned even colder. Harry wondered whether he would freeze to death. A Dementor peered in through the bars at Harry. Harry gasped and stepped back.

“I’m Harry Potter!” he yelled, scrambling away. “I’m Harry Potter! Please tell the Minister! There’s been a mistake! I’m innocent! I’m Harry Potter! You’ve got to let me out!”

The creature drew a deep rattling breath and Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head.

“Kill the spare!” said a high-pitched voice. Harry heard a thud and found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Cedric Diggory.

“No!” he screamed as he was dragged back to be tied to a headstone.

As the boy lay on the cold stone floor of the prison cell, he relived the night of Voldemort’s rebirth. Only after he reached the part where the Minister had accused him did he regain consciousness.

Harry lay still on the floor. He felt feverish and exhausted. It took all of his strength to pull himself off the floor, but before he could get on the bed, another dementor came.

A deep rattle sounded again. Harry immediately fell back to the floor, consciousness slipping away.

“You are a waste of space!” said Uncle Vernon nastily. “It would have been better if you’d never been born.”

“You are responsible for your mother’s death,” accused Aunt Petunia.

“You’re a freak!” taunted Dudley. “No one loves you. No one will ever love you. You will never have friends. You will always be alone.”

This time, when Harry awoke, he didn’t try to pull himself to his bed. He lay on the ground and stared at the ceiling. His body was so stiff, he didn’t think he could move anyway.

Weakly, he thought, ‘I’m not going to last even a day. If they don’t drive me insane, I will surely become ill from the cold and die.’ A sense of peace flowed over him at the prospect. ‘I would like to die,’ he thought, in slight surprise. ‘That wouldn’t be so bad.’

He heard another rattle sound and once again was plunged into dark memories. “Stand aside you silly girl,” ordered a high-pitched voice.

“Not Harry! Take me instead!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry watched as his mother tried to protect him from Voldemort’s curse, only to be killed herself.

When Harry awoke this time, he felt a burst of renewed energy. His mother had died trying to protect him! Voldemort had told the Death Eaters this when explaining how baby Harry had survived the Killing Curse but, seeing it for himself through his own memory made it real for him. The knowledge of that love burned in his heart. The dementors may have forced him to relive that memory to feed off of the sorrow and despair Harry felt, but they had also released a feeling of strength and warmth inside him.

His mother had loved him! Basking in that knowledge, Harry was able to pull himself off the floor and into the bed.

The hours passed and Harry’s shivering subsided. Some food had been pushed through the door and he forced himself to take a few bites. When he felt his strength return, he stood up and walked around the cell, trying to loosen the stiffness in his bones.

What should he do? The Dementors would come again. He may have just wished for death but after seeing how his mother had sacrificed herself to save him, his desire to live returned with a fierce determination. ‘I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain,’ he promised his absent mother. ‘I have got to kill Voldemort! I have got to get out of here and kill him!’

Voldemort had condemned him to a life without anyone to love him. The hatred welled up inside Harry almost as powerfully as the knowledge of his mother’s love. Voldemort would pay!

Harry suddenly felt the shimmering tunnel inside his head and, realizing this would lead him into Voldemort’s mind, instinctively jumped inside as the sound of a rattling breath returned to the door.

Harry laughed. “It’s too bad they are muggles. Otherwise, I would reward them for having abused Potter. I will speak with Nott when he returns. I want him to search at the Ministry for any clue as to where the Ministry may have hidden them. If Potter is still alive, I must find him before Dumbledore—especially as he’s been freed from some of his duties.” There was amused pleasure in that last statement as he recalled the articles in the Daily Prophet hours before.

Harry smirked. It wouldn’t be long before the old man was no longer Headmaster if things kept going this way.

Distractedly, Harry waved dismissively at Severus. “Severus, you need to return to Hogwarts. You may go.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Snape kissed the hand Harry held out to him and then left the room.

Harry beckoned to another Death Eater who had stayed quietly in the corner. Harry circled his head on his shoulders, relieving some stiffness there. “Barty. It has been a long time since either of us has been able to give free rein to our desires. Tonight, I am pleased. I want to celebrate. Join me as we have some fun.”

Barty kneeled. “You honor me, My Lord.”

Harry smiled coldly in anticipation. Temporarily lifting the wards protecting the place, he disapparated, with Barry holding on to his robes. They arrived at the outskirts of a muggle town. At Harry’s gesture, Barty scrambled to his feet.

“Come!” commanded Harry. Barty followed willingly.

At the first house, Harry slowed, listening. Inside, he heard laughter and childish squeals. Harry smirked and thought, ‘You won’t laugh long. Soon you will be screaming and begging me for mercy.’

O o O

Harry woke up hours later. He turned on his side and heaved. His eyes were glazed with the horror of what he had seen Voldemort do. Of what he had done. Harry stared at his own hands. He had tortured and killed! Yes, it was really Voldemort doing it, but it felt like he had done it. He had felt the anticipation, the thrill and the pleasure in the screams. He had felt the joy of throwing the final Killing Curse. These may have been Voldemort’s thoughts and feelings but they felt as if Harry had been experiencing them instead.

Harry sat up shakily. It was strange, though. When he was forced by the Dementors to relive his most painful memories, he felt drained and ill. He felt as if he were going crazy. When he was living in Voldemort’s brain, he felt sickened by what he was experiencing, but his mind was clear. He had escaped the Dementors but at such a price!

‘I’ve found a way to stay sane,’ Harry thought bitterly. ‘Sirius escaped by becoming an animagus. I’ve escaped by entering Voldemort’s head. It’s too bad he’s such a psychopath!’ Without thinking, Harry mimicked the wand motion of one of the spells he had seen Voldemort use against the muggle family. He stared with horror at what he was doing. ‘No! I won’t let Voldemort turn me into a psychopath too! I will never need to know that spell.’

But then he realized that he didn’t know that. He might need it to be able to defeat Voldemort — if he ever got out of Azkaban.

Harry frowned, recalling what he had learned from Voldemort’s thoughts. Dumbledore was no longer Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and apparently his position as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW was also being questioned. He was being stripped of his powers . . . all because he was speaking out against Mark Twist’s unlawful incarceration and about Voldemort’s return. That toad witch had been right. Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to save him.

Harry paced around the room, trying to control his thoughts and to think logically. Figure out what was happening and what he could do. ‘Okay. I’m trapped here for the time being and I’m linked to Voldemort. I can jump into his brain and avoid the Dementors. Not a happy alternative but I must do what I must do. While I’m in the crazy lunatic’s head, I’m going to see things that I would rather not. I need to turn this to my advantage. I was born to kill him and I can’t let anything get in my way.’

He slapped a hand against a cold wall, welcoming its rough texture. ‘Did I think that being a hero would be easy? I imagined crowds cheering me. People loving me.’ He shook his head in disgust at his former innocence. ‘Well, that’s not the way it works. I’m going to have to get into Voldemort’s brain and learn how he thinks. Learn the spells and magical knowledge that I will need to use to defeat him.’ He swallowed hard.

‘I’m going to do this. I am going to be strong and do this. If I don’t, I’ll just go insane and die, and then there won’t be anyone to stop Voldemort from killing more people.’ He could vividly recall the screams from the muggle family Voldemort had killed the night before. ‘It’s not about whether I’m a hero or not. It’s not about whether the wizarding world deserves for me to save them. Voldemort has got to be stopped, no matter what.’

Harry took a deep breath. Forcing himself to recall the night before, he stood in the middle of the cold cell and practiced the wand movements to the spells he had seen Voldemort perform. He started with the spell he had automatically been practicing after he awoke from his vision. His hand shook but he forced himself to practice until he was steady. In his head, he repeated the incantation. He continued until he was sure he had mastered every spell Voldemort had used. Then, lying back on the bed, he forced himself to find the tunnel again and, closing his eyes and drawing in a ragged breath, he entered it again.

But this time, it was different.

Voldemort was asleep.

Harry was still . . . Harry. It was very disorienting, almost as if he was in a dreamscape, but it wasn’t a dreamscape. It just was, and Harry was just . . . there. Present within the subconscious depths of Voldemort’s mind.

He wondered what he could do, floating in a reality that was much like being at the edge of sleep and consciousness where one is vaguely aware they exist. Although this was infinitely better than suffering from dementors or watching Voldemort torture people, he wanted to do something. Learn something that would bring an end to Voldemort.

And then everything shifted, and although the strange sensation of ‘vagueness’ was still present, knowledge surfaced. Snippets of knowledge involving rituals and incantations, and then . . . a magic of the darkest short. A magic to cheat death.

Horcruxes.

Harry grabbed onto that, wondering what this magic meant to Voldemort. And then images of items flashed before him as feelings and thoughts not his own jolted into him. Disoriented, he fled Voldemort’s mind. It took him all night to work out what he had seen, felt, and thought—in part due to being interrupted twice by dementors—but once he had. . . .

Harry clawed at his forehead, tearing at the unseen scar. Anyone watching would have thought he had gone stark, raving mad. “Get out! Get out!” he screamed repeatedly, even as blood ran down between his eyes.

Voldemort was capable of splitting his soul into pieces. And, without needing anyone to explain further, Harry knew – he knew – that he was a horcrux too. It was obvious! How else could he see into Voldemort’s mind, feel Voldmeort’s thoughts? Somehow, without meaning to, Voldemort had left a part of his soul in Harry the night that he had cast the Killing Curse at Harry’s baby self. And Voldemort didn’t know.

The boy ran around the cell, clawing at himself, madly trying to pull Voldemort’s soul from his head with his own hands. The Dementors ignored the screaming. It was not unusual for prisoners to go crazy in Azkaban. It was just unfortunate that the boy hadn’t lasted more than a few days, but he was just a boy.

In a frenzy, Harry started banging his head into the wall of his cell. Finally, he banged his head so hard that he knocked himself unconscious.

When he awoke, he was nauseous and he lay in a pool of his own sickness. He couldn’t focus his eyes and his thoughts were disjointed. The Dementors approached the cell, excited by the despair they could sense overpowering the boy. Harry did not try to escape. He was too horrified of linking with Voldemort again to travel through the “tunnel” back into the Dark Lord’s mind.

Sucking in a rattling breath, the Dementors plunged the teenager back into the memory of Voldemort torturing and murdering the family the night before. He relived it all and felt again the thrill and amusement experienced by Voldemort.

When Harry woke yet again from this seemingly endless loop of despair, he lay still and stared at the ceiling of his cell. He stared at that ceiling for so long he could recall the particular design of the cracks and swirls with his eyes closed. But, he kept his eyes open and slowly traced each crack, calming himself and centering his thoughts. ‘Dumbledore believes me. He stood beside me and spoke out in my defense. He wouldn’t have done that if I was evil. And my mother loved me. She had faith in me. She knew I was good.’ He got up off his bed and ran to the cell door. Looking through the bars of the door he shouted, challengingly, “I am not evil! I am a hero! I will stop Voldemort!”

No one answered. There were no prisoners near him. He was alone in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors. Aloud, to hear himself say the words, and to convince himself, he said, “I am not controlled by Voldemort. He may be evil but I am NOT. A piece of his soul may be in me, but I’ll cut it out of me somehow.”

Shaking, but in control, Harry sat back down on his cot. He muttered to himself, thinking it through. “It’s not like when Riddle controlled Ginny. She didn’t know what was happening. She’d blank out and wake up hours later. Riddle controlled her body and forced her to open the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort doesn’t even realize that I have a link to him. He’s not controlling me. Who knows? Maybe I can control him.” Incredibly, Harry felt himself smile at his own dark humor. It felt strange to smile. The muscles of his face had almost forgotten how to pull up. When was the last time he smiled anyway? In curiosity, Harry lifted a hand and traced his mouth, feeling the ghost of the smile still there. After a moment, Harry’s hand dropped and the smile was a memory.

“He won’t defeat me.” The words were said with quiet assurance. Hearing them, Harry was surprised. His voice sounded so sure. It was as if someone other than himself had spoken. Becoming calmer still, his thoughts sharpened. “This is how he ‘marked me as his equal’. That’s what Aunt Petunia told me that the prophecy said. This is part of the prophecy,” he realized. “Maybe this is why only I can defeat him. Only I can learn his weaknesses . . . his secrets.”

And so, Harry went back into the tunnel, forcing himself back into the deep confines of Voldemort’s mind.

Chapter Text

It had been just over two weeks since Mark had been taken and Dumbledore felt ready to take the step he could not take back.

He looked around his office, which was now bare. Dumbledore knew he wouldn’t remain Headmaster for much longer. Just as he had been removed from the ICW a week ago, soon the Board of Governors would vote to have him removed as Headmaster. He decided to save them the trouble. He hadn’t told anyone what he was about to do, not even Minerva or Severus. Plausible deniability and such. He also didn’t want to risk them losing their posts because, if things went the way he suspected, he would be a wanted wizard before too long.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he nodded to himself. The portraits around were silent. They had asked him what he was doing several times throughout the past several days, but he would only answer, “What needs to be done.”

The Sword of Gryffindor, his pensieve, memories, and everything that may prove valuable in the war effort was already safely hidden within Grimmauld Place. Sirius was more than accommodating and asked no questions, which was appreciated — although not surprising. Understandably, since his escape from Azkaban and learning of Harry’s disappearance, getting him to engage in anything not suicidal was a challenge.

Just another reason why Dumbledore wanted to find Harry.

But first things first. . . .

He left his office and quickly found Snape.

“Severus, I’m afraid I will not be able to be reached for the next five or so hours. Please inform McGonagall the castle is hers. I will see you at headquarters sometime tomorrow,” he said.

“Of course, Headmaster,” Snape said with a nod of his head, understanding Dumbledore would likely be away on some important Order business.

With that, Dumbledore left Hogwarts, slowing at the gates as he knew it would likely be some time before he stepped back onto the grounds.

Not looking back, he disapparated.

O o O

Confounding the boatman and the human guards was ridiculously easy. If he ever got the chance, he would need to inform Bones of the inadequate defenses. Of course, he supposed defending a place like Azkaban was a little pointless. Leaving Azkaban was meant to be the difficulty, not entering.

With his phoenix patronus perched on his shoulder, he stepped from the boat and entered the gates of Azkaban. Ignoring the looming dementors, he continued forward — the ring of gate and door keys he had borrowed from the confounded guard held firmly in his left hand.

Now, to find Mark Twist.

O o O o O

Time was meaningless to Harry. He knew he had been in Azkaban for less than a month, perhaps two or three weeks, but it felt like years. Fortunately, it wasn’t because of the dementors, at least not primarily due to them.

Harry discovered he could wander, study, and learn within the depths of Voldemort’s subconscious as long as the Dark Lord was sleeping or not feeling particularly murderous. If Voldemort did happen to be feeling a strong emotion and Harry was anywhere in his mind, Harry was drawn to the forefront and forced to see through old Riddles’s eyes. It was quite annoying when he was in the process of learning something of great interest only to be jolted into Voldemort’s persona—usually to torture someone or rant about being unable to find Harry Potter.

Fortunately, Voldemort had yet to go after another family, but the memory of that unsuspecting family meeting their end under Barty and Voldemort’s wands remained with Harry. The horrible things they had done. . . . It made Harry push harder in his ‘training’, so much so that Harry no longer bothered to actually sleep. He went into Voldemort’s mind as often as he could, leaving only when he needed to eat, relieve himself, or assimilate the knowledge he had learned, which was quickly becoming a peppered mastery in all things magic.

He had learned he could copy snippets of Voldemort’s knowledge, treating them like memories being removed and copied to be placed in a pensieve. It allowed him to continue training outside of Voldemort’s mind, when the dementors were not nearby, which was important to his sanity. As ‘safe’ as it was in Voldemort’s mind, Harry feared he would lose himself within the immensity of Voldemort’s accumulated knowledge—not to mention his evil.

Harry had taken over 200 hours worth of condensed knowledge and had properly absorbed almost half. The most important things he had learned so far were the locations of the horcruxes (or at least where Voldemort believed them to be), their protections, and how to fully connect to his magical core. The spells he had found so far he learned so he could know and understand his enemy’s arsenal. He hoped never to use most of them.

Harry took a moment to collect himself and breathe between avoiding dementor visits and working on any gathered knowledge. He stared at the grime on the ceiling above him as he was idly aware of the dull ache in his scar. He knew Voldemort would act soon. With Dumbledore distracted in his defense of Mark Twist and the consequences of doing so, Voldemort felt it was the perfect opportunity to go after the prophecy. Harry wasn’t sure when exactly he would strike, for he hadn’t even mentioned it to Crouch Jr., but he could feel Riddle’s anticipation and mounting desire to hear the prophecy. Perhaps it would be that night — considering the growing ache in his scar.

He exhaled, expecting to see a slight wisp of white due to his breath, but none materialized. He blinked, suddenly realizing the gloom and cold that was constant all throughout Azkaban was disappearing and the feeling of hope was coalescing.

Someone was coming.

He scrambled off his bed, his heart hammering in his chest. Would he receive his trial? Was he to be kissed? Or had the Ministry realized their mistake?

“Mark? Mark, I’m getting you out,” a voice said that sounded exactly like Albus Dumbledore’s.

A solid click echoed around him before the heavy door swung open to reveal Dumbledore standing in the barren corridor with a brilliant phoenix patronus on his shoulder.

The soon-to-be-former Headmaster quickly entered, the comforting warmth from his patronus surging forth in waves.

“Headmaster,” Harry croaked, wrought with emotion.

“Stand as close as you can to me,” Dumbledore stated. Harry obeyed and Dumbledore immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders before a ball of fire erupted above them. Dumbledore reached up with his other hand and talons of fire took hold, swallowing them up in flames. They vanished, a clank of keys hitting the floor echoing behind.

Harry felt his feet land on wet grass, his sock on his shoeless foot sucking up the moisture like a sponge.

“Here, Mark, this will help,” Dumbledore said retrieving something from his robes. A chocolate truffle.

Harry obediently opened his mouth and ate it before Dumbledore stepped near once again.

“Stay close, we will be safe soon,” Dumbledore said.

He apparated them to a new place, but Harry didn’t have time to look around before they twisted again and again. Harry was so disoriented he would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for Dumbledore’s arm.

“Easy, my boy, and concentrate on my words. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve Grimmauld Place, London,” he said.

Suddenly, Harry’s attention was drawn to a muggle looking townhouse morphing apart to reveal a portion of building that had not been there before.

Dumbledore gently urged him forward and into the bizarre house.

Noise assaulted them as they stepped in. Shrieking and urgent shouts. Dumbledore waved his wand and the shrieks fell silent as they hurried further in.

Harry didn’t have time to take in his surroundings before finding himself in the dining room off the entrance hall where a now silenced portrait hung.

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were tending to two people on conjured cots — a large black man and a young woman with purple hair. The dining table had been pushed aside and the twins and Ron seemed to be trying to make room for others they were clearly hoping would come.

 “Oh, thank Merlin, Albus! There was an attack at the Ministry. He’s gone after it,” Mrs. Weasley cried before she noticed Harry. “Mark!”

Harry leaned heavily on the doorframe as Dumbledore turned to leave, but then the front door was thrown open.

Mr. Weasley stumbled in, almost collapsing onto the floor. Dumbledore hurried over, helping him.

“The others are gone,” Arthur gasped before tightly gripping Dumbledore’s arm. “Albus, he has it.”

“Molly, please take the children upstairs and tend to Mark,” Dumbledore said without looking at her.

Mrs. Weasley immediately ushered her children upstairs as she hurried to Mark.

Harry couldn’t say anything. He was barely able to keep his eyes open due to the pain in his scar as images flashed in his mind’s eye and Voldemort’s emotions slipped into his own.

A Ministry worker with glazed eyes.

A crumpled body before him. Dead. Black hair.

“The last Black. Good.”

His knees gave out as the truth was realized.

His godfather was dead.

“Mark!” Ron cried, beating his mother to his side and easing him to the floor.

“Fred, George, get the bed ready in the room above us,” Mrs. Weasley ordered, cupping her hand against Harry’s cheek as tears filled his eyes. “Ginny, make him a cup of hot chocolate. Ron, help me.”

“Mark, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Mrs. Weasley said.

Harry made no indication he had heard her. Instead, his hands feebly tried to grab hold of anything in front of him, as if to ground himself as he began to shake.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ron asked, scared.

“Residual effect from the dementors,” Mrs. Weasley guessed.

It was all just too much, and soon he felt his consciousness slipping. Harry fought against the darkness, not wanting to slip into Voldemort’s mind, but it was no use. The weeks with no tangible sleep piled on the damage from Azkaban and now this shock. . . . He blacked out.

O o O o O

UNDESIRABLE No. 1: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

The bold words stretched across the morning paper of the Daily Prophet directly above a strong image of the now ex-Headmaster. Images taken within the battle damaged Ministry followed, along with an image of Mark Twist, who was now Undesirable No. 2.

“Well, attempting a coup and assisting in the breakout of an Azkaban prisoner. You can say you’ve done everything now,” Aberforth said, coming around the dining room table and sitting across from his brother, Albus Dumbledore.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Albus stated, setting the paper aside.

“I may not ever be able to forgive you, but you’ve done right this time. You didn’t let an innocent lad rot as you could have. You could have ignored that wrong and construed a reason for inaction. But you didn’t. Anyway, I came to tell you some Aurors came to my place early this morning, asking if I had seen you. I answered them honestly, which obviously didn’t help them at all. They seem to be serious in wanting to capture and question you, brother. You best be mindful.”

Albus nodded, though unbothered. “My being wanted won’t hinder me as much as my previous responsibilities had. Some may soon wish they had not freed me of them. I can now move and act as I please.”

“I have no doubt,” Aberforth said simply before leaving.

After his brother was gone, Albus stood up. He had work to do.

O o O o O

Harry opened his eyes and found himself in a somewhat musky room on a grand bed. The walls were covered in old fashioned, green pattered wallpaper and decorative dark wood lined almost every edge.

He slowly exhaled, remembering all that had happened the previous night. Even now his scar still ebbed with a dull throb of Voldemort’s joy.

Voldemort’s attack on the Ministry went off without a hitch and had gone even better than Voldemort had envisioned. He had the prophecy, two Order members had been killed and the Dark Lord’s existence remained a complete secret. All of the damage done within the Ministry had been blamed on an attempted coup orchestrated by Albus Dumbledore, and the few Ministry workers who had seen Voldemort or a Death Eater had either been obliviated, imperioed, or arrested (for conspiring to overthrow the government). The only exception was Arthur Weasley, who had somehow managed to avoid unwanted attention before making it to Grimmauld Place. And two Order members were now wanted by the Ministry for treason: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.

Voldemort had a sure foothold within the Ministry now, and Harry knew things would only get worse from there.

He closed his eyes. Voldemort was beside himself with how things had gone and was privately relieved Dumbledore had not intervened. Things likely would have gone differently if Dumbledore had not been strolling through Azkaban to save a single boy.

He suddenly hated himself. Once again, someone had died because of him, and, once again, it was someone who loved him—or at least could have loved him. His godfather. As much as Harry was grateful to be out of Azkaban, he found himself wishing Dumbledore had waited another night, another week, a year. Any length of time spent in Azkaban would have been worth having someone who could genuinely love him once he got out.

Harry swallowed thickly, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, but before he could decide how to take care of that, the door to his new room opened.

 “Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake.” Mrs. Weasley hurried to his side. “Can I get you anything? I’ve just started lunch. And here, please, eat these.” She all but shoved two chocolate bars into his hands. “You must be thirsty. Let me go get you a drink. What would you like?”

Slightly overwhelmed, Harry managed to decide on something. “Anything warm, please.”

“Hot chocolate it is then,” she said, doing her best to put on a happy face before bustling out, but not before ‘subtly’ warning people apparently standing out in the hall. “Now, I don’t want to hear any of you asking him any questions. He needs peace and rest, not inquiries that’ll only make him recall what he’s been through. Understood?”

A chorus of ‘yeses’ answered her before Harry heard her going down some stairs. He quietly sighed before someone knocked on the doorframe.

“Uh, hello, Mark.”

It was Ron, closely followed by the Twins and Ginny. They gathered at the foot of Harry’s bed.

“So, uh, welcome to Headquarters,” Ron continued clumsily.

“Headquarters?” Harry asked, desperate to move the conversation along and kill the awkwardness.

“Yeah, Headquarters for the Order. Dumbledore leads it. It’s an organization against You-Know-Who. Oh! And get this—”

He suddenly cut himself off though, as they heard his mother coming up the stairs.

“Here you go, dear. Now just let one of them know if you need anything and they’ll go fetch it for you,” Mrs. Weasley said, setting a tray of food with a mug of hot chocolate on his bed. She then turned to her kids. “Remember, he needs to rest. Once he’s done eating, I want you to let him sleep.”

They nodded obediently.

“Uh, Mrs. Weasley, is Dumbledore here? I’d like to thank him and talk to him if I could,” Harry said before she completely left the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. He left early this morning. I’m not sure when he’ll be back, but I’ll let him know you want to talk to him the next time I see him,” she promised.

“Alright. Thank you,” he said, hoping he’d see Dumbledore sooner rather than later.

She smiled before returning to the kitchen.

Once they were sure she was gone, Fred closed the door.

“Anyway,” Ron said, returning to where he had left off. “Snape is a spy for the Order!”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, pausing in his eating. “Really?”

The Weasleys all nodded in confirmation. “Yup!” continued Ron. “Hard to believe that greasy git is an ally.”

“Assuming he’s not playing both sides,” Fred muttered ominously.

“He’s the one who told Dumbledore that someone named Crouch was the imposter,” said Ginny. “We overheard our parents speaking about how you’d been framed. Oh, you probably don’t want to hear about that, sorry.”

“It’s alright. Fortunately, I’m not as fragile as your mum believes,” Harry said with a half shrug.

With that reassurance, Ron decided to plow on. “Crouch is some guy who was supposed to be in Azkaban but had been helped out by his father — long story — anyway, he had impersonated the real Moody all year!”

Harry nodded numbly, thinking about everything he had learned about Crouch from Voldemort. If he ever got the chance to kill him. . . . He hid his frown behind his mug as he took a sip. As soon as the warm, almost hot, cocoa touched his tongue, he closed his eyes. He had never tasted anything so wonderful.

“Well, Mark, I think we should let you rest before mum comes back and chases us off,” Fred said, nudging Ron while George gave a pointed glance at Ginny. She gave a short nod in return.

They could all see how tired he was.

“Alright,” Harry said, actually relieved he would have some time to himself.

“Just give us a call if you want some company,” Fred said.

“We have some new entertaining items, just don’t tell, Mum,” George said.

“I also have a chess set,” Ron piped up.

“Alright, thanks, you guys,” Harry said as they took their leave.

O o O o O

The following days were trying at times. Due to his time in Azkaban, it was insisted he stay in bed for a week to recover. He was only allowed to get up to use the loo (which was right next to his room, fortunately). This wasn’t the difficult part for Harry. In actuality, he knew he needed the rest; it was what came along with his ‘recovery’ he didn’t like.

Nighttime was the worst.

He had thought he would have an easier time sleeping now that he was out of Azkaban, but in actuality it was almost worse. Nightmares, intermingled with visions of Voldemort, woke him from the night constantly. A few times he had cried out and caused Mr. or Mrs. Weasley (sometimes both) to come to his bedside. It was mortifying.

And the pity, particularly from Mrs. Weasley, only made it worse.

He didn’t need to be coddled!

Yes, what he was seeing was horrible, but babying him didn’t help. It only made him angrier. And the fact no one would let him see any articles from the Daily Prophet only incensed him further.

He felt bad for his friends, especially Ron. Sometimes he would just snap out at them, and he didn’t even really know why. Harry didn’t like thinking about his feelings, and he hated talking about them even more. So instead, whenever he was alone, he would delve into Voldemort’s subconscious, and continue where he had left off in Azkaban. That was one big difference he had found from no longer being in Azkaban. Traversing Voldemort’s mind became easier, and because he was away from the Dementors, the visions now only came if he was asleep or if he allowed them (when awake). If Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion, his scar would still hurt, but he wasn’t easily forced into a vision (although that may be because he no longer needed to rely on them to help him keep his sanity).

It was a small blessing, for the Weasleys blamed the visions he did have on his experiences (believing them to be nightmares), which only snowballed their pity.

Dumbledore had yet to return, to his knowledge, and all he got from the others was that Dumbledore was on important Order business. Although the Twins admitted that the adults were worried. From what they had been able to hear, no one had heard from Dumbledore in almost a week, not even McGonagall (who was also an Order member). It was a bit disconcerting, but Harry reassured himself by reminding himself that Voldemort didn’t know anything about whatever Dumbledore was doing either.

Harry was grateful for Ron and the Twins sneaking him information. Although he already had a window to the outside world (through Voldemort), having another window (no matter how small or covered), was just as helpful to him.

The Ministry was continuing to change. Through both of his ‘windows’ Harry had learned that Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been put on ‘medical leave’ because the Ministry believed she may have been confounded on the night of ‘the Coup Attempt’. Since waking in St. Mungo’s (after receiving injuries from the ‘coup attempt’ that had left her unconscious) she was claiming to have seen Voldemort with a group of Death Eaters.

It was unbelievable.

So now Yaxley, a Death Eater, had been placed in Madam Bone’s position.

Harry shook his head, not wanting to think about what changes that man would make with Voldemort pulling the strings and Fudge too blind, fearful, and stupid to stop any of it. Instead, he wondered about what he should do, wondered what he could do.

He came to only one conclusion. He would somehow need to convince Dumbledore to let him leave Grimmauld Place.

He would need to tell him the truth.

However, Harry had long since decided his identity needed to remain a secret from the world, even his friends. Harry Potter needed to remain missing. With him missing, Voldemort would continue to devote some energy in finding him, and it would prevent a larger target from being painted on those close to him (primarily the Weasleys).

Selfishly, he also didn’t want to experience what Mrs. Weasley’s coddling would be then. If she knew he was Harry Potter!

He shuddered.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore kept his bandaged hand close to his side. Such a foolish mistake, and it might cost them the war, not to mention his life.

He entered the kitchen to find only Arthur eating breakfast. Molly was likely doing laundry, Minerva was at Hogwarts, Kingsley was probably out gathering intel with Tonks, and Remus . . . the poor man.

“Albus!” Arthur said, looking up. “Are you alright?”

Although not exactly disheveled, he knew he probably looked a little worn, especially with his cursed hand placed limply in his pocket.

“Oh, I’m fine, but do need some shut eye,” he admitted. “But before then, can you give me an update about what’s been happening lately?”

“Certainly. There have been a few attacks on muggleborns. Kingsley has gone to try to gather information on that with Dedalus. Elphias and Emmeline told us this morning that a law placing a curfew on muggleborns will be voted on in a few days. They also suspect more restrictions will follow next week. My department has been closed and I’ve been reassigned to the Department of Magical Transportation. And Aurors continue to visit Hogwarts, no doubt looking for evidence you have been there recently. Minerva is cooperating as you had said to,” Arthur reported.

“And Mark?” Albus asked.

Arthur sighed, troubled. “He’s been having pretty bad nightmares, but he refuses to talk about them, and I fear Molly’s attempts to help him have not been well received.”

Albus nodded, concerned but not surprised. “Azkaban has compounded what he has suffered. He is going to need some time.”

“Oh, before I forget, Molly asked me if I saw you first to tell you Mark wants to speak with you,” Arthur said, remembering.

“Then I will go see him now. Thank you, Arthur.”

O o O o O

Harry had just finished a game of chess with Ron before being left alone to rest. He had been about to enter Voldemort’s mind for another ‘lesson’ before someone knocked on his door.

“Er, come in,” Harry said, a little surprised, as Mrs. Weasley usually just gave a single knock before coming right in.

“Hello, Mark,” Dumbledore said, before gently closing the door behind him.

“Sir!” Harry sat up, wanting to say so much but not knowing how.

Dumbledore continued in before easing himself on the corner of the bed. Harry glanced at the bandaged hand now resting partly in the side robes pocket.

“I’m sorry I had to leave before I could really talk to you, Mark, but now that I’m back, how are you?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m okay. Looking forward to being able to leave this room without Mrs. Weasley fussing over me,” Harry said jokingly (partly).

Dumbledore smiled. “Yes, I imagine you are. I’m glad to see you’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Harry nodded before going still. “Thank you, sir, for getting me out,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome, Mark, I only wish I could have prevented you from ever being taken there.”

Harry shrugged. “A woman, Umbridge, told me you wouldn’t be able to help me. Said you wouldn’t have any power to be able to do anything once you had learned where I had gone.” Harry cracked a smile. “Guess she forgot about magical power.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled softly before they hardened. “Umbridge, she’s the one who took you?”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Yes.”

A silence rose between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Sir, if I may ask, what happened to your hand?”Harry finally asked, feeling that Dumbledore was waiting for him to say something.

Dumbledore nonchalantly removed his hand from his pocket, revealing how the white bandage wrapped his middle finger and continued up his hand and to his wrist.

“A foolish mistake, but don’t concern yourself over it,” Dumbledore said.

Harry frowned as his recently learned knowledge from Voldemort suddenly came in handy. He could feel a malignant magic seeping from Dumbledore’s hand, and it seemed very familiar.

“It’s cursed,” Harry stated, quickly connecting the dots.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened before he took out his wand and placed a privacy ward around the room.

“How do you know that?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry took a deep breath, thinking fast. It was a daring plan, but if it succeeded, it would work to benefit them both.

“I will tell you, but only if you let me remove the curse,” Harry stated.

Dumbledore stared into his eyes for a long moment before coming to a decision.

O o O

Dumbledore was unnerved, perhaps even fearful.

The fact Mark knew his hand had been cursed was troubling enough but what was truly worrying was that the boy seemed to know exactly what it was — why else would he feel he could remove it?

A curse that even his spy, a Master of the Dark Arts, could not remove.

He knew Mark was not one to make more of his abilities than they were—more of the opposite. He downplayed them wherever possible. Which clearly meant Mark must know more than he was saying.

And what of his offer? Perhaps Mark’s answer would shed some light on why he was the way he was, but was it worth allowing Mark to try to remove the curse?

What if something went wrong? What if he removed the partial block Severus had placed?

He continued to stare into Mark’s eyes.

He had already believed the boy once, when almost all the evidence stood against him, and the boy had been right. What if he was right again?

O o O

“Very well.”

Without asking any questions, Dumbledore removed the bandage, revealing blackened flesh under the white cloth. The curse seemed concentrated at the base of his middle finger and was beginning to spread to his ring finger and partially onto his palm.

Harry knew what this was and where Dumbledore had gotten it.

The ring. Dumbledore had somehow found Voldemort’s family ring and, no doubt thanks to the unique impulse hex on it, had been tricked into placing it on his finger which allowed the curse to take hold. The Withering Curse. A creation of Voldemort’s.

“Um, I don’t have a wand anymore. May I use yours?” Harry asked, glancing up apologetically.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, handing his wand over while watching him closely.

Harry was struck by how easygoing Dumbledore was being. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from Dumbledore, but still.

“I need your other hand as well,” Harry said, his confidence growing as he reviewed the spell in his mind.

Dumbledore obliged, allowing Harry to hold his good hand while his sickened hand remained on his knee.

“I’ll need to cut your good hand for the counter-curse, but I’ll try to be quick,” Harry explained. “And soon after that’s done, there will be a very uncomfortable moment.”

After receiving Dumbledore’s nod, Harry set to work. Muttering under his breath so quietly that even Dumbledore couldn’t make anything out, Harry guided the wand over the old skin.

Expertly hiding a wince, Dumbledore watched as Harry carved, but what happened as he began to bleed surprised him. His blood did not surface on his good hand, but instead appeared on his cursed hand, and it didn’t take long before every blackened portion had a thick layer of blood—as the cuts on his good hand perfectly mirrored the damage on his cursed hand.

Recalling Harry’s words, Dumbledore braced himself, and it was a good thing he had.

The smell of burning flesh assaulted their noses, and Dumbledore was barely able to stop himself from wrenching his hand away before Harry finished a split second later.

Harry wiped his forehead as Dumbledore stared at his hands.

His once cursed hand was no longer blackened; instead, everywhere that had been black was now bright red, like a sunburn. As for his other hand, everywhere it had been cut now had a burn scar. Both hands were very tender, but he could no longer feel the painful tainted magic eating away his life.

 “Your hands will probably be sore for awhile, but it’s done,” Harry said, holding out the wand for Dumbledore to take back.

Dumbledore did so, carefully placing it back up his sleeve.

Harry remained quiet, deciding to wait for Dumbledore to speak, since it was clear he was taking in what had just happened.

“Mark, how did you know how to counter that curse?” Dumbledore asked, his hands still.

Harry took a deep breath before slowly exhaling, knowing there was no going back. Idly, he was grateful Dumbledore had placed that privacy ward.

“My real name isn’t Mark,” he whispered.

Dumbledore frowned, but before he could inquire further, Harry let the magic that had protected his true identity for nearly four years melt away.

Stifling a gasp, Dumbledore leaned forward as he took in the unmistakable green eyes of Lily’s son.

“Harry?” His voice cracked.

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond as he watched astonishment, relief, regret, and hope flicker through his (former) Headmaster’s eyes.

“How could I not have seen? The clues were all there before me,” Dumbledore said softly to himself.

“No one else can know, not even my friends,” Harry said after a moment, closing his eyes and willing himself to change back into Mark Twist. He did.

Dumbledore straightened, quickly reasoning the sensibility of that route. “Yes, I agree leaving Harry Potter lost would be most prudent. At least for now.”

For a long moment, Dumbledore just stared at him, trying to decide what to say and what to ask. There was so much he wanted to express, although remorse was clearly dominant. But in the end he chose to leave the past alone, at least during this conversation, and returned to his previous question. “How did you know how to remove the curse?”

“I have a connection with Voldemort, through the scar he gave me,” Harry explained. “When I was in Azkaban, I escaped into his mind whenever the dementors came and while I was there, I learned about the curse and . . . other things.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up, for some reason almost more surprised by that revelation than by Harry’s true identity.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, collecting himself.

 “So, were you able to destroy the ring?” Harry asked once silence began to lapse before he swallowed, hoping he wouldn’t regret revealing so much.

Dumbledore blinked before he answered. “I was. I’ll go more into how later.” Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles at him. “Do you know what the ring was?”

“Yes, a horcrux. Voldemort made several,” Harry stated. “He even made that snake of his one.”

“What are the others?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes wide and his voice flat.

“Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, which he gave to Bellatrix LeStrange—it should be in her vault at Gringotts. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, which he hid in a special room within Hogwarts. And Salazar Slytherin’s locket, which he had a house-elf named Kreacher help him hide in a . . . disturbing cave.”

Dumbledore jumped up. “Kreacher, you’re sure?”

Harry nodded, a little unnerved by the intense spark in Dumbledore’s eyes.

“Kreacher!” Dumbledore shouted.

-Pop-

Harry startled as a hideous house-elf appeared on the floor beside his bed directly in front of Dumbledore. He had never seen this house-elf in person before.

“Leader of the blood-traitors calls Kreacher. He best have something important to say else Kreacher will leave,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Kreacher, do you know anything about a locket and a cave?” Dumbledore asked.

Kreacher froze. “What does he know of it? Only the Dark Lord and Master Regulus . . . oh, my poor master! I could not . . . I failed.”

Dumbledore frowned. “What could you not do?”

“Destroy it,” Kreacher answered before he could stop himself.

“‘Destroy it’? Destroy what? The locket?” Dumbledore questioned. “Did your master want you to destroy the locket?”

Kreacher simply nodded, his ears flapping as he moaned.

“Kreacher, I promise you, I will help you destroy this locket. Can you bring it to me?” Dumbledore asked.

“Old Blood-traitor will help Kreacher?” Kreacher quietly asked, still not looking up. “I will bring locket, but not give it. Old Blood-traitor may be lying.”

He left with a pop but returned mere seconds later.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, spotting Voldemort’s locket hanging from the chain in the decrepit house-elf’s hands.

“We could destroy it right here and now, Kreacher,” Dumbledore explained. “If you wish it.”

Kreacher finally looked up. “How can you destroy it, when Kreacher has tried and tried?” he questioned doubtfully.

Dumbledore stepped back and carefully reached into his robes and slowly pulled out a slender, silver sword with rubies set into the handle. The name, ‘Godric Gryffindor’ was engraved on the blade.

“The Sword of Gryffindor,” Kreacher rasped before placing the locket on the floor. Harry peered down from the bed at it.

“It needs to be opened with parseltongue,” Harry stated. “The protections on the case protect it.”

“Are there any curses?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, but once it’s opened it may try to convince us to leave it alone. Voldemort decided to . . . experiment with this one a bit.”

“Hmm. Then, Kreacher, I will let you destroy it. Because of Regulus’ order, you will likely be impervious to any influence that may come from it,” Dumbledore said, holding the sword out for him, handle first.

Kreacher stared before finally taking it. “Kreacher will.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry and gave a nod. Harry got off from the bed and knelt close to the locket.

“Open,” Harry hissed before quickly backing away.

Kreacher was so focused in his task he didn’t seem to notice that Harry had spoken parseltongue as the locket popped open. He didn’t give the soul piece a chance to react. He thrust the sword’s tip into its center so hard it dented the locket right into the floor.

A frightful shriek filled the room before falling silent and a black mist sprayed up before dissipating like cigar smoke.

“Nicely done, Kreacher,” Dumbledore praised as Kreacher returned the sword to him.

Kreacher bowed low.

“Here, Kreacher, I think you should have this,” Harry said, picking the now shattered locket from the floor.

Kreacher reverently took it and his eyes filled with tears before he vanished with a pop.

Harry and Dumbledore looked at each other. The sword was already back in Dumbledore’s robe pocket.

“Well, that was certainly different,” Harry said, deciding not to ask about the sword. “I take it Kreacher is still the Black’s house-elf? I’ve never seen him around — though it’s not like I’ve seen much of the house. . . .”

“Something that we will soon remedy, but back to your question. Kreacher used to be the Black family’s elf, but before Sirius passed, he willed ownership to the Order. He would have willed Kreacher to Harry Potter, but . . . no one knew he was here all along.” Dumbledore smiled sadly.

Harry looked down at the floor. “I tried to tell him after Wormtail got away, but he ran off before I could. I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

Dumbledore stepped forward and placed his formerly cursed hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“He was immensely grateful to Mark Twist — to you. He retold the story of meeting you almost every time your name was mentioned.” Dumbledore sighed. “He ranted for hours when the newspapers said you were guilty, and when we learned you had been placed in Azkaban, he wanted to break you out himself.”

Dumbledore gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze. “He may never have learned your real name, but he knew what kind of person you are. He approved.”

Harry nodded stiffly, willing himself not to shed a tear, even though his eyes were throbbing against releasing a waterfall.

After giving his shoulder a gentle pat, Dumbledore stepped back.

“I’ll let you freshen up and change so you can head down to dinner. I’ll have a word with Mrs. Weasley. Although you can’t have free reign of the house — as it’s still being cleared of pests and checked for curses — you are well enough now to decide for yourself whether or not you want to stay in your room.” Dumbledore shook his head. “I apologize if you felt confined. Mrs. Weasley means well, but sometimes she forgets herself.”

“Thank you, sir, and it was alright. It gave me time to . . . look into things,” Harry said, slowly looking back up.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, digesting the meaning behind those words. “Tonight, after dinner, I believe we have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, we do,” Harry agreed.

O o O o O

While he enjoyed being out of his room, the dinner with the Weasleys was a stilted affair, and the fact he had gone down barefoot hadn’t helped matters.

Mrs. Weasley was beside herself, mortified that she hadn’t thought to ask him if he needed anything more than what she had provided for him when he had first arrived (clean PJs, shirt, pair of boxers, and pants).

Ron and the Twins did their best to start up light conversations, but the pointed looks they sometimes got from their mother when the topic steered too close to current matters quickly dashed their efforts.

Soon, Harry just wanted to get back to his room and wait for Dumbledore who had not come down to eat.

Finally, the meal was over and Harry hurried back to his room as politely as he could.

Dumbledore was there waiting for him.

O o O

Dumbledore cast the privacy spell as soon as Harry closed the door.

“If you’re going to go after the horcruxes, I want to go with you. I need to go with you,” Harry started off as he sat down on his bed and faced him.

Dumbledore had expected something like this and had already made his decision, but it wouldn’t do if he didn’t at least look as if he was mulling it over.

Harry needed to go with him, but not precisely for the reasons Harry was probably thinking.

Even now, Dumbledore feared for him. Feared he would eventually cave to the persecution and trials he had suffered and embrace destruction — whether by choice or in insanity. Dumbledore had to do everything within his power to prevent that, and forcing Harry to remain at Grimmauld Place would not help in that endeavor. In fact, it would likely undermine it.

He hoped, by taking a more active role, he would be able to ensure that Harry held true to himself. It wasn’t hard to see that the boy wanted to do good and prove himself to the world (which was remarkable in and of itself), but that desire could be easily twisted, and considering he was connected to Voldemort. . . .

Dumbledore knew there was another horcrux Harry hadn’t mentioned, and whether the boy knew about it or not, it necessitated careful watching. He knew if Voldemort ever discovered the connection, he would try to take advantage of it.

The dangers they would likely face was nothing compared to the danger posed by leaving Harry alone to his own devises.

Finally, when he felt he had been silent long enough, Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a wand.

Harry’s wand.

Harry gasped.

“I thought they had snapped it,” he breathed as Dumbledore handed it over.

“I’m sure they would have if they had had the chance, but I refused to relinquish it. It was my right, as Headmaster, to keep possession of it. They were particularly miffed about that,” Dumbledore said, quite happily it seemed to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry said, putting it away.

“Well, it is yours, and as you’ll be going with me, it seemed the most sensible thing to do,” Dumbledore said simply.

Harry’s eyes widened as Dumbledore went on.

“I plan on having us go to Hogwarts the end of this week to take care of the diadem. I believe you said it is hidden there in a room?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir. A secret room on the 7^th floor corridor,” Harry answered.

“Perfect. Until then, I have some things to discuss with other Order members and I would like you to make a short list of items you feel you may need. Once we leave Hogwarts, I’m not entirely sure we will be returning here, you see,” Dumbledore said. “So we will need things that will allow us to make do without everyday necessities if that is the case. Don’t worry about how much any of these things may cost. If you feel they will be of help to us, then they are worth getting.”

“I understand. I will,” Harry assured, already making a mental list.

“I will have one of the Order members get those items tomorrow night, so have the list ready by tomorrow morning.”

Harry nodded. “Sir, how are we going to avoid the Ministry? I mean, I can make changes to my appearance, but if I end up having to use my wand for some reason, won’t they detect underage magic when we’re not under wards?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of removing the trace from your wand. Illegal, of course, but it’s the least of the charges currently against me. So don’t hesitate to use magic if it becomes necessary.” Dumbledore paused and looked closely at Harry. “How much have you thought about your ability to change your appearance? It is more advanced than those of any metamorphmagus I have met, and the fact it convinced Hogwarts of Mark Twist’s genuine existence is no small feat.”

Harry shrugged. “When I left, I knew I had to hide from anyone who might want to harm Harry Potter, so to do that I had to not be Harry Potter. The rest just fell into place after that.”

Dumbledore’s heart tightened for a moment. Harry had willed himself, willed Mark Twist, into being. So deep was his desperation to be safe that he used Will Magic and coupled it with his apparent metamorphmagus ability. As far as magic was concerned, he was two people. “You executed it very well.”

“Probably too well,” Harry admitted softly to himself.

Dumbledore couldn’t agree more but decided to act as if he hadn’t heard before getting up.

“As a favor to yourself, please take time to enjoy the company here as much as you can.”

“Sir, what are you going to tell them?” Harry suddenly asked.

“That you’ll be helping me take care of some things. They will accept that,” Dumbledore said.

“Mrs. Weasley might not,” Harry warned.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Probably not, but her feelings on the matter won’t change anything,” Dumbledore said before he opened the door and canceled the spell. “If you need anything, let me know.”

O o O o O

Chapter Text

The next few days passed quickly, except for the first night when visions consumed his REM sleep.

Fortunately, there were no torture sessions (unless you count the occasional crucio cast on a few Death Eaters), but Voldemort was currently obsessing over finding Harry Potter, recruiting more Death Eaters and gathering allies, particularly the Giants. At the moment, he hadn’t sent out any envoys or even mentioned his desire to get the Giants, but he would soon.

Harry warned Dumbledore the very next morning, which caused Dumbledore to frown before thanking Harry, taking his supply list, and returning to his room on the fourth floor.

Harry tried to enjoy his time with the Weasleys, particularly Ron, but he found his attention drifting — which only helped Ron beat him even more in chess. He also tried to help them clean Grimmauld Place, but Mrs. Weasley would shoo him away, telling him they had it well in hand. According to the Twins, Mrs. Weasley feared the dust and grime would remind him of Azkaban. Harry rolled his eyes, darkly thinking to himself that if anything here was reminding him of Azkaban it was the sensation of feeling trapped and useless — which was due to Mrs. Weasley’s incessant desire to ‘help’ him.

Other Order members came and went, including Remus, McGonagall, and even Snape.

Remus greeted him warmly, although his hair was grayer than the last time he had seen him and his eyes seemed a bit dim. Part of Harry wanted to tell him who he really was, but the larger, rational part of him knew it was not the time. Telling anyone the truth would likely hamper his and Dumbledore’s efforts in ending Voldemort. When the war was over, he could tell anyone he wanted.

When he saw McGonagall, she looked as if she wanted to hug him (which was quite odd), but instead she patted his arm and said she was relieved to see he was alright.

Snape, on the other hand, was Snape. A curt nod was what he got, which, Harry supposed, was equivalent to other people’s hearty handshakes.

He didn’t run into other Order members, although he did see them come and go which was just as well. He didn’t feel like talking, especially with people who would apologize for the Wizarding World and ask him how he was doing after being subjected to two plus weeks in the dementor infested prison hole of Azkaban.

Harry shook himself.

The last dinner before they would leave was finally served, and Harry braced himself when he spotted Dumbledore coming into the dining room. The ex-Headmaster had never eaten dinner with them before. Breakfast and lunch he did sometimes, but never dinner. He noticed how the Weasleys glanced at each other in surprise.

“Would you like a plate, Albus? There’s plenty,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Yes, thank you, Molly,” he said, taking his seat next to Harry.

Dinner passed like a blur to Harry, and before he knew it he was on his last bite of treacle tart.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I have a bit of news I feel you need to know because I don’t want you to worry. Mark Twist and I will be leaving in the morning to take care of some things. I’m not sure when we will be back, but we will return when we can.”

The Weasleys froze. Ron, Ginny, and the Twins stared at Harry.

“Are you sure Mark should leave the house?” Mrs. Weasley asked, very concerned. “Surely someone else, someone of age, could assist you?”

“No, it’s Mr. Twist I need, and we will leave before breakfast. If you would, Molly, could you pack us a few snacks?” Dumbledore asked, completely at ease. “I am dreadful at packing food efficiently.”

Upon being given a task involving food, Mrs. Weasley instantly shifted gears. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d suspect an imperio. “I’ll get on it right away, Albus. Mark, what kind of jam do you prefer? Albus? You too.”

“Uh, strawberry, Mrs. Weasley, thank you,” Harry said.

“Raspberry, please,” Dumbledore answered.

With Mrs. Weasley now bustling about, Dumbledore took his leave, which left Harry to the mercy of Ron and the others.

O o O o O

Leaving the next morning was easier than Harry had thought it would be, although it helped that everyone was still sound asleep and that they had talked the previous night.

After assuring Ron and the others that he would be fine and that Dumbledore only needed him because he was a Parselmouth (which he allowed them to theorize meant the Chamber of Secrets was involved), they promised him to continue listening in on Order business so they could share it with him when he returned. Harry felt bad about lying to them, but it was better than enduring their concerns and (Ron’s) slight jealousy.

Standing in the entryway and being careful to not wake Mrs. Black’s portrait, he looked down at himself. Dumbledore had provided him with some very nice leather boots specially charmed against wear, weather, and stench while ensuring comfort and silent steps. A far cry from the old sneakers Mrs. Weasley had found for him.

He also had a new set of clothes, a wand holster, and a thin jacket which Dumbledore had given him the night before. He didn’t have all of his requested items yet, but figured Dumbledore didn’t want to chance the Weasleys finding out about some of them.

After a moment, Dumbledore quietly came down the stairs.

“Ready, Mark?” Dumbledore asked as he took out a little pouch and . . . a shiny folded sheet?

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

Dumbledore had told him he would refrain from calling him Harry even when they believed they were alone. They could not risk him falling out of the habit or chance someone overhearing. It was just as well. It had been years since anyone had called him Harry.

“This is a mokeskin pouch. Only you can get to the items inside and I’ve cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on it so it’s larger on the inside. Everything you listed that I haven’t already given you is within,” he said, handing him the bag Harry quickly placed around his neck before slipping under his shirt. Dumbledore then let the ‘sheet’ unfold as he held it out for him. “Put this over you,” Dumbledore said. “I will let you know when it’s safe to remove.”

“An invisibility cloak? !” Harry quietly gasped as he began to drape it over himself.

Dumbledore smiled. “I’ll tell you more about it soon, but not until we’re at Hogwarts.”

Now very curious, Harry quickly obeyed as Dumbledore tapped the top of his own head with his wand and vanished!

“Sir?” Harry asked, staring at seemingly nothing, although, as he focused, he could feel Dumbledore’s presence.

Dumbledore placed his invisible hand on Harry’s invisibly cloaked shoulder.

“I don’t want anyone seeing us. When we get into the street, I will apparate us to Hogsmeade. From there, we will go to Honeydukes.”

“The secret passage,” Harry realized.

“I see you’re familiar with it,” Dumbledore said, amused. “Well, let’s be off.”

Arriving at the edge of Hogsmeade, they quickly made their way into the town. Harry heard Dumbledore mutter a few spells and he quickly identified the spells as notice-me-nots and silencing.

Looking around, Harry felt odd.

In roughly a month, he was ‘free’ again. He suddenly realized how constrained he had been feeling and had the strangest urge to run and jump, but he was stopped by the sight around him.

Hogsmeade had changed. There seemed to be less people about, and of those who were, a quarter of them seemed to be Ministry officials. There were also wanted posters in every window, pictures of Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, and himself.

Ducking into Honeydukes, they quickly made their way to the basement and through the secret passage.

Dumbledore remained quiet until they came to the edge of the passage. “You lead, Harry. I’m afraid I don’t know where the room is or how to enter it.”

Harry nodded needlessly and moved forward with Dumbledore’s hand practically glued to his shoulder.

It was eerie walking down empty corridors and silent stretches of halls, and the feeling he had climbing the stairs was downright creepy. It was as if someone was watching. Not necessarily watching him, but just . . . watching.

Finally, they came to the seventh corridor, and, remembering Voldemort’s memory, he began to pace in front of a portion of the wall, wanting the room where things are hidden.

He was suddenly grateful they were alone and invisible. He could only imagine how odd they looked, marching back and forth.

The door appeared and they quickly entered. Harry had the feeling Dumbledore was anxious to get inside.

“Areas of Hogwarts are certainly being watched, as Minerva had warned,” Dumbledore stated as he canceled his charm while shaking his head.

“It’s a good thing we came invisible then,” Harry said, removing the cloak.

Dumbledore nodded. “It was definitely a sensible precaution.”

“I felt like there was someone watching at the stairs. Is that where you felt it?” Harry asked, holding out the cloak for Dumbledore.

“Yes, there was someone there. They were sitting on the top banister and looking down while leaning against the wall. The man is not as good at charms as he thinks he is. The edge of his form gave away his position,” Dumbledore said, before giving Harry a pleased nod. “Good job at sensing his presence. He even had a notice-me-not charm on himself.”

Harry smiled slightly at the praise before Dumbledore motioned for Harry to keep hold of the cloak.

“It’s yours,” Dumbledore said. “Your father left it in my possession.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and after a moment of thought, realized something. “I’m glad you didn’t give it to that imposter, Andrew Danirson, back in third year.”

“I would have,” Dumbledore admitted, “If the boy’s behavior hadn’t been so troubling. I was not sure that he would have made good use of the cloak and I decided to hold onto it until he was older. As it turned out, that was a lucky decision as, of course, the cloak did not belong to him.”

Harry draped it over his shoulders as Dumbledore turned his attention to the room and the reason they had come. Removing Godric’s sword from his inner robe pocket, they began to walk down one of the many aisles with mounds of clutter on either side.

Harry glanced at the sword.

“The sorting hat was kind enough to provide this sword for me when I was looking for a safer way to . . . dispose of horcruxes. From your second year, I knew basilisk venom could do the trick, but carrying a fang drenched in venom. . . ” Dumbledore explained lightly. “Fortunately, this sword is a goblin blade, which means it will absorb anything that will make it stronger.”

“So you imbued it with the venom from the fang I had retrieved,” Harry said understandingly.

Dumbledore nodded. “And though the sword is deadly, I can safely touch the blade. It’s only dangerous if enough pressure is applied against the point or edge. Enough that would break skin.”

“That’s good to know,” Harry said before they continued searching.

After a moment, Harry began to slow down, stretching out his senses before looking to the side as something seemed to tickle at the forefront of his mind.

His eyes came to rest on an old, discolored tiara.

“Sir,” Harry said, giving a nod toward the rather nondescript item.

Dumbledore began waving his wand, silently checking for traps.

 “He didn’t place any protections around it, sir. He didn’t have time, but he was also confident that no one would find it so didn’t bother to try,” Harry explained. “We’re safe as long as we don’t put it on.”

“Oh, Tom, you really are arrogant,” Dumbledore stated, gazing down at the prized artifact sadly as he brought up the sword.

Harry tilted his head, odd sounds echoing up from the ancient gems and perfectly crafted silver like trickles of a choked brook. It was both beautiful and horrendous and seemed to thrum right into his heart.

 Dumbledore brought down the long blade, shattering the sapphire at the center as the precious metal around bent and snapped. Black mist rose up in a violent hiss before a brilliant flash exploded forth.

“Mark!” Dumbledore bellowed, raising up a shield too late.

Magic so pure cascaded over and through them as a legacy lost whispered in their ears before falling silent.

Slowly, they lifted themselves up.

“Are you alright?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir. Are you?”

“I am.”

“What was that?” Harry asked, the dissipating magical sensation making him give a shiver.

“The magic left from Rowana Ravenclaw, I believe. Such a pity,” Dumbledore said, sighing at the crumpled mess before picking it up and placing it in a special pocket in his robes.

“Where are we going now, sir?” Harry asked.

“I think we’ll begin making our way to Russia once we meet with the new Headmistress,” Dumbledore said, tapping the top of his head and making himself invisible once more.

“Russia?” Harry asked as he covered himself with the cloak.

“It’s where the last colony of giants resides. From your vision, I’m certain Voldemort will begin building up his army through them first.”

“I agree,” Harry said before they returned to the corridor.

O o O

Taking a few passages that even Harry didn’t know existed, they stepped into the Headmistress’ office, entering from the back corner through a sliding bookcase.

Still invisible, Harry looked around. Dumbledore’s gadgets were gone from the shelves and in their place were countless books, elaborate pottery, and rune-carved tablets.

“Good afternoon, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, instantly becoming visible.

McGonagall startled from behind her desk and twisted around.

“Albus, you gave me such a fright!” she admonished before quickly quieting her voice. “There are more ministry officials about than the last time we had spoken. They are really trying to capture you.”

“They are trying to hamper me, my dear. Although the Ministry is not particularly bright, I believe even they know actually trying to capture me would be more of a hazard to them than to me,” Dumbledore assured. “But as much as I like chatting, Mr. Twist and I just wanted to drop by to let you know we will be beyond reach for a time. Should certain parties become worried, inform them I am well, for Mr. Twist is accompanying me.”

“Mr. Twist?” she asked, confused and slightly concerned.

“Hello, Headmistress,” Harry suddenly piped up, sticking his head out from the invisibility cloak and causing McGonagall to put a hand to her chest in surprise.

She glanced at Albus, clearly recognizing the cloak before turning back to Harry.

“Hello, Mr. Twist,” she said after a moment. “Please do your best to stay away from trouble.”

“I will, but for some reason it always finds me,” Harry complained.

McGonagall smiled softly at him before looking at Dumbledore.

“If anything serious happens, have Fawkes come get us,” Dumbledore said. “Count on us being gone for at least two weeks.”

McGonagall nodded.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

With that, Dumbledore tapped his wand on his head again and disappeared with Harry, going back the way they had come.

O o O

They left Hogwarts quickly, avoiding the lurking Ministry officials before cutting into the Forbidden Forest. There, Dumbledore cast a few wards and they prepared for serious travel.

“We’ll use muggle transportation for part of the way so we’ll be going through muggle customs. It’ll mean confounding a few people, but no harm done,” Dumbledore said, waving his wand over himself and transfiguring his clothes into a dark purple suit. Then he glamoured his face and Harry couldn’t help but stare at the unremarkable, clean shaven face looking back at him.

“Well, now, your turn,” Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded, closing his eyes and imagining himself as a child, clothes and all, deciding this would makes things easier while going through customs. He knew most people were eager to usher those with young children along, recalling how his aunt had once commented about that. He then focused on making minute changes to his features, imagining his hair lightening as freckles appeared on his cheeks.

 Opening his eyes, he found himself much shorter than he had been before. Perhaps as tall as he had been at 7 years old.

“You continue to prove yourself remarkable. You even made your clothes shrink,” Dumbledore said before thinking back about something. “You were certainly quite resourceful when I came to your house last summer.”

“Lucky, you mean,” Harry said, instantly recalling how hard his heart had been pounding when he ran around the boarding house to make it to the front door before Dumbledore could knock—all the while transforming himself into Mark Twist’s ‘father’ and hoping no Muggles would see.

Harry frowned, recalling how he had felt when Dumbledore had asked his ‘father’ about him—asking if he had ever tried to control or hurt anyone. Why had Dumbledore been so concerned about him? After everything Mark had done to help the school, why had Dumbledore been so untrusting of him?

Dumbledore, as if sensing his turmoil, remained silent.

Harry shook himself. That was a long time ago and when it had mattered most, Dumbledore had chosen to believe him, to help him — despite overwhelming evidence and political pressure to do the opposite. Everything before that was immaterial now.

“I’m ready, sir,” Harry said.

Without a word, Dumbledore apparated them to London.

O o O o O

As Harry had guessed, his young age helped ease their travels. Customs shuffled them through and a few well aimed confundus charms allowed them passage onto a ship to Belgium. Although, Harry did lose count of how many muffled comments about purple suits had been made during their journey.

With dusk approaching, they docked and headed away from the populated area before entering a seemingly deserted shop that sold stoneware.

“We’re here to meet an old friend of mine but keep your appearance. She’ll be able to make us a portkey to a safe place in Poland and from there I can make us a portkey to Moscow and then to our final destination,” Dumbledore quietly explained as he shed his disguise. “I would make us a direct portkey, but that requires a notable amount of power. Their government would detect it and then we’d risk my magical signature being identified, reported, and tracked.”

Harry nodded his understanding as they waited. Fortunately, they didn’t need to wait long.

“Wulfric, ben jij dat?”

Harry turned and found a middle-aged looking woman coming down the shop’s back stairs, staring at Dumbledore in utter surprise.

“Ja, Marie. Ik heb je hulp nodig,” Dumbledore stated.

Although surprised by the foreign language, Harry remained still as they continued their conversation after exchanging quick hugs.

Following some urgent dialogue, Marie quickly ushered them to the back of the store and up the stairs. Although curious, Harry didn’t ask any questions and before he could even really look around Marie had brought them a baby sock.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sight: Albus Dumbledore holding a tiny, light green sock with an embroidered frog magically hopping along the comfort band.

“Dankjewel, Marie,” Dumbledore said before giving a nod to Harry to touch the sock.

Marie returned his thanks with a soft nod.

With that, Dumbledore activated the portkey and Harry found himself in a dark, shaded room with a window looking out into a forest.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

After making sure the place was secure, Dumbledore conjured two beds and a table with chairs for them to eat at while Harry got out the food Molly had made. The last time they had eaten was on the ship, and with night now falling, they were both very hungry.

The cabin was more of a shack with a narrow bathroom attached to the main room. When they had first arrived, there were no furnishings whatsoever and only threadbare curtains partially covering the two windows. Cobwebs and dust were all that had welcomed them, and those were soon magicked away with the wave of Dumbledore’s wand.

Placing out their food after changing his appearance back to Mark Twist, Harry glanced at his bed.

He suddenly realized he would not have as much privacy as he had had at Grimmauld Place (if one could call it privacy—with Mrs. Weasley coming in with barely a knock). He really didn’t want to have any nightmares/visions in front of anyone. Having Mr. and Mrs. Weasley charging in his room soon after he had woken was bad enough.

“Is there something wrong, Mark?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, sir, just thinking. We’ve covered a lot of ground in one day,” he lied.

“We have,” Dumbledore agreed, though Harry was certain his deflection had been detected.

They ate their late dinner quickly and got ready for bed soon after. About to tuck in, Dumbledore came over to his bed.

“Here, Mark. Some Dreamless Sleep, if you wish,” he said, handing him a small bottle and leaving it at that.

“Thanks.” Bewildered, Harry stared at the bottle as Dumbledore turned to the other bed.

“Um, good night, sir,” Harry managed.

“Sleep well, Mark. We’ll leave soon after dawn,” Dumbledore said before rolling over, turning his back to him.

Harry turned his eyes back down to the vial in his hand before pulling the cork and gulping the potion down.

That night he had his first full night’s rest since Azkaban.

O o O o O

Morning came and Harry was amazed how well he felt, and all because of a full night’s rest!

Sitting up, he found Dumbledore’s bed gone and light coming from under the door of the restroom. Deciding he could do most of what he needed at his bed, he dug in his mokeskin pouch and took out a small bag of toiletries. Conjuring a bowl and filling it with water from his wand (thanks to aguamenti), he freshened up. By the time Dumbledore came back into the room, Harry was getting his boots on. Not long after that, Dumbledore made the portkey and they were both ready to leave.

“Best cast some warming spells, Mark. In a few minutes we’ll be among mountains of snow.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry obliged, and, now that he was uncomfortably warm, took hold of the new portkey.

With a hop across the continent, they appeared in an abandoned warehouse in Moscow before promptly leaving again and appearing on the side of a mountain overlooking a dip beside a lake between four high peaks.

 “Whoa,” Harry breathed, his breath visible as he looked below.

There was an encampment of enormous proportions against the mountain closest to the lake, and at the center was the most gigantic and hideous humanoid Harry had ever laid eyes on surrounded by slightly less ugly beings of similar form. Giants.

“Would you hold this, Mark?” Dumbledore asked, suddenly removing a burning branch from his pocket.

Harry blinked as he nodded, carefully taking hold of the non-burning end.

“Gubraithian Fire,” Dumbledore provided. “It is a gift to the Gurg — head giant.”

“Is there anything I need to do?” Harry asked. “Should I make myself look older?”

Dumbledore thought for a moment. “No, remain as you are. Although they value size, power is what they truly respect. Just follow my lead. If you talk, talk firmly, loudly, and slowly. Their strength is not in wit, but they can still reason well enough if given time and motivation. Our goal today is to introduce ourselves, give the Gurg the gift, state we will return, and then leave. Gaining their trust and support will likely take a few days, depending on how our first impression goes.”

“I understand. Um, what if there’s trouble?” Harry asked, glancing down at the formidable frames far below. Even from a distance he knew he wouldn’t want to take a hit from any of them.

“Stay close beside me. I will apparate us out, but if there isn’t time or we get separated, don’t hold back if you feel threatened. They won’t.”

“Are they likely to attack us?” Harry asked, failing to hide his unease.

“The chance is remote, as long as we please the Gurg,” Dumbledore assured.

It didn’t comfort Harry though.

“Any other questions?” Dumbledore patiently asked.

“What if Death Eaters come?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “I am hopeful we will have finished our negotiations by then and the Giants will not wish to converse with anymore outsiders, but if that doesn’t happen, we will deal with it if it comes.”

“Alright,” Harry said.

“Very well. Shall we?” Dumbledore asked, offering his arm.

Harry took it and they quickly apparated down, appearing close enough to be noticed by the group of giants but far enough away to be beyond their reach.

There were a few dozen giants about and a few dead goats beside the ugliest giant. The stench was bad, and it wasn’t because of the goats. Harry suddenly wondered why they didn’t bother to bath in the lake right beside them, but he kept his face neutral as they approached.

The giants stood up and stepped back, allowing clear view to the Gurg. Harry felt extremely small.

“Great and mighty Gurg, I am Albus Dumbledore and this is Mark Twist. We have come with a gift.” Dumbledore motioned for Harry to present the branch.

The Gurg curiously sat up as Harry stepped forward and gently placed it at the giant’s feet.

Amazed, the Gurg leapt up and tentatively picked it up, holding the end with his thumb and forefinger—like a toothpick. He stared at the flames in awe.

“It is a magic fire. It will never go out,” Dumbledore explained.

“Karkus accepts,” the giant said gruffly.

“Thank you. We will return tomorrow with another gift,” Dumbledore stated before giving a nod to Harry.

They promptly left.

Once they were far enough from the giants, they apparated away, and Dumbledore quickly began scanning the mountain side.

“Sir?” Harry asked, a little unnerved.

“We need to find a place to take shelter before dark. There are foul creatures in this region I would prefer to avoid,” Dumbledore explained.

Harry quickly started scanning as well.

“Ah! There’s a cave. Let’s go,” Dumbledore happily declared, before taking hold of Harry’s arm and promptly apparating them across the ridge and to the cavity he had spotted.

Upon landing, Harry reflexively shoved Dumbledore and leapt away with a gasp, not having expected contact and slightly disoriented due to apparating so suddenly.

Dumbledore, instantly realizing the mistake he had made, looked as if he had been slapped.

“I apologize. I had not meant to startle you so,” Dumbledore said, knowing better than to move.

Harry forced himself to calm his breathing. “I’m sorry. I-It’s fine. Was just surprised.”

He felt utterly ashamed. He couldn’t believe he had just done that. Why had he reacted like that? It wasn’t as if he believed Dumbledore was going to hurt him, but upon feeling the grip on his arm and then the swirl of apparition, his heart had screamed, ‘Danger!’

Dumbledore looked on sadly before turning slightly toward the cave, knowing further discussion on the subject would be unwanted and unhelpful.

“I think this will do nicely,” Dumbledore said, inspecting the entrance into the narrow cavity.

And that was really all it was. A scratch on the mountain’s surface.

Now emotionally recovered, Harry approached and took a look, grateful Dumbledore hadn’t decided to go all ‘counselor-ish’ on him.

“Seems a bit cramped, sir,” Harry said after a moment.

“Ah, but we are wizards,” Dumbledore countered gently as he lifted his wand.

Suddenly, the area beyond the narrow opening of the crevice enlarged one hundred fold. It was no football field, but would comfortably fit two beds and a breakfast nook.

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Now, to place protections,” Dumbledore said. “Wish to learn?”

Instantly forgetting his earlier discomfort, Harry nodded eagerly.

“Watch me,” Dumbledore instructed, falling into teacher mode.

An hour later, and a bit more knowledgeable about wards, Harry glanced around the cave.

It was still hours before nightfall and it hadn’t taken Dumbledore more than five minutes to make the cave hospitable. Harry suddenly felt a little silly about putting a sleeping bag and lantern on the list Dumbledore had had him make. Sure, it wasn’t like he noticed the extra weight of those unnecessary items in his mokeskin pouch, but still. He got the feeling a lot of things in his mokeskin pouch would never be needed.

“Care for a game of chess, Mark?” Dumbledore asked, going to the nook.

“Uh, sure,” Harry said as Dumbledore quickly set up the board.

O o O o O

Night finally came and this time Harry didn’t drink the Dreamless Sleep Dumbledore once again provided him. He was grateful Dumbledore merely gave the vial. He didn’t suggest or ask him to actually use it; he just gave it and allowed him to choose what to do with it. No expectations.

Quietly, Harry set the potion on the conjured side table and closed his eyes.

He wanted to take a peek into Voldemort’s mind. He wasn’t sure why, perhaps to make sure everything was as okay as they could be back in England. It wasn’t like he would be able to do anything about events occurring in England at the moment, but he still wanted to know.

He sat down at the head of the table with his death eaters waiting anxiously.

Things were going very well. Laws were passing faster than even he could have hoped for and he once again thanked the Daily Prophet for tearing into Mark Twist and his muggle origins as deeply as they had. To most of the public, the name ‘Mark Twist’ was now seen as vile. There would be no children named ‘Mark’ in the foreseeable future, that was for certain.

Leaning back in his chair, he mentally reviewed what he wanted to discuss with his servants. He glanced over at Lucius — such a cowardly man, but he had his uses and his gold had done wonders with his steps toward fully controlling the Ministry, not to mention the influence he had over the pathetic Minister Fudge. He smirked.

It was all falling into place, and what was even better was that all of it was happening without the public being any the wiser of his existence. Such foolish people! They deserved to be ruled! Needed to be ruled! How else could the Wizarding World become what it should have been all along?

Nothing would stop him. Nothing could.

His thoughts darkened as a stray strand of doubt assaulted him. There was still the question of Harry Potter. The prophecy was clear in saying that boy was the only one able to threaten him.

Where was Harry Potter? From his sources in Gringotts, he knew the boy wasn’t dead. His vaults were still secure and under his name. The Ministry had no clue to his location and Severus was certain Dumbledore didn’t know either.

He forced himself to move his thoughts to the matter at hand.

“The Ministry is nearly ours and soon we will be able to begin cleansing our world,” he said. “But in the mean time, let us continue gathering our forces.”

His thoughts flickered to the fact he had just sent Macnair and three others to Russia in hopes of gaining the giants as allies. Idly, he wondered if the time was right to send an envoy to the werewolves as well before he went on.

“Before the month is out, I expect those with the mark to have doubled. Inquire those of like minds carefully. I do not yet wish for our presence to be known to the general public, for they are not yet ready to accept the coming glory. Be subtle.”

Harry backed out of Voldemort’s mind and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling of the cave.

He would tell Dumbledore about what he had learned in the morning. He knew the old wizard was asleep by the man’s slow deep breaths. Besides, telling him now wouldn’t change anything. So, in the mean time, Harry decided to get a few more magic lessons from Voldemort.

Unfortunately, an hour later, Harry was yanked into a vision.

“Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, yesterday Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance,” he sneered. “Crucio!”

He watched in satisfaction and utter pleasure as the Muggle Studies professor screamed and thrashed about in the air above the table before him.

“Silencio,” he said before continuing, even as she arched her back in unimaginable pain. “She would have us all mate with Muggles...or, no doubt, werewolves.” He released the curse and let her drop onto the table in a heap.

“Do with her as you wish,” he said. “Just don’t kill her.”

He leaned back and simply watched.

O o O

Dumbledore woke to the sound of struggling and instantly shot up, wand in hand. He didn’t need to look far to find the source.

Harry was tangled in his sheets and his breath was hitching great gasps of air, as if beyond the point of weeping.

After dashing over, Dumbledore firmly took hold of the boy’s shoulder and tried to wake him.

“Mark, Mark, wake up,” he said. “Harry!” But it was no use. He turned the boy to look at his face and found trails of tears on both of his cheeks. “Enervate.”

The spell didn’t work, and that was when Dumbledore truly became concerned.

It continued for another ten whole minutes, and for every minute it continued it got even more frightening, for Harry’s struggles weakened as his ragged breathing worsened.

Dumbledore knew this was not a nightmare. An enervate would have removed Harry from it. This was something he had never seen before.

Finally, Harry’s eyes snapped open, and, before Dumbledore could react, he turned over and retched. And retched.

His entire form shook uncontrollably, even as Dumbledore placed his hand on the teen’s back and gently pushed soothing magic into his frame.

“Burbage. Burbage. Oh god. They . . . they. . . .” He choked back sobs.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, but he failed to get his attention.

“And I—I just watched and I enjoyed it. And then . . . I killed her. As if she was nothing,” Harry continued, finishing in a whisper.

“Harry, listen to me,” Dumbledore said, his voice laced with commanding magic.

Harry lifted his eyes, even as he failed to hold back tears.

“You didn’t kill her, and you certainly didn’t enjoy it. For the last ten or so minutes, you have been with me, in the same state as you are now, only unconscious. You saw it from the view of Voldemort, and experienced everything he was, even his emotions.” Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry’s forearm and gripped it firmly. “It wasn’t you.”

“I’m afraid that it could be,” Harry managed after a moment. “What if I lose myself in him? What if, through this, I become like him?”

“That won’t happen,” Dumbledore said certainly.

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“Because, after everything done to you, everything you’ve experienced, you still have the desire to do good. To do what is right instead of what is easy. You choose to care,” Dumbledore stated. “And that is what makes you different from Voldemort. He has never cared about anyone, save himself.”

Harry looked down at his hands and took a shaky breath.

“Now, I must ask something of you, Harry. I must ask you to tell me what happened,” Dumbledore said gently, but his voice held a steel to it that told Harry he was not making his request lightly.

It was the only reason Harry obliged.

He started with the first vision, telling him that four death eaters were on their way to the giants. He then briefly mentioned perusing Voldemort’s knowledge of shields before, haltingly, going into the second, exceedingly more violent vision.

He didn’t go into detail. He couldn’t. He just stated what Voldemort had said before skipping to the end. By the time he finished, his voice was raw and he was lying back against his pillow.

“I wish I could help you by taking away what you’re feeling, but I know that numbing the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally do feel it,” Dumbledore said. “Instead, I will help you endure it by letting you know that I am here.”

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed.

Dumbledore remained beside his bed until he fell asleep.

O o O o O

The next morning they ate in relative silence. Harry wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but at least he was spared from any platitudes — not that he expected Dumbledore to spew any. They finished getting ready soon after.

“We’ll be gifting the Gurg a Goblin-made battle helmet and then be returning back here,” Dumbledore said. “And when we get back, I’d like to begin instructing you on some things, if you’d be agreeable.”

Harry looked up at him in surprise. “I’m always open to learning new things, sir.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, beaming, before offering his arm. “Now, shall we be off?”

Harry took hold and soon they were once again before the Gurg.

It was clear the Gurg had been eagerly waiting for them. He looked like a gigantic five year old waiting for their birthday cake to be brought out to them. The other giants looked just as fervent.

“Greetings, Karkus, Great and Mighty Gurg. Mark Twist and I, Albus Dumbledore, have returned with the promised second gift,” Dumbledore said with an elaborate bow before giving Harry a nod.

Harry bowed and presented the Goblin-crafted battle helmet, using his wand to float it within Karkus’ reach.

“Karkus pleased,” the Gurg grunted as it resized in his hands. He stared at it in wonder before putting it on.

“Karkus, we have come to ask for your friendship,” Dumbledore said.

“Friends? Karkus be friends with ‘Bus and Mark, maybe,” Karkus said.

Harry was amazed the helmet didn’t suddenly melt by all the heat of thinking power that statement must have cost Karkus.

“Thank you. Dark wizards, led by Lord Voldemort, will be coming and ask you to fight for them. We—” Dumbledore motioned to himself and Harry, “—don’t want you to.”

Karkus’ eye narrowed. “Me tribe fight for wizards? Never!”

“I agree. Thank you. We will return again tomorrow with a gift of gratitude,” Dumbledore said.

“Karkus likes ‘Bus! Me tribe won’t fight for any wizards!” Karkus promised.

Dumbledore and Harry both bowed before turning to leave.

They were almost where they had apparated out the day before when an odd sound filled the air. It almost sounded like a dull whistle, but. . . .

“Down!” Dumbledore shouted as the dull sensation of an anti-disapparition ward shot up around them.

There was barely time to think, but Dumbledore succeeded in protecting them from the massive boulder that had been thrown at them as two more sailed through the air.

Immediately after, three giants leapt over the mountain ridge just ahead of them.

The one in the lead, armed with a massive club, was even larger than Karkus, and the two on either side of him were not much smaller.

Harry instantly had his wand up, suddenly very grateful for the knowledge he had permanently borrowed from Voldemort as he consciously called forth his magic.

Dumbledore turned one boulder into a pebble and redirected the third into the closest giant’s head as Harry cast a spell at the snow in front of the left giant (who was closest to him).

A wall of ice shot up, just in time for the giant to smash through it with his meaty fists.

Harry waved his wand again, melting all the falling ice into water before guiding the wave onto one leg and instantly freezing it. The giant began to fall and Harry ran to the other side of Dumbledore to avoid being squished as he heard Karkus and the other giants moving toward them.

The leader charged at Dumbledore and brought his club down to hit the former Headmaster. Dumbledore jabbed his wand at him, slugging him in the gut with an invisible, magic wrecking ball.

Dumbledore, who Harry quickly realized was much more agile than one would first believe, dashed out from under foot as the giant clutched his stomach and tried to remain upright.

Harry was about to help make the lead giant fall, but a flash of green above them caught his attention. Harry rolled just in time, never minding the snow tumbling into his collar as the killing curse exploded the area where he had just been standing.

“Death Eaters above us!” he warned, immediately firing a reducto at the black figure overhead just before massive feet stepped all around him.

Karkus and the other giants were now attacking the three giants who had dared to attack Harry and Dumbledore.

“Karkus mad! You attack Gurg friends! You die!” Karkus roared.

Harry and Dumbledore wisely left the giants to deal with their kin as they turned their sights to the four Death Eaters firing from above.

From the corner of his eye as he blocked a rather nasty curse to his right, Harry saw Dumbledore . . . disapparate? He knew he was practically a sitting duck and hoped Dumbledore would be able to take the Death Eaters out before they succeeded in actually hitting him with any spells.

Suddenly, he heard a blood curdling scream above the bellows of the fighting giants and then heard a pop behind him just as the ward fell.

Curse on his lips, he turned to find Dumbledore standing there as if he had never left.

“What game did we play the other night?” Dumbledore asked.

Quickly understanding, Harry answered. “Chess. What did you give me immediately after taking me from Azkaban?”

“A chocolate truffle,” Dumbledore answered, smiling softly before turning to Karkus who was now approaching them.

The three giants who had attacked them were dead and Karkus was covered in their blood. To Harry, it was as if Karkus was proud to bear the red smears, as two obviously self applied streaks were on his cheeks. It was a bit disturbing.

“Karkus sees you and little one are strong,” he said. “Me more happy we friends. We now kill any ‘death eaters’ who come here. They not welcome.”

“Thank you, Karkus. We are honored to be your friends and are glad you are enemies of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.

“You still come back tomorrow?” he asked, glancing at the three dead giants and looking a little worried.

“Yes, but then we will have to return to our home,” Dumbledore answered.

“Karkus happy,” he said, before lumbering back to his spot and leaving the three bodies to be cleaned up by his tribe.

“Mark?” Dumbledore asked, offering his arm.

Harry took it and they were back at the cave.

“How are you, Mark?” Dumbledore asked, searching Harry for any injuries.

“Amazed I came out of that unscathed,” Harry said honestly.

“That was some impressive spellwork,” Dumbledore said, assured Harry was truly unharmed.

Harry shrugged, pleased by the praise but not sure how to respond to it. Instead, he asked a question.

“Sir, how did you disapparate through the ward they had placed?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask that. It’s an altered form of apparition I created to enable me to transport through wards. I call it force-apparition, but I don’t use it often as it is most uncomfortable and demands a great amount of power. However, I would like to teach it to you before we return to England, if you’d be agreeable,” Dumbledore said.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed with a grin.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

The following morning, before they left to the giant camp, Dumbledore asked Harry to choose Karkus’ final gift. After some thought, Harry dug into his moleskin pouch and took out his Secrecy Sensor, which looked like a very squiggly, golden television aerial. It would vibrate whenever it detected concealment and lies.

 “Sir, is there a way to make this into a ring and to enlarge it for Karkus?” he asked, holding it up and hoping something from his list would finally be of some use.

“Oh, I think I could make that happen,” Dumbledore said, quite cheery.

Thus, their parting gift to Karkus was a Secrecy Sensor in the shape of a ring enchanted to resize itself for its current owner. Dumbledore also charmed it to be unbreakable for good measure and unstealable.

“Ready, Mark?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

It hadn’t taken long for him to learn how to force-apparate under Dumbledore’s instruction (a few hours), although that may be in part due to knowing how to apparate before he had even become a Hogwarts’ student. However, as confident as he was with apparition, this wouldn’t be simply force-apparating through a ward and appearing a few yards outside of it. This time his destination was not in visual range and he would be taking Dumbledore with him.

Dumbledore stepped next to him. “I’ll make sure things go smoothly,” he said. “If I feel you falter in transit, I’ll guide you.”

Harry nodded, before closing his eyes and letting his magic surround them first, as Dumbledore had taught him the night before. His senses took in the feeling of the anti-disapparition ward Dumbledore had just placed, brushing across its folds and layers, searching for a wrinkle or other default he could exploit. Dumbledore said his ability to find defects would improve over time, and eventually he would be able to do it in an instant, but until then, it was best for him to take his time and find the ward’s weakest area until he had mastered force-apparating.

Finally, he found it. Gripping Dumbledore’s forearm, he twisted, sharpening his magic as he gave one concentrated thrust.

They disappeared, Harry’s magic shearing through a portion of the ward and making a deafening crack echo across the mountain tops.

The landing was a little rough and for several seconds he felt extremely lightheaded, as if he was about to pass out, but the feeling soon lifted and the force-apparition was a success — if a crude one. Dumbledore gave him an approving nod before they approached Karkus and the other giants. The branch of Gubraithian Fire was stuck in the ground beside Karkus who was proudly wearing the goblin-made helmet.

“’Bus and little one comes again!” Karkus happily announced.

Harry couldn’t help but find something endearing about the giant. Although he would have preferred not being referred to as ‘little one’, Harry realized Karkus really was more a toddler than anything else — an extremely large and occasionally bloody violent toddler, of course, but a toddler.

“Yes, and we have brought our parting gift,” Dumbledore said, before motioning to Harry. “Mark personally chose this gift for you.”

Karkus turned his eyes to Harry, waiting impatiently.

“Hold out your hand, it’ll need to resize for you,” Harry said.

Karkus happily did and Harry dropped the little ring into his palm where it instantly grew so it would fit on his middle finger.

“It’s a special ring. It will shake when someone lies to you or is trying to trick you,” Harry explained. “Let me show you. I am a 400 foot tall purple Platypus Bear with pink horns and silver wings.”

The ring trembled on his palm. Karkus’ eyes grew wide and quickly put it on.

“Karkus approves!”

“It will resize to any finger you choose to put it on and for any person you choose to give it to. It cannot be stolen from you,” Harry finished.

“Mark and ‘Bus friends of Karkus,” Karkus said sincerely.

Harry smiled, pleased his assumed name was used, before stepping back beside Dumbledore.

“Goodbye, Honorable Gurg,” Dumbledore said. “Strength and long life to you and your people.”

Harry and Dumbledore both bowed before Gurg and the other giants grunted their farewells, impressed with the gifts and pleased with the official friendship.

Not wanting to draw out the send-off, Dumbledore gave a nod to Harry and they both apparated away.

O o O o O

Harry and Dumbledore returned to the little shack in Poland later that day and, after they had set up their beds for the night, Harry laid back to sleep.

He closed his eyes, listening to the wind beyond the faded curtains.

He had opted against taking the dreamless sleep, despite what had happened the previous night. He didn’t feel he should risk something happening and him not learning about it, no matter how horrible. After all, according to Voldemort (Harry having taken a peek), no one (outside of his supporters) even suspected Burbage was missing, and even now they were planting lies that Burbage had simply left the country. She deserved more than that. She deserved justice, and that wouldn’t happen if no one knew she had been murdered.

Harry’s thoughts wandered.

A year ago, if someone had told him he’d one day travel with Dumbledore to make friends with the giants, he would have laughed.

Was it only last summer that he was staying at the boarding house and busing tables?

He couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts that soon spilled forth upon that innocent question. Thoughts involving the tournament, the public’s hatred of everything Muggleborn, Voldemort’s return, the deaths of Cedric and Moody, his time in Azkaban, the visions, and finally the death of his godfather who never learned the truth.

He didn’t doubt what he needed to do, but he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around all that had happened. Every time he thought about any of it he grew angry, beyond enraged really. It scared him.

He knew he had every right to be angry about what had happened, but he was at a loss at how to handle it precisely. He didn’t want it to make him snap. But what was more was that as much as he hated Voldemort, he was more disgusted with the Wizarding World.

There were so many things wrong with it, it was horrendous. So much needed to change. Even if Voldemort was defeated, the foundation that had enabled the monster to flourish would still be there. He thought back to the moment in Azkaban where he realized the truth of his mother’s sacrifice. The moment where he had decided he would remind everyone that his mother had been a muggleborn. That made him pause and wonder, would he be able to change the Wizarding World, even as Harry Potter? For centuries, bigotry had reigned, racism abounded, and money spoke louder than character.

How could anyone alter that long standing modus operandi? Even Albus Dumbledore failed to turn the tide there.

Maybe he should just wash his hands of the Wizarding World. It would be nothing more than they deserved. But then he thought about the Weasleys, the Order, and even some of his peers. They didn’t seem to like how things were either.

And then there was what had happened to Burbage. She had spoken out in the defense of Muggleborns. Were her efforts to be in vain? Was her death to be for nothing? Forgotten?

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Maybe things could be changed. Maybe, if there were more people like Burbage, the Wizarding World wasn’t beyond hope.

With that final thought, Harry surrendered to sleep.

O o O o O

Harry and Dumbledore entered Grimmauld Place the next evening. They had had to wait for the next boat to England and welcomed the smell of Molly’s cooking upon entering the former Black home.

“Mark, you’re back!” Ron shouted, just on his way down to the basement to eat.

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling.

“Come on, dinner’s already started,” Ron said before noticing Dumbledore. “Oh, hello, Headmaster.”

“Hello, Mr. Weasley. I trust all is as well as it can be?” Dumbledore asked.

“I believe so, sir, although—” Ron frowned. “—I think you’ll want to see the paper.”

Ron led them to the basement where the Weasleys and some members of the Order were eating. Immediately, everyone at the table happily greeted Harry and Dumbledore, glad that they had returned and were unharmed. Mrs. Weasley quickly produced two new plates of food and all but ordered Harry and Dumbledore to sit down and eat.

Harry took the chaos in stride, although he wanted to know what Ron meant about the paper.

Soon after dinner, he learned why Ron thought Dumbledore would want to see the Daily Prophet.

More laws had been passed and muggleborns were now barred from entering certain establishments and purchasing certain items. Pureblood elitist propaganda was also appearing and, according to Remus, wasn’t limited to newspaper articles. Diagon Alley, the Ministry, and every other wizarding place now had propaganda posters, but that was the least of current developments.

Rumors of some muggleborns being taken in for ‘questioning’ and not returning were beginning to circulate among what the Order had deemed ‘the Underground’. The Underground was made up of individuals too afraid to openly voice their opinions but who didn’t like where things were heading with the Ministry or the Wizarding World in general.

Harry was privately ecstatic with that bit of news.

Officially, no one was going missing, just as, ‘officially’, Burbage had left the country for a holiday.

Harry wasn’t surprised when Dumbledore called an Order meeting that night. However, he was surprised when Dumbledore called his name as Mrs. Weasley steered her children and himself to bed.

“Mr. Twist, I request you join us this evening,” Dumbledore said.

“Albus?” Mrs. Weasley questioned, even as Ron and her other children looked on in shock.

“Mark will join us this evening,” Dumbledore said calmly, motioning Harry over to him.

Harry went over without a word, weaving around the twins and Mrs. Weasley to get back into the room.

Mrs. Weasley sputtered, but as Dumbledore was now paying her no mind at all, not even facing her direction, she turned back to her children and herded them up the stairs to their rooms.

Harry looked around the table to find Kingsley, Remus, Hagrid, Arthur, Tonks, Snape, McGonagall, and several other people he didn’t know. He was, by far, the youngest one there. He glanced at Dumbledore who was seated at the head of the table and next to him. He seemed completely unconcerned, even as the rest of the Order sent confused and even startled glances his way.

Finally, when Mrs. Weasley returned, Dumbledore readied to begin the meeting. However, Mrs. Weasley spoke first.

“Albus, are you quite certain Mr. Twist should be involved? He is not of age,” she said, concerned and a bit upset.

“Molly, I daresay Mr. Twist has more of a right to be here than most, no matter his age. Whether or not he is inducted into the Order after tonight will be his choice, but for now, he will remain. I want him here. That is all I have to say on the matter,” Dumbledore stated, before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

Mrs. Weasley grudgingly took her seat, but continued to stare at Mr. Twist, as if mourning his soon to be lost innocence.

Harry did his best to ignore her and focused on Dumbledore.

“As I am sure you all know, Mark and I have been gone on some Order business. As such, I have only just glanced at the recent headlines and would like a report on the happenings of this past week,” Dumbledore said.

Remus started first, summing up the new laws and how a few muggleborn families were already making plans to leave England. McGonagall went next, quickly going over how the Ministry was further disrupting Hogwarts business and how she suspected they would assign that year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with no input from her. Continuing around the table, they learned a few more people had ‘left for a holiday’ or been taken in for ‘questioning’, but when Snape’s turn arrived, Harry’s breath caught.

He reported on Burbage. He had not been present during the meeting when she had been tortured and killed, but Death Eaters talk (brag) and the news hit McGonagall rather hard. Dumbledore promised they would put up a memorial when they could before continuing the meeting.

And so it went. Each report giving a hint of Voldemort’s secret activities and hidden atrocities.

Finally, the floor returned to Dumbledore.

“Thank you for your continued vigilance,” he said. “Now, before we begin discussing what we need to do, I need to tell you some of what Mark and I have taken care of this past week.”

Everyone glanced at Harry before looking back to Dumbledore.

“We will not need to worry about Voldemort obtaining Giant support. Mark and I befriended the Gurg, Karkus, and, after a brief run-in with MacNair and three other death eaters, he promised his tribe would not fight for Voldemort.”

“Oh, that’s excellent news!” several people exclaimed as Hagrid gave an excited holler.

“Now, back to the matters at hand. I believe it is clear the most pressing issue is the targeting of muggleborns. Suggestions?” Dumbledore asked.

“Trying to advocate for them is not going to work, as what happened to Burbage unfortunately proves,” someone said.

There were several murmurs of agreement.

“Sir?” Harry asked, not quite sure how to address the Order.

“Yes, Mark, do you have an idea?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir. I think it’s clear things are going to get worse before they get better, so there’s really only one thing we can do. Help them leave.”

“Leave?” someone asked, as if affronted by the very idea, believing the act would be equivalent to admitting defeat under Voldemort.

“Evacuate,” Harry stated. “I doubt any of us think the laws are going to stop here. Eventually, unless Voldemort is stopped, muggleborns are not going to continue disappearing one-by-one through ‘questioning’. They’re going to be gathered up en masse.” Harry paused, his thoughts going to Voldemort’s very nature—his deepest desires. “It’ll be a magical holocaust unless we do the only thing we can before it’s too late. Get them and their families out.”

No one spoke for a long moment as the words sunk in.

“The boy is right,” Snape stated, breaking the silence. “Doing nothing would condemn hundreds, thousands to death. However, we must do this discreetly. The Dark Lord will be most displeased to learn those who would have fallen by his hand are going beyond his reach.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement before looking at McGonagall. She quickly got the message.

“I will send you the list of this year’s muggleborn students as well as the lists of all previous years. I will also begin forming a list of all students with a muggle parent so they can at least be warned,” she said.

“I will begin organizing Order members to contact them. Perhaps through telephone and in person? I believe some muggleborn will agree to help us contact others once they learn of our reasons,” Remus put in.

Harry stared as the organizing and implementing of his idea commenced.

Before the night was out, the plan was set and would be in motion by the end of that week.

The Mass Exodus was underway.

O o O o O

The mass relocation of muggleborn families started with dozens of phone calls. No owls or floo-calls were used; everything was strictly done outside Ministry reach, control, and knowledge. Soon, as Remus had predicted, handfuls of muggleborn quickly agreed to assist in the efforts and hundreds of muggleborn families prepared to flee the country. France, Germany, Spain, the US, Australia, and dozens of other nations, were among the destinations.

Relocating willing muggleborn families was top priority for several weeks. Telling new, incoming muggleborn students about the circumstances within the Wizarding World fell to Remus and his newly formed team of seven, which included five (muggleborn) Hogwarts graduates and Tonks. With a note from the current Headmistress of Hogwarts and a recent copy of the Daily Prophet, many parents didn’t need much convincing.

At first it began as a trickle, those leaving simply using muggle methods to avoid attracting attention, but as time went on it became clear they needed to move quickly before Voldemort or the Ministry took notice. After all, an influx of shoppers in Diagon Alley was expected in a few weeks due to the coming school year. The dip in sales that would occur from there being no muggleborn students would likely be noticed.

And so the Order began making runs. Sending word to dozens of families, they arranged for them to meet at certain locations where a portkey would be waiting to take them out of the country—primarily France where Dumbledore had old friends. From there, they would head elsewhere.

On one such run, Harry participated. Later, Harry would correctly assume it was Dumbledore’s doing, but he saw what the old man was trying to do and didn’t fault him.

“Mark!” Hermione shouted, surprised as she entered the quiet church. “I’m so glad to see you! So happy you’re out of Azkaban, that dreadful place! Oh, I just cannot believe the Ministry! So you’re coming to France as well? I’m so relieved!”

“Actually, I’m just seeing you guys off,” Harry explained, a little dizzy from her tirade. “I have the portkey that you all will use.”

Hermione looked confused. “You’re staying here?!”

“Yes, I’m helping Dumbledore,” Harry explained.

“What? Why? I mean, no offense, but what can you do to help?” she asked.

Harry felt his ire suddenly rise. What can he do to help? Stand against Voldemort, that’s what! Had she forgotten everything he had done the past few years?! What a stupid question!

But then he looked at his friend and saw she was truly clueless. He took a deep breath and felt deflated. He really should have foreseen her reaction; after all, neither she nor Ron believed him about not putting his name in the cup, even after the First Task.

“I’ve been helping Dumbledore,” he reiterated, before an almost foreign emotion swelled in his chest as he remembered the Order meeting the previous week. “He told me he wants me here.”

“Oh.” Hermione didn’t know what else to say. Harry felt an odd sort of satisfaction, one he felt a little guilty about having.

Harry glanced beyond Kingsley, who was with him on this run, to find the last family had arrived. Harry took out the portkey, which was a tablecloth, and motioned everyone around.

“This will take you to a field in France. I can’t be any more specific than that, but someone will be waiting there to help you. They will be wearing a yellow hat and know the codeword is Phoenix Feathers,” Harry explained. He handed the portkey to Hermione. “Everyone take hold. The landing will likely be a little rough due to the distance, so remember to keep your knees bent.” Once he was certain all 28 people had a firm grip, he stepped back. “When this war is over, we will send word.” He glanced at Hermione, “Goodbye, Hermione. Good luck.”

On those last two words, the portkey activated, sending the last of twenty groups that day to safety.

O o O o O

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair in the makeshift office within Grimmauld Place. He had just received a message from McGonagall.

As expected, the Ministry had hired someone to become that year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher without her input — Madam Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge. That horrid witch who had taken Harry to Azkaban in secret. But what was arguably even worse was that she had also been made Gryffindor’s Head of House.

He was now more thankful than ever that they had just finished getting every muggleborn student out of England, although that didn’t ease his concern for the rest of his students. He only hoped his professors would be able to keep the remaining students safe.

Roughly half of all muggleborn adults had opted not to leave Britain. Dumbledore only hoped the protections most had begun placing on their homes would be enough to protect their families.

Putting McGonagall’s letter down, his thoughts strayed to Voldemort’s activities. He had been fairly quiet, of late, though Dumbledore supposed with the Ministry passing all the laws against muggleborns Voldemort didn’t want to do anything that might reveal his presence or cause some people to pity muggleborns. No, to Voldemort, he had to make muggleborns look like the enemy for as long as possible.

The paper occasionally wrote about Mark Twist and Dumbledore sightings, although they were clearly written for the sole benefit of keeping the public on edge. And, of course, propaganda continued to expand. Crude images of ‘muggleborns’ began appearing, displaying how inferior they were to other witches and wizards, juxtaposed by images glorifying ‘truebloods’.

Dumbledore shook his head at the new term, a term, Harry revealed, that had been coined by Voldemort himself. Truebloods were those who had at least one magical parent whose parent also had a magical parent. Magic came from blood, and as long as an individual had a definite link they were ‘true’.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock.

“Come in,” Dumbledore stated, missing the ability to know who was behind the door that Hogwarts provided him as Headmaster.

The door opened and Harry entered. He gently closed the door and came to the desk.

“This just came from Professor McGonagall,” Harry said, handing over a folded note.

Dumbledore motioned for Harry to sit as he read it.

A new law had just passed, barring muggleborns from attending Hogwarts.

Dumbledore eyes twinkled as he thought about how miffed the Ministry would be in discovering those they wished to bar were no longer present.

“Sir?” Harry asked.

“Another anti-muggleborn law, but one the Ministry will find was a waste of their time. It also proves that they still do not know of our recent project,” Dumbledore said.

Harry smirked, already imagining how angry this would make the Ministry, but then he frowned. Voldemort would not be pleased either.

Dumbledore noticed Harry’s changed mood.

“Have you had any more?” Dumbledore asked, referring to Harry’s visions.

“Nothing new. He’s still trying to find Harry Potter and has redoubled his efforts in recruiting the werewolves since he’s lost the Giants,” Harry answered with a shrug. Talking about himself in the third person he found less confusing and (in general) less risky should anyone overhear.

Dumbledore nodded his understanding. “Have you learned anything of note these past few days? I know with things calming down lately, you’ve probably returned to earlier . . . hobbies.”

Dumbledore honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about Harry learning magic from Voldemort. He saw the value in it, but he also recognized the danger. It was a precarious situation, but in the end he decided he would support Harry in whatever choice he made in regard to utilizing the connection.

This was in part due to the prophecy. Who was he to say this was not the mechanism that allowed Harry to be ‘equal’ to Voldemort? But just the same, he was keeping a close eye, which was why he occasionally asked Harry about what he was learning. Though that is not to say he only asked because he wanted to see how it may be influencing him. He enjoyed talking about magic with Harry. It gave him a deeper insight into the boy and reiterated to him that he had made the right choice when Harry had looked up at him with the body of Mad-Eye Moody lying at his feet.

“I’ve learned some more spells, but . . .” Harry trailed off, trying to find the words. “Professor, when I—” He wiggled his hand by his head. “—I get, well, I suppose they’re impressions. He doesn’t view ‘good’ and ‘evil’ like we do. To him, not using the power we’re capable of is evil. Limiting people, for the ‘good’ of others or not, is evil. He also views magic differently. He believes magic is alive. Really alive. Like a god even. And because he’s so powerful — magically gifted, whatever — he feels magic has chosen him. There are times, in his mind, he feels like he’s some kind of messiah and that he’s meant to reshape the world.” Harry sighed. “He’s crazier than most people believe.”

Dumbledore put his fingers up to his chin in thought. “Power is the ultimate corrupter. It can trick most anyone. Blind them to the truth. And when one’s mind is already warped with hatred, power provides a dangerous outlet.”

“I just don’t understand how Voldemort can’t see — going along with his view of magic — that he’s hurting magic. According to his belief, one would think muggleborns should be viewed as magic’s gift to the world: spontaneous witches and wizards, adding to the world of magic, not poisoning or weakening it.”

“I can understand it,” Dumbledore said, causing Harry to look up in surprise. “One can make themselves believe anything, if given enough motivation. I once believed it would be best for muggles to be ruled by wizards. That by ruling them we would be helping them. I believed wizards should seize control of the whole world, for the greater good, even if it meant doing so by force. So consumed by visions of a utopia, I forgot what I had always known. Sometimes the simplest acts of kindness can bring forth the greatest good.”

“What changed you?” Harry asked after a moment.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, his eyes pained. “The death of my sister by the hand of someone I had put all my hopes and dreams in.”

Harry looked down. “So even if Voldemort wasn’t so far gone, he would never change.”

Dumbledore sighed softly. “Unfortunately, his early hatred ruined any chance he may have had.”

Harry nodded to himself, thinking about what Voldemort felt for his family, even his own mother. Harry frowned as a feeling he could only identify as pity filled him. Voldemort had never loved anyone and, to his knowledge, had never been loved unconditionally. What a sad existence.

“I see you pity him,” Dumbledore said after a moment. “So do I.”

 O o O o O

Chapter Text

September 1^st arrived, which meant Ron, the Twins, and Ginny were gone. As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry felt worried, relieved, and bummed all at once. Worried, because they would be going to Hogwarts under that evil toad of a woman, Umbitch. Relieved, because he didn’t need to deal with their questions about what he was doing for the Order (or really why Dumbledore was letting him stay). And bummed that now he was alone with the adults.

Later that day, when Hogwarts Express had departed from Platform 9 ¾, Harry was on his way up to his room. The Weasleys had all left to see Ron and the others off with a number of Order members acting as security, so it was just him and Dumbledore at Headquarters. This turned out to be very fortunate, as Harry’s scar suddenly throbbed so badly that he stumbled.

He landed with a crash at the bottom of the stairs followed by Mrs. Black’s shrieks.

“Mark?” Dumbledore called, hurrying down the stairs from his office.

He found Harry with his hand pressed up against his forehead, clenching his teeth in pain.

“He’s learned about the muggleborns,” Harry said, squinting up at him. “He’s torturing Yaxley for not catching it.”

“Can you stand? The others will be back soon,” Dumbledore said with a glance to the front door.

Harry forced himself to stand and added, “If Yaxley wasn’t so useful to him, he’d kill him. He still might.”

Dumbledore helped Harry to his room before getting him some pain reliever.

“I’m glad everyone’s gone,” Harry said, chugging the potion before giving a slight chuckle. “Could you imagine Mrs. Weasley?”

“Yes, I fear I could,” Dumbledore said, his eyes full of mirth before he became serious again. “How is it now?”

Harry closed his eyes and took a quick peek as the pain became a bit more manageable. “A little better. He’s just ranting now.”

“I’ll tell everyone to let you be,” Dumbledore said, turning toward the door.

Mrs. Weasley and the others would be returning soon.

“The reality of not returning to Hogwarts, sinking in,” Harry mused. “That’ll be a good enough excuse.”

“Excuse or not, there’s no shame in it,” Dumbledore said gently before leaving as they heard Mrs. Black screaming again.

Tonks had tripped.

O o O o O

The weeks went by at a fair pace. Harry continued his ‘training’ which soon became coupled with Dumbledore’s insights. The two of them would discuss magic almost every morning, after Harry had woken from a night of learning or after he had had some time to himself ‘studying’. Using the ‘I want some time to read my fifth year texts (since going to Hogwarts is obviously out of the question)’ excuse worked surprisingly well whenever he wanted some time to himself. Although that eventually led to a minor inconvenience.

At Mrs. Weasley’s incessant urging, Dumbledore arranged for Order members to sometimes instruct him, helping to cover what he was missing out on by not being able to go to Hogwarts like Ron and the others. Grudgingly, Harry agreed he didn’t want to miss out on what he normally would have learned all because of Ministry stupidity.

So in the end, it wasn’t all that bad, and it helped to pass the time between Order meetings.

Remus covered History, Herbology, and Charms. Tonks covered Astronomy, Potions, Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures, while Kingsley introduced him to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Dumbledore covered DADA. Harry dropped Divination.

Harry’s time wasn’t completely taken up by being instructed though. Much of his schooling he did on his own time, which enabled him to essentially cheat by absorbing Voldemort’s knowledge of those subjects. He was careful to research on his own a bit after taking in anything from the Dark Lord’s mind, just to verify the information wasn’t skewed in some way, but he was discovering that Voldemort’s grasp of fundamental magic was solid. It was only how that knowledge should be used that was skewed — save for History. Voldemort knew it well enough, he just added bits between the lines (whether or not it was historically accurate).

Halloween went by, for the first time without incident. An occasional report from McGonagall would let them know how Umbridge was taking advantage of the lack of muggleborns and how she was doing her best to brainwash students. Harry shook his head. She only taught theory, refusing to instruct students on how to cast any defensive spells. She occasionally went on rants about how dangerous muggleborns were, often using Mark Twist as the example. Any hint of anyone questioning her words was met with fierce punishment.

McGonagall was looking into the ‘fierce punishments’ but so far hadn’t been able to get anything concrete. She didn’t like what she was finding though.

Harry closed the book he was reading and put aside his quill, deciding to call it a night. As he stood, however, pain so deep suddenly lashed out through his mind like a ragged dagger. He tried to catch himself on the desk’s edge, but soon found himself mentally swallowed.

“CRUCIO!!!”

He was livid. Rage was his heart.

Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, had lost him his horcrux! Lost him part of his soul! Part of his certain immortality!

“I entrusted you with a treasure of mine, and you tried to use it to expand your own power? Crucio! You dared to place it in the possession of a bloodtraitor’s child?! Crucio!”

He glared down at the twitching heap before him, disgusted.

“Unfortunately, you’re no use to me dead,” he hissed before turning away.

Harry opened his eyes, finding himself on the floor and someone urgently knocking on his door.

“Mark? Mark, are you okay? I heard some bangs,” a voice from beyond the door said. “Mark, I’m coming in.”

Harry was extremely grateful Mrs. Weasley hadn’t heard. She would have already barreled in.

He sat up as the door opened.

“Merlin, what happened? You look horrible,” Remus said, hurrying over.

Harry thought quickly.

“My foot caught on the desk when I was getting up and I fell. Hit my head,” he partially lied as he rubbed his head.

“You must have hit it pretty hard. I was calling you for almost 20 seconds. Are you dizzy?”

“A bit,” Harry admitted.

“Here, let me help you.”

Harry let Remus help him into bed, his mind too distracted to feel embarrassed with being tucked in like a child. Fortunately, he was already in bed clothes.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to tame the fury bleeding over from Voldemort.

“Molly and Arthur went back to the Burrow for a bit, but I’ll be right back with some pain reliever for you,” Remus said, quickly leaving the room.

Harry took a deep breath as soon as he was gone, subconsciously slipping back into Voldemort’s thoughts.

He was concerned. He needed to verify. Be sure his others were still safe. If one could be lost without his knowledge, that meant the others could too. He needed to be sure.

“Mark?”

Harry snapped fully back into himself, finding Remus looking down at him worriedly.

“Did you hit anything on your way down?” he asked.

“I might have. I don’t know. I think I blacked out,” Harry said honestly.

Remus frowned and sent a quick patronus to Dumbledore who was in his office on the fourth floor.

Dumbledore was down moments later.

“He fell and hit his head. I think he blacked out from it, and when I returned with the pain reliever he seemed to have gone unconscious again,” Remus said. “I think he has a concussion.”

“Thank you, Remus. I’ll check him over. Could you go down and wait for Molly and Arthur? Let them know I’ll be with them when I can,” Dumbledore said.

A little taken aback by the clear (albeit kind) dismissal, Remus left after giving a gentle nod to Harry.

Dumbledore quickly cast the privacy ward as soon as the door was shut.

“He’s going to check on his horcruxes. He learned his diary had been destroyed thanks to Malfoy’s overly ambitious plan in second year,” Harry quickly explained. “I’ll be amazed if Malfoy can ever walk straight after tonight.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Do you know what he’s doing right now?”

Harry closed his eyes. “Heading to the Gaunt shack.”

“Is Nagini with him?” he asked.

“No. Nagini’s staying behind at Malfoy Manor.”

Dumbledore frowned in disappointment. The wards were too strong, even for him, to penetrate and get to Nagini before Voldemort returned. And trying to form some sort of trap for Voldemort, perhaps to reveal his existence to the Ministry, would take too long to implement.

“He’s going to get really angry tonight,” Harry stated. “He’ll probably end up attacking some muggles.”

“You’re right,” Dumbledore agreed, before pulling up Harry’s chair and sitting in it.

“I’ll tell you where so you can stop it,” Harry stated before he frowned. “What will we tell Remus and the others when you have to leave?”

“Sometimes being an eccentric old man really pays off, allowing you to just know. Don’t worry about how it’ll be explained. I’ll take care of it.”

“And me? I really don’t want them fretting over me, especially Mrs. Weasley, no matter their intentions.”

Dumbledore tapped his chin, thinking. “I know you will probably not like this, but—”

“We’re not telling them who I am,” Harry stated flatly.

“I was not going to suggest that. I was going to have us utilize your time in Azkaban. Long term effects vary widely, and considering your young age and sensitivity to the dementors, anything you go through tonight could be contributed to the knock on your head causing flashbacks to Azkaban.”

Harry thought for a moment. “That’s better than telling them the truth.”

“Considering everything, I agree with that statement,” Dumbledore said sagely.

Suddenly, the pain in his scar flared. The violence of it like a flash of an explosion in the dead of night. It was so intense, Harry barely felt Dumbledore grab hold of his shoulder in support before he was pulled into the void.

Fear. Fear so vast even his anger could not cover it.

The ring was gone.

The locket. He had to check the locket.

He apparated, returning to Malfoy Manor and grabbing hold of Malfoy Sr. before exiting the wards once more. Narcissa Malfoy watched them leave in horror. The Dark Lord then apparated again, the crack of their arrival thundering over the crashing waves outside the cave.

Lucius was trembling, barely conscious from his earlier ordeal before Harry, as Voldemort, imperioed him.

Lucius cut his hand on the rock, allowing them entry. They went into the cave where Lucius entered the boat on his own and Harry watched him cross the lake. Lucius landed.

“Drink,” Harry ordered, his voice echoing over the still water to Lucius.

Lucius obeyed, drinking up the potion from the bowl at the center of the island. After the first few drinks, his body began to shake, but the imperio held. Finally, the bowl was empty.

“Remove what is in the bowl and wrap it securely with your cloak,” Harry ordered.

Lucius obeyed, even as tears trailed down his cheeks and his body quivered in turmoil and shock.

“Accio cloak.”

The wad of dark cloth sailed across the lake and was caught by Harry.

Tentatively, Harry unwrapped the cloak, but what he found within was not what he hoped. In disbelief he opened the foreign locket, only to find a note.

To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.

His scream was so heavy with emotion, the surface of the water shook within the cave. So furious and afraid, he spewed curse after curse every which way. His horcruxes were being hunted!

Lucius dived behind the rock formations on the island, collapsing on his side as spells flew overhead . . . and things rose from the depths.

Harry stopped as his inferi rose, but his fury was not yet spent. He left Lucius in the cave.

O o O o O

Harry opened his eyes, the pain so thick his vision was blurred.

“He’s going to the little village beyond the cliff. He’s left Lucius in the cave to die. Inferi are rising,” Harry said through clenched teeth.

Dumbledore quickly formed a plan. “Dobby!” he shouted.

-Pop-

“Great Albus Dumbledore sir called Dobby?”

“Yes. There’s not much time. Can you take me to your former master, wherever he is, right now?” Dumbledore asked.

Dobby blinked. “Yes.”

“Then please, take me.”

Dobby took his hand and vanished with a loud pop.

O o O o O

Dumbledore never doubted Harry’s word on the inferi, but seeing them swarming the little island Dobby had transported them to still surprised him.

Whipping his wand about, he produced a fiery storm, forming a protective wall around him, Dobby, and the lone wand at his feet. Lucius was nowhere in sight. Finally, the surviving inferi pulled back.

Dumbledore spotted the wand and sighed heavily. He was too late.

“Dobby, take us out of here, to the surface above,” Dumbledore ordered after placing Lucius’ wand in his pocket.

Dobby did so, taking them to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

“Go to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and find Remus Lupin. Tell him that I have asked you to look after Mark Twist for the night. Tell them he’s having flashbacks about Azkaban and feels more comfortable with you for some reason. I will be back as soon as I can. Voldemort is attacking a muggle village. Don’t tell them anything else.”

“Yes, Great Albus Dumbledore sir.”

-Pop-

 Dumbledore turned toward the village, whose lights flickered in the distance.

O o O o O

Harry waited in his room, hoping he wouldn’t be forced to see anything that might make him cry out when Dobby suddenly returned.

-Pop-

“Dobby be watching Kind Mark Twist sir for Great Albus Dumbledore tonight. Dobby told Phoenix Order what Great Albus Dumbledore sir told Dobby to say, so Kind Mark Twist sir can rest,” Dobby explained, utterly thrilled.

Harry didn’t try to follow Dobby’s statement and decided not to ask about the fate of Dobby’s former master either before simply nodding his head as he eased back on his pillow, his scar still throbbing.

“Does Kind Mark Twist sir need anything?” Dobby asked, bouncing on his heels beside Harry’s bed.

Keeping with the ruse Dumbledore devised, Harry answered. “Some kind of chocolate dessert, please.”

Dobby beamed and then vanished.

Less than an hour later, Dumbledore returned. Harry could hear the Weasleys and other Order members swarm the old wizard almost immediately after the door closed—and of course Mrs. Black’s portrait started spewing obscenities. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was clear they wanted to know what was going on.

So, with that happening, Harry decided to check on what Voldemort was doing.

He was stewing, angry beyond description.

Dumbledore had somehow known where he was just before anyone died and had prevented him from releasing his frustrations by attracting the Ministry’s attention. The Ministry was doing its best to track Dumbledore’s magic signature, so when the old man had started casting powerful spells (clearly on purpose), the Ministry arrived, swarming the village and forcing Voldemort to leave or risk being discovered.

So, blood boiling, he was now planning.

He had to protect the horcruxes he had left, which, at this moment (with any certainty) only included the cup and Nagini. He hoped the diadem was still safe, but considering the ring and locket were gone, he was forced to admit the diadem could be too—no matter how unlikely it was that anyone would discover the room in Hogwarts that he had.

There was only one option. He would need to hide the cup somewhere no one would be able to find or break into. Only one answer came to mind.

The Fidelius Charm.

There was just one problem, two actually. Two people were needed to cast it: the sealer and the keeper. So he would need to (somewhat) confide in someone, but that was the least of it.

The other problem was that the sealer (the one casting the charm) had to, in some way, care/love the one they were casting the Fidelius for.

That left very few possible candidates. Well, one, if he was honest with himself.

Bellatrix.

Which meant making a visit to Azkaban. It was just as well, he needed her to get to the cup in the first place.

O o O o O

“You sent for me, Professor?”

Dumbledore looked up from his desk at Severus.

He wished Severus would call him by his first name, but he knew it was pointless to try to convince him.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve recently come across some extremely time sensitive information. With it, we can make one of two choices. The first would reveal Voldemort’s existence to the Wizarding World, but it could cost us something that is a step toward stopping Voldemort for good. However, the second choice gives us an opportunity to acquire this item but it would mean allowing several of Voldemort’s most committed followers to return to his side.”

Severus thought for a moment. Dumbledore didn’t rush him.

Harry had updated Dumbledore on what he had learned from Voldemort, including when he was planning on breaking his followers out of Azkaban and when he wanted to head to Gringotts.

He also told him Voldemort didn’t want to completely empty Azkaban, just free his most loyal followers and allow his spies within the Ministry to ensure the incident was not made public knowledge — which wouldn’t be too hard considering the Ministry (particularly Fudge) didn’t want any bad PR.

“The Dark Lord’s existence will be revealed eventually, and though the war would shift slightly due to the truth being revealed now, it would do the Wizarding World little good in the long run if we miss the chance to take this mentioned step toward ending the Dark Lord,” Severus stated.

Dumbledore could tell his Potions Master was curious, but his spy knew better than to ask questions.

“Thank you, Severus. My source agrees with you, and so do I. Please, if you have time, make some more healing potions before tomorrow night. I fear we may need them.”

Severus bowed his head, meaning he would get right on the requested task. He then left without another word.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange, Mulciber, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and Travers escaped Azkaban in the night, less than a day after Lucius had met his fate in the cave and hours after Dumbledore had spoken with Snape.

There was no news of it in the Daily Prophet the next morning, but rumors abounded among certain circles within the Ministry. Circles who questioned the necessity of having placed a fourteen year old child in Azkaban and who did not believe Dumbledore was as crazy or as dangerous as Fudge claimed. But what could they do? It was clear there was something dangerous going on, perhaps even involving the Dark Lord as Dumbledore had warned. But as much as they didn’t like it, fear was their leash.

Arthur told Dumbledore about the growing pockets of doubters within the Ministry. It wasn’t much, but Dumbledore saw its potential and told Arthur and the other Order members with ties to the Ministry to continue doing what they could to carefully facilitate this developing Underground. Dumbledore didn’t know if their efforts would bear fruit or not, but he preferred to try.

Which was why he and several Order members were now scattered throughout Diagon Alley, waiting in the November snow.

Dumbledore, disguised as a simple wizard taking a break with a sleepy friend (Harry) in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, glanced out the window toward Gringotts.

Voldemort had entered with Bellatrix twenty minutes before, their appearances altered with layered charms—although, thanks to Harry identifying the charms used, Dumbledore was confident he would be able to cancel them before too long.

“They’ve got the cup,” Harry whispered, his eyes seemingly vacant as he skirted along the edge of Voldemort’s mind and his own. “Bella is putting it in her purse to carry.”

“I will force Bellatrix to you and the others, and then I will keep Voldemort occupied. I leave you to the cup,” Dumbledore said with the muffliato and notice-me-not charms over them. They could talk freely.

“They’re on their way out,” Harry stated before completely coming back to himself.

There were a few dozen shoppers strolling between and among the stores, oblivious to the fact that the Dark Lord and two escapees from Azkaban (Harry and Bellatrix) were so close. Fortunately, Voldemort had felt he and Bellatrix could handle retrieving the cup, so no death eaters had accompanied them.

Discretely, Dumbledore signaled the others to be ready as he and Harry moved outside. Upon Harry’s nod, Dumbledore placed wards to prevent apparation and the activation of portkeys just as an average looking couple stepped out of Gringotts.

Voldemort and Bellatrix.

Dumbledore flicked his wand at Bellatrix, flinging her fifteen feet down the alley away from Voldemort. The spell released no flash so didn’t give any opportunity to counter, which was why he used it.

Harry and Remus zeroed in on Bellatrix as two other Order members appeared from the crowd, wands out.

“Riddle!” Dumbledore shouted. The crowd dispersed as quickly as it could as Dumbledore dropped his disguise.

Voldemort kept his disguise as he fired three curses in rapid succession before turning to move toward Bellatrix. But Dumbledore stepped in his way and countered every curse before setting to lift Voldemort’s glamour charms.

O o O

People were running every which way in a panic and Harry had already nearly been run into twice.

Bellatrix rolled to avoid a curse from Remus as Harry darted around behind her, his eyes on the purse held securely in her wandless hand.

Harry deflected a curse, stepping in front of a fleeing mother and child before throwing a stunner at Bellatrix’s back. She twisted around, sensing the coming magic before rounding back on Remus after avoiding it. Remus dodged and blocked, also going out of his way to prevent fleeing people from being cursed, which gave Bellatrix an idea.

She turned toward a pregnant woman heading to a shop’s entrance.

O o O

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled when he lifted Voldemort’s last glamour, his true appearance now in the open, viewable by all in Diagon Alley.

“No more hiding, Tom,” he said.

Voldemort snarled, still trying to reach Bellatrix, but Dumbledore was stubborn.

O o O

“Avada Kedavra!” Bellatrix shrieked, thrusting her wand at the defenseless woman.

Harry acted instinctively, charming a cauldron outside the shop next door into the path of the green curse. The cauldron exploded, shards of metal going every which way, but Remus managed a shield charm in time to save the woman from the shrapnel.

Bellatrix immediately set her sights on someone else, firing a quick succession of curses before Harry could deflect or block in time. Fortunately, another Order member, Kingsley, was there to intervene, but the last curse nicked him in the shoulder. From a distance, Harry saw the spray of red.

Harry clenched his jaw, his mind set. Bellatrix had to be stopped. She couldn’t be allowed to cast another spell, for the next might be fatal.

The curse instantly came to him and fell from his lips before he even processed what the spell was.

“Perfidum Sepmanus,” he stated, his voice void of any emotion. Stagnant, as if stating an irrefutable fact.

Bellatrix turned in surprise as she heard the spell, disbelief clear on her face as the spell zeroed in on her wrist, inches below her wand.

Her wandhand was severed from her, and in her shock she dropped her purse before clutching her bleeding stub as she stumbled back in absolute horror.

Harry pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from a pouch on his waist band and sliced Bellatrix’s purse open, never seeing Bellatrix struck by a pale, reddish blur. Dozens of items sprung forth from the purse, including a number of dark artifacts, but he paid them little mind as he searched for the cup with his eyes, knocking unwanted items away with the sword. Finally, he spotted the golden handle and didn’t hesitate. He brought the sword’s point down upon the cup as several armed witches and wizards suddenly poured onto the alley, exiting by floo from the shops’ fireplaces.

The Aurors had arrived.

A black cloud rose up from the pierced cup at Harry’s feet. It was almost as frightening as the scream coming from the cup.

It was then he felt Voldemort’s terrible rage explode through his scar and he looked up just in time to see Voldemort’s gaze fall upon him. Satisfaction rose up like the sun within Harry. Unstoppable. He smirked and calmly morphed back into Mark Twist, making it appear he had simply canceled some glamour spells hiding his ‘true’ identity.

The pain in his scar was worth the look on Voldemort’s face, but angering Voldemort always has consequences.

The aurors were at a loss as fiendfyre poured from Voldemort’s wand, for they were already shocked to see Dumbledore, Mark Twist, and LORD VOLDEMORT standing at the heart of Diagon Alley after witnessing a black mist rise from a screaming cup skewered by a sword.

Fortunately, Dumbledore reacted, dropping the wards so he could focus all of his energy and attention in controlling the monstrous flames. Voldemort vanished, purposefully leaving behind so much fiendfyre that not even he could tame if he tried.

Harry held onto the sword in one hand while he waved his wand over his head, helping Dumbledore keep the blaze above the street and the people. Pushing forward, he weaved his magic around a large portion of the flames before breaking them from the rest, allowing Dumbledore to gain control of the remainder and begin extinguishing.

Harry felt someone step beside him as he struggled to maintain will over the section of inferno he had claimed. A moment later, the ferocity of the flames began to ease and he was able to latch hold of them completely before they could lick at the buildings’ roofs and people’s heads. Sweat falling into his eyes, he tightened his hold, demanding the flames to die.

Finally, they did.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to find Remus.

The werewolf looked torn between feeling relieved and horrified. At first, Harry had no idea why Remus would feel anything other than grateful, but then his eyes spotted a form on the road a few paces to his right. Remus tried to steer him away, but Harry was quicker and was able to catch a glimpse—but it was more than enough.

The body of Bellatrix Lestrange, the glamours long since gone. Her own severed hand was gripped tightly around her throat and her vacant eyes stared unblinkingly into the sky. She was dead, her expression forever personifying all of the pain and fear of her past victims.

Harry’s breath caught as the reality of what he had done crashed down on him.

He had killed.

“Let’s go,” Remus said, drawing Harry’s attention to his surroundings.

The aurors, along with everyone he had just saved from the fire, were staring at him and Dumbledore.

The expressions he saw varied across the board but most could be summed up as astonished.

Suddenly, he felt the pull of a portkey and he soon found himself back at Grimmauld Place.

He quickly moved away from Remus and leaned heavily against the table where Order meetings were held.

“Mark?” Remus asked.

Harry didn’t look at him as he tried to order his thoughts. He was extremely confused. He was appalled with himself. Why had he cast that spell? What had he been thinking? But he knew the answer. He had been thinking about preventing Bellatrix from hurting anyone else. How he did it didn’t matter. Not at the time.

He closed his eyes, hearing Remus step toward him.

He had killed someone. He was a murderer.

‘But, it was Bellatrix Lestrange,’ he argued with himself. ‘She enjoyed killing. The world is better off without her.’

‘Perhaps, but you’ve enjoyed killing too,’ a darker part of himself pointed out.

He squashed that thought down, recalling what Dumbledore had told him, recalling what he himself had figured out even in Azkaban.

‘That was Voldemort. NOT me,’ he mentally declared.

“Mark, I don’t know where you learned that spell, or how, but . . . look, if you hadn’t stopped Bellatrix, she might have hurt someone else. I’m not saying dark magic is okay, but in this instance . . . she got nothing more than she deserved. Besides, she was looking to kill. You, me, anyone. You were focused on protecting others and stopping her. That makes all the difference,” Remus said, standing beside him.

Harry silently nodded as Remus gently gripped his shoulder.

“And the fact you are troubled proves you’re nothing like her. You’re not a monster,” Remus continued. “You saved many lives today, including my own. And you helped rid an item that Dumbledore believes would have helped Voldemort in the war. From everything I know of you, today proves you are still just as good as the boy I taught to cast the Patronus.”

Harry slowly exhaled, even as his hidden scar burned.

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley charged into the room.

“Mark, Remus? What happened? Is anyone hurt? Was the item destroyed?” she asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley, it was, and no members were seriously injured. In fact, Albus remained behind to speak with the aurors. They all saw Voldemort today,” Remus calmly explained, turning while Harry kept his back to her. “They all should be returning shortly.”

Molly heaved a sigh of relief before taking a better look at them.

They looked like a mess. Their robes were filthy, their hair was matted down with drying sweat, and Harry was still gripping the Sword of Gryffindor.

Remus cleared his throat. “We’ll go get cleaned up.”

Molly nodded approvingly, though her eyes followed Harry out of the room. She hadn’t missed his haunted expression.

O o O o O

Dumbledore and the other Order members returned that evening with the news that the Ministry had finally acknowledged Voldemort’s return.

Kingsley’s shoulder was bandaged and would take some time to heal (as the wound was cursed and would not respond to potions or healing charms), but he would recover fully. The other Order members came out without a scratch, although they were all astounded by how Mark had helped Dumbledore extinguish the fiendfyre.

Remus was relieved; the fiendfyre seemed to have distracted them all from the curse that had brought about Bellatrix’s end—although, he wouldn’t be surprised if they simply didn’t care. After all, none of them would lose any sleep over that woman’s demise, no matter how it had come about. He only hoped they would recognize the impact it had clearly made on their youngest, and arguably most talented, member.

He needn’t have worried, though.

O o O o O

Harry stared up at the ceiling above his bed. Voldemort’s emotions were still churning wildly and Harry knew he was planning his retribution.

Harry closed his eyes, unsure of what to do. Should he continue peeking in Voldemort’s mind, especially after what had happened?

He didn’t deny that the information he was gathering was invaluable, but what was happening to him each time he looked through Riddle’s eyes and studied his memories? Was he becoming more like Tom? Was he losing himself? And what of the Dark Magic? From Voldemort’s own memories he knew Dark Magic didn’t leave the user unaffected. Had he damaged himself or his magic?

Harry stretched out on the bed as he continued to think.

If he had never gone into Voldemort’s mind, the secret of the horcruxes might never have been known, and then where would they all be? Doomed to an inevitable takeover by an immortal Dark Lord. And as for learning from Voldemort, his ‘lessons’ were what had enabled him to stand against the giants and counter the curse on Dumbledore’s hand, not to mention handle the fiendfyre. He had used Voldemort’s knowledge for good.

But he had also used his knowledge to kill.

No matter who he had killed or why, he had used Dark Magic and had ended a life. Sure, she had been an evil, evil witch and the world is certainly better off without her, but if he were to begin to justify using Dark Magic on her, what else might he try to justify in the future? Wasn’t that the trap of Dark Magic?

Frustrated, Harry pressed his fist against his forehead. It certainly didn’t help that his scar was burning nonstop.

‘If I were to stop, what if something happens that I could have prevented, could have warned Dumbledore about?’ he asked himself as finally he came to the big question. ‘Can I live with myself if someone I could have saved dies?’

The answer was simple.

No.

He took a deep breath, remembering his time in Azkaban, when he first accepted the likelihood of this costing him at least a bit of his sanity. When he came to the realization that it was not going to be easy. That Voldemort needed to be stopped, no matter what.

Resolutely, Harry entered the Dark Lord’s mind once more.

Mark Twist would pay. Every muggleborn would suffer greatly because of what that boy had done. Destroying the cup and killing Bellatrix, two debilitating blows. It was fortunate he and Bellatrix had placed the Fidelius before leaving for Gringotts. If nothing else, Nagini would be safe. Safe while he unleashed his wrath.

He would seize control of the dementors (not that that was at all difficult) and take the Ministry that night. With the Ministry under his command, everything Dumbledore and that brat had been able to do up to that point would become meaningless.

Harry pulled out of Riddle’s thoughts as he was distantly aware of someone knocking. Sitting up, he shook his head, idly thinking that he was getting frighteningly good at existing in two minds.

“Yes?” he asked.

The door opened and Dumbledore stepped in. He closed the door behind him and placed the now customary privacy wards.

Harry looked down, wondering what he was about to hear from the old wizard. Disappointment? Shock? Disgust?

“How are you, my boy?” Dumbledore asked gently with no thread of anger or loathing.

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Shouldn’t Dumbledore be furious with him? Revolted by the use of such Dark Magic?

Dumbledore sat down at the corner of the bed, his movements slow. “You thought I would be angry.” It wasn’t a question, but the statement was laced with a sad regret.

“Well, yeah. Why aren’t you?” Harry asked, briefly glancing up before staring back at his knees.

Harry was seriously confused. Shouldn’t the leader of light be repulsed by what he had done? Wasn’t it Dumbledore who had closely watched Mark Twist the last four years because he was so similar to Tom Riddle? Didn’t the fact he had murdered Bellatrix prove to Dumbledore that he had been right about Mark Twist? That he was dangerous? That he was dark?

“Remus told me what he had said to you,” Dumbledore said. “And I want you to know that I agree with him completely. You have used Dark Magic, and though I wish that wasn’t the case, you used it with the intent to stop others from being killed or hurt. Intent is everything.”

“Doesn’t change the fact I killed her — and with Dark Magic,” Harry muttered, before shaking his head, still trying to determine how he felt about it. “I’m not sad or sorry she’s dead. Not at all. I just . . . I don’t want to become what I’m trying to defeat. I know Dark Magic is a trap. It gets easier to use the more one uses it.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “I’m glad you understand that, Mark. It’s how Voldemort has gone as far as he has. He has become lost in it.”

“I didn’t even know she was dead until after the fiendfyre was out. I killed without even knowing I had. And it was so easy.” Harry shivered. “I’ve always known, if I am to have a life, I’ll need to kill Voldemort; and it’s never bothered me. Becoming a murderer by killing him is fine with me.” He bit back a laugh. “Pretty naive, though. Thinking I wouldn’t have any blood on my hands before I finally face off with him, whenever that’ll be. I should have known. To kill a murderer one must be a murderer. There’s no such thing as a pure hero.”

“Oh, child. Your actions brought an end to a life, but that does not make you a murderer. You did not plan it, you did not seek it, and you did not enjoy it. You were defending yourself and others. Mark, as much as I wish this wasn’t the case, this is war. In battle one cannot and should not hold back.” Dumbledore took a slow deep breath. “I won’t lie and tell you your actions haven’t changed you, because they have. Not only that, but Using Dark Magic leaves an imprint on your mind which, as you know, often makes Dark Magic more appealing and makes using it feel natural. Muggles would liken it to a drug, and they’d be correct.”

“Should I stop learning from Voldemort? Stop going into his mind?” Harry asked, recalling his earlier thoughts and curious to hear what Dumbledore would say.

Dumbledore sighed. “I fear it’s necessary that you continue to do what you are. As dangerous as his mind is, I feel I must point out that if you had not learned from him, I would still be dying and by this point I would have lost the use of this hand.”

He lifted up his previously cursed hand to reveal how it was now completely unmarked.

“There is also the matter of the horcruxes, as well as your ability to combat fiendfyre. I don’t know if you are aware of it or not, but fiendfyre is devilishly hard to control, especially if you were not its creator. If you had not acted, I would not have been able to quell that firestorm. It was too large,” Dumbledore explained. “And all of that was only possible by you learning and using Dark Magic.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “So it’s already begun to affect me.”

“Yes, but I want you to listen to what I’m about to say. Although your mind and your magic has been . . . marked by it, it has done nothing to your heart, your conscience, or your soul because you are protected.”

“Protected?” Harry asked.

“You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!” Dumbledore declared, not shying away from the last word. Harry could only stare. “The only protection that can possibly work against such lure of power. Why, I have never met anyone as protected as you,” Dumbledore said, leaning toward him. “In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven. When you stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, and not immortality or riches. Harry, have you any idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in that mirror? Voldemort should have known then what he was dealing with, but he did not! You had said no pure hero exists, but I say, if a pure hero does exist, it’s you."

Harry sat in silence, part of him reveling in Dumbledore’s words while the other part of him refused to even imagine they were true.

“Voldemort plans on emptying Azkaban and recruiting the dementors before storming the Ministry tonight,” Harry said after a long moment, knowing that that news would instantly change the subject. “I just got it from him before you came in. He’s left Nagini behind the Fidelius.”

Just as Harry knew, Dumbledore decided to move on to the more pressing issue, leaving the conversation of Harry’s heart for another time. He reached in his robe and pulled out a mirror.

“Here. This is a two-way mirror I’ve recently discovered. I have the other one. I believe they had been Sirius’,” he said gently, handing it to him. “If you get any more relevant information, say my name and I will answer if I can. I have cast wards on the mirrors so only the direct users can see and hear what’s being passed between them,” he explained before standing up. “With any luck, I’ll be able to convince the Minister to let me and the Order help him before Voldemort arrives.”

Harry nodded before Dumbledore took his leave.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Dumbledore entered the Minister’s Office fifteen minutes after giving the Order a quick rundown. No Order members accompanied him to Fudge’s office but several had left with him to the Ministry and were now waiting in key areas, preparing to do one of two things. Help protect the Ministry alongside officials or help evacuate the Ministry despite them.

“What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?” Fudge asked, standing up from behind his desk.

“I have something urgent I must discuss with you. Right now, Lord Voldemort is on his way to Azkaban to recruit the Dementors. Once he has them, he will be coming here. Please, I implore you, let us act before it is too late,” Dumbledore said. “The Ministry must be placed in lockdown.”

Fudge sputtered. “I-I will do no such thing! The Dark Lord, you say? What proof have you?”

“Cornelius, for months I had been telling you Voldemort had returned, and you ignored me. Your denial has threatened the lives of those you are supposed to represent and protect. And now, when today the truth was made irrefutable, you choose again to ignore my warning?” Dumbledore asked, astonished by the man’s absurdity.

“It was not irrefutable, you just tricked some people of yours to concoct that show. He—is—not—back!” Fudge spat. “And you are still a wanted criminal for breaking out that Twisted boy!”

“Cornelius, the depth of your insanity is only second to Voldemort’s. Mark Twist is innocent. Several Ministry employees saw Voldemort for themselves — Aurors, with experience in seeing through spells and the like. The body of Bellatrix Lestrange was also found, identified and taken to the Ministry Morgue. What more will it take for you to see the truth? Voldemort himself, standing in this office before you? !”

“I will listen to no more of your nonsense! You just want the Ministry! You want to become Minister!” Fudge declared.

“I do not want your job, but you’re making me wish I had taken it when it had been offered to me one of those few dozen times,” Dumbledore stated.

By now, Fudge’s face was the color of a prune. “Leave, Dumbledore, before I have you arrested!”

“Please, have your men try to arrest me. A warm up would be helpful before Voldemort arrives,” Dumbledore said dismissively.

Fudge sputtered, appearing about to explode before two men also in the office stepped forward.

“Minister, we will escort him out of the Ministry,” one offered.

Dumbledore glanced at them, noting their unease and how the one who had not spoken was looking desperately at him.

“I will allow myself to be escorted out, Cornelius, but know this: you have doomed yourself and endangered countless others,” Dumbledore said.

He left with the two men escorting him out.

Soon after he was out of the office and the doors slammed behind him, he subtly cast a wandless muffliato.

“I understand you both wished to have a little chat with me? You may speak freely,” he said.

“We believe you, Professor, and we don’t want any part of Fudge’s madness,” one said before the other added, “Please, we want to keep our families safe. What should we do?”

Dumbledore met both of their eyes and could only find truth in their words.

“Convince as many people as you can to leave by whatever method you believe will work. The Ministry must evacuate. Get others who feel the way you do to help in this, but leave at the first sign of trouble. Then, tomorrow evening, come to Hogwarts. I will be back there by then, and it will be under my control once again,” Dumbledore instructed.

They nodded avidly before heading off in different directions. Dumbledore thumped the tip of his wand on his head and went invisible. Silently, he began casting light compulsion spells on anyone he saw, magically suggesting that they were needed at home immediately.

O o O o O

Harry kept himself at the edge of Voldemort’s mind. Conscious of himself sitting on his bed while also being aware ‘he’ was making his way to Azkaban. It was a tricky thing, but he was getting better at it. He only wished his scar would stop hurting so badly and that his head overall would stop pounding as he forced himself to remain at the precipice of Riddle’s dark mind.

Finally, he made it to the prison, and after taking out the human guards, he arrived at the main gate and blasted it down. Suddenly, he spoke to all the prisoners by enchanting his voice to carry throughout the entire prison, inviting them to pledge their lives to him or die. The prison emptied that hour. A dozen or so prisoners chose death, but the rest joined him. Including the dementors.

He grinned. Now to take the Ministry.

Harry returned fully to himself and took out the mirror. Voldemort would be in London very soon.

“Dumbledore,” he said to the mirror, his own face looking back at him.

After a few seconds, Dumbledore’s face appeared, covering his reflection.

“He’s coming. He’s just left Azkaban. Azkaban is empty.” Harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to slip partially back into the Dark Lord’s mind as he felt a painful thrum of excitement shear through his scar. “He’s ordered the dementors to attack in two large groups as he and most of the rest of his followers take the Ministry’s main offices. He’s ordered the dementors to kiss anyone who tries to fight.”

He felt something drip onto his lip and quickly retreated completely from Voldemort’s mind. He touched his upper lip in confusion. His nose was bleeding.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened in concern. “You are stretching your mind too far. You need to stop, Mark.” Harry looked as if he was about to argue, but Dumbledore went on. “The Ministry has begun evacuating and I will protect as many people as I can. I thank you for this information, but I now must ask you to rest. Take half a dose of the Dreamless Sleep you have once you’ve stopped bleeding. You have done your part, now I shall do mine,” Dumbledore said, his voice soft but urgent. “Please, do as I say.”

Harry swallowed, ignoring the metal smell and taste from his bloody nose. “Alright, sir.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

And with that, the mirror’s reflection returned to his own.

O o O o O

Susan Bones was having a difficult year, but then, they all were — except the Slytherins.

With all of the muggleborn students gone, as well as a large chunk of the half-bloods (particularly those with one muggle parent), the House sizes had drastically reduced. Save for one. Slytherin didn’t seem to have lost anyone, which meant they were now the biggest House while Gryffindor became the smallest. To put it simply, Gryffindor was now doing everything it could to survive the year, especially since that whack job, Umbridge, was their new Head of House on top of being the school’s new DADA professor.

It didn’t end there. With Umbridge’s influence, the Professors were busy enough with damage control, so it was left to Prefects to attempt to keep order among the students, and it wasn’t working all that well. It also didn’t help that a growing number of students were falling for Umbridge’s lies.

Every lesson of Defense Against the Dark Arts was filled with the same drivel. “The Ministry is here to protect us”, “the Ministry is perfect”, “. . . has the people’s best interests at heart”, blah blah blah. Susan had wanted to be sick on more than one occasion, but it was when the evil pink toad started in on Mark Twist, particularly how he had murdered Cedric in cold blood, that Susan internally snapped.

Before school had started, her aunt had taken her aside and told her what she had witnessed in the Ministry that summer. Dumbledore and Twist had been telling the truth. The Dark Lord had returned; she had seen him herself. No amount of Ministry assurances that she had been ‘confounded’ would convince her. Amelia Bones knew who she had seen and she’d be damned if she didn’t ensure her niece also knew the truth.

Well, Susan would be damned if she didn’t do something to combat this mockery of Justice.

So it started small. Collecting her most trusted friends, they started teaching themselves and sharing what they believed. They talked about what they knew of Mark Twist (which was admittedly very little) and discussed what their families thought, especially about how the Headmaster would not have abandoned the school unless it was to correct a great injustice. What greater injustice was there than to save an innocent fourteen-year-old from Azkaban?

And then their tiny group branched out by accident. Neville stumbled upon their meeting place (an abandoned classroom) and from there their group doubled instantly with Neville’s friends from Gryffindor. Not long after, Katie Bell proposed they invite some Ravenclaws, so Susan chose Luna Lovegood first.

She was certain Luna already knew of their meetings so felt confident inviting her would not be a mistake. It was one of the best decisions she had made that year. Luna’s thoughts, though strange, always held a helpful hint or suggestion within them, and each one helped in the fight against Umbridge and those following her mad ideals.

It was nearing the end of November and school felt like a prison, partly due to the hidden Aurors that patrolled the halls. Yes, she knew about them. Having felt eyes upon her one day early in the year (soon after starting the small study group with her close friends), she cast Homenum Revelio. Fortunately for her, the man she discovered was a good friend of her aunt and warned her that nearly every hall was being watched. He then told her which areas of the castle would be safe for her if she ever needed to have a place to herself or with friends (it was clear he had found out about her study group). He also promised he would inform his trusted comrades to keep an eye out for her and keep the areas he had mentioned free from unwanted eyes.

His efforts and the information he had shared with her was invaluable. Several times, incidents with Slytherins (and even students from other houses) had been thwarted in those halls, no doubt thanks to silent confundus charms.

Things improved a bit more after the Gryffindors joined them, for the Weasleys had provided a special map of Hogwarts. It enabled them to learn the names of the hidden aurors and, with the help of the first auror, they were able to conclude which aurors were good and which were best to avoid.

But even with the few good aurors and the map, they didn’t save her and other students from Umbridge’s detentions. Apparently, their answers on her bigoted tests did not convince her that they trusted the Ministry or agreed with the supposed dangers posed by muggleborns.

It wasn’t quite physical torture, but as far as she was concerned it was psychological torture — and was certainly brainwashing. Each detention was often filled with images showing/‘proving’ the brutality of muggles and muggleborns, snapshots of the Undesirables (particularly Twist and Dumbledore), and moving pictures of ‘Truebloods’ demonstrating impressive spells. All of this was shown while students were made to repeat a statement over and over. These usually involved things like ‘I am a Trueblood, one of the elite worthy of magic’ and ‘Magic is Might. Might is Right.’

To combat this, Susan and the others mentally chanted a few mantras of their own, ‘Bumbling Umbridge really knows nothing, listen to her and be a big dumpling,’ and ‘Umbridge the toad ate a fat cricket and croaked.’

It certainly helped to keep their spirits up.

But Susan knew cute little rhymes would only help so much. Something had to give, and soon.

Late that night, Susan sat up in her bed as the strangest sensation brushed over her. Magic.

Suddenly, Umbridge’s voice rang throughout the castle, her high, sickly sweet voice wracking their ears like a cheese grater.

“All students are to remain in their beds until further notice. Hogwarts has been placed in lockdown.”

Susan narrowed her eyes in thought as she took in the slight wobble in Umbridge’s voice. She smiled. Something was about to give, she was sure of it. Now, what to do about it.

O o O o O

Harry woke to a knock on his door, and with a quick tempus he learned it was 1:30 am. He had only been asleep for three hours.

“Come in,” he answered, instantly wide awake as he rubbed his tingling scar. Voldemort was basking in a victory.

Dumbledore entered. “How rested are you?” he asked.

“Well enough, why?” Harry asked, instinctively grabbing his boots.

“We’ll be returning to Hogwarts tonight. The Ministry has fallen and Cornelius is dead,” Dumbledore stated.

Harry frowned in understanding. “We need to get to Hogwarts before Voldemort.”

“Yes. I received a patronus message from Minerva. Upon learning about the Ministry’s fall, Umbridge has ordered her to place the school in lockdown in fear of . . . well, me. Minerva obliged, knowing that it would hinder Voldemort more than anyone else.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “She’s still convinced you’re the bad guy?”

Dumbledore raised his hands in defeat. “I, too, am baffled, but fearful people are rarely logical.”

Harry finished getting his boots on, patted the mokeskin pouch under his shirt and stood up. “Alright, I’m ready. Who else is coming?”

“Only Remus and Tonks,” Dumbledore answered before his eyes grew distant. “The Weasleys . . . will be remaining here for now.”

Harry looked at him in concern but didn’t press him as they headed out and down the stairs. There, Remus and Tonks were waiting.

O o O o O

Susan wasn’t all that surprised when they all arrived in their little secret room, but she was surprised to find on the Hogwarts map that all the Aurors were around the perimeter of the school and around the Headmistress’ office instead of out patrolling the halls.

“What’s going on?” Hannah asked, also noticing the bizarre placements.

“We think the school’s under attack,” the Twins answered at once.

“Is it . . . is it him?” Michael Corner asked.

“We don’t know, but look, Umbridge is in the Headmistress’ office, pacing like crazy,” Ron said, pointing.

McGonagall’s name was hovering just behind her desk, indicating McGonagall was probably just sitting and watching the pink toad walk back and forth.

“Whoa! Look, look!” Anthony Goldstein exclaimed, pointing.

Their eyes all turned to one of the secret passages marked on the map. The passage beneath the one-eyed witch statue by the stairs to the DADA classroom. Names were appearing.

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore and Mark Twist. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin followed soon after.

Susan and her friends all stared at the map, squishing together as closely as they could so they could all see.

“It’s happening,” Susan whispered.

O o O o O

“I must retake the wards,” Dumbledore said. “Mark, you’re with me. Remus, Nymphadora, secure the secret passages. Hogwarts may be in lockdown, but as we have just demonstrated, that does not make her impenetrable.”

Remus and Tonks nodded before turning their attention to the passage they had just stepped from as Harry and Dumbledore hurried to a different secret passage. The one that led to the back of the school’s head office. They didn’t bother to conceal themselves.

Strangely, they didn’t come across anyone on their way to the passage, but after entering and nearing the other end of the passage the reason became clear.

“I refuse to believe it will end like this. Dumbledore will not win!” Umbridge declared. “The aurors are ready. We will do what must be done!”

“Dolores, it is clear you, at the very least, are in shock. You-Know-Who is the one responsible. The Ministry’s last massage to us stated as much,” McGonagall stated, exasperated.

“No,” Umbridge shrieked. “It is all just a trick!”

Dumbledore and Harry carefully exited the passage, pressing themselves against the wall to keep out of sight.

Along with McGonagall and Umbridge, there were four aurors within the office, all near the main entrance.

“Now, order must be kept! Truebloods will be protected, must be protected. I will ensure that they are.” She turned toward McGonagall who was standing behind her desk. “Minerva, as you know, the Ministry was about to finalize my becoming Headmistress. You have done a superb job, but as the Ministry knows best, I must ask you to step down now. With the wards under my control, I can ensure Hogwarts is safe.”

Dumbledore stepped out before Harry or McGonagall could snap out a retort.

“Now, Madam, that is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard from you, which — if you don’t mind me saying so — is quite a feat,” Dumbledore said. 

Umbridge’s eyes went wide and her skin turned white. “Aurors!”

Three of the four aurors hurried to support her before she fired off a spell. It was blocked by the fourth auror.

Umbridge’s eyes shot to him in horror. “Traitor!”

The next blink was instantly followed by half a dozen flashes as spells were cast every which way. McGonagall transfigured her desk into a wall before launching it at one of Umbridge’s aurors.

Dumbledore stunned the second while the ‘traitor’ fired a spell toward the remaining auror as Umbridge fled out the door with Harry in hot pursuit.

McGonagall moved to go after them, but stopped at Dumbledore’s words.

“The wards, Minerva. We must hurry.”

With one final glance at the door, McGonagall began the process of returning the wards to Dumbledore.

O o O o O

Harry heard the fourth auror (who was fortunately apparently against Umbridge) behind him, but all he cared about was getting to Umbridge. Dashing out from around the gargoyle, he was greeted with three curses.

Deflecting one and blocking the second, he rolled to avoid the third before rising to his feet once again with nary a pause before continuing forward. He threw out two hexes over his shoulder as his eyes remained on the pink, bobbing monstrosity running roughly a dozen yards in front of him.

He heard spell fire behind him and quickly realized that the friendly auror was fighting off the three Umbridge supporters he had passed. Glancing behind him, he threw two more hexes, downing one as the friendly auror took down a second. Harry focused forward again, hoping the auror would be able to handle the last on his own.

He skidded around a corner, minding the vulnerable position he had just placed himself in.

“Protego,” he said, blocking the curse Umbridge had just sent at him.

“For a professor, I was expecting something a bit stronger,” Harry stated, his shield not weakened at all. “But then, you focus on theory, don’t you? Tell me, was that the second or first time you had ever cast that spell?”

“Don’t talk to me, mudblood!” she screeched, hurrying down some stairs before coming to a corridor and rounding a corner. Harry followed.

“AAAHHHH!!”

There was a wet sounding swish followed by a squishy slam.

Harry turned the corner to find Umbridge against the far wall of a dead end corridor with a swamp between her and himself.

He then heard faint laughter coming from behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy.

“I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary of the Minister for Magic and selected Headmistress to Hogwarts. I WILL have ORDER!” She stood up, covered in slime.

“Well, seeing as the Ministry has fallen . . . you will have nothing,” Harry said, his wand held tightly in his hand.

“How dare you! I should have had you kissed, right in that cell!” she roared.

Harry saw red. With a flick of his wand, the entire swamp rose up like a tidal wave and slammed into her, drenching her in filth as he advanced.

Choking on magic mud, Umbridge attempted a spell, only for it to be squashed by a swoosh of Harry’s wand.

“Where is your superior magic, Madam Secretary? Is your trueblood failing you?” he snarled as the swamp oozed down the wall and continued to gather at Umbridge’s feet. 

“You will never understand what it means to have trueblood,” Umbridge argued. “You, who have turned to dark magic to compensate for the purity you will never have!”

Harry slammed his wand forward, pressing her against the wall so firmly she couldn’t move.

“Purity,” Harry whispered, his voice so tight it could have snapped. “Was it purity that made you refuse reason and ignore common sense? Purity that made you spew hatred against people who have done you no harm? Was it purity that made you take me to Azkaban without a trial? !”

Umbridge was horrified. She could feel his power in the magic against her, thrumming furiously. She couldn’t speak, not because of his magic, but because of her fear. It was fortunate she was already drenched.

Harry approached her, keeping his spell strong. His boots came inches from the swamp sludge as he leaned toward her, staring so hard into her eyes she couldn’t look away, even though she desperately wanted to.

‘It would be so easy,’ he thought, ‘To rid the world of her. No one would miss her. Just like Bella—’

He froze, his anger evaporating and giving way to revulsion. No, he was better than that. He wouldn’t become what he hated just so he could get a bit of revenge — no matter how much the person may deserve it. Instead, he would do what Umbridge would never be able to understand.

“I will show you purity,” he breathed.

He dropped the spell. She was so surprised she barely brought her hands up in time to save herself from falling face first into the muddy floor.

“Go. Leave Hogwarts. I will not harm you,” he said. “Unless you return.”

He watched her scramble away and heard her occasionally slip as she went, just as he felt a mighty shift in the wards.

Dumbledore was Headmaster again.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Dumbledore took in a sharp breath, the wards and essence of Hogwarts flooding his senses like they could with no other wizard — well, except perhaps with Harry.

He allowed the ancient magic to encompass his entire being as he pushed forth his will to activate the more powerful wards. Wards only available to those with magic of his caliber. He knew there was no time, he had to raise as many as he could as quickly as he could.

McGonagall stood back, watching in silent awe.

Exhaling slowly, the magic settled around him as Hogwarts continued to obey his will.

“Come, Minerva, I believe it is time to see Dolores off,” he said, quickly leading them out of the office and all the way to the entrance hall.

They made it just in time to see Umbridge huffing and puffing toward the main entrance. She didn’t pause as she passed them. If anything, she just ran faster, leaving a trail of putrid mud behind her.

“Well, she can certainly move when she wishes,” McGonagall commented as they watched Umbridge dash out onto the grounds and head to the edge of the wards.

When she was halfway there, Harry arrived and stepped beside Dumbledore to watch as well.

“Thank you, Mark. I am not sure I could have motivated her to depart so speedily,” Dumbledore said, causing McGonagall to take notice of Mark’s presence.

McGonagall’s eyes widened before softening with a deep pride. “You have remarkable restraint, Mr. Twist. I am not sure I would have been able to allow her to leave intact.”

Harry shrugged, before looking beyond Umbridge with a frown. His scar gave a twinge.

Figures appeared beyond the wards with echoing cracks. Easily over a hundred.

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he felt Dumbledore’s hand come to rest on his shoulder.

Now right on the edge of the wards, Umbridge froze in absolute disbelief as she was slammed with incontrovertible proof that she had been very wrong for months.

There, roughly a dozen feet beyond the pink and brown blob, was Voldemort. Voldemort looked at Hogwarts, taking in the stronger magic in the wards and finding the form of Albus Dumbledore standing at the doorway.

Harry’s scar burned with indignation and a touch of fear. Before any of them could move, Voldemort sent a curse to the closest target in front of him.

Standing on the border of the wards, Umbridge took the curse to her face. She slammed onto her back so hard the breath was knocked out of her — which was further more unfortunate for her, as the curse began to banish every oxygen molecule in her body.

Voldemort and his men vanished soon after, knowing they would not be breaching Hogwarts that day.

Dumbledore dashed out. “Mark.”

Harry quickly followed him, understanding the command even without the words.

They came to Umbridge who was clearly struggling to breathe. She seemed to be getting air in, but it wasn’t helping at all.

Harry closed his eyes and quickly took a mental peek into Voldemort’s mind to determine what he had cast.

“Curse of Oxygen Depletion,” Harry stated, discovering Voldemort had adapted it from an old simple charm that had once been used to preserve meat.

Umbridge’s lips began to turn purple and she was clutching at the fabric near her throat.

“I can counter it,” Harry said after a moment, moving to kneel down.

“N-no!” Umbridge gasped, her crazed eyes staring at him in hatred as she pulled out her wand and pointed it at him.

“Don’t cast any magic, you’ll only make it move faster,” Harry warned, not sure why he was even bothering to help her. “Do you want to die? Stop moving and let me remove the spell!”

Umbridge continued to struggle even as her eyes locked with his. “Evil . . . boy. . . Crucio!”

Harry didn’t even need to roll; he just twisted his body to avoid the pathetically weak unforgivable as Dumbledore knocked her wand from her hand with a silent expelliarmus.

Her skin became blue as she continued to shake her head no until the demented light in her eyes faded and her body became still.

She was dead.

Harry straightened back up, his jaw clenched.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, staring at the cruel woman at their feet before turning to Harry. “It may well be the most powerful weapon in most any conflict . . . giving compassion to those who hate you. It drives them to make peace or to unwittingly realize their own destruction.”

Dumbledore conjured a white sheet over Umbridge before guiding Harry back into Hogwarts. “We have a few hours before sunrise. Let me take you to your new chambers.”

O o O o O

Susan couldn’t help but quicken her pace to the Great Hall with Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot. They had all gotten back to their dorms around 3 am after watching Umbridge’s name vanish from the map before Dumbledore and Twist reentered the castle. It was surreal to know she was dead, struck down by someone outside the wards. From what they had seen her footprints do, it was clear someone beyond the grounds of Hogwarts had been responsible for her back steps.

Susan suspected Voldemort and that the only reason he hadn’t entered was because he had seen Dumbledore.

Susan shook her head as she entered the Great Hall. Looking around, she could tell the rumor mill was just beginning to turn. Roughly half of her peers had their heads down, fearing punishment from Umbridge — they didn’t know the toad had croaked. The rest were beginning to whisper with their neighbors as they noticed how Headmistress McGonagall was not seated at the center chair anymore, but in her old seat. The place she had sat when Dumbledore had been Headmaster — at his right hand.

As Susan took her seat, she carefully listened to the whispers around her.

“Is Umbridge Headmistress now?”

“Merlin, please no.”

“I heard from a Gryffindor that she hasn’t been seen since last night.”

“She didn’t return to the Gryffindors after giving that lockdown announcement?”

“Maybe she’s at the Ministry.”

“The professors seem more at ease.”

“Something’s happened. Something big.”

Susan did her best to keep her face blank, but it was proving very difficult. Fortunately, before anyone could notice her unease, everyone’s attention shot to the figure who had just stepped from the entrance behind and to the left of the head table.

Albus Dumbledore.

There was complete and utter silence. He went to his seat and stood in front of it, but he didn’t sit.

“Before we begin our breakfast, there are some things I wish to announce,” Dumbledore said, as if he suddenly being there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. “As you can see, I have returned as Headmaster.”

Several students heaved a huge sigh of relief, while others looked on in fear — believing the lies of the Ministry and of Umbridge.

Dumbledore motioned to his right, bringing their attention to a row of aurors they hadn’t noticed standing there before.

“I believe you will recognize some of these men and women. These aurors had been tasked by the Ministry to secure Hogwarts, but, as they will attest to, the Ministry was attacked by Lord Voldemort last night and has since fallen.”

Gasps and a few screams followed his words, only to give rise to urgent whispers.

Dumbledore lifted his hand for silence and instantly received it.

“They have kindly agreed to stay here and help protect the school from Voldemort.”

Susan noted that none of the aurors they had been warned to stay away from were present.

"I also regret to inform you that Professor Umbridge is dead,” he began, a number of students gasped in shock as Dumbledore went on. “Killed by Lord Voldemort early this morning.” Everyone froze. “In lieu of all that has happened, Hogwarts will act as a refuge from Voldemort. Later today, we will begin receiving families. As such, I must ask you all to act accordingly. We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.” His eyes were not twinkling; instead, they held a gleam sharper than any knife. “To those of you with ties to Lord Voldemort or his allies, sever those ties. I will not permit anyone to endanger this castle and those she protects. The Dark Lord holds nothing sacred but his own life. Remaining with him will not spare you or your family, no matter your blood.”

He straightened, returning to school business. “Professor McGonagall will return to her duties as Deputy Headmistress and Gryffindor’s Head of House. Classes will continue but as the Ministry no longer exists as an entity Hogwarts recognizes, this year’s OWLs and NEWTs will likely not be conducted. Remus Lupin, a previous instructor here at Hogwarts, will return to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He motioned to Remus who was seated beside Hagrid. It was obvious why he hadn’t been noticed until that moment. “And Auror Davis will take over Muggle Studies.” He motioned to the auror Susan knew had helped her and her group a number of times over the past few months.

“Now, my last announcement concerns Mr. Mark Twist. I don’t want any of you surprised when you see him, for he has come back with me. However, he is no longer a student, but my apprentice. I trust I will not need to remind anyone of his innocence now that it is known Voldemort has truly returned,” Dumbledore said — though to most it sounded more like a warning.

Susan took in the professors’ reactions. The Heads of Houses didn’t seem surprised, nor Lupin, but the others did.

It was no wonder; the last time a Headmaster had taken on an apprentice had been over three hundred years ago.

She glanced around at her peers. They were stunned, a few even appeared frightened. Susan wanted to roll her eyes. How anyone could still believe the Ministry’s lies was beyond her. Very little of what they accused Dumbledore of made any sense to begin with, and more often than not every accusation was downright inconsistent and filled with contradictions. For example, if Dumbledore was such a muggle-lover, why would he terrorize a muggle village?

She looked back up at Dumbledore.

She could see him hiding his fatigue, making her wonder what had happened exactly at the Ministry and if anything had happened beforehand. She also wondered what Twist had been involved in the previous day, other than helping Dumbledore retake Hogwarts.

Susan frowned. What was happening outside of Hogwarts now that Voldemort had revealed himself? Where was her aunt? Still at home? Susan desperately hoped she hadn’t been at the Ministry when it had fallen.

“If you have any questions or concerns, please bring them to your Head of House. As I said before, families will begin arriving soon, very possibly some of your own. Now then, let us eat. Mew, Ditto, Onix.”

He clapped his hands a food appeared.

Susan took a slow calming breath. Dumbledore certainly hadn’t changed.

O o O o O

Harry took his time getting ready. He wasn’t in much of a hurry to get to the Great Hall for lunch, and though he wanted to see Ron and the others, he knew the questions would be numerous — especially since the apprenticeship had likely been made public.

He was relieved when Dumbledore told him he would not return as a simple fifth year student. Not only because taking classes would be a waste of time (he was beyond NEWT level in several of the subjects, thanks to Voldemort’s knowledge and his months of self-study), but because of his place in the war. Dumbledore had yet to bring up the prophecy with him, but by this point, it was an unspoken understanding. Harry had a vital part in the war.

Unable to find anything else to postpone the inevitable, Harry trudged down to the Great Hall, leaving the guest chambers of the Headmaster’s Tower and taking comfort in the notice-me-not charm he had placed on himself.

“Hello, Mark Twist.”

Harry turned around with his wand in his hand, unnerved that someone had seen through his charm and had come up behind him without him noticing.

“Er . . . hello,” he said, blinking at the blond, slightly dazed looking girl before him.

“We’re glad you and the Headmaster are back. It was quite exciting watching you on the map last night. I do wish I had been in the secret passage with Fred and George last night, though,” she said, unbothered by the fact he had his wand out in his hand (though not pointed at her anymore).

“The map?” Harry asked, not sure he had heard correctly.

“The Marauder’s Map. It’s been a huge help to us these past few months in avoiding the toad’s helpers and humdingers, you see.”

“‘Us’?” he asked, putting his wand away.

“There’s fifteen of us, officially. Susan Bones started the group to resist the Ministry and pursue justice — for both you and Cedric Diggery,” she explained. Harry frowned, but the girl continued before he could get a word in. “Her aunt, Madam Amelia Bones, was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and had seen You-Know-Who in the Ministry that night Dumbledore broke you out of Azkaban. So it wasn’t hard for her to realize you were innocent and had been telling the truth. She didn’t really believe you had done it in the first place anyway.”

Harry blinked. “Uh, right. I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Luna Lovegood,” she calmly answered as they made it to the Great Hall. With a smile, she left him and skipped her way to the Ravenclaw table.

Harry turned his attention to the rest of the Great Hall, deciding not to dwell on the . . . unique Ravenclaw.

He sat down at the Gryffindor table, which wasn’t hard, over half of the student population was gone. Tentatively, he canceled his notice-me-not charm (which he had kept in place despite Lovegood seeing through it). He knew he had to get it over with.

“Mark!” Ron shouted, hurrying over with the rest of the Weasleys as practically every pair of eyes turned to stare.

O o O o O

Susan couldn’t help but watch with the rest of her peers as Mark was greeted by the Weasleys. He had of course grown since the last time she had seen him, but his increased height and overall size was not the only change she noticed. He had always exuded confidence, a resilient, almost defiant assurance, but now it was laced with something she could only define as hard earned experience. His eyes didn’t remain fixed on anyone for long, and Susan could see how tight his shoulders were, even from where she was sitting.

Her thoughts strayed, wondering how his time in Azkaban might have affected him, not to mention his months on the run with Dumbledore. She knew, like most of the students of Hogwarts, she didn’t really know him; but if his actions were anything to go by, it was certainly time to make the effort now. It was long overdue.

Susan nodded to herself. After lunch, she would go and talk to him, perhaps even ask him to join them that evening—assuming they were given the opportunity. Fortunately, it was the weekend, if they weren’t able to meet that night, there was the following night.

She waited until he stood up and politely excused himself from Ron and the others before she told Ernie and Hannah that she would meet up with them later. She followed him out of the Great Hall.

She was grateful that no one else had left when they had and eventually caught up with him in a deserted corridor.

“Twist,” she said.

He stopped, and suddenly Susan realized she hadn’t figured out exactly what she was going to say.

“Yes?” he asked curiously.

“Hi,” she said, forcing herself to only mentally say ‘um’. “I know we haven’t really spoken before, but I was wondering, hoping, you’d come meet with me and a few of my friends. You see, because of Umbridge, I started a little . . . well, I suppose you could say study group. The Weasleys are part of it.”

“You’re Susan Bones, right?” Mark asked.

She nodded, a little surprised before suddenly wondering why knowing a peer’s name outside of one’s house was unique. How sad was that?

“A girl named Luna mentioned you before lunch,” he said, his eyes growing solemn. “I’m glad not everyone fell for the Ministry’s lies.”

Susan grew still, memories of the past few months quickly surfacing. “Umbridge worked really hard to try and make us believe the Ministry. At first, very few believed even half of what she was saying. But then things with the Daily Prophet and even people’s parents . . . not to mention what she did during her detentions. . . .”

Mark frowned. “What did she do?”

Susan started walking. Mark quickly followed suit.

“My aunt would call it mental conditioning. Brainwashing. I would call it torture. I know some people just went along with what she wanted so they wouldn’t have to go anymore, but I’m afraid a lot of people came to trust what she had said as fact, especially the younger years.” Susan took a slow breath as a thought came to mind. “I’d advise against going anywhere by yourself, at least until people see the truth. She said horrible things about you and the Headmaster, and showed us—” She suddenly had a bitter taste in her mouth, “—pictures.”

“What sort of pictures?” Mark asked, now clearly alarmed as they stopped again.

Susan shook her head, trying not to see them in her mind’s eye again. “I don’t know how or where she got them, but . . .” She swallowed, trying to make her voice work. “Professor Moody and . . . Cedric. Pictures of their bodies.”

Susan turned away as Mark’s eyes hardened and his face went rigid. She continued in a whisper. “She showed other things, along with your wanted poster and name, but . . . I’ll never forget those two images.” Susan covered her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment. “And she showed them to first years.”

“I’m glad she died the way she had. I only wish she had suffered longer,” Mark stated coldly.

Susan looked back at that, a dark curiosity rising. Their eyes met, and an indescribable understanding passed between them.

Mark answered her silent question. “Voldemort killed her with a curse that banishes oxygen. It wasn’t a pleasant death.”

Susan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as they returned to walking. Silently, she led him to the abandoned classroom on that floor.

“What’s been happening?” she asked as they entered. At his confused look, she clarified. “We have no idea what’s really been happening outside of Hogwarts. I know the Daily Prophet is full of lies, and I’m pretty certain Umbridge and her aurors were screening the mail.”

“Voldemort and his Death Eaters have been recruiting. Fortunately there haven’t been many raids, just two serious ones in muggle villages. All muggleborn students and their families have left England. Dumbledore and I helped with that. However, muggleborn adults had been targeted by the ministry before we started evacuating people. We don’t know how many the Ministry got exactly.” Mark frowned, before choosing to reveal more. “Voldemort emptied Azkaban a few days ago. And I doubt you would have heard about it even if the Ministry still existed because he’s been secretly influencing the Ministry, and thus the Daily Prophet, for some time.”

Susan’s eyes widened.

“There are propaganda posters everywhere. He’s the one who created the term ‘Trueblood’. Like you said, brainwashing. I don’t know how it will be now that the Ministry has fallen to Voldemort, but before, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were swarming with ‘Ministry Officials’.” Mark shook his head. “The Ministry may have collapsed, but I doubt Voldemort will have much to rebuild.”

“Professor Burbage was murdered by Voldemort, wasn’t she?” Susan asked after a moment.

Mark inhaled sharply, and Susan was alarmed by how pale he suddenly looked. Finally, he nodded his head. “Yes. He killed her personally.”

Susan frowned, but she was too afraid of what she might hear if she asked how he knew. Instead, she asked a more urgent question.

“Do you . . . do you know if my aunt . . . ?” She couldn’t finish.

Mark’s eyes stared at the wall, and the sharpness that had been in them moments before seemed to fade for a long instant before returning. Mark’s jaw clenched and Susan was certain she saw him swallow a lump in his throat before he answered with a flat voice.

“She’s alright. But . . .” He glanced toward the door with a pained expression. “Ron and the others . . . they don’t know yet.”

Susan gasped. “Their father?”

“No. Percy.”

Susan looked down and couldn’t help the tears filling her eyes. After the last few months, she had gotten to know the Weasleys, or at least Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny. She knew Percy had been estranged from their family. She could only imagine the added hardship they would experience at not being able to reconcile with him now.

“I’m sorry, Susan. Could we talk more later? Families will begin arriving soon, and I’d rather be . . . away when that happens,” Mark said after silence had risen between them.

Susan nodded. “Of course.” She had the distinct feeling that he wanted to be alone because of their discussion, not solely because he wanted to avoid the families.

“If you need me urgently or need to send me a message, call for the house elf, Dobby. He’s . . . a friend.”

“Alright. And thank you.”

With that, Mark left.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Harry entered his room in the Headmaster’s Tower. Looking around, he decided to unpack a bit. Carrying all of his belongings in his mokeskin pouch was unnecessary now, and he wanted to make this room his own as he rarely had such opportunity. The room was smaller than the Gryffindor dormitory he had shared with Ron and the others, but as it was just him, it was still decently sized. It was certainly larger than the space he had had at the boarding house. He turned and looked through the window overlooking the Black Lake after he put his clothes away.

He decided he wouldn’t go down for dinner, but would remain in his room. Now that he knew Ron’s brother was dead, he didn’t want to face them. He also didn’t want to be there when they learned the truth.

He returned to the mokeskin pouch and began lining up his books on the bare bookcase beside his bed.

O o O o O

Dumbledore wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see Harry at dinner. Part of him was glad of it. With the families arriving, he didn’t think adding another dynamic on top of it all would help anyone. Particularly those who had lost loved ones.

He looked at the red headed family gathered at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Ron and the other children had been told of the death of their brother, Percy. It appeared to have hit the twins the hardest and to Dumbledore it was no wonder. Of them all, the twins had unashamedly expressed their displeasure of Percy’s attitude/choices for years, and now that the chance for any degree of reconciliation was gone. . . .

He turned his attention elsewhere. Amelia Bones was with her niece, the last remaining member of her family. He smiled softly. Having been told about Susan’s exploits by Auror Davis, he knew she had organized a group to secretly defy Umbridge. Amelia would certainly be proud whenever she found out.

There were many other families present, although few sat at the Slytherin table. Dumbledore’s eyes briefly fell on Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore wondered if the boy knew Voldemort was staying in his family’s house or if he knew about his father’s death, but by the bleak look in his eyes, he likely knew enough. Dumbledore glanced at Severus and received the barest of nods.

The boy knew.

Dumbledore tore his eyes away and took a moment to be glad for the families before him that were whole. He only hoped they would stay that way. He looked at Neville and his grandmother. There were already too many broken families.

“Has there been any more word?” Minerva asked him as she took another scoop of potatoes.

“Yes. They assure me a few more individuals are in agreement,” he said cryptically. “But they must, of course, tread carefully.”

He was referring to the Underground movement that had just taken off upon the fall of the ‘old’ Ministry. It was really an extraordinary thing. Not long ago, the Order had identified the existence of Ministry employees unsure about the choices the Ministry had been making, but now these individuals were actively reaching out to the Order. It was far beyond what they had been doing before — which had boiled down to secretly expressing passive reservations. Dumbledore was grateful he had had the presence of mind to reach out to those people in the beginning. And he was even more grateful that they had taken note of his early support of Mark Twist, which had led to their doubting the Ministry in the first place.

He didn’t want to imagine how things would be now if he had not supported Mark in that pivotal moment. Even if afterwards he had gone back and condemned the Ministry’s actions against Twist, the damage would have been done. Oftentimes he wished the public would not look to him as their moral compass, but in this case it had worked in the favor of good. But it could just as easily undermined it — if he had made the wrong choice.

Dumbledore’s hand, which had been cursed months before, tightened around his butter knife.

That choice he had made . . . the moment where he had decided to look beyond the initial evidence and peer deeply into the circumstances. . . . He had unknowingly saved his own life, and he was certain, in time, his life would not be the only one saved.

“How is Mark? It must be difficult for him, with his parents not here,” Minerva continued.

Dumbledore sighed. He didn’t like hiding the truth, but in this case it was absolutely necessary. “He’s glad they are safe,” he said, deciding to keep it simple.

“Have you decided on his coursework, if he will attend any classes?” Minerva asked, deciding to move the subject into kinder territory.

“He will receive two to three hours of instruction from me a day. As for his classes, that will be up to him,” he said lightly, causing Filius and Pomona (who overheard) to turn to him curiously.

“Up to him?” Minerva questioned.

“I am certain he could pass his NEWTs in his core courses right now,” Dumbledore replied. “It’s part of the reason why I have taken him as my apprentice.”

Minerva blinked. “I would like to test his abilities myself, if I may.”

“Of course,” he said.

O o O o O

Susan joined her aunt and the other families to the section of the castle that had been set up for all incoming people choosing to seek refuge from Voldemort. A few other students were with their families, and Susan soon realized there were several who had come who did not have children currently attending Hogwarts.

“Things are not good outside Hogwarts, are they?” she asked her aunt.

“No,” Amelia Bones answered.

“What has happened?” Susan asked.

Susan listened as her aunt told her about what she knew and what she had seen and heard. She also told her about the attack in Diagon Alley, where Voldemort had unleashed a firestorm that Dumbledore and Mark Twist extinguished.

“Mark Twist did that?” Susan asked.

“He also killed Bellatrix Lestrange. I was told by an auror who was there,” she said.

Susan’s eyes widened. “Well, now I know why he’s the Headmaster’s apprentice.”

“Yes, I have no doubt that boy will continue to have a big impact on the war. To think he was in Azkaban for over two weeks. . . . The Ministry fell long before Voldemort had physically taken over,” her aunt said darkly.

They slowed as they came to the room Amelia would be staying in with two other women. Entering, they found Nymphadora Tonks busy situating her bed. The third bed was still currently empty, but it probably wouldn’t be for long.

“Madam Bones!” Tonk exclaimed. “Um, good evening. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting . . . Hello, Susan!”

“Hello, Auror Tonks,” Susan greeted.

“Not really an auror anymore, being a wanted criminal and all,” Tonks returned with a chuckle.

“We’ll all be ‘Undesirables’ soon,” Amelia pointed out. “I also wouldn’t be surprised if Voldemort decides to place the taboo on his name again soon. I’ll need to remind Dumbledore of that, just to be safe.”

Susan frowned. “But saying his name here will be alright, right?”

“Saying his name anywhere near the Headmaster will be fine,” Tonks assured.

Susan nodded slowly, not feeling as confident. Her family had been killed because her father had been talking about Voldemort with others in their home while she was away at her aunt’s house.

“It’s getting late, Susan, you best head to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Amelia said, giving her a brief hug.

“Okay, good night, Auntie,” Susan said, heading back to the door.

“Good night, Susan.”

O o O o O

Harry knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. He would have to go out and be seen by people, people who had been told so many lies, who had seen his wanted posters, and who might have seen him in Diagon Alley with Dumbledore.

He didn’t know what to expect. He was assured by Dumbledore that everyone in the castle had been told the truth about his innocence and would bear him no ill will, but he knew it often took time for people to accept that they had been wrong.

Making his way to the Great Hall that morning, he heard children playing in the hall around the corner. Turning, he slowed his pace and watched as three children bounced a ball off the side wall. A woman was there, watching over them.

They stopped as soon as they saw him. The oldest quickly moved to usher the younger children behind him while the woman straightened.

“It’s him,” one of the children said.

“Should we run?” another asked.

“Children,” the woman warned.

Harry blinked, a little confused by her tone. The warning sounded more like a reprimand than anything else.

“But, mum, you said—” the oldest started, only to fall silent at his mother’s stern look.

“I was wrong. The Ministry was wrong,” she stated flatly, her voice straining at the end as she looked at Harry.

Harry swallowed as he took in her sad, remorseful eyes. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply gave her a short nod before continuing on his way. The children stared.

Similar incidents like that occurred thrice more before he entered the Great Hall. If he were not so far from his room, he would have just turned around and eaten in seclusion. Instead, he forced himself to sit at the Gryffindor table, hoping people would leave him be.

They did, but their whispers and stares were almost worse than the awkward conversations he was trying to avoid.

The Weasley’s weren’t there, not that he expected them to be. So he ate silently, trying his best to ignore the snippets of muffled conversations whirling around him.

“Did he really? He took a portion of the fire like it was nothing?”

“I know the Ministry was wrong, but I’m still glad Dumbledore will be watching him.”

“He’s practically a young Dumbledore.”

“I wonder how much the dementors changed him.”

“He’s the only muggleborn here.”

“I heard he helped relocate the muggleborns with Dumbledore.”

Harry closed his eyes and was sorely tempted to put a spell around himself so he couldn’t hear anymore.

“Uh, good morning, Twist.”

Harry looked up to find Neville tentatively standing at the other side of the table.

“Hi, Neville,” he said, a little surprised to find Neville addressing him but part of him was relieved it wasn’t anyone else.

Neville sat down across from him. “I ran into Susan earlier, and we were wondering if you’d like to meet us on the fifth floor at 3 today.”

“Fifth floor?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, by the Prefects’ bathroom,” Neville explained.

“Alright, sure.” He didn’t have anything planned for the day anyway, although he knew he would need to talk with Dumbledore before classes started again.

Neville beamed. “Alright, see you then.”

Harry nodded, for the moment oblivious to the muttering around him. When had Neville become so comfortable in his own skin?

O o O o O

It had been fortunate that his meeting with Neville and Susan wouldn’t be until 3, for right after breakfast Professor McGonagall handed him a note from Dumbledore requesting his presence in an hour.

Muttering the password, Harry made his way up to Dumbledore’s office at the requested time, although he had been tempted to sneak in through the secret passage.

“Hello, Mark,” Dumbledore said, jotting down one last note on a page of parchment before looking up at him over his glasses.

“Hello, Headmaster.” It felt oddly comforting to be able to say those words.

“Please sit down, we have a lot to discuss before the other professors arrive,” Dumbledore said, motioning to the chair.

Harry sat down, a little uncertain about what this would entail.

“First, the apprenticeship. I haven’t had much time to discuss any details with you, so let me outline them here for you now and then we can go from there. As you are no doubt aware, apprenticeships are rarely done nowadays, but every tenured Hogwarts professor can take on an apprentice if they so wish, and that includes the Headmaster. In the past, apprentices were usually recent graduates, but sometimes a student in their sixth or seventh year was taken on. In either instance, the apprentice stayed with their master year round, fulfilling whatever tasks required of them. Tasks would include writing reports, conducting experiments, helping with any class lectures and demonstrations, and creating a theory or concept to test or expand in their chosen field,” Dumbledore explained. “Once they met the list of criteria previously outlined in their contract, most often requiring their work to be recognized by their master’s peers, their apprenticeship would be considered complete.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“So, my boy, what branch or branches of magic are you considering?”

Harry blinked, not quite sure of what all his options were. He hadn’t found any information about apprenticeship from Voldemort in his ‘studies’ so far, other than the generic fact that an apprentice studies under a master.

“What branches do you have Masters in?” Harry asked.

“Well, I apprenticed under Nicholas Flamel for my mastery in Potions and Alchemy soon after Hogwarts. Later, I received my double mastery in Transfigurations—Conjuration and Transformation, and obtained masteries in Martial Magic and Arithmancy, coupled with Charms and Spell Creation. Once you have apprenticed once, earning follow-up masteries requires individual research more than anything else.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Eight masteries? He swallowed, forcing himself to think about what he wanted to learn about the most. Although he was curious about Alchemy, current circumstances demanded focus elsewhere. Having a Masters in Martial Magic would certainly be helpful against Voldemort, but so would Charms and Transfigurations. He also needed to remember his current studies in Runes and Arithmancy.

“I think Martial Magic is a give in,” Harry said. “But I wouldn’t mind also doing some Transfiguration work, especially if it could involve becoming an animagus?” he asked hopefully.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. “A great place to start. With Martial Magic, you could easily reach into Charm work as well if you wished. And Transfiguration is always a valuable asset.”

He jotted something down on the parchment in front of him.

“Do you have any questions or requests about your apprenticeship with me?” Dumbledore asked.

“What will my tasks be?” Harry asked. “I mean, you don’t have any classes I can help with, so. . . .” He trailed off, uncertain.

“Every day I will instruct you for at least two hours. What you choose to do with the rest of your time will be up to you, but you will have a project to complete each week. The project will involve a report and a demonstration due by the end of that week. Because of the war, we won’t delve too deeply into theory, but will focus on practical application of spells and combinations. However, in a month’s time, I would like to hear three thesis proposals.”

“Thesis proposals?” Harry asked. This was beginning to sound like a lot more work than he had anticipated. He was still looking forward to doing it, because he knew it would be worth it, but work was still work.

“Essentially, what you would like the purpose of your studies to be. To solve a particular problem, to expand on a previous theory, to discover limitations, the list goes on. Choose anything you want and I will help you decide how to go about accomplishing it. It’s why I’m asking for three, in case one is beyond your current scope of abilities or resources.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Anything he wanted?

His childish dream of wanting to be hailed as a hero had dimmed since leaving Azkaban; however, in its place a need to be more had coalesced. He had to become more than he was to become the hero he had wanted to be, the hero he now needed to be. One could argue this was the same thing, but either from his time in Azkaban or his time with Dumbledore, being called a ‘hero’ no longer had the same meaning to him.

Harry shook himself as he tried to figure out what might be a good idea for a proposal.

“You don’t need to decide now. It took me three weeks before I even contemplated investigating and discovering uses of dragon blood for my Potions’ Mastery,” Dumbledore said. “Besides, we have other things to discuss.”

Harry nodded, realizing the other professors would be joining them soon.

Dumbledore glanced around his office and it took a moment for Harry to figure out what he was doing. He was looking at the portraits. Slightly unnerved, Harry looked around as well. All of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses were watching them.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “This concerns Voldemort’s activities and how we must respond to him. Just as in Grimmauld Place, keep the two way mirror on your person, and if you ever need to contact me, don’t hesitate to do so. I don’t expect Voldemort to do anything of note at the moment, as I imagine reorganizing the Ministry and such will take some time, even for him, but we must be ready.”

Harry nodded in agreement; though he was hesitant to share anything he had gleaned from the Dark Lord’s mind in the presence of the portraits (now understanding why Dumbledore had made a silent show of reminding him they were not exactly alone in the office).

“Things here will be much like Grimmauld Place in regard to the fight against Voldemort. Just as in the summer, I might ask you to help me in some things,” Dumbledore went on.

Harry smiled. It was nice to be counted on. “What do you think Voldemort plans to do next?” Harry asked.

“Reestablish the old taboo on his self-given name, I suspect. It requires a two week long ritual. What do you believe he will do?” Dumbledore asked, giving him a pointed look.

Harry reclined back in his seat slightly, taking a moment to slip into Voldemort’s mind and subtly inquire. He returned fully into his mind and straightened back up. The portraits didn’t suspect a thing.

“I think right now establishing his power is his priority. After the loss of most of his—” Harry settled on a word, “—heirlooms, he’ll want to regain some power, at least in his mind. So to do that, he’ll want to make himself feel powerful.”

 “Which means muggles and wizarding families deemed as being blood traitors will be attacked,” Dumbledore said with a grave nod.

“I think it’ll be more than that. The Ministry itself will be his arm. Like the SS were for Hitler.” Harry slowly exhaled. “Voldemort likes titles, and he doesn’t want to be viewed as a mere Dark Lord by other nations longer than he has already. He wants to become a legitimate head of state, for lack of a better word.”

“So you feel his focus will be on government matters,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

“For the most part. He knows he’s in a bind where his heirlooms are concerned, but trusts his last is safe. So putting all of his energy into this new goal — establishing his empire — makes total sense to him right now.” Harry frowned. “The Order should begin instructing people on how to fight off the Imperius Curse and to recognize it on others, sir, because it will become more widespread soon enough. If Voldemort feels he can’t coerce someone, he will simply take their will — either by his own wand or through one of his followers’.”

“I agree; he had in the last war, and certainly has started to this time. I will have the Order begin working with the Underground to address the Imperius.” Dumbledore suddenly looked at the door. “We will continue this discussion at a later time. The Heads of House are here.”

A knock came and Dumbledore quickly invited them in. McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout entered and took their seats with quiet eagerness—save for Snape. He was as stiff as always.

“Thank you for coming. I’ve just finished writing up Mr. Twist’s contract and he has decided to study Martial Magic and Transfiguration under me,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Now, as Martial Magic encompasses many branches of magic, I may have him occasionally seek guidance from one of you, if you are willing.”

They all nodded, even Snape, which sort of surprised Harry.

“I am pleased you’ve chosen Transfiguration to be one of your masteries, Mr. Twist,” McGonagall said, giving him a pleased nod. “However, your marks in my class, although top of your class, do not indicate to me that you are ready to begin an apprenticeship. Most apprenticeships only begin after graduation, after all. So, forgive me, but I have a hard time accepting a boy, no matter how gifted, is ready for such instruction with only four years of education.”

Harry blinked, not quite sure how to take the fact his Head of House was, for lack of a better word, doubting him—although, she did have a point. Even with the boost he got in his studies from Voldemort, was he ready?

“I trust Dumbledore’s evaluation of you, but even assuming his assessment is correct, I want validation from you that you are ready and understand what you are about to embark on. Apprenticeship, though rewarding, is anything but easy,” McGonagall added.

Harry glanced at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster didn’t give him any visual cues or hints while he sat behind his desk, perfectly at ease. Harry decided to think about why Dumbledore thought he was capable, instead of how this would benefit them in the war.

His metamorphmagus ability was obvious, but there had to be more, and then he recalled what he had done in the fight against the giants. Morphing the snow and ice to encumber the giant. . . . Looking back, that had been no small feat, and he had done it automatically. He hadn’t even needed to think about it. And that had all happened even before he started seriously delving into self-study that soon encompassed focused instruction from Kingsley, Tonks, and Remus at Grimmauld Place.

“I’m ready,” Harry said.

“Then I ask you to do a series of tasks for me,” McGonagall said. “And to allow me to inspect your work at each step.”

“Okay, Professor. What are the tasks?” he asked.

“Conjure a coin sized metal disk for me, transfigure it into a grasshopper, then a washcloth, before vanishing it for me please.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t hesitate to retrieve his wand and do as requested.

The time spent in his room at Grimmauld Place had not been wasted, and although he had acquired a great deal of knowledge from Voldemort, he knew his time reading and practicing was about to contribute even more in this instance.

The other professors waited curiously. Flitwick was clearly holding in an excited squeak.

Silently, Harry conjured a blank copper coin and looked up at McGonagall expectantly.

She picked it up and turned it over, pressing her fingers down on it before rolling it in her hand. She put it back down on the table and tapped it with her wand. Satisfied, she nodded for him to continue.

With a swish and jab, the coin morphed into a pale green grasshopper that immediately tried to jump off the desk. McGonagall caught it with her cat-like reflexes and gently stretched out one of its legs to examine it. She put it back on the desk.

Thinking hard, Harry wanted to impress, so mentally pictured the most elaborate washcloth he could think of. He smiled, suddenly recalling his time as a busboy, watching one of the other employees do a trick with a cloth napkin. A ‘towel bunny’.

Now, this didn’t simply involve a cast spell. This involved actively weaving magic, to have it follow a will more than a spell’s blueprint.

He set to work, paralyzing the insect in place so it wouldn’t hop off in the middle of his casting. After a few seconds, he finished with a tap.

A blue washcloth with fine white embroidery edging it lay on Dumbledore’s desk, but instead of neatly folded or laying out flat, it was wrapped in a peculiar way. From the way the washcloth was tucked and folded, it looked like a bunny. A very rich and eccentric bunny.

McGonagall glanced at him curiously before picking it up. After looking at it from all sides, she let the bunny shape fall away, which was oddly depressing. The adorable form collapsed into a square of pretty cloth. She shook it and looked closely at the threads before putting it back on the table with a satisfied smile.

Harry vanished it without a problem.

The professors were completely silent, although from the corner of his vision, Harry could see Dumbledore’s eyes twinkling.

“Well, Mr. Twist, congratulations, you just earned an O for a NEWT level, Transfiguration practical exam,” McGonagall said.

Flitwick clapped for him. “Well done, Mr. Twist!”

“Yes, very good!” Sprout put in, clapping as well.

Snape looked on approvingly, although Harry missed the calculation in his eyes.

Harry smiled shyly.

“Mr. Twist and I will begin work tomorrow. As such, he will not be required to attend classes in the same manner as his peers,” Dumbledore said. “When he attends your class, you may assign him work or tasks, but I ask that they not take up more than three hours a week per subject. We will go into further detail during tonight’s staff meeting.”

The professors nodded.

“Any questions before we go to lunch?” he asked.

No one had any, so Harry joined them on the way to the Great Hall. He gravitated toward Flitwick to ask him about dueling.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Neville was a little anxious to meet Mark Twist. After talking to him in the Great Hall that morning, he heard even more about him from the families who had moved into Hogwarts. The rumors were incredible, but what was even more unbelievable was that it seemed most of those rumors were true—according to Susan who had spoken to her aunt. But one stuck out above all the others.

Mark had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

He and his grandmother owed Mark Twist a lot. And though part of him wished he had been the one to take Bellatrix down, he was more thankful that that witch would never be able to hurt anyone ever again.

It was why he had asked Susan to meet them later; he wanted to talk with Mark alone.

Suddenly, Mark arrived, practically appearing out of thin air. Neville jumped.

“Sorry. Notice-me-not charm,” Mark explained as he approached.

Neville smiled. “I don’t blame you.”

Mark fell into step beside Neville as he turned to begin walking toward the empty classroom Susan had claimed for their group.

“So, what did you want to see me about? Where’s Susan?” Mark asked.

“She’ll meet us in the room. I, uh . . .” He glanced over, “I wanted to talk with you alone first.”

Mark looked at him questioningly. “Alright.”

“You see, my parents . . . soon after Harry Potter had temporarily vanquished You-Know-Who, my family was attacked by death eaters.” Neville couldn’t look at Mark as he continued, certain he’d see pity. “They were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. They’re now in the permanent ward of St Mungos. They will never recover.”

Neville was partially relieved and surprised when Mark remained silent. Neville pressed on, forcing his voice to work.

“I just. . . .” Neville stopped and faced Mark, instantly struck by the pain and understanding he found within the brown eyes gazing back at him. He swallowed. “I wanted to thank you for killing Lestrange. She was one of the death eaters who took—” Neville looked to the side, “—who took my parents from me.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. “Voldemort and his death eaters have stolen a lot from everyone. They will pay for what they have done.”

Neville felt oddly reassured by Mark’s words; as if certain the lanky teenager would one day end Voldemort and his followers once and for all. Such a powerful, mystical feeling. Neville nodded, before leading them the rest of the way to the meeting room.

They entered the room, and as Neville had promised, Susan was there waiting for them.

“Hi, Mark. Thanks for coming,” Susan said.

“No problem, though I’m still trying to figure out why you asked me here,” Mark said lightly.

“Oh! Sorry. Susan and I would like to ask you if you’d be interested in joining our group,” Neville said, glancing apologetically at Susan for not having told Mark sooner.

“What would I need to do?” Mark asked.

“Well, we were hoping you’d teach us some things you know. I mean, I know you have your apprenticeship now, so we understand you probably won’t have much time, but whatever time you gave us, we’d appreciate it,” Susan explained, somewhat awkwardly.

“Teach?” Mark asked, confused.

“Teach us to defend ourselves,” Neville said. “To fight. We want to be able to do something, something real. This war isn’t going to get better anytime soon. We need to be ready for when we can’t be shielded from it anymore.”

Mark reeled back slightly, surprised by Neville’s newfound ferocity.

“Why ask me? Why not ask one of the professors? I doubt they would be against teaching you and those willing some defense,” Mark tried.

Susan shook her head.

“No offense to the Professors, but they wouldn’t really teach us what we need to know. You’ve been out there, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve really had to fight for your life. The professors would try to hide things they think we’re not ready for,” Susan said. “They would hide things we need to know.”

Mark frowned. “What about your aunt?”

“Although Auntie is open with me, she isn’t keen on potentially influencing other people’s children. But you, you’re one of us. No one will be able to fault you if you shared your experiences with us. I’m not asking you to share vivid details, just things that might help us save a life, maybe our own,” Susan went on.

“Like what?” Mark asked, not put off by her statements, just bewildered.

“Like how death eaters fight, what curses they prefer to use, tactics,” she said.

Mark frowned in thought. Neville held his breath. He could tell from the look in Mark’s eyes that this was not something he was considering lightly.

“How many people are in your group?” he finally asked.

Neville could have cheered.

“Fifteen right now. With Umbridge gone, we’ll be able to expand. Before, it was too dangerous to scout for more members,” Neville answered quickly.

“I would like for this to stay a secretive group,” Mark said. “I don’t want this open to the entire school, just people who are serious about fighting if it becomes necessary. And not in a ‘I want to kick some death eater butt!’ kind of way. I want people genuinely willing to fight with everything they have to stop death eaters because they don’t want anyone else hurt.”

Susan and Neville both nodded. “We’ll continue to choose members carefully,” Susan promised.

“Alright. When is the next meeting?” Mark asked.

“Tonight, but I think it would be better for you to wait and come to the next so we can talk to our members and let the current . . . excitement go down a bit,” Susan said. Neville nodded in agreement.

“Good idea,” Mark said.

“We’ll let you know when next week’s meeting is, and if you can’t make it, we can change the time so you can. I’m sure no one will mind,” Susan said.

“Okay. The week will also give me time to learn what my new schedule will be,” Mark said before shaking his head as he turned to leave. “It’s going to take a bit to get used to.”

“To get used to the new schedule?” Neville asked curiously.

“No, being around so many people again,” Mark said. “For months, it’s just been me, Dumbledore, and a few adults.”

“Wow, I bet you’ve learned a lot though,” Susan said.

Mark smiled softly. “Yes, I’ve learned a great deal.”

They watched him leave at that, and Neville couldn’t help but feel ‘a great deal’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

O o O o O

Harry woke up and was torn between heaving a sigh of disgust or laughing hysterically.

Soon, Britain would no longer have a magical Ministry, but a magical Monarch. Voldemort had decided to have a coronation on the Winter Solstice, which would officially name him King Magus of Britain, ‘Eternal’ of Wizarding Britain. Pius Thicknesse, the acting Minister, who also happened to be imperioed, would do the crowning.

Harry was grateful Dumbledore had set part of his daily instruction with him in the mornings — although perhaps it was for this very reason. So Harry would be able to unobtrusively tell him if he had learned anything of note from Voldemort during the night. For more urgent matters, Harry could of course use the two way mirror or even go to the Headmaster’s office (via secret passage) any time, but as Harry would be going to see Dumbledore soon enough anyway, he decided this could wait until then.

The last few days had passed without much incident. Everyone continued to stare whenever he passed by, but fortunately the looks of distrust and fear were being replaced by looks of curiosity and respect, even admiration.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. All his life, he had been used to the Dursleys telling him that he was worthless and that no one would ever like him. Then, at Hogwarts, he had often been eyed with suspicion – a muggleborn wizard who seemed to have an affinity for the Dark Arts. But now, for the first time in his life, Harry was on the receiving end of praise and respect — and though some people were still hesitant and nervous around him, he no longer sensed loathing directed at him.

It was unreal to him.

Harry slipped on some casual clothes. They would continue his animagus training and Dumbledore had promised to reveal what his animagus was if Harry discovered his own after drinking the animagus potion — which enabled the drinker to forgo the ritual of keeping a mandrake leaf in their mouth for a month. Harry was grateful. He could only imagine how rancid the leaf would be at the end. . . .

Ready for his lesson, Harry made his way to the secret inner chamber within the Headmaster’s tower and entered.

“Good morning, Mark,” Dumbledore said, pouring the potion into a glass on the table as Harry made his way over. “I have the potion here for you, if you feel prepared.”

For the past few days, Harry had completed a series of meditations. Normally, preparation for the first stage of animagus training took months (even with the special potion), but thanks to his natural occlumency, he had reached all of the mental requirements by the second day. The only reason they had waited until now was because it took time to prepare the potion.

“I’m ready,” Harry said, “But I think I need to tell you about the vision I had last night first.”

That quickly got Dumbledore’s attention and he motioned for him to sit.

“On December 22nd, during Yule, Voldemort plans to have himself crowned as ‘Eternal’, King Magus of Britain.”

“The Winter Solstice,” Dumbledore said with a frown. “There is power on that day.”

Harry nodded. “He’s planning on doing a preparation ceremony through the night, before performing a ritual to permanently boost the strength of his magic. Receiving a magical crown at the sun’s zenith is the final step in the ritual.”

Dumbledore frowned. “We will need to prevent that from happening, and we only have about 3 weeks to prepare. I will contact the Underground later today to begin preparations. If we can disrupt the ritual so that the crowning does not occur at zenith, the magical rite will fail.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Harry agreed.

Dumbledore shook his head and turned his attention back to the table. “The potion only has a poured life of two hours. You best take it now and we will discuss Voldemort more later.”

Harry took the offered cup and couldn’t help but grimace as he looked at the contents, but then he couldn’t help but smile.

“I learned something else last night. Before I had the vision, I was doing some more . . . research. Voldemort had started the process of becoming an animagus before he got into horcruxes but stopped after discovering what his animal would be.” Harry continued, barely holding himself together, “A Brahminy Blind Snake, a snake that can be easily mistaken for a worm!”

Dumbledore joined in Harry’s laughter and said, “Yes, I can see why Voldemort would stop after learning that.”

“What makes it even better is that he was expecting a large animal, like a boa constrictor or a venomous serpent like a viper. He was greatly disappointed,” Harry explained, wiping his eye.

“Are you expecting anything?” Dumbledore asked, his joviality calming somewhat.

“Well, I’d like to be something that can fly, but really any animal could be useful. Although I must admit I hope I’m not a Brahminy,” he said, finishing with a chuckle.

Dumbledore smiled. “Well, being a small creature can have its uses.”

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, noticing the hint. “Don’t tell me you’re a flea or something.”

“Find out your animal first and then I’ll show you.”

With that, Harry drank the potion and sat down to meditate.

“If you feel comfortable enough, you may attempt a transformation, but don’t force it if your magic isn’t aligned,” Dumbledore advised.

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes closed as he breathed slowly.

He was gliding down into dark woods, the night sky cloaking his approach. Coming to a tree branch, he landed. His strong talons gripped the branch tightly and he pulled his wings in before he turned his head around to look behind him.

Harry took a deep breath, letting his magic wrap him like a blanket as he concentrated on his core, letting his consciousness float between his mindscape and reality. His skin was tingling and his ears were buzzing as his magic began to pulse firmly with the beat of his animal heart. He allowed the power to build, not wanting to fail as his skin became hot with energy and his core ached to relinquish its hold on the form he had just uncovered.

He exhaled, churning his magic before letting it go.

It was not particularly painful, just very strange as he allowed all the sensations he had had as the creature mesh with his current form. A wave of intense sensation pulsed through him and he could only liken it to apparating through sand.

He opened his eyes to find the floor much closer than it had been.

“Ah!” Dumbledore shouted happily. “You did it! You’re a Striped Owl!”

Harry stretched out his wings, turning his head so he could look down both lengths of them. His wingspan was about 80cm (2’ 7.5”) and upon looking down at himself, he knew why the type of owl he was was called a Striped Owl. Dark brown feathers peppered his white and tan colored frame, forming lines.

Dumbledore conjured a mirror and let him look at his owl face.

Large ear tufts were upon his head and brownish-white feathers circled his white face. He had large, dark cinnamon colored eyes and a black beak.

Harry was suddenly reminded of Hedwig.

Where was she? Had she been given to someone else? Had she flown away after he had been taken?

A sick feeling settled in his stomach. What if she had tried to find him and had traveled to Azkaban?

Admittedly, after Azkaban, it had been easy to forget he even had an owl. After all, every summer he had had her stay at Hogwarts, as he couldn’t take care of her at the boarding house.

“Are you ready to attempt transforming back?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded.

“Allow your magic to cover you again, but instead of letting it go, pull in, as I had discussed yesterday,” he said, taking out his wand in case he needed to reverse anything in a hurry.

Harry closed his round owl eyes and did his best to do just that, the sensation rushing through him a second time, only backwards.

He landed in a heap on the floor, but he was whole and featherless.

“Astounding,” Dumbledore said. “And on your first try!” He frowned before muttering to himself, “Minerva is going to have my hide for not inviting her to see.”

Harry lifted himself from the floor and then looked expectantly at his mentor.

“Oh, of course,” he said before putting his wand away.

Harry didn’t blink as Dumbledore promptly collapsed in onto himself, and for a long moment Harry could only stare as a quiet ‘bzzzzzzz’ filled the air.

Hovering where Dumbledore had been standing was a fuzzy, black and yellow, bumblebee.

Dumbledore transformed back a moment later.

“Well, it suits you,” Harry said with a smirk.

O o O o O

Voldemort twirled the new wand in his hand. He didn’t want to risk the Priori Incantatem happening again if, by chance, he came across Twist. Fortunately, his new wand had been easy to procure. Ollivander had left the country a day after the Ministry had fallen, and the man had left in such a hurry that he didn’t bother to take all of his wands. Unfortunately, he did take all of his crafting supplies though. Voldemort would have loved to give all of the materials to Snape to make potions with, but alas.

Reforming the Ministry was going well, with an imperio here, an implied threat there, the employees were falling right in line. It was making the ritual to reestablish the taboo on his name move that much smoother, not to mention the preparations for the Winter Solstice.

Voldemort smiled. Even with only one remaining horcrux (assuming the diadem had also been destroyed), he was still the greatest sorcerer in the world and would soon become the greatest wizard of all time. And then he would do what he was born to do. Establish an Empire to encompass the entire world with himself as the head — the voice of Magic. The Eternal.

O o O o O

Severus waited in the library. He had been asked by Dumbledore to work with Mr. Twist and research the ritual the Dark Lord would attempt to implement that Yule. Understandably, Dumbledore only had so much time in the day, and with the efforts of the Underground and the Order, having others do research made the most sense. Severus only hoped he wouldn’t need to dumb down the material much for Mr. Twist — not that he believed the boy wasn’t intelligent, far from it.

The boy had succeeded in becoming an animagus in less than a week. Less. Than. A. Week.

Minerva was still mystified by it, not to mention still upset with Dumbledore for not inviting her to witness Twist’s first attempt at transforming that happened to also be a success.

Severus shook his head.

Twist’s animagus was only known to the Heads of House and to Remus Lupin — partly because they were the ones working with him nearly as closely as Dumbledore.

It was strange. Dumbledore had been wary of Twist for a long time, but now he was like a grandson to him. What had changed? What had happened to instill such trust, such devotion?

And the curse on his hand.

How had he managed to remove it? With all of his years serving the Dark Lord and studying the Dark Arts, Severus had only managed to slow the imminent death. Had Dumbledore and Twist found someone when they had been away on Order business? Who was this person, and why weren’t they with them now? Surely someone with that much knowledge would be invaluable in the war? Or perhaps they were, and they were Dumbledore’s mysterious source?

“Professor,” Twist said, stepping into the Restricted Section.

It was late in the evening. No one else was in the library.

“Mr. Twist,” he greeted, keeping his tone as formal as always.

Mark made his way to him, glancing at the shelves covered with books that arguably should never be read.

“I trust you know why we are here?” Severus asked.

Mark nodded. “The Winter Solstice ritual called ‘Eternal Rite’. We need to learn everything we can about it, particularly what it does to the individual undergoing it.”

Severus nodded. “According to the Headmaster’s source, the Dark Lord does not have a complete grounding in what’s involved and is still conducting research, which means there may be something we can exploit,” Severus added before motioning to an aisle. “There are some ritual books down that row. I will search down this one. This will be a long night, so I’ll send for a house elf for some refreshments once we find some tomes.”

Mark nodded his understanding and quickly headed off.

Severus watched him go, intrigued by how confident the boy still was. After Azkaban, one would think the boy would have changed, and not in a good way. Instead, he was ultimately still Mark Twist — albeit a wiser and more experienced Mark Twist. A muggleborn who could be mistaken for a pureblood.

“Verba Locant, Ritual, Eternal, Winter Solstice,” Severus muttered, lazily waving his wand.

Three books glowed a moment later. Retrieving those, he went to a table and laid them out. Twist joined him soon after with two thick tomes and they both began skimming tables of contents.

A few hours later, they found it. It was mentioned in two books but was detailed in the second tome Mark had retrieved. It was not considered a dark ritual, as there were no sacrifices, but it was extremely powerful.

Severus read over Mark’s shoulder, both of them frowning harder the more they read.

“Permanently expands one’s magical core by stretching out the outer layer and allowing the natural essence of magic that’s prevalent during the Solstice to fill in the void and condense,” Mark muttered, unnerved.

“Probably why it’s called ‘Eternal’. Most rituals that affect an individual’s magic are only temporary. Altering one’s core is exceedingly dangerous. One risks becoming a squib if it’s done incorrectly, and that’s assuming they survive the mistake,” Severus explained.

“Which is why Voldemort is being so careful,” Mark said, nodding to himself.

Severus didn’t ask how he knew, assuming Dumbledore had told him how the Underground had reported being unable to get close to any preparation work. Even he, Voldemort’s trusted spy, was barred from assisting, even though he was a potions master.

They continued reading.

“The ritual is less than an hour long,” Mark said with a frown.

“Doesn’t give us much of a window,” Severus agreed.

“There’s a lot involved in the ritual’s preparation, though,” Mark said, his finger sliding down the list on the page.

Over half of it involved short ceremonial acts to prepare the participant’s mind and body, such as meditation and eating specifically cooked foods. Much of it seemed superficial and just for symbolic purposes, but with ancient rituals one could never be sure.

“There’s a reason why very few people attempt such rituals,” Severus said. “There’s a lot of places where things can go wrong.”

Mark narrowed his eyes at the page.

“Perhaps this will help the Underground decide where to focus their efforts now,” Severus said before standing up with the book. “Let’s get this to the Headmaster.”

Mark stood up as well as Severus waved his wand and made the books on the table fly to their rightful places on the shelves. The elves would clean up the rest (if Severus cleaned everything up, they would be hurt).

Severus stowed his wand and looked at Mark.

“Sir?” Mark asked, wondering why they were just standing there.

“Mr. Twist, I confess, I am curious. Why are you still here?” he asked, his tone and expression showing no emotion. “You are a muggleborn, one who was wrongfully imprisoned and demonized — a veritable scapegoat. You don’t owe the Wizarding World anything, in fact, we owe you quite a lot. An apology of enormous proportions would not balance the scales.”

Mark straightened, his eyes sharpening in such a way that Severus was reminded of a different muggleborn. A muggleborn with green eyes. Severus held his breath.

“Voldemort must be stopped. If he’s not stopped here, he won’t be stopped anywhere. It’s not about whether or not the Wizarding World deserves to be saved, because frankly it doesn’t.

“Voldemort didn’t rise out of nothing; he was given fertile ground, and that’s why I’m still here. This is about justice, about hope. The hope for real change. Someone has to say ‘enough’, someone has to take the first step in rectifying the foundation that has enabled him. I’ve decided I will be that someone. Sure, I have every right to leave, to turn away and never look back. But I won’t, because that’s not who I am.”

“And who are you?” Severus asked.

Mark smiled softly, almost sadly. “You tell me,” he said, before turning toward the door.

Severus didn’t answer as he followed him out.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Harry closed the door behind him before collapsing onto his bed.

Hedwig gave a sympathetic hoot from her perch near the window sill.

Harry had recently learned that Hagrid had cared for Hedwig while he was in Azkaban, but that when Dumbledore had rescued him, Hedwig went missing. Fortunately, she turned up a week after he returned to Hogwarts. Dumbledore believed it was because Harry was no longer under the Fidelius Charm at Grimmauld Place, allowing Hedwig time to track his magic and find him again.

Harry was grateful he had Hedwig back and had even gone flying with her in his owl form a few times already.

He heard her chirp expectantly.

“Sorry, girl, I’m too tired to fly tonight,” he said, rolling to his side and pulling his shoes off.

Training had understandably picked up a notch after they had learned about the ritual. With about a week before the Solstice, both he and Dumbledore wanted him to know as much magic as possible. However, he wasn’t just training.

He was now attending a few meetings of the newly christened group, ‘The Red Bloods’.

Susan had thought of the name, as the term ‘Truebloods’ had been shoved down their throats all year she decided something to counter that idiotic mentality was in order. The name, ‘The Red Bloods’, symbolized the fact blood did not matter. From purebloods to muggles, they all bled the same color. There was no difference in worth.

Harry was very pleased with the name, and being the only ‘muggleborn’ in the group, he made certain to tell them so before teaching what he could about Death Eater tactics and such to those deemed ready and willing by Susan and Neville.

Along with learning how Death Eaters fight, Harry encouraged them to learn first-aid spells and master fundamental defensive spells. However, the most important lesson he felt he had given them was not holding back in a fight. The more he thought about it, the more he knew Dumbledore was right. This was war, and in war, one should never hold back.

Currently, there was just over 20 students in the group, most above third year. He didn’t attend every meeting, simply because he didn’t have an abundance of time, however, he was able to convince them to ask Remus Lupin to help. At the moment, he was teaching them the Patronus Charm — a priority considering how the Dementors were now in league with Voldemort.

Harry rubbed his shoulder as he began getting in his night clothes. Dueling with Flitwick was a different kind of work out. Who knew that little man could move so quickly? Harry had to quickly learn how to roll and cast at the same time or suffer the consequences. Flitwick was definitely helping to improve his stamina and agility, no doubt.

He glanced at the book Dumbledore had given him to write in. Even with current events being as they were, the man wanted him to start thinking about thesis proposals. Harry turned away and climbed completely into bed. He was just too tired to think at the moment. Being an apprentice was harder than he had ever thought it would be, but what was even more unlike what he had expected was how people were responding to him.

He was viewed on a level above Headboy, on a pedestal he had never believed he would be placed on, but (if he was honest) had dreamt of being on more than once. The younger years soon rose above the lies they had been buried in by Umbridge and the Ministry, soaking up stories told by people who had witnessed Twist’s deeds for themselves. A pregnant woman, who had been in Diagon Alley, told of Mark Twist’s bravery in extinguishing the demon fire in the sky after stopping Bellatrix Lestrange from cursing anyone else. Kingsley, who they all knew to be an auror (wrongfully accused of treachery), told of Twist’s hand in the evacuation of the Muggleborns. And the Twins told them of his firm ousting of Umbridge (never mind what had befallen her soon after). Dozens of other people had their own personal tales (particularly where Diagon Alley was concerned), and every account only served to expand Twist’s growing renown.

It was surreal, a dream of impossible reality.

He would walk down the hall and every head would turn. People watched him now. Not because they expected him to do something bad, but because they respected him — revered him. Among the students, and perhaps even the adults, he was Dumbledore’s successor. All the months of the Daily Prophet spewing story after story about his dark nature evaporated as they discovered for themselves who he really was.

No one uttered it, but everyone knew.

He was what they had been waiting for, what they were desperate for.

A hero.

Harry waved his hand and turned off the light. His thoughts strayed.

The Weasleys were understandably still coming to terms with Percy’s death. For Harry, it was hard to be around them. Not simply because he shared many of their feelings—in that he hadn’t been fond of Percy, or at least didn’t agree with many of his choices—but because he had seen his death, or at least viewed Voldemort’s memory of it when Susan had asked about her aunt.

He knew how he had died, knew what the last blow had been, what his expression was when death had come.

And it wasn’t heroic. He hadn’t gone down fighting. He hadn’t even retrieved his wand.

He had tried to hide under the secretary’s desk after the assistant secretary had attempted to flee. Voldemort thought his cowardice was shameful for a pureblood and had told him so before dishing out a number of curses before ending it.

Harry sighed, wanting sleep to hurry up and take him as he rolled over.

It was hard to look at the red headed family and know how one of their kin had been so unlike them. Sure, one could hardly blame Percy for trying to hide upon seeing Voldemort, but he had to have known that there was no getting out of that office alive once the Dark Lord had arrived. It was over. Why not keep your dignity and fight, no matter how futile? But maybe that was just Harry.

Finally, after twenty more minutes of tossing and turning (in part due to achy muscles), sleep did come.

He let Nagini crawl on him and rest on his shoulders. She was getting restless trapped in Riddle Manor, and though a nearly infinitesimally small part of him felt bad for her, it was for their own protection. He could not risk her, not when she was his last horcrux. He visited her as often as he could, of course (if only to be certain of her continued health), but being alone was doing a number on her, even though he occasionally brought in a Ministry worker who had managed to fight off the imperius.

Foolish people.

Maybe after the Solstice things would be different. Although his research was not as complete as he would like yet (mainly about what exactly it does to one’s magical core), the god-like qualities said to be gained by the participant. . . . Considering everything, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ensure his magical dominance. He just had to ensure the ritual was conducted perfectly. He could no longer trust in his horcruxes, and though he still had Nagini, he wanted — needed — more insurance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make any more horcruxes, so his only option now was to become more powerful.

He looked out the manor’s window, watching the pitiful souls walking along the quiet street and completely oblivious to the manor’s existence — or him for that matter.

In a week’s time he would have power beyond any wizard born in the last millennium. He would become King Magus, the Eternal.

O o O o O

Harry sat across from Dumbledore, following their usual routine of discussing any immediate matters of concern, such as visions or Death Eater activity, before moving onto that day’s schedule.

“Only a little vision last night,” Harry said with a shrug. “Pretty boring actually. He went to Riddle Manor to check on Nagini and watched people in the village from the window. Thanks to that hill, he has a full view of Little Hangleton,” Harry stated, taking a biscuit from the tray between them.

Dumbledore froze, and for a moment Harry didn’t notice until he looked up to find the Headmaster staring at him, startled.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Where was Voldemort again?” Dumbledore asked. “Tell me exactly.”

Harry blinked, confused. “In Riddle Manor, looking out the second floor window overlooking Little Hangleton.”

“And where is Riddle Manor?”

Harry’s eyes widened before he answered. “Riddle Manor is on the lone hill overlooking Little Hangleton.”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling beyond any gem.

“The Fidelius Charm . . . but . . . the connection . . .” Harry breathed, briefly closing his eyes. “I should have realized . . . I’m just as much the secret keeper as he is.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Which means we now have access to Nagini.” Dumbledore paused in thought. “Does he have any protections on the manor, alarms or anything?”

Harry closed his eyes, consciously digging for those answers. Harry frowned. “Unfortunately, he’s been very careful this time. He’ll be immediately notified if anyone other than himself or Nagini enters the grounds. There are a few curses he’s placed around the house, but nothing inside. He’s also set up a portkey for Nagini to use in case she believes she’s in immediate danger.”

“Where will the portkey take her?”

“To the forest in Albania, where he had wandered a bit as a spirit. She always has it on her,” Harry answered.

“We cannot allow her to activate the portkey then,” Dumbledore stated. “Creating the necessary portkeys to and from Albania for ourselves would be very difficult, and even if we succeeded in following her, she could still manage to get away.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Is she informed if anyone comes on to the grounds or into the house like Voldemort is?” Dumbledore asked.

“No.”

“And if Voldemort is notified, am I right in assuming he will return?”

“Yes, with as many Death Eaters and Dementors as possible.”

They fell silent, both trying to come up with a plan that would ensure Nagini would be killed without themselves getting killed in the process.

“Nagini will need to be taken out when Voldemort cannot afford to attempt a rescue,” Dumbledore said.

Harry had a sinking feeling as he quickly put the plan together.

Dumbledore met his eyes. “I believe you understand.”

“The coronation. We’ll need to kill Nagini during the Solstice, after the ritual has begun so that Voldemort cannot leave.” Harry shook his head. “But we can’t let him complete the ritual!”

“We’re not. I will go and stop him while you destroy Nagini. I will lead the Order and the Underground to the Ministry and prevent the ritual from completing,” Dumbledore explained.

Harry frowned. “No, if we are going to involve the Underground and storm the Ministry, this will have to be it. The war will have to end on the Solstice. If it doesn’t, the losses we will likely suffer during the attack will cripple the Order and the Underground, preventing us from continuing the fight with any hope of victory, incomplete ritual or not. You will destroy Nagini; I will lead the attack at the Ministry.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “My boy, I don’t believe you understand.”

Harry lifted his gaze before pulling his wand and swinging it over himself in a big arch. A bubble, obscuring the view of anyone looking from the outside, appeared over them. The portraits couldn’t make out anything at or around the Headmaster’s desk. They couldn’t hear either.

Harry let his magic shimmer across his form, the identity of Mark Twist falling as green eyes stared into crystal blue.

“I do understand,” Harry said softly. “And I think you know.” He tapped his scar. “It’s how I know the manor’s location. The Fidelius hides the secret in one’s soul, and I have a piece of Voldemort’s inside me. I’m a horcrux. I have to die.”

Tears gathered in Dumbledore’s eyes.

“After I stop the ritual, I will wait until you arrive at the Ministry. If we do this right, Voldemort will be permanently defeated and the world will be saved. Saved from Voldemort and from itself. As it’s clear the Wizarding World won’t listen to people who are alive, maybe they will change once they discover their ‘savior’ died as a muggleborn.”

Dumbledore swallowed thickly. “So, you want them to know?”

“Yes. They hated me for being what my mother was. It will be a hard-learned lesson, but that just means it won’t be easily forgotten.”

Dumbledore nodded, his shoulders slouched in defeat. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry for my part in your suffering, especially. Please, is there anything you wish of me?”

“Kill him. Once he has no anchor, kill him. Let me be the last person he ever kills.”

“I will ensure that you are,” Dumbledore promised. 

O o O o O

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair from behind his desk the next day. He had just finished writing a reply to Rufus Scrimgeour, the silent head of the Underground within the Ministry. Things were . . . not as bad as they could be—though they were still extremely far from great. They had people within all the departments, a special code to ensure secrecy, and members itching to try something to stop the madness. Well, in less than a week they would get their wish. They would all be participating in a coup that would end things one way or the other.

However, despite the pleasing fact the Underground network was solid, there was also concerning news. According to the Underground, things were going on in and around the Atrium, most likely in preparation for the Coronation. Scrimgeour and several others believed it involved new wards, but no one from the Underground could get close enough to learn for sure.

All the more reason to have Bill Weasley be part of the direct assault. If there were wards, he and Flitwick would be their best chance of getting through in time.

Dumbledore scanned the parchment before him. Scrimgeour had provided him a list of people he suspected or was certain had been imperioed. Pius Thicknesse, the current minister, was first on the list. It wasn’t a surprise (as Harry had already told him), but the list continued for a long while after his name. It certainly gave Dumbledore an appreciation for what the Underground was having to deal with. Going in for ‘work’ day in and day out, working alongside coworkers and acting as if nothing was wrong — all the while knowing so many around them had been bewitched to be on the lookout for any ‘rebels’, etc..

Harry had been right. This war needed to end on the Solstice.

Harry’s lessons were coming right along. They had just finished going over portkey creation, which would enable Harry to make a portkey that would go to Riddle Manor.

The speed in which that boy could learn was staggering; granted, he supposed having direct access to memories one could copy and implant, instantly stealing the knowledge held within, was part of the reason. But even so, Harry learned how to redirect spells with remarkable ease — a skill Voldemort had not quite mastered to such a degree. Under Dumbledore’s instruction, Harry had even been able to redirect a Crucio (which had been cast by Remus at a dummy beside Harry).

An ache rose in his old chest, a pain not caused by anything physical, but emotional.

It was such a cruel injustice that such a selfless and talented boy, who had already suffered so much, endured so much, had to die in the end. And the fact he had had a hand in bringing about some of the lad’s torment only magnified the ache.

He wished there was something he could do, but he knew there was nothing for it.

If they were to permanently destroy Voldemort, the Horcrux in Harry had to be killed and there was only one way to do that. There was no expelling the horcrux from Harry; it was too deeply imbedded in him. He had to die.

The only solace Dumbledore had was knowing the boy would be with his parents and godfather after it all.

O o O o O

Harry made his way to The Red Bloods’ meeting place, anxious to get his mind off what he had just learned.

After his lesson with Dumbledore, he had used his self-study time to see if he could figure out exactly what was going on at the Ministry. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to learn much, simply because Voldemort didn’t know much — as outrageous as that sounded.

Voldemort, focusing on the particulars of the ritual, had placed Barty Crouch Jr. in charge of security around the Atrium, ordering him to do whatever he felt necessary to ensure no one disturbed them on the night of the solstice. He didn’t want anyone going in or out of the Atrium after midnight.

All Voldemort knew about the protections was that they involved powerful wards and inferi, and that Crouch Jr. was extremely confident in them. The comfort that brought Voldemort unnerved Harry a great deal. What kind of wards and protections could that man place in a week’s time to make him that self-assured?

Harry wondered if he could learn enough about wards before then to be able to help Flitwick and Bill much — as Dumbledore had told him that would be their main task in the attack.

He sighed, deciding he would look into it after his meeting with The Red Bloods.

He turned the corner, halfway to the room, when he came face to face with Draco Malfoy. Malfoy froze, like a deer in headlights. Harry wasn’t much better, but recovered before the Slytherin.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, as he quickly took in Draco’s appearance.

He looked horrible. His skin was paler than usual and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Twist,” he returned, his voice oddly quiet.

Harry frowned, suddenly wondering if Draco knew about his father’s death or how Voldemort was using the Malfoy Manor as a base of operations.

Draco swallowed and moved as if he was going to step around Twist.

“Hey,” Harry stated, not quite sure what he was doing. “Is . . . is everything alright?”

Draco turned his face away, his shoulders instantly going rigid. “Mind your own business,” he spat.

The knowledge that this boy’s father had been ripped apart by inferi was all that kept Harry from saying something sarcastic or spouting a retort.

“Okay,” he said instead, stepping around the stiff blond and moving on.

Malfoy looked back at him, taken aback for some reason. “Wait, Twist. Look.”

Harry turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Look, I—“ Draco looked down, annoyed with himself. “I don’t even know why I’m going to tell you this.”

“What?” Harry asked, trying not to grow impatient.

“I haven’t heard from home in awhile.”

All previous annoyance and hostilities Harry had had with the Slytherin evaporated. The fear in Draco’s eyes could not be faked.

“When did you hear from them last?” Harry asked, almost saying ‘your mom’ instead of ‘them’.

Draco huffed. Harry decided it was supposed to be an attempt at a dry laugh.

“It’s just me and mother now. Been that way for awhile. I don’t know what happened, just that something did. Mother refuses to tell me, but I guess it doesn’t matter,” Draco said, his words spilling forth. “She could be dead too now, for all I know.”

Harry allowed his consciousness to drift slightly into Voldemort’s mind, teetering at the edge so he was still aware enough of his own surroundings. It only took a split second before Harry drew himself back, his question answered.

“She’s still alive,” Harry stated.

Draco’s face snapped up.

“Don’t ask me how I know, but I promise you, right now, she is alive and safe.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment. “You really are working with Dumbledore, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

With that, Harry continued on his way. Draco didn’t try to stop him.

Walking away, Harry couldn’t help but smile. Narcissa was a resourceful woman. She had managed to flee the country. It was no wonder Draco hadn’t received any word from her. The Ministry was keeping a tight grip on all forms of communication, particularly those entering and leaving the country, and she likely knew that. Perhaps she would return once the war was over?

“Hiya, Mark,” Neville greeted as Harry entered the room.

Most of the members were already there, including Susan and Luna. The group now numbered over fifty, thanks in part to recent Hogwarts graduates joining. Harry was relieved that Susan kept her word — only inviting those who were serious — as it had likely saved them a lot of drama. He could only imagine how things would have been with someone like Zacharias Smith.

Susan got things started quickly once the rest of the Red Bloods arrived, and soon they were all looking at him.

“Uh, right. Well, before we continue practicing, I was asked by Dumbledore to discuss something with you all,” Harry said.

That made everyone straighten expectantly, almost eagerly.

“We going to help fight soon?” someone asked, which quickly led others to ask their own questions.

“Need our help in a mission?”

“Will we be leaving Hogwarts?”

Harry lifted a hand for silence and instantly got it. The first few times it had happened he had been privately stunned; even now it still filled him with an odd sensation of something similar to pride.

“Something big will be happening soon, and Dumbledore’s decided we should have some safeguards in place. I suggested you all and hope you’ll agree to help,” Harry said.

Everyone quickly nodded, excited about actually doing something. Harry hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed.

“We don’t know what will happen when. . . .” Harry thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. Dumbledore had given Harry permission to share anything that he believed prudent, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be careful. “I’m not going to sugarcoat things. When we make our move, that’ll be it. If we lose, those within Hogwarts must make it to safety. You all are to help ensure that they do.” He turned to Susan. “I want you to break everyone up into teams of five or so and choose a leader for each team. Dumbledore wants to meet with all team leaders tomorrow morning to begin preparations. They must be at least in 5^th year and be able to cast a corporeal patronus. There’s also other preparations that must be made. If we win, things will not instantly be fine. There will be casualties, which means the infirmary needs to be expanded and people need to be ready to receive the injured.”

Everyone was still, taking in his every word, even those several years older than him.

“Neville, from the teams Susan makes, select someone in each—other than the leader—to be the medic head of that team. They can be of any age, but must be excellent at charms and obviously cannot be afraid of blood. They are to meet with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow morning for some training. As we only have four days to prepare, Dumbledore has suspended classes and has barred all communication from leaving Hogwarts. I know some of you have family on the outside, but we can’t risk this getting out. If Voldemort knew we were preparing, it would only make things harder for us.”

He looked over them all, his eyes pausing on Ron and his school-aged siblings who looked as serious as he had ever seen them. He took in the rest of the group, finding determined faces bearing flashes of eagerness and fear, uncertainty and hope.

“You won’t be here with us when it goes down, will you?” Lee Jordan asked, speaking up from the back.

“No,” Harry answered, knowing what was about to start. 

“Why can’t we go with you?” Fred asked.

“Yeah, we have just as much right as you to go fight,” another put in.

Harry fought back a sigh. “Look, I have to go and you all must stay. This is not up for debate. If you really want to do something to help, do the best you can in whatever task you’re given tomorrow. Lives will be in all of our hands soon. In mine: when I go fight, and in yours: when you learn if we have succeeded or have failed. Now is not the time to bellyache about not being ‘on the frontlines’, now is the time to buckle down and do what we all need you to do, whatever that happens to be. We all can help, need to help, but we can’t all help in the same way. Accept that, and don’t bring it up with me again. Clear?”

Many people stared back at him with wide eyes, assuring him he had gotten his point across.

“Good, now let’s get to work.”

No one argued.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

It was the late hours of December 21^st, the night before the Winter Solstice.

That morning, the Daily Prophet had been ablaze with news of the coronation of their new leader, the Magus King, Eternal. The brightly colored and decorated article described what a momentous occasion it was and that all of the Wizarding World should be celebrating. Apparently, it was the dawn of a new age, and the one who would lead all Truebloods to the new tomorrow had come. Dumbledore wasn’t one to roll his eyes, but he was sorely tempted to with that day’s article.

“Ready, sir?” Harry asked, handing him the portkey he had made. It would take him to the heart of Riddle Manor.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, taking the sock-portkey.

Harry had told him everything he knew about the manor and about Nagini. He had also told Fawkes the location of the place in case Dumbledore needed him.

“It’ll activate when you say your phoenix’s name,” Harry said.

Dumbledore nodded his understanding, quickly doing a mental check of everything — if only to reassure himself.

The infirmary was set to receive any and all wounded with the Red Bloods ready to assist wherever necessary. Several precautions were also in place, the team leaders prepared to receive instructions from McGonagall and the other professors remaining behind if they had to evacuate the castle. They would only have so much time before Voldemort came for them, so every team leader had a portkey that would take them and their designated group and charges out of the country. From there, they would have to act quickly, leaving no traces of themselves as they moved deeper into their adopted countries—for the resistance against Voldemort would need to take hold immediately or Britain would only be the first to fall.

All the more reason for them not to fail.

Voldemort could not successfully complete the ritual. He could not be allowed to flee. He had to be killed.

A lot was at stake. It reminded him of the war against Grindelwald, but worse. At least Grindelwald had still been a human being underneath his Greater-Good delusion. Voldemort had no restraint, no morals, and certainly no humanity. And if he had the power from the ritual, there would be little chance of stopping him.

Dumbledore looked at the time, knowing Voldemort had likely just started preparing for the ritual that would end at 4:45am. He would need to wait to go until the ritual started to ensure Voldemort could not send help to Nagini. Harry and the Order, however, would have to leave much sooner.

He turned his attention to Harry who was still standing patiently in front of him.

Harry looked ready. Ready to do whatever it took, including to die. Such a remarkable boy. He knew he would never meet another like him. Fate really was a harsh mistress.

“It will be alright, sir. Tomorrow morning, it’ll all be over. Britain will be free, and so will I,” Harry said as the silence began to stretch a little too long between them.

Tears threatening to spill, Dumbledore reached out his hand and placed it firmly on Harry’s shoulder, expressing more than words could say before Harry quietly turned and left.

O o O o O

Neville watched as Mark gathered with the Order. It was strange. He knew Mark was the same age as he was, and yet he seemed so much older and experienced, even while standing among those who were older and bigger than he was.

Mark seemed calm, confident, and resigned at the same time. If Neville didn’t know any better, he’d say Mark knew what was about to happen. A war’s end with a high cost.

Susan and the others had already said their goodbyes and good lucks to him, and he knew he should as well, but he didn’t want to. It made it seem final, and not in a good way. As if he would be saying goodbye to Mark forever. However, if something did happen and he hadn’t said goodbye, he knew he would regret it.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to Mark, ignoring how self-conscious he suddenly felt as he passed by several known Order members. He had gained some self confidence the past few months, but at times he still felt like the first year tripping on his way from the stool with the sorting hat still on his head.

“Hey, Mark,” Neville said, finding a moment he could politely cut in as almost everyone around Mark was talking.

“Hi, Neville,” Mark said, guiding them away from the group so they could talk without so many close by.

“I wish I had something brilliant to say to you before you go,” Neville said. He sighed, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you. I wish I had sooner.”

Mark’s eyes danced with emotion as he gave a soft, apologetic smile. “I know I haven’t always been . . . accessible. There’re reasons for that, but. . . .” Mark looked pained, as if he was holding onto something heavy but couldn’t allow himself to let go. “When this is over, things will be different and something will be known by everyone. Just . . . I just wanted you to know. So you could be ready for that.”

Neville swallowed, unnerved and confused. “Okay. Is it something bad?”

Mark frowned. “I think some people will be upset when they learn, but I don’t think it’s good or bad.” He looked down. “It’s just the truth.”

“Alright. Thank you for telling me,” Neville said.

Mark paused, as if thinking about saying something more, but then he held out his hand instead. “Goodbye, Neville. I wish I had gotten to know you sooner too.”

Neville firmly clasped the offered hand and gave him a short nod.

O o O o O

Harry followed Bill Weasley as they made their way through the outer halls of the Ministry. It was disturbing. The halls were completely empty and silent. It was not a surprise, as Rufus Scrimgeour had forewarned them that every employee of the Ministry was required to attend the Coronation in the Atrium, dress in their finest robes and bring their families. However, it didn’t make it any less creepy.

Harry stopped by Bill’s side as they came to the edge of the corridor. He looked up at the young man whose father was currently at Hogwarts with his mother. He seemed calm and collected, but Harry could see worry lines forming on his forehead.

They were heading to the Atrium with over 75% of the Order spread out behind them. Flitwick was right behind him, and Harry took comfort in knowing the Dueling Champion had his back.

“According to what Scrimgeour told us, there should be a ward not far beyond this turn. It’s likely an outer ward. Another ward will probably enclose the Atrium. Or at least that’s what we suspect,” Bill quietly explained as Flitwick signaled those following to wait.

They all had their wands out.

Turning the corner, Harry instantly felt the magical charge bleeding off the ward halfway down the large chamber in front of them with fireplaces on either side. Inactive Floos. Bill nodded to Flitwick, but before he could say anything, they saw movement just beyond the ward. Forms seemed to be patrolling.

“Oh, Merlin,” Flitwick gasped. “Inferi.”

“I can bring this ward down, but once it’s down, I doubt the inferi will wait for us to come to them,” Bill said.

“Understood,” Harry said, readying his wand.

Bill looked at Flitwick and gave a nod.

Harry watched as Bill expertly waved his wand, causing odd patterns of runes to appear in mid-air, seemingly on the surface of the ward.

“Almost got it,” Bill said after a minute, sweat gathering on his brow. “Professor, if you could pull the perth rune as I open the gap a bit. . . . Everyone, be ready.”

“I got it,” Flitwick said, bring his wand up before slashing it down suddenly.

There was a pulse of magic as the ward fell, and that was all the time they had before inferi suddenly charged. Their number far exceeded what Harry and the others had previously thought.

Harry didn’t hold back and chose a fire whip. He stepped past Bill, cleaving a number of inferi in two as he advanced. Flitwick, Remus, and the aurors accompanying them followed up Harry’s whip with several bursts of fire, taking out more advancing corpses until there was no more.

It was an intense and disgusting affair, and they were all relieved when it was over, until they remembered that that had just been the outer defense.

Harry cringed at the sight. Hundreds of charred bodies lay before them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he wondered who they had once been. How many had been muggleborn who had been taken into questioning? How many had stood up and spoken out against the shady things occurring? How many had families looking for them?

He swallowed thickly, finally able to force himself to look ahead.

“Let’s go,” he said while silently vowing to avenge these people’s deaths and the desecration of their bodies.

They didn’t have to go much further before they found another ward, but this one was unquestioningly more substantial. They could barely make out what lay beyond it, but it seemed like people were standing just on the other side.

“The Atrium is directly behind this,” Bill said as he quietly cast some spells. “Professor, this is an anchored ward.”

Flitwick frowned. “That would make sense. With only a month, they were limited to what kinds of protections they could place.”

“We could try to break it down with brute force spells, but that would take time — time we don’t have,” Bill said.

Harry stared at the ward, recalling the type of apparition Dumbledore had taught him that summer.

“Do any of you know how to apparate through wards?” Harry asked.

Flitwick shook his head. “I do, but successfully passing through a ward like this would be nearly impossible. The defects are just not large enough to be taken advantage of.”

Harry looked at Bill. “What if they’re made larger?”

Bill tapped his chin. “Certainly worth a try. We’re running out of time.”

“Alright. Remus, assist Bill. I’ll be going with Mr. Twist, as I know he knows how to force-apparate as well,” Flitwick said before looking at Harry. “As soon as you’re on the other side, look for people kneeling close to the ward. They’re the ones acting as anchors. Take them out as quickly as you can. We must bring down this ward.”

Harry nodded.

“Another thing, as soon as this ward falls, everyone on the other side of it is going to know. That means everyone in the Atrium, including Voldemort. And that’s assuming they haven’t already detected the collapse of the outer ward,” Bill said before adding an afterthought, “Once this ward falls, I will likely be out for awhile.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll pull you out of harm’s way,” an auror assured him while another readied the teams behind them.

“This is going to take some time. We’re cutting this close,” Bill muttered, before looking at Remus. “Hold onto my shoulder and just push your magic into me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Harry closed his eyes and waited as he felt Bill begin to assault the ward in a localized spot.

It was 4:23am.

O o O o O

Voldemort smiled as he looked across the atrium, the new Ministry monument at its center.

MAGIC IS MIGHT was carved at its base, beneath a mound of muggle forms straining under an enthroned witch and wizard and surrounded by continuously churning water.

It was magnificent.

His coronation was about to begin. All of the Ministry employees and their families were present and wearing their finest robes. Reporters from the Daily Prophet were there, even Rita Skeeter, the venomous woman who had perhaps unknowingly done more work for him than any other person alive. Powerful blood wards were between the audience and the stage, in case any got a wild hair and tried something — not that he believed they would. Considering that a sizeable chunk had either been imperioed or threatened into submission, any rebellious act would be hard pressed to succeed anyway. He only wished he could have used blood wards to enclose the whole of the Atrium, or even the entire stage, but time had been against them there.

He looked at Barty and gave the nod as the moment to begin the ritual came.

Two death eaters on either side of the stage, including Pettigrew, began chanting as the Minister carried out a bowl to place on the podium. Standing, Voldemort slowly went forward, taking his place at the center over a rune circle as those below watched.

As imperioed to do before the ritual, Pius Thicknesse joined in the chant at the appropriate times while dipping his hands into the bowl and flicking the solution on either side of Voldemort. The carved runes began to glow. Everything was going perfectly, but as Thicknesse swirled the solution a second time, Voldemort was suddenly alerted to the fact someone, somehow, had breached the wards of Riddle Manor.

His insides froze as he mentally screamed, ‘Impossible!’

But he could do nothing. Not even send someone else to the manor to ensure Nagini’s safety, for he could not move or speak in any way that was contrary to what the ritual required. Even facial expressions had been detailed in the ritual’s process.

The runes had been activated, the ritual was in progress.

He was trapped in every sense of the word.

He could only hope that the portkey he had on Nagini would allow her to escape if she was in danger.

O o O o O

Dumbledore’s feet came to rest on the main floor of Riddle Manor as he immediately rose up the strongest anti-portkey wards he knew. Magic settled around him, verifying he had succeeded in placing the wards, and only then did he really look around.

The house was quiet and still, with forgotten furniture and pictures of people long since dead posing motionlessly in visages of muggle landscapes. Mold and damp decay saturated the walls and floors, and faint light from the streetlamps far beyond the house cast weak shadows around him.

He turned slowly, his ears picking up on slight movement above him. Silently casting a number of charms on himself, primarily ones to hide his presence, he began to navigate the house, depending on Harry’s description of the manor’s layout to guide him.

He could no longer hear anything moving as he continued up the stairs. He really wished he could see better. Even with the spell that heightened his senses, there was so little that light that it did barely any good. And he didn’t dare light his way in case Nagini did not yet know of his presence.

He stopped, just able to make out a faint hiss.

His long studies of the obscure language went to work, translating the wispy ‘tss’ that was almost too faint to detect.

:Master. . . .:

Dumbledore waited for a moment, trying to determine if Nagini was approaching the stairs or not. When he heard nothing, he continued up, keeping Godric’s Sword and his wand ready.

:Someone . . . is here. Why?:

Dumbledore made it to the top of the stairs and pressed himself against the wall, certain the snake was in the large area just off the hall the stairs led to. He wasn’t surprised Nagini had detected him. Even though he was invisible, Nagini would still be able to notice changes in air circulation, not to mention the magic he naturally gave off. Fortunately, he had a spell on himself that would hide his scent and heat signature, which would be as plain as neon lights to a serpent.

:Master said no one . . . :

Dumbledore failed to make out the rest of her hiss as she slid off of something and began to slither along the floor.

He knew he had to act right then, for trying to fight with a snake in the hall right by the stairs would not bode well.

Rounding the corner, wand held aloft in his left hand and the sword in his main hand, he caused a thunderous boom to go off at the far corner of the room with the flick of his wand.

It was all the distraction he needed as he charged the long, cylindrical shape on the floor.

But Nagini wasn’t Voldemort’s snake for nothing.

Her head ducked under the swung blade, the edge barely swiping over her form and grazing her scales.

She hissed angrily, and Dumbledore was barely able to make out ‘can’t leave,’ before he had to avoid fangs.  

Light flashed from his wand as he cast diffindo, giving away his position as the spell sliced into her side and gouged into the wood floor beneath it. Her scales protected her from the worst of it, and it was clear she had some magical protections on herself as well—just as Harry had warned. She shot herself forward, her mouth snapping open in search of him.

Dumbledore rolled away, the silencing spell on his robes and feet doing nothing to dampen the sound of his body brushing heavily against the floor.

She lunged again, trusting her magical sense as well as her hearing while Dumbledore twisted around and brought his sword up.

Pain laced into his arm as Godric’s Sword pierced through flesh. Blood splattered on his face and he was just able to make out the point of the sword protruding from a torso of scales.

Nagini thrashed, throwing her head from side to side and grinding her teeth deep into his left arm as he pulled his sword up and across as hard as he could even as they both fell to the side.

Her body landed on top of his as the sword completely tore free from her body, leaving a two foot long gaping wound that ran up her torso and exited by her neck. She spasmed briefly, a terrible scream echoing out from her before, she fell still.

A black mist rose from her, obscuring the pale light from the windows before completely dissipating.

Carefully, he removed his arm from her mouth and spelled some bandages to tightly wrap around his wound. He didn’t bother to try magically closing the wound, as he knew Nagini’s venom was uniquely cursed and would prevent any healing spell from working. He also knew (thanks to Harry), that the venom was an anticoagulant, which meant his blood would not clot. He only hoped magic of a different sort would help him.

But first he needed to let Harry know he had succeeded.

He took the two-way mirror from his pocket after putting the sword away. “Mark Twist.”

He didn’t need to wait long as Mark’s face appeared.

“It’s done,” Dumbledore said simply, holding his lit wand close to his face so Harry could see him.

“We’re almost through,” Harry said.

“Good. I’ll be there shortly,” Dumbledore said, hiding a grimace before ending the connection.

Dumbledore looked down at his arm and wasn’t surprised to find that he had already bled through his bandages. He rummaged in another pocket and pulled out a blood-replenishing potion. He chugged it in one go before holding out his good arm.

“Fawkes,” he called, his magic giving one large pulse.

His phoenix appeared, able to go through the Fidelius thanks to Harry sharing the secret a day before.

Fawkes quickly took notice of Dumbledore’s arm.

O o O o O

Harry tucked the mirror away. No one questioned him about it as he turned his complete attention back to the ward.

Bill continued to work furiously as Remus gave him a constant stream of magic. Harry stretched out his magic, sensing the ward. The weak portion of the ward Bill was expanding was almost large enough for him and Flitwick to press through, but the rate at which it was widening was slowing down. Minutes continued to tick by.

“Mark, go as soon as you are confident you can make it through. Don’t wait for Bill to tell you to go,” Flitwick said after a subtle glance at his watch. “I’ll follow you.”

Harry nodded, closing his eyes and wrapping his magic around him, waiting for the gap to widen just a little bit further. . . .

Harry twisted, tearing through the ward so ruthlessly the crack of his apparition sounded like a thunder clap.

Chants immediately reached his ears after he landed roughly in the brightly lit Atrium filled with hundreds of people, but he was only concerned with the people kneeling around the perimeter and those guarding them as Flitwick appeared a split second later with another resounding crack.

Harry’s eyes zeroed in on the human ward anchors and cursed them and those in his way as quickly as he could while pandemonium surged from the crowd.

“He’s trying to bring down the ward! Kill him, kill him!” he heard several death eaters and ministry employees cry.

Rolling away from several curses, he stunned another human anchor, and as the woman fell unconscious, her connection to the ward was severed.

The ward instantly became unstable and collapsed, the remaining anchors unable to sustain the necessary magic. Shimmering, electric light cascaded down from around the atrium as magic rushed across them all like the winds of a typhoon before promptly vanishing.

Harry quickly turned toward the stage that had been placed across from a monument he didn’t care to examine. Voldemort was standing at the center, calmly facing Pius Thicknesse who had a crown in his hands. The death eaters around them continued in their chanting, their voices growing louder.

It was in this moment Harry felt immense anticipation bleed through his scar. A mounting eagerness that went beyond any normal sensation of expectation.

Order members were at the threshold of the Atrium and the Underground within the crowd rose up in the midst of the growing hysteria, but Harry’s eyes were fixed on the stage as he waved his wand, spell on his lips.

Voldemort knelt as Thicknesse lowered the crown onto his bald head.

“Bombarda!” Harry bellowed, though his cry was completely drowned out by the chants.

The spell shot forward as the sun reached its zenith.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

The rush of magic from the fallen ward was nothing compared to the onslaught that gushed forth from Voldemort’s form. Everyone around Voldemort was knocked down as Harry’s spell fizzled into nothingness against the magic of the Eternal. The Minister landed at the base of the stage, unconscious, and the blood wards protecting the front of the stage were obliterated.

Harry felt Voldemort’s awe as the sensation of immense power condensed into his body, an odd crackling echoing in his ears. A sharp stab of pain ripped at his center thicker than any crucio but it evaporated into soothing thrums of magic a split second after.

Harry shook himself from Voldemort’s mind as everyone stared at the new King Magus who was triumphantly looking down at them all. A crown of silver and gold adorned with emeralds glistened upon his bald head. It made his features appear even more grotesque than usual.

Voldemort’s prideful face broke into a grin, before he released loud laugh—it sounded oddly fake.

“It is done. I am your King, the Eternal Magus. Bow to me!” Voldemort demanded.

All of the death eaters and most of the Ministry employees and their children obeyed, but everyone else was too stunned or defiant to kneel.

A loud bang echoed forth from his wand. “BOW!” he roared.

Many more went to one knee. Harry looked around and felt himself torn between feeling disgusted and saddened. Not everyone bowing were cowards, many just had no hope. Harry’s jaw clenched. If this was to be the end, he wasn’t about to watch it end while on one knee.

Blood pounding in his ears, he stepped forward, walking around people on their knees. The Order moved to stop him, but he motioned them to leave him be. Several of them tried to stop him anyway, but something pushed them back. Harry’s magic.

At first Voldemort didn’t notice, but then he saw the hooded form making his way up and around to the side of the stage. He motioned for no one to hinder the clearly young wizard as he asked with a smile, “Come to greet your King formally?”

Harry didn’t answer as he made his way up onto the stage.

“And who might you be?” Voldemort asked as Harry came to a stop on the other side of the platform and looked up.

“I think you already know my name,” Harry said, pulling back his hood.

No one moved as the newly crowned King Magus stared at the boy they had all seen on wanted posters. Undesirable number 2, the muggleborn, Mark Twist.

“Ah,” Voldemort said casually, lifting a hand to signal his death eaters to remain where they were and to leave Twist to him. “I am glad you have come, Mark Twist. Have you come to fight me? I trust you know it will be a hopeless duel. I am Eternal, after all.”

“No one can live forever,” Harry stated softly.

“Ha! No, boy, only I can,” Voldemort laughed.

“I suppose only you would really want to,” Harry said with a shrug, knowing the longer he kept him talking the more time Dumbledore had to arrive. Although now Dumbledore would have to make a choice: to help people flee or do his best to kill Voldemort despite the success of the ritual.

But that was out of Harry’s hands. All he could do now was ensure Voldemort could one day be killed.

“It’s sad that you believe there is nothing worse than death,” Harry fearlessly continued.

“Nothing is worse than death,” Voldemort stated.

“Nothing that you could comprehend anyway,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “It’s amazing to me that with all of your knowledge you are still so ignorant.”

Voldemort snarled as he wiped out his wand. “It is you who are ignorant! I will show you death!”

“Here I am,” Harry mocked back, spreading his arms in welcome.

“Impudent boy! Avada Kedavra!”

Harry heard several people cry out, but he didn’t move as the spell came at him. He smiled.

Death came before he hit the surface of the stage as Voldemort was violently thrown back and onto the Atrium floor beyond the stage. But no one’s eyes were on Voldemort. There, for all in the Atrium to see, was not the body of Mark Twist, but the body of a black haired boy with a scar on his forehead.

O o O o O

The light was soft and gentle, the air light and slowly churning, but the ground beneath him was hard. He slowly sat up, finding himself in a room of some sort.

“Hello, my son.”

Harry quickly looked up, finding a beautiful woman with red flowing hair beside a man.

“Mum, Dad,” he breathed.

They smiled as he stood up and moved to embrace them.

“You can’t, Harry. You have not yet crossed over,” she managed, tears in her eyes.

“I’m not dead?” he asked, hurt and confused. “But I have to die to kill the piece of Voldemort inside me.”

“Oh, my son, you have destroyed the piece within you. We are so proud of you,” she said.

Harry choked back a sob, her words like rain on a desert.

“But I’m not dead?” he asked.

“No, but you’re not alive either. You have a choice now, to either come with us or to go back,” his father explained.

“I will go with you!” Harry exclaimed quickly as his longing to finally with his parents clouded everything else. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

Tears flowed from his mother’s pleading eyes. “I love you too much to want to see you join us now. Please, choose life. Let death come to you at a natural time, when you are old and ready to rest.”

“No! Please, I want to stay with you! I am ready to rest!” he shouted.

James stepped closer, so close Harry could feel his essence. “Harry, are you sure? Please, think hard. Think about what you truly want, think about that first night in Azkaban. Remember what you had decided in that moment that enabled you to fight on.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at his mother, horrified he had forgotten about his promise.

‘I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.’

“I will live,” he stated finally. “But I don’t understand. Why was I given this choice and not you, Mum?”

“The blood Voldemort stole from you the night of his rebirth. Because your blood flows through his veins, you are anchored to the living world through him,” she said.

“So, he’s essentially my horcrux?” he asked wryly. He knew his soul was well and whole and that Voldemort was not actually a real horcrux for him, even though he was his anchor to the living. He found it all extremely ironic.

Harry basically had immortality without any of the effort or drawbacks, thanks to Voldemort.

James smiled. “Essentially.”

Harry slowly exhaled. “How can I kill him though? He completed the ritual. He’s easily more powerful than two Dumbledores now.”

Lily chuckled softly, even through her sadness. It surprised Harry. “Did you not feel it, Harry? The power, the pain, the magic? The effects of the ritual were happening to you as much as they were to Voldemort.”

Harry blinked, feeling as if he had been dunked in ice cold water.

“Because of the horcrux in me?” Harry asked, astonished.

“Yes. Fulfilling the prophecy in more ways than one,” James said, grinning.

Harry grinned back, not noticing that his father’s smile was slightly pained.

“I’ll stop him,” Harry swore.

“We know you will,” Lily said through a teary smile. “I love you, Harry, so very much, never doubt that . . . my baby boy.”

“You’re a better man than I could have ever hoped to be, and we couldn’t have asked for a better son. I, too, love you,” James said.

“I love you both too,” Harry whispered, his throat so tight he could barely force his voice to work as they turned and started to walk away.

A tunnel appeared in the wall before them. It was so bright that the blazing light nearly blinded Harry when he looked in its direction.

“I-I’ll live, I’ll live my life the best I can!” he shouted after them, suddenly standing at the threshold of the tunnel. His voice nearly cracked in pain, but determination grounded him. “I promise!”

They didn’t answer, but he could feel their love coursing around him as he closed his eyes and willed himself back. Back to the living.

He felt the hard floor of the stage beneath his body and could hear the rumble of people’s murmurs echoing throughout the Atrium, but it suddenly spiked as people saw him move.

“He’s alive! He’s alive! It didn’t kill him!”

Slowly, Harry rose to his feet, at first wondering where Voldemort was, only to find him being helped up by his supporters just beyond the edge of the stage. Apparently, he had been thrown back when his killing curse had struck Harry. No doubt a consequence of him destroying his last horcrux.

Voldemort ruthlessly shrugged off his supporters before lifting his eyes to the form above him on the stage.

Harry stood proudly before them all, and in an instant they all could see the differences between the boy they had seen killed and the boy now alive.

His nose was shorter, his jaw squarer. He was taller and thinner; more handsome than Mark Twist ever was. His green eyes burned brighter than the sun behind his glasses, and the scar above them was unmistakable.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort rasped, his whole body rigid.

The acoustics of the Atrium carried the name to every ear within. No one breathed.

“Tom Riddle,” Harry greeted in return.

Voldemort’s face contorted in rage, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

“Afraid, Tom? You should be. After all, you made your worst enemy,” Harry said quietly. Dangerously. “Trying to kill me as an infant in attempt to destroy the one with the power to vanquish . . . you . . . you marked me as your equal.”

Voldemort paled, immediately understanding, for he had the prophecy and knew the entire contents now. But then he relaxed.

“I am now Eternal, and I cannot die,” he said, confident once again.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You have nothing protecting you from death anymore. Dumbledore and I made sure of that. Nagini is dead and we destroyed the diadem months ago. And what’s even better is that you are responsible for destroying your last. Thanks for that.”

Voldemort seemed to stop breathing.

“Confused? As I said, you made your worst enemy.” Harry tapped his scar, purposely making Voldemort angry. “You gave me a window into your mind that Halloween night. It’s how Dumbledore knew you were at that village about to terrorize it. It’s how we knew about the ring and the other heirlooms. It’s how we knew you were going to try to recruit the Giants. It’s how we knew you were getting the cup from Gringotts. And it’s how I was able to tell Dumbledore where Riddle Manor is so he could go kill Nagini. I saw it all in your mind and through your eyes.”

Voldemort’s eyes blazed red and an unearthly glow encompassed his entire frame.  Harry stared down at him calmly, ignoring all the eyes upon them. Voldemort lifted his wand to release his fury, but then hesitated. He looked around. His new subjects were watching.

“So you have seen what I plan to accomplish. Why are you against it? The Wizarding World will finally reach its full potential through me. Magic will encompass the world.”

“Magic already encompasses the world, you’re just too blind to see it,” Harry stated. “Yes, I have seen what you want to accomplish, but it will not benefit magic or the Wizarding World. It will kill it.” Harry shook his head. “You’re not a messiah, Tom, nor are you Magic’s voice. You’re delusional. You really should have thought about what you were doing to yourself—especially so many times.”

“Delusional?!” Voldemort roared, the last of his self-restraint evaporating.

The glow around his form pulsed as he fired a curse and jumped up onto the platform with a small boost of magic.

Harry leapt back and dodged the bright hot curse as Voldemort landed less than three feet in front of him.

“Look at yourself, Potter. You will not be able to defeat me. You’re the delusional one,” Voldemort said as those watching scuttled back in fear.

“Says the Dark Lord with a ruined soul,” Harry retorted before he swiftly side stepped.

Everyone watching drew back, sensing the magic building around Harry and Voldemort. Even the Death Eaters distanced themselves. Everyone was so concerned about the two wizards on the stage they no longer cared or noticed who was around them—or the fact Dumbledore had just entered the Atrium.

Voldemort swung his wand in front of himself as if he was wielding a whip. A stream of lava spewed forth, striking out like a snake at Harry.

Harry thrust his wand out as he back-stepped, instantly cooling the lava into rock before transfiguring it into a spear and launching it at Voldemort while allowing the backlash of magic to propel him further away.

Voldemort disapparated, leaving the Death Eater behind him to take the spear right through his heart. Peter Pettigrew fell to the ground with a thud, dead.

Meanwhile, most everyone else in the Atrium was now trying to get out, some tried to apparate but found that they couldn’t (even though Voldemort just did) while others simply began to run toward the exits. It was complete chaos, and that was when Dumbledore began stunning and tying up Death Eaters who were within his sight. He started with Barty Crouch Jr. and summoned their wands to himself as soon as they were down. Dumbledore was able to take out over a dozen of the most experienced fighters before the rest retaliated, but by then the Order had joined in as well. Witches and wizards on both sides began dropping in the melee as they all also tried to remain mindful of the spells being exchanged by Harry and Voldemort. Meanwhile, the Underground shifted gears and concentrated on getting people out of harm’s way, particularly the children.

“I am going to stop you for good today,” Harry stated, his voice oddly discernible over the rising noise within the Atrium. “And tomorrow will be a new beginning!”

“No, I’m going to kill you and all who dare to stand against me!” Voldemort roared back, jumping off the platform and taking to the air as he fired curse after curse at Harry, massive beams of magic five times more powerful than what a normal wizard could cast.

It was oddly impressive despite the ridiculousness of a pale, snake-like man with a crown shooting off into the air.

“Nice trick, but I saw how to do that too,” Harry said, deflecting half of the curses while dodging the rest before running forward and leaping off the platform’s edge to fly across the Atrium, past Voldemort, and away from the majority of the panicking people.

Harry kicked off from the wall a dozen feet above the floor, sharply altering his course while concentrating on his magic.

People below stared up in shock, but when fiendfyre billowed from Voldemort’s wand, self-preservation got them moving again.

Harry reached out his hand as the fiery monster charged him. He slashed his wand down and across. Closing his fist, it appeared as if an invisible hand had closed around the throat of the serpent before Harry twisted, his form suddenly giving off a light all its own. Just like Voldemort.

Voldemort startled at the sight, losing his grip of the fiendfyre and allowing Harry to extinguish the demon fire with a brutal jolt of magic. The instantly vacant space was reclaimed with air, the pressure difference making their ears pop and the walls groan.

“My turn,” Harry whispered.

Magic churning around him like a tangible whirl of power, Harry tore a chunk of stone from the wall beside him and crumbled it into dozens of pieces in less than a second before launching them at Voldemort like balls fired from cannons. He disapparated without pause, although he had to force his way through Voldemort’s wards. He appeared near the ceiling above the wizard King before firing a spell at the revolting statue.

The witch and wizard stood up, lifting their faces to Voldemort as he rotated in the air and redirected the shards of rock back at Harry. The statues jumped, their stone hands sailing through the air to bat at Voldemort like a fly.

Voldemort apparated beyond their reach before blasting them to bits, but Harry had yet to relent.

After transfiguring the incoming rock into harmless moths, Harry turned his attention to the water surrounding the base of the statue.

The aura of magic ebbing off him and Voldemort swelled and continued to grow like thunder clouds. The Atrium below was nearly emptied, though bodies lay throughout. Many were simply incapacitated, while others were beyond help. The smallest would never be found — a beetle that had been trampled under tread after being swatted before she could get away.

Dumbledore and the others had taken out over a hundred death eaters and corrupt ministry officials while allowing the Underground to evacuate those with no desire to fight for the new ‘King’, although clusters of people were still gathered in alcoves and corners, too terrified to move elsewhere. Dumbledore had Flitwick and others cast shields to protect them from any wayward spells for the time being while he turned his attention to the fight above.

Harry thrust his wand up, summoning the fountain’s entire supply of water to himself — as real water is preferred over conjured — while weaving around spells Voldemort continued to throw at him. Many impacted the surrounding walls, causing debris and glass to rain down onto the floor below, even as the water swirled around Harry’s form and spread out like a cloud. Harry whipped his wand over his head, causing the hovering water to instantly vaporize into hot steam. He shot it at Voldemort who quickly conjured a magical shield, but the steam surged around it, forcing him to disapparate, which was what Harry wanted.

In the split second Voldemort vanished, Harry caused the vapor to spread throughout the entire atrium and cool into thick fog.

Voldemort reappeared with a crack somewhere below him, making him smile. With some charms, he created two phantom sounds on either side of where Voldemort had appeared to distract him so he could hopefully end the duel permanently. But then Harry saw a dark black shape expanding beneath him. It was so dark; its shape was viewable even through the blinding white mist. It was almost as if the blackness was sucking light into itself.

Instinctively, Harry cast the strongest shield charm around himself, encasing himself in a bubble as the entire Atrium shook and a high pitched roar of power rocked the very air. A second later, Harry was slammed by a dark mass he quickly concluded was thick magic. It tore through his shield as if it wasn’t even there and he barely managed to cast a cushioning charm on the wall before he struck. Even so, he felt a few of his ribs give a little too much.

He fell a dozen feet before he righted himself, magically hovering in mid-air before he swung his wand over and banished his fog so he could figure out where he was in relation to the ground and Voldemort. He quickly found both.

Magic visibly pulsated like a heartbeat around Voldemort as he stood on the floor in the middle of the Atrium, staring at the-boy-who-lived. Harry slowly lowered himself to the polished stone of the broken statue, his own magic whirling from his form.

“Give up, child. You have fought well, but you cannot defeat a King. You cannot defeat me,” Voldemort said, even as the corner of his right eye twitched.

Harry eyed Voldemort, sensing something was off — more than usual. The ‘king’ was shaking. It was barely noticeable, and to the casual eye, it would be brushed off as nothing, but Harry knew better.

Harry glanced at those at the edge of the Atrium, avidly watching. He spotted Dumbledore among them with his wand in his hand. Dumbledore closed his eyes and twisted his wand by his side. Harry felt a very subtle shift of powerful magic in the air as Voldemort moved.

With a wide, vertical sweep of his wand, the floor in front of Voldemort ripped open, breaking and upturning the obsidian tile before transfiguring it all into a large black dragon, the tiles around it quickly pulling free to form wings.

A massive orb sailed from Dumbledore’s direction and collided with its head, but the dragon simply shook it off before redirecting its vacant gaze toward its attacker.

“We’ll handle the dragon, Harry! Focus on Tom!” Dumbledore yelled.

Harry didn’t wait as the Order began attacking the dragon, but rolled under the black stone tail toward Voldemort.

With a snarl, Voldemort released a torrent of spells, holding nothing back as Harry rushed him.

They were both overflowing with magic, so much so that Harry could feel his skin growing hot from it and his flesh beginning to ache under its strain. Looking at Voldemort, he wasn’t faring well either. His crown was askew and beads of sweat were on his brow.

Harry’s thoughts strayed to the effects of the ritual and suddenly wondered if one’s core was not all it affected; after all, one’s body and soul were not independent from one’s magic. It made him wonder. . . .

Increasing the force behind his spells, Harry forced Voldemort to do the same. Curses glanced off of their forms like ricocheting bullets, the magic auras surrounding them acting like armor. But Harry wondered if the magic covering them was doing more harm than good. Searing pain rippled across portions of his skin and, buried in his chest, he could feel throbs of something tearing through him.

But he didn’t relent and was soon rewarded when he saw Voldemort falter with a rasping breath.

Harry slowed his casting, concentrating his efforts on dodging and deflecting the weakening curses from Voldemort, even as the tile dragon fell to his right. Shards of tile flew every which way and Harry swiftly blocked them from hitting him with a wave of his hand, not sure if his magical armor would be able to block physical objects.

Voldemort tried to do the same, but he suddenly recoiled and gasped in tremendous pain before falling to his knees. Bits of obsidian landed on and around him like hail, but his concerns were no longer with superficial wounds, but something much deeper. His wand hand shaking, he deflected another curse from Harry.

A low hollow sound groaned from the center of his chest. Horrified, Voldemort lifted his red eyes and met Harry’s green.

Harry stopped five yards from him and stared as Voldemort’s eyes turned completely pitch black and the magic cloaking his form fell away. His breathing continued to worsen, as if he was surrounded by thick smoke.

“It’s over Tom. You’re about to die,” Harry said softly.

Twisting, Voldemort tried to disapparate out, but found that Dumbledore had placed his own anti-portkey and anti-disapparition wards up at some point (likely just before he had created the dragon) and he was too weak to tear through them.

His failed attempt threw him down completely, like a discarded doll, as the groaning sound suddenly gave way to a resounding snap.

Voldemort’s form instantly solidified and cracked down the middle. A black mist rose up from the center, and slowly dissipated into a distant scream.

Harry didn’t move. He couldn’t believe it. It was over.

He looked at the area around him. The Atrium was in shambles, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt.

He knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t his broken/bruised ribs. His skin was tingling, and his entire frame was throbbing. He looked over to where Dumbledore had been, only to find the Order with countless others staring at him.

Their expressions were indescribable. Awe, relief, shock, fear, astonishment. . . .

Exhaustion beyond any reckoning suddenly fell upon him. His vision blurred heavily and he staggered forward. He heard his name called, but he was too tired, too raw, to respond.

He felt himself being lowered, but he couldn’t see, even though he knew his eyes were open.

He heard muffled voices, urgent and fast, but he couldn’t discern any of it. He tried to reach out and was relieved when he felt a scarred hand take hold of his own as another hand squeezed his shoulder in comfort. Harry didn’t need to see to know who it was, so he let himself relax and gave in to unconsciousness.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Madam Pomfrey and others in the infirmary anxiously waited for word. It was just after 5am, so roughly twenty minutes after they knew the ritual was supposed to have ended.

Suddenly, a bright white light burst in the center of the room before revealing a brilliant phoenix.

“It is done. We have succeeded. Prepare for wounded. We’re coming.” It was the Headmaster’s voice.

Immediately, Madam Pomfrey and everyone went into motion, just as they had practiced, and there wasn’t even time to feel relief at learning they would not need to flee before the first batch arrived.

Dumbledore appeared in a flash of fire with a teenager she had never seen before. Swiftly, he placed the boy’s form on the bed at the far end of the row in the corner before conjuring a curtain to block view of his bed from the rest of the infirmary. Poppy hurried around to the side of the bed beside Dumbledore. The boy was pale and had black hair, but there was an almost oppressive aura of magic lightly ebbing off of him. She didn’t know what to make of it.

Seconds later, other injured people arrived with members of the Order, including Remus and Kingsley seconds after.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said.

Pomfrey looked up and was alarmed by the look in his eyes and the blood she suddenly spotted covering his robes. His sleeve was ripped to shreds but his arm was unmarked.

“Due to a magical bond, Mark underwent the same ritual Voldemort had, but without any mental or physical preparations. After destroying the bond, he defeated Voldemort and then succumbed to the influx of magic,” Dumbledore explained.

Pomfrey was confused. This did not look like Mark Twist in any way.

“This is Mark?” she asked in a stunned whisper.

“Yes. He is a metamorphmagus, and this is his true form,” Dumbledore stated, looking at her pointedly.

Frowning, Pomfrey set to work while trying to make sense of what she had learned.

The diagnostic charm overloaded and her wand shivered in her hand, but not before revealing a number of the boy’s injuries to her.

He had three broken ribs, extensive muscle damage, and was covered in magical burns — inside and out, and it was only getting worse.

She shook her head; the effects of the ritual. . . . He was drenched in magic. Putting her wand back up her sleeve, she began removing Mark’s clothes by hand, deciding it best not to cast any more magic on his person at the moment. It was then that something caught her eye. A faint mark on his forehead.

A lightning bolt shaped scar.

She startled and her eyes immediately snapped to Dumbledore’s.

Dumbledore gave a short nod.

“I understand,” Pomfrey said, before looking down at Harry’s now bare chest.

Magical burns that looked like feathered branches ran along in blotches over his torso, up his neck, and down his arms. She was certain they continued across his back and down his legs.

“How is he?” Remus asked in a hushed tone, coming from around the curtain and stopping at the foot of the bed.

Pomfrey shook her head. “Critical. He’s in a coma,” she said, keeping it short and to the point while waving her wand at the corner shelf and summoning a potion. She uncorked the bottle and then began rubbing the thick liquid onto the raw burns. “His body can’t cope with the flood of magic.” She glanced up at Dumbledore. “I’m going to have to use that flask you gave me last year. And he’ll likely need a second.”

“I’ll ask for more before tonight,” Dumbledore said, before admitting, “I had needed some myself early this morning, so getting more so soon may not be possible.”

Pomfrey’s eyebrows rose a bit, but then she understood where all the blood on Dumbledore’s robes had come from.

“Remus, would you watch over him?” Dumbledore asked. “I don’t want anyone save Poppy seeing to him.”

“Of course,” Remus said quickly. “I understand.”

“Have Remus send me a patronus if you need me or if his condition changes,” Dumbledore said.

“I will, Albus,” Pomfrey assured.

“I will see if St. Mungos can spare anyone to help here,” he added before immediately heading back to the Ministry.

“How can I help?” Remus asked as the injured in the other beds were also being attended to.

“Place a standing privacy ward and a protective ward around his bed. I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying to her office.

Pomfrey knew she was working against the clock. Every second, the churning magic within him was causing more and more damage. He was dying, but frankly it was a wonder that he wasn’t dead already.

She snatched a little vial from a locked drawer in her desk before quickly returning to Harry.

Remus curiously watched as she removed the cork and conjured an eye dropper.

“What is that?” Remus asked.

“Phoenix tears,” she said as she filled the eye dropper and carefully dropped a tear at a time onto his chest, predominantly over his heart and over his lungs.

Portions of the burn marks healed before their eyes as the tears absorbed into Harry’s body, sinking through his flesh.

“This is all we can do for now. I don’t want to heal his ribs until more of his magic settles because I’m afraid adding more substantial magic—such as magic in a spell—will do more harm than good,” Pomfrey explained. “The important thing now is to keep his organs going. Hopefully his body will adapt to his altered core.”

“Do you understand what’s happening?”  Remus asked.

“Not as much as I would like, but from what I know about the ritual, and the preparation rituals he didn’t go through, his body is extremely vulnerable to the magic he has gained. It’s tearing him up, literally.”

Remus grew very still. He didn’t need to ask the question.

“The fact he’s still here is astounding, but the change to his magical core. . . .” She shook her head. “I really don’t know if using phoenix tears is going to be enough.”

Remus looked at Harry who was shallowly breathing.

Slowly, Remus went around the bed and sat down on the chair in the corner.

“I won’t place a monitoring charm on him until I feel certain it’s safe. Instead, get me if his color or his breathing changes at all,” Poppy said before stepping out from the wards to attend to others in the infirmary.

O o O o O

It had been six days and there had been very little change. Fortunately, Fawkes had been able to provide more tears, but according to Pomfrey, they were barely sustaining Harry’s life. The internal damage was substantial, and what made it worse was that very few of the potions Pomfrey had tried helped at all. A few had even made things worse. Fortunately, Snape was able to adjust potions accordingly, but only barely.

His broken ribs had been healed, but the intense magic continued to burn his skin, muscles, lungs and other organs. Every day was a cycle of healing, tearing, mending, and burning. Madam Pomfrey could barely keep up.

There were over a hundred injured brought into Hogwarts from the Ministry. Most were able to leave within the first three days, but a dozen remained. Fortunately, the Red Bloods were there and were a tremendous help alongside the healers Dumbledore had been able to get from St. Mungos, allowing Pomfrey to focus all of her attention on Harry.

Dumbledore only hoped it would be enough.

Word had quickly spread that Mark Twist was in actuality Harry Potter and that he had defeated Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry.

As one can imagine, that news was met with complete astonishment and amazement by the general public. They might as well have learned Merlin had returned. But news that their savior was in grave condition within a protected section of the infirmary stifled the celebrations. It was then that Scrimgeour, acting Head of the Ministry, took hold of their gloom and transformed it into a resolved new purpose with the help of Dumbledore and Madam Bones.

Dumbledore became Head of the Wizengamot once again, while Madam Bones returned as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Reestablishing order was their priority, so instating temporary members of the Wizengamot to fill the empty seats moved quickly. A number of members of the Underground stepped up and filled the voids, as well as individuals outside of it, including Arthur Weasley and Andromeda Tonks. Temporary Department Heads were also put in place. There would be a public vote on the heads of office once things had settled, but it was beginning to look like it would just be a technicality. It seemed that the general public already approved of the assignments, no doubt due to how well things were coming together.

A great deal of the laws that had been passed over the last year were quickly repealed by the new Wizengamot. The Daily Prophet reported their work, but oddly words from Rita Skeeter were nowhere to be found. It was assumed she left the country. Many people believed she hadn’t wanted to deal with the backlash of having written so many horrid articles demonizing the boy who turned out to be their savior.

No one could say they really missed her.

The reformation of Wizarding Britain gained momentum each passing day and the press (which had once been the instrument of unapologetic prejudice) led the charge of true change by rallying the public behind Dumbledore, Scrimgeour and Bones.

Dumbledore, for the first time in perhaps too long a time, held nothing back in his public speeches, tearing ruthlessly into the issues of society that they needed to change—else they would eventually face something far worse than what they had just survived.

The Press took his words further (probably because of a slight shove by Scrimgeour) by setting goals ‘they all’ should help reach. Others chimed in, saying they should do it for Harry Potter, to prove to him that they were not going to waste the second chance he had given them. After all, if they were perfectly honest, they had a lot to make up for and owed him a great deal. And wouldn’t it be great for their champion to wake up to a better world?

As the days passed, very few outside Hogwarts doubted Harry would eventually wake up, but those within her walls. . . .

Dumbledore checked on Harry every morning and every night, and at each visit, there was very little change. His condition was practically stagnant, with minor fluctuations occurring each day that just canceled out within the course of every week.

But he was alive. His body just needed time.

Or at least that’s what the Headmaster told himself.

O o O o O

Most in the castle returned to their homes during the week immediately following Voldemort’s demise. Neville was one of the few who didn’t. He didn’t see the point. With Gran busy with the Wizengamot, doing her part to rebuild — and rebuild things right, he would be alone in the house most of the time. And he knew whenever his Gran did come home she’d need to immediately head to bed.

So he remained in the castle with Susan and the few others who had decided to remain, partly in hopes of seeing Mark . . . er, Harry, when he woke. But the week eventually ended, and then the next and the next. Even with the start of the new year, he was still in critical condition (according to Pomfrey and the two trusted Healers who had come from St Mungos).

“Are you going to go see him?” Susan asked.

Neville nodded as he pushed his plate away. “Yeah, want to join me?”

They almost never said his name, partly because they weren’t sure which name to use. Even after having weeks to take it all in, they were still working on actually coming to terms with it.

Mark Twist, the frighteningly intelligent and driven muggleborn they had only recently truly gotten to know was more than they ever could have imagined.

He was the chosen one who had been spit upon and betrayed by their government, simply because it was thought he was a muggleborn. He was the lost prince of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived, and it didn’t end there.

He was the apprentice to the only one Voldemort had ever feared. He was the Vanquisher of Voldemort, and so, he was the true King Magus.

Oh, yes, the Wizarding world had latched onto that title like a lifeline, using it as often as they could, as if uttering it would awaken their savior.

It upset Neville, for he knew the wizard he still mentally referred to as Mark would probably like the designation as much as he did — which was not at all. But there was nothing for it. Just like ‘the boy-who-lived’, it had clearly stuck.

“I’m glad Pomfrey lets us see him,” Susan whispered as they made their way to the infirmary.

“Yeah, me too,” he softly agreed.

Pomfrey allowed very few people beyond the wards securing the back corner of the infirmary, and even fewer with anytime admittance (keying them permanently into the blood wards Dumbledore had placed himself). Besides himself, Dumbledore, Pomfrey and the St. Mungos Healers, Neville only knew of five others with such access: Susan, Ron, Professors Lupin, Snape, and McGonagall.

Neville and Susan entered the infirmary and quietly made their way down to the far end. The wards greeted them and silently passed over their skin as they stepped through.

He looked a little rough today, but perhaps it was because Pomfrey hadn’t given him that evening’s dose of phoenix tears yet. There was harsh bruising at the edge of his jaw and an angry red blemish on his hand that continued up beneath his sleeve, but the damage was always different.

Neville sat down in the empty chair by the bed and Susan sat by the chair beside his.

“Luna and the Weasleys should be back in a few days. The School Board has decided it best for the fifth and seventh years to be given a chance to take their OWLs or NEWTs, even though it’ll be a little late. The other years can come back with them to complete this year’s classes or wait until next term,” Neville told Harry, relying on habits he had formed with his parents who were still in St. Mungos. Talking about anything was often better than just sitting in silence.

“People aren’t sure what’s going to happen at the start of next term. Some people are saying all the students will be given a test to determine if they should retake their classes or continue to their next year. I feel sorry for the professors,” Susan put in.

“Dumbledore’s keeping busy. He’s rarely here, but he comes and checks on you as often as he can. I saw him here yesterday with Professor Lupin,” Neville said, idly dusting some lint off of his robes. “I haven’t left Hogwarts at all yet. Gran wants me to go home for a rest, but I don’t see the point. Barely anyone is here right now and there’s no official classes, so what do I need a rest from?”

“Snape,” Susan muttered quietly, making Neville release an exasperated sigh.

“He hasn’t exactly been himself, that’s for sure,” Neville admitted. “I’m just glad he’s not teaching right now.”

Silence lapsed, before Susan shifted a bit. “Oh! They’ve passed a new law. It’s about hiring equality, so one’s blood status isn’t involved in the selection process — or at least in the steps before the face-to-face interview. There’s no way to force people to ignore blood status, as it’ll take time for the way people think to change, but it’s a start. And it’s better than outright forcing businesses to hire a certain number of muggleborns or halfbloods — although that had been considered.”

Neville nodded. “Gran helped convince the Wizengamot that forcing a ‘hiring quota’ would hurt everyone in the long run. So now the Ministry’s hiring process focuses on an applicant’s abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, not their name or bloodline.”

“And this is all happening because of you,” Susan said. “Dumbledore has mentioned your mother several times in his speeches, and even his own mother who apparently had also been a muggleborn! Can you believe it?”

“It’s just in time too. The muggleborn you helped evacuate are beginning to return. Gran told me the Wizengamot don’t expect many to come back, understandably, but Dumbledore’s people have apparently received word back from several that they’ll be back in England within the next few weeks,” Neville explained.

“Aunty calls them Dumbledore’s Order, whatever that is,” Susan said before looking at Harry. “I imagine you’d be able to tell us, if you were awake.”

Neville smiled ruefully before glancing at the time. “We should probably go now. We don’t want Pomfrey upset with us,” Neville reminded softly.

Susan rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’re interrupting his rest,” she countered lightly, looking back at Harry who was still unconscious. “But I suppose you’re right.” She stood up before addressing Harry. “We’ll be back again tomorrow.”

“Night, Mark—er, Harry,” Neville said, standing up as well before following Susan out.

O o O o O

Harry became aware of the world again, as he had the countless days before. Just hearing and feeling it.

He knew he was alive. The dozens of discussions about comas had told him enough about his current state, although it was clear that he was a bit more awake than those around him knew.

He knew weeks had passed since the Ministry, since confronting and defeating Voldemort, but he didn’t know the exact date.

Of course, he had tried talking, moving, screaming, even simply moving his eyes under his eyelids, but nothing worked. He was trapped in his body. His body that occasionally flared with searing pain. Mercifully, it was getting better, but the waves continued on and off every day without warning, and what was worse was that he couldn’t tell anyone that it was happening.

He could only lie there and endure it while hoping, praying, phoenix tears would be applied sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, it wasn’t always like that, and he had been able to learn some interesting information while those around him were blissfully unaware of his awareness.

Throughout the weeks, he heard snippets of hundreds of conversations, some directed at or about him, others simply in his presence. Most were between Pomfrey and two other people he didn’t believe he knew. Other words were from Dumbledore or Remus, but a few were from his friends.

He recalled the conversation Neville and Susan had had with him the night before, and he mentally smiled at Susan’s annoyance with the curfew Pomfrey had them under. But not all conversations were as lighthearted.

Severus Snape had come to see him one night not long after Voldemort’s death. For a long time Harry had only been aware of a presence sitting by his bed until Dumbledore had arrived and revealed who his visitor was. . . .

“Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“Headmaster,” Snape said.

There was a long pause. Harry could sense the uneasiness.

“How long did you know?” Snape asked, his voice flat.

“I learned soon after you slowed the curse on my hand,” Dumbledore answered. Harry didn’t need to strain to hear the tiredness in his voice.

“You knew all that time?” It was barely a question, but then Snape shifted violently in his seat, as if suddenly realizing something. “It was him. He removed the curse.”

“Yes.”

The silence that followed was almost painful. Harry wanted to shout to end it.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was Potter?” Snape finally asked.

“He was safer as Mark.”

Snape scoffed. “That’s not a reason to not tell me. He could have remained as Mark Twist to everyone else.”

“Would he have, Severus? Would you have treated him as Mark Twist after learning? And when should I have told you? Before we had left to ally with the Giants? Before we began evacuating the muggleborns? Before Diagon Alley? Before returning to Hogwarts?”

“Perhaps at any point before the world learned the truth,” Severus hissed.

“You are angry that you weren’t in the know before anyone else,” Dumbledore stated.

“Yes, and considering what I had promised I should have known sooner,” he said, his voice as harsh as shattered glass.

“And that’s why I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t allow you to try to protect him,” the Headmaster whispered.

Harry could almost swear he heard Snape grind his teeth.

 “As Mark Twist, he was a fellow fighter to you. Sure, a young fighter, but a fighter, perhaps even an equal where combat was concerned. But as Harry Potter, he would have been a child to you. Lily’s child.”

Snape had stormed off after that, leaving Harry wondering why him being Lily’s son mattered so much to the man. He supposed he would only learn once he had recovered enough to completely awaken.

But that was not the only sensitive conversation he had heard.

It had been a few days after Professor Snape had ‘confronted’ Dumbledore, and it didn’t take long for Harry to realize who was visiting him this time.

“Uh. . . .” Some feet shuffled before someone sat down beside his bed. “I don’t even know what to call you.”

It was Ron, he recognized his voice. He also recognized the lilt in his voice indicating strong emotion bubbling beneath the surface.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you trust me?” Ron asked before reclining so heavily into the seat that Harry heard the chair slide backward. He exhaled, as if trying to keep himself under control. Harry was a little surprised but then reckoned Ron probably knew Pomfrey would kick him out if he got too loud.

“You trusted Neville enough to at least warn him about what was coming. Why didn’t you think to tell anyone else? I . . . I thought we were friends, best friends,” he said, his voice practically a shadow.

There was a long silence. Harry honestly wished Ron would just leave. Because he couldn’t see his face, he didn’t know whether Ron was stewing or deep in thought.

“I’m sorry. I think I already know why you did the things you did. And I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you. You were never given a reason to trust anyone — before Mark Twist . . . and as him.”

Even if Harry could speak, he’d be speechless. Ron was actually being quite . . . insightful.

“And looking back, I realize I didn’t help in that. Especially with the Goblet. I should have believed you.” There was a rough noise, as if he was rubbing his hands against the arms of the chair uneasily. “I haven’t been a good friend, have I? And with everything that’s happened. . . .” He cleared his throat, unable to complete his sentence, no doubt thinking about Percy. He exhaled and released a humorless laugh. “Maybe I’ve changed more than you.”

Ron stood up to leave, but paused. Harry knew he was at the edge of the wards.

“Thank you for . . . well, everything.” He stepped beyond the wards and left without another word, as nothing more needed to be said.

Ron joined Neville or Susan in visiting him a few times later, but never again alone.

“Good morning, Harry,” Pomfrey said.

He was grateful she spoke to him. She always did and always explained what she was doing. He knew she didn’t think he could hear her, but perhaps it helped her to talk to him anyway?

“Tsk. Another burn,” she muttered, pulling back the cloth and examining his shoulder. She used her wand to gently turn him and to recast the cushioning charms on the mattress to prevent bedsores. She also cast massaging charms on his legs so clots wouldn’t form due to him being immobile. It had taken them a few days to be sure casting charms on or near him wouldn’t make his condition worse, but once they were certain they used all the magic they could to provide the best care they could for him.

She thoroughly checked him over three times a day, although she could only apply the phoenix tears twice a day because Fawkes couldn’t supply more than that. Fortunately, the number of ‘bouts’ had lessoned a great deal, but their intensity had increased and when they did happen they occurred in concentrated bursts.

“I’m going to wait to apply the tears. Yesterday, your worst bouts were just after breakfast and then again a few hours later. I think that’ll happen again, considering the evidence of patterns,” she said while opening a jar. “I’d rather apply the tears then.”

Harry mentally braced himself as she began applying the burn-healing paste Snape had specially modified to help entice his magic to help speed healing along. It stung the entire time, but it did get the job done.

“Alright, all done.” She closed the jar as Harry started counting backward from fifty as the paste went to work.

Despite how much pain his shoulder was currently in, he agreed with her about waiting to use the phoenix tears for the more serious injuries. Snape’s potions were nowhere near as effective or painless as phoenix tears, and he did not want to have to endure another healing session that required the paste to cover his arm and half of his torso like the previous day. And then there were the potions that handled the internal damage. No, phoenix tears were by far better and preferred.

 “I’ll be back in a bit, Harry,” Pomfrey said, patting his motionless hand.

Harry finished counting backward from fifty as the pain in his shoulder finally eased.

It reminded Harry of the first week in the infirmary, after he had been healed with phoenix tears. One of the few times that first week he had been nearly pain-free. . . .

He heard someone go through the wards separating his bed from the rest of the infirmary. Already used to the steps of Pomfrey, he knew it wasn’t her.

“Evening, Harry,” Dumbledore said, easing into the chair beside his bed. “Poppy said you can’t hear us, but on the off chance you can . . . I want you to know what’s happening to you. I agree with Poppy’s conclusion of why you’re in your current condition. Because you had not undergone the preparation rituals, your body was not ready for the change to your core or the new magic that now resonates from it. The new magic is from the earth itself, but your root magic will eventually assimilate it; however, until then, it is too different from what your body is used to.”

Dumbledore shifted forward and Harry got the feeling he was looking at the burn he could feel on his cheek.

“Fawkes will provide tears for you as often as he can but Poppy has warned me we will likely have to use potions the rest of the time to manage the damage. We’re not sure how long it will take for your body to acclimate to your altered core,” he said, before quietly adding, “or when you will wake.”

Dumbledore sighed apologetically. “I find myself wishing I had asked you more about the night of Voldemort’s resurrection. I should have, but I didn’t feel it was important — at least when compared to everything happening at the time. I’m sorry. If I had known exactly how Voldemort had regained his body we would have known your death was not guaranteed and we could have prepared for this on the off chance you . . . survived death a second time.”

Harry could hear the ache in the man’s voice, the regret and the worry edged with something he had never heard from his mentor before. Fear. Fear that after the impossible, Harry would still return to the dead where he had just escaped.

“I took care of Voldemort’s remains. Even if someone was demented enough to want to attempt to harness anything from them, they won’t be able to now,” Dumbledore said, rubbing one of his hands on his old knee. Harry suspected he was sore after everything. He wasn’t a young man, after all. “It was quite clever of you to force him to draw out more and more of his magic to fight you. When you wake, I’ll have to ask you how you knew to do that. Intuition, perhaps? Well, in any case, it strained his core’s foundation – for lack of a better word – until it slipped. The foundation of any core is one’s soul, and as his soul was not only broken but predominately missing from the world . . . his magic collapsed in on himself.”

Dumbledore sat there in silence for a long time. For a moment Harry wondered if he had somehow left without him knowing, but then he spoke. “Part of me hopes you cannot hear me and are oblivious to everything happening to you, but if you are aware, know that I am here and that we are doing everything we can to bring you through this.” 

He placed his old hand on Harry’s forehead for a moment before leaning back in his chair.

Dumbledore visited him every morning and almost every night after that. He didn’t often talk to him at length during his visits, but he always made sure to tell him anything important that was happening at the Ministry. Harry didn’t know if he spoke to actually keep Harry informed or to just think out loud. Probably both, but Harry appreciated it just the same.

The infirmary was quiet. He knew the remaining patients had been moved to St. Mungos and that he was the only one still being treated at Hogwarts. He was grateful for that. He could only imagine the hubbub of being placed in St. Mungos.

Harry mentally groaned the instant he felt it. It always started out small before it spread like fire. And then it did. He felt it twirl at his center before bursting down his side and to his thigh. If he had been able to move he would have rolled off the bed in agony. It seared, lingering longer than previous bouts before growing even worse. In the midst of the pain, a surge of trepidation rose.

This had never happened before.

His center was hotter than it had ever been, lashing out like whips in every direction.

This had to stop; he couldn’t stand it anymore.

‘Can I will myself to die?’ he wondered, just before something akin to survival rolled through him.

‘No, I will not give up! I have not come this far only to wish for death! If I am to die, it will not be in silence!’

The bed beneath him shifted suddenly upon that declaration, a portion of his magic responding to his will. He then did something he had not done since the Solstice. He fully connected with his magic as he had learned to do from Voldemort.

He had nothing to lose now. The fear of making his condition worse was immaterial now. Nothing could be worse than what he was currently experiencing. Or so he thought.

He hit the floor and the sound of metal and stone cracking was all around him as the ward surrounding his bed collapsed from the onslaught of magic. The smell of blood rose from his form as thick magic seeped from his torn flesh, but suddenly he no longer cared about the pain as he moved his hand by his face and bent his legs. Resolve and hope filled him. He could move again!

He opened his eyes to find the infirmary floor under his cheek and Pomfrey running toward him from her office. The infirmary doors slammed open.

“Albus! Get Albus!” she bellowed at the person who had just entered.

He rolled over as his center violently throbbed. He sucked in a breath before coughing. The taste of copper filled his mouth as his body shuddered.

And then it was over.

The pain eased and his magic slipped back into him. He concentrated on breathing as he stared at the ceiling.

“Harry, can you hear me?” Pomfrey asked, kneeling by his side as she took in his wounds.

Harry managed to nod at her question, turning his eyes to her face. He was covered in long burns, his nose was bleeding, and his hands were shaking.

Suddenly, Dumbledore rushed into the room, joined by Remus, McGonagall, and Snape.

Dumbledore was instantly by his other side as Pomfrey uncorked a small bottle of phoenix tears.

“This will help. They’re phoenix tears,” she explained.

Harry sighed in relief as she dripped the tears onto his most severe injuries. “I know. They’re what’s kept me alive all this time.”

“You know?” she asked, taken aback.

He nodded with a grimace. “I could hear you guys.”

Pomfrey’s eyes widened before Dumbledore silently waved his wand and repaired the ruined bed beside them.

“Let’s get you back into bed,” Dumbledore said, gently levitating Harry up and placing him onto the bed.

“Moving is hard,” Harry said, noting how stiff and weak his limbs were.

“You haven’t been able to move on your own for weeks, Harry. Even with magic, that will have some consequences. But don’t worry, it’ll get better,” Pomfrey assured before applying more phoenix tears.

Harry nodded in understanding, slowly exhaling as the soothing sensation of healing seeped through him.

Dumbledore took a seat by his bed while McGonagall and Snape gave them some privacy. Remus conjured a chair and sat beside the Headmaster while Pomfrey continued her work.

“I cannot express how relieved we are to see you awake, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling more than usual, which is to say his eyes might as well have been a collection of mini strobe lights.

“Well, I can’t express how relieved I am either. How long was I . . . in that state?” Harry couldn’t think of a better way to say it. To him, he wasn’t asleep or unconscious, but trapped.

“Just over 27 days,” Pomfrey answered, although Remus frowned.

Remus looked at his watch. “You were out for a whole moon.”

Dumbledore turned to Remus at that. Harry blinked in confusion.

“I take it that means something?” Harry asked.

“I find it hard to believe it is merely coincidental,” Dumbledore stated, pulling out his pocket watch before nodding to himself. “Remus is right. It’s been a moon since the Solstice.” Dumbledore thought for a moment before looking at Harry. “If I had to guess, I would say your core has fully integrated with your soul and body again. Because you had not undergone the preparations Voldemort had, your core needed time to reconnect with your body and properly assimilate the earth magic. The fact you woke after a complete lunar cycle supports this, as that length of time is often required in rituals and such.”

 “We’ll know for sure in a few hours. If you don’t have any more bouts, it’ll show that your body has adjusted and won’t suffer any more ill effects,” Pomfrey said, not quite ready to celebrate but becoming hopeful.

“I do feel a lot better, and it’s not just because I can move,” Harry agreed. He flexed his hands and took a slow deep breath.

They all smiled at him, Remus especially growing confident that the worst was over.

It was.

O o O o O

Chapter Text

Hermione climbed into one of the carriages. It was surreal. She had lived over six months in France with her family, and for a long time she had feared she would never return to her home and never see Hogwarts again. But now her parents were settling into a new place back in London and she would soon sleep in her dormitory again.

“Hi, Granger,” Justin Finch-Fletchley said, taking a seat across from her as Hannah Abbot, Anthony Goldstein, and the Patil sisters followed soon after.

They all quickly greeted one another, eager and anxious to return to Hogwarts.

“So where were you when you first heard?” Anthony asked as the carriages began rolling to Hogwarts.

No one bothered to ask what he meant because there were only two things he could be referring to: Voldemort’s death or Harry Potter.

“I was with my tutor,” Hermione answered.

“Eating dinner,” Justin said. “The owl almost landed in my mum’s pudding.”

“We were helping with dinner when our father came in and told us,” Padma said.

“I’m still trying to believe it,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “Mark Twist, Harry Potter? I mean, did you ever suspect?” He looked at Hermione.

“No, but now that I know, looking back . . . there were clues.” Hermione frowned.

“Oh? Like what?” Parvati asked, very curious.

“Well, the way he treated the fake Potter for one. And then there was how he reacted when the truth of . . . well, the Dursleys came out.” Hermione shook her head, as if annoyed with herself. “I can’t believe I never questioned it. There were so many signs. But I guess you don’t see things if you’re not looking for them.”

The others nodded.

“I wonder what he’s like now,” Justin said.

“I think everyone is wondering that. I’m just glad he’s woken up and is doing better now,” Hermione said as the gates of Hogwarts came into view.

“Do you believe what’s been said about him? I mean, about well, the killing curse?” Padma asked.

“He’s survived it before,” Anthony said with a shrug. “I’m more curious about the fight. An enchanted, transfigured dragon! Can you imagine?”

“And the flying,” Justin pointed out. “How did he learn how to do all those things they said he did?”

“He is Dumbledore’s apprentice,” Hannah pointed out.

Anthony suddenly stifled a giggle. “Sorry. Just pictured Dumbledore flying around.”

The others laughed.

“That would be something to see,” Justin agreed.

Finally, they arrived at Hogwarts and made their way to the Great Hall. A lot of the muggleborns and halfbloods who had left England months before were there, along with all the other students who had returned home for a bit after the Ministry had been retaken.

Hogwarts was in session again.

Entering the Great Hall, they quickly filled the tables and gathered with their old friends. The professors weren’t all there yet, including Dumbledore. Ron quickly spotted Hermione and waved her over to sit with him, Neville, Ginny, and the twins.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle—”

“—bon appétit, merci—”

“—Voila!” Fred and George said.

Ginny sighed and cut them off, exasperated. “Stop talking nonsense.”

“But we love talking in French,” George complained.

Hermione shook her head and couldn’t help but smile, but before anyone could say anything more Dumbledore had arrived.

The whole hall fell silent and all eyes shot to the chair beside Dumbledore, for someone they had never seen before was sitting there.

He had messy black hair, a dimpled chin, a smooth face, and brilliant green eyes behind the pair of glasses Mark Twist always wore.

The whispers started instantly but were snuffed out the moment the young man stood up beside Dumbledore who was already standing.

Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and looked over them all.

“I am sure you all have already figured out who this is. For those who want verification, this is Harry Potter, who you all knew as Mark Twist — many of you for several years. I know that many of you may be curious about everything that has happened, but I would ask that you give Harry some common courtesy — namely privacy. You will all agree he deserves that much. Now, Harry would like to say a few words.”

Dumbledore moved aside slightly and gave Harry an encouraging nod.

Harry cleared his throat, slightly uneasily to Hermione, but she was surprised by his calm expression and his stance. He had always had a strong presence, but she had never known how self-assured he could be, and it went beyond confidence. He was completely comfortable with himself. She had never noticed it before with Mark Twist, but perhaps that was because he had been hiding.

“I know the Daily Prophet hasn’t exactly been reserved about what had happened on the Solstice, and I know there are a lot of rumors going around about what being an ‘Eternal’ means, so I will explain that first. I am now, what ancient magic users would call, an Eternal: an individual who has absorbed a bit of earth magic into their magical core.

“For me, this was done unintentionally. Voldemort miscalculated and his ritual, quite literally, backfired. It cost him his life and almost took mine. Fortunately, under the care of Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, Fawkes, and some Healers from St. Mungos, I have recovered.”

Harry scanned the tables before him, gathering his thoughts.

“It has changed me, but, as much as some people would like you to believe, I am not immortal or invincible. The word ‘eternal’ does not refer to an altered state of being or other far out drivel; instead, it is the rough description of what my magic can now do. Certain spells I cast, like transfigurations or charms, will continue to exist beyond my death — hence, they’re considered ‘eternal’.”

Surprised murmurs sparked throughout the Great Hall, but they quickly came to a halt the moment Harry went on speaking.

“Now that you all know I am not some kind of King Magus or demi-god—” Harry rolled his eyes. “—I want to discuss something else I think is more important.

“Before I returned to the Wizarding World, I had been warned there may be people who would want me dead for what had happened in 1981. This is why I became Mark Twist. I thought a new face would protect me, but in the end it became a liability.

“When I had received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts, I was excited, relieved even. I thought, ‘finally, a place I can belong!’ I had never dreamt I would be met with such prejudice from the get go simply because of what my blood status was believed to be. I didn’t understand it, and I still don’t. Why should something one has no control over take precedence over one’s abilities and character? How can a world with limitless possibilities be so obsessed with the one thing that would restrict it — chain it?” He sighed.

"There was actually a moment when I had lost all hope that there would be any desirable future for our world, and believe it or not it wasn't when I was in Azkaban, but here — in Hogwarts.”

Everyone within the Great Hall was completely still. It was hard to tell if anyone was even breathing.

“I was accused of murder and called a liar. There was — many would say — irrefutable proof of my guilt and nothing but my word to say otherwise. Only one person believed me and chose to act on that belief, looking beyond the ‘evidence’ and the fact I was a ‘poor muggleborn’. Without him, I know I would have given up on the wizarding world and that the only thing left for me would have been revenge.”

Harry faced Dumbledore and waited for him to turn toward him. Once the Headmaster did, Harry continued, his voice soft but projected so all could hear.

“Sir, I never properly thanked you before, so let me thank you now. You have helped me in more ways than I can say, but know the most important things you did were show me I still had worth and that I was not alone.”

The black haired teenager instantly morphed into the unattractive teen they all recognized. Dumbledore’s eyes were glistening.

“Thank you for believing Mark Twist — me. I don’t think I’m exaggerating in saying that by saving me, you helped save us all.”

He then turned toward the student body again before morphing back to his true self.

“This will be my last term here as a student, as I have some plans for myself after I take my NEWTs. I know not everyone was against me, but I need some time after everything that’s happened. Thank you.” Harry turned toward Dumbledore again. “Sir,” he said, relinquishing the floor back to the Headmaster.

With that, Harry moved to sit down, but suddenly the students below began to stand and clap. They rose one by one, and then in groups, and soon all the professors were standing and clapping as well before it was soon coupled with chants and cheering.

Harry’s heart swelled.

O o O o O

Harry knew he needed to talk to them, but, as much as he knew that, he didn’t want to do it. Too much had happened and so much had changed. They couldn’t go back to being friends, at least not the way they had been.

He sighed as he made his way to the Come and Go Room. He had asked Neville to ask Hermione and Ron to meet him there so knew they were likely already waiting for him. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say, or even what he should or needed to express. He only knew leaving things as they were wouldn’t be fair to them and that it would likely bother him forever if he didn’t at least try to talk to them.

The door appeared in front of him and, taking a deep breath, he entered.

Hermione and Ron were sitting in some chairs beside a table against the wall, but as soon as they saw him come in, they stood up.

“H-Harry!” Hermione said uneasily, probably uncertain about what to call him.

It was so strange to see Hermione this way, although he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He was practically a stranger to her now.

“Hi, Hermione,” he said before going toward the empty chair between them. He glanced at Ron.

Awkwardly, they all sat down.

“So…” Ron began.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry for everything! From not believing you about the Tournament to the things I said the last time I saw you. I should never have doubted you. What you must think of me!” Hermione blurted.

Harry blinked as tears gathered in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he started, hoping against hope that that would calm her emotions, but his words only made it worse.

“It’s not okay!” she argued, tears now streaming down her face. “The moment I learned the truth, everything fell into place and it explained so much! And I can’t stop but imagine how you must have felt all these years! I was so stupid!”

Harry didn’t know what to say and neither did Ron. They looked at each other and then back at Hermione.

“Hermione,” Ron tried, only for Hermione to continue her tirade.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through so much alone, especially when we should have been there, when we should have been there for you to trust,” she said, growing spent. “But instead we gave you every reason not to count on us. How are you not angry? Resentful?”

Harry swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He hadn’t given much thought about everything that had happened before Azkaban. He hadn’t wanted to, but now that Hermione was there and saying what she was. . . .

He forced it all down. It was over and done with. Dwelling on it would solve nothing, help nothing. He had made it through and had endured it once already. He didn’t need to walk it again, even mentally.

“It’s the past,” he finally said. “No one is perfect, and though I wish people had made different decisions, myself included, it’s done. We’re here now. Let’s focus on that.”

Hermione gazed at him, her eyes glistening once again, but instead of regretful tears, they were tears of a different type.

“I hope the Wizarding World understands what they have,” she said softly.

Ron coughed. “So, Harry, are you really going to be done with school after this year?” he asked, deciding that would be a safe topic to move onto.

Hermione instantly perked up and became intently curious.

Harry sighed but couldn’t help but smile. Although things would never be as they had been between them, they were still friends. No, they would probably never be best friends again (assuming they ever were), but at least he could count on them to not treat him like some sort of god.

O o O o O

After half an hour of assuring Hermione that he was ready for his NEWTs and that he wasn’t somehow skimping out on his education (he was apprenticed to Albus Dumbledore for crying out loud), he bid them good night and made his way to his quarters while they left to Gryffindor Tower.

He wasn’t really watching where he was going, but was alert enough to sidestep when he heard someone coming directly toward him. He looked up as the person began to pass him but suddenly stopped. Harry stopped as well and was startled to find that it was Snape.

Harry had thanked Snape for his part in keeping him alive before he had left the infirmary but had not had any contact with him since.

They stared at each other for a long moment, uncertainty so thick that it hung in the air like fog.

“You were awake when I spoke to Dumbledore, weren’t you?” Snape said finally.

Harry instantly knew what he was referring to and didn’t bother to act like he didn’t. “Yes.”

Snape’s shoulders remained tight, but his eyes seemed to dim slightly, resigned.

“Come with me,” he stated, leading them down the hall and into an empty classroom. He quickly warded it the moment Harry closed the door behind him.

Harry waited for him to speak.

“I knew your mother growing up,” Snape started, not quite facing him. “We were friends, until I made some foolish mistakes. We went our separate ways and, before I knew what the consequences of my actions would be, I played a part in her end.” His voice was soft but earnest, a confession bleeding with regret. Snape suddenly looked him in the eyes. “I was responsible for the Dark Lord’s initial interest in you, for I delivered him part of the prophecy all of those years ago.”

Harry was still, but in his mind he was reeling. He had known about his part in delivering the prophesy, for he had seen it in Voldemort’s memories, but he had known nothing about Snape’s history with his mother. “What do you want me to say?” he asked after a long moment.

“There is nothing to be said. I just wanted you to know. I can’t take back my mistake, but I can help ensure Lily’s legacy lives on. Know that I will always be at your disposal, Mr. Potter-Twist.”

Harry swallowed thickly as Snape lifted the ward and left the room, leaving him with his thoughts.

O o O o O

Harry found Remus at the edge of the lake watching the giant squid. He had been looking for him, wanting to talk to him before anymore time passed. Admittedly, he had been avoiding this moment, simply because he didn’t know what to say, but now he knew.

“Hagrid said you were here,” he said, coming up beside him.

Remus turned to him, slightly surprised but his eyes only held tender joy.

“Oh?” he asked.

Harry’s eyes took in the rippling surface of the water.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Harry said, referring to Mark Twist being a disguise.

“You have nothing to apologize for. The fewer who knew the truth, the better,” Remus said honestly. “You made the right choice.”

“Even so, I’d like to make it up to you,” Harry said, finally looking at him. “I know how close you were to my parents, and though I’ve spent a lot of time with you in the past year, it wasn’t as, well, all of me, I guess you could say.”

Remus’ eyes softened. “Learning you’re the son of two of the best people I’ve ever known has answered some things, I must admit.”

Harry blinked, intrigued. “How so?”

“Well, you have the same daring as your father but it’s tempered by your mother’s compassion.”

Harry swallowed, turning his eyes back to the lake. Remus waited patiently.

“After term is over, I’ll be staying here over the summer to continue my apprenticeship under Dumbledore, but when school begins again, I hope to explore a bit of the world. Would you like to join me?”

Remus smiled. “I would like nothing better.”

O o O o O

Harry’s life became an adventure that most anyone would envy.

He traveled the world with Remus while Hogwarts was in session and then returned in the summer months to resume his apprenticeship with Dumbledore. When he turned 21, he finished his apprenticeship and had earned Masteries in Transfigurations-Transformation, Martial Magic, Charms, Arithmancy, and Spell Creation. In particular, Harry’s ability to alter his animagus’ appearance and even its species had been groundbreaking. His Transfiguration thesis was in Metamorphmagus-Animagus abilities and was critically acclaimed by several seasoned Transfiguration Masters.

Eventually, his long list of masteries would get even longer with masteries in Transfigurations-Conjuration, Potions, and Earth Magic. He never got a mastery in Alchemy, however, as his interests shifted elsewhere, primarily in enchantments (thanks in part to being ‘Eternal’ and his wife’s curiosity).

Two years after completing his apprenticeship, he met and eventually married an Australian muggleborn three years younger than himself. He met her while at an international convention. She was a magical researcher specializing in enchantments. Understandably, her work quickly became a topic of interest between them and they happily worked together to expand on it.

As for the lives of Harry’s childhood friends, they too expanded their horizons and began making their own families and careers.

Hermione became an Unspeakable after getting bored in gaining masteries. Although she couldn’t share a whole lot about what she was doing, she did hint to Harry that it involved time and healing magic. Alongside her secretive career, she married Oliver Wood several years after Hogwarts and had two children.

Neville apprenticed under Sprout for four years before working at St. Mungos and becoming their Herbologist expert. Years later, he returned to Hogwarts and replaced Sprout as the Herbology professor and eventually became Headmaster after Dumbledore retired.

Susan Bones became Minister for Magic after serving several years as Undersecretary. She married Neville not long after Hogwarts.

Ron, as crazy as it may sound, delved into politics after graduating from Hogwarts. He set his sights on rooting out corruption and on more than one occasion worked with Dumbledore, Susan, and Harry to ensure things were done right. The death of Percy had changed him and his family. The Weasleys were closer than they had ever been, but they would never completely recover from the pointless loss of the middle son.

Draco and his mother moved to France after the war, stating they had no reason to remain in England. There, Draco married a pureblood witch and lived moderately but happily for the rest of his days.

Snape took his leave of Hogwarts not long after Harry began exploring the world and it didn’t take him long to join the Unspeakables to research dangerous potions. After living so many years unsatisfied with his life, he finally felt content, and it only got better when he met his better half: a halfblood witch and a talented potions mistress. They never had children, but their research was their baby.

Remus Lupin explored the world with Harry but eventually settled down and married Nymphadora Tonks after several years of fighting ‘incompatibility’ issues. They had a son and twin daughters, all of whom were spoiled by their godfather, Harry.

Dumbledore continued fulfilling his many duties until retiring eight years after the death of Voldemort. In his ancient age, he acted as Harry’s advisor and became an honorary grandfather for Harry’s four children. Decades later, he would pass peacefully in his sleep after an evening of contemplation — thinking back to a pivotal moment where the fate of a young man had been in his hands.

The moment he decided to believe Mark Twist. The instant he chose to take a boy’s word and peer beyond the present evidence. The second he knew the young man before him could be a . . . trusted hero.

-The End-