Chapter 12
The members of the Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts staff gathered in the familiar, dimly lit office of Albus Dumbledore. The mood was heavy, the faces around the room filled with worry.
At the center of it all was Dumbledore, his usual twinkling eyes dull with concern. The police report from Petunia Dursley lay on the desk before him, and the absence of Harry Potter was the only subject of discussion.
Minerva McGonagall, ever the voice of reason, spoke first. "It’s impossible. The wards around the Dursley home should have been impenetrable. How did he disappear without a trace?"
“I cannot say, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied softly, his fingers tracing the edge of the report. “But something is terribly wrong. The magic surrounding the house was disturbed—deliberately, yet in a subtle manner. Whoever took him knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn’t an accident.”
“We know that,” Severus Snape chimed in, his voice sharp and full of skepticism. “But who would take him, and why?”
Dumbledore’s eyes darkened slightly. “I fear that it may be someone connected to Voldemort’s forces. The dark wizard may not have returned in full strength, but we cannot discount the possibility that those loyal to him are active once again.”
Hagrid, who had been pacing nervously, stopped and looked at Dumbledore with a frown. "I don’ like this one bit, Albus. We’ve been through a lot with Harry, and I know he’s strong, but—" He broke off, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I can’t shake the feelin’ that somethin’ worse is comin’.”
“I understand your worry, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, his tone softening. “But we must not give in to fear. We must act swiftly and carefully. I’ve sent word to the Ministry and the Aurors. We will use every resource we have at our disposal. We must remain vigilant.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. The faces of the staff were etched with concern, but no one spoke.
“That boy has survived so much,” Minerva muttered, her voice thick with emotion. “First the Dark Lord, now this... How much can he endure?”
Dumbledore’s gaze softened. “Harry is stronger than most realize. But the situation is grave. We cannot afford to lose him. I suggest we increase our vigilance. Double the watch at Hogwarts. The last thing we need is for something to happen there.”
The room nodded in agreement, but the weight of uncertainty hung heavily in the air.
With a final, solemn glance at the gathered group, Dumbledore dismissed the meeting, but his mind remained heavy with thoughts of Harry.
Quirrell stood at the back of the room, quietly listening to the meeting unfold. His usual nervous twitching was absent, his face a mask of composure. But beneath the surface, the familiar voice slithered through his thoughts, cold and calculating.
"Fools."
Voldemort’s presence inside Quirrell was still subtle, but the growing anger was undeniable. He had been forced into hiding, stuck within the fragile body of this weak, trembling fool, but the power he still held was immense.
"They think they can control the situation, but they have no idea."
Harry’s disappearance wasn’t an accident, not in the slightest. Voldemort had his own plans, and those plans didn’t include letting Harry slip through his grasp.
"Potter... He may be hiding somewhere, but I will find him."
The very thought of Harry’s absence made Voldemort’s power hum with fury. For years, he had waited for the right moment to strike, to regain control, to take back what was his. But Harry was a wildcard—a wild, unpredictable force that could tip the balance in ways even he couldn’t predict.
"If they believe I am weak now, they will learn. They will all learn."
The monster, his host, stood silently in the meeting room, listening but not participating. Voldemort’s rage surged inside Quirrell, but he knew better than to show it—he had to bide his time. Harry was still alive, and he would not allow the boy to slip from his grasp. Not now.
"Soon, Potter. Soon, you will be mine."