The Hidden Hero

When the four youngest Weasleys arrived back at the Burrow, they found their parents waiting anxiously at the kitchen table for their return.

“Where were you?” asked Molly shrilly, as she jumped up from the table when she saw them, hurrying over to give each a hug.

Arthur remained seated, taking a shaky breath. Quietly he said, “It’s not safe to be wandering around right now.”

Fred shrugged out of his mother’s embrace and walked over to his father. Towering over the seated man, he demanded, “Because of You Know Who?”

The parents exchanged worried looks. Finally, Arthur nodded. “Yes.”

“We know all about it,” said Ron, coming to stand next to his older brother. “We don’t have time to go into how come we know right now. We went to the Ministry to save Mark.” He ignored his parents’ gasps. “We screwed things up, Dad. They think he tried to escape because of us and now they’re taking him to Azkaban right this minute! We’ve got to stop them!”

Arthur leapt up from the table. “What?! Right now, without a trial?”

Ginny, who had been crying silently, gave an audible sob. “What are we going to do? We got to save him, Dad. We’ve got to!”

Arthur ran his hand up his face and buried it in his hair for a moment. Then, coming to a decision, he released his hair, and said definitively, “We’ve got to speak with Dumbledore.” He didn’t answer any of the questions or comments that his children threw at him as he went to the living room. Taking some floo powder from the jar next to the fireplace, he threw it inside and said, “Dumbledore’s office.” He then kneeled beside the fireplace and stuck his head into the dancing flames.

Apparently, Arthur found Dumbledore in his office because he soon was engaging in a one-sided conversation. “Professor Dumbledore! There’s been an emergency. We need to speak urgently.”

Silence while Arthur listened to whatever Dumbledore was saying in response.

“I believe you’ll want to speak with my children. They are the ones with something to tell you. I suggest we speak at Order headquarters.”

Silence again.

“Yes, of course.” Arthur pulled his head out of the fire and said, “Stand back. Dumbledore is coming here for a moment to tell you all where the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located. I prefer that we speak there, so that there is no chance of being overheard. The location is under a Fidelius Charm and Dumbledore is the Secret Keeper, so he has to be the one to tell you where it is.”

No sooner had Arthur finished his explanation than there was a whoosh in the fireplace and Professor Dumbledore stepped out. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days and his face had new age lines.

Wasting no time, he cast a bubble around the Weasley children that would prevent anyone listening to what he was about to say. He then told them all, “The location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the family home of Sirius Black.”
“Black!” exclaimed Fred. His siblings were speechless with shock. “Why is the Order located at his home? He’s a Death Eater!”

Dumbledore responded, “I presume that the information you wish to share with me is urgent so I suggest we leave the explanations about Black to another time. Suffice it to say that we have learned that Sirius Black was framed and did not betray the Potters to Voldemort.”

The children flinched at hearing Voldemort’s name. Ron said, “So, Mark was right about that too? Sirius Black was innocent.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. We have been able to contact Black to tell him that we in the Order believe in his innocence. Unfortunately, we cannot prove it to the Ministry and the rest of the wizarding world yet. In the meantime, Black has offered us his family home for the Order’s headquarters. He intends to join us again in our fight against Voldemort.”

Dumbledore turned away from the children and lifted a mug from a side table. He gave a wave of his wand and the mug glowed for a brief moment. “This is now a Portkey that will take you all outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. When you arrive, think of the location in your mind and it will appear to you. Go inside and we’ll discuss what you wish to tell me. I will meet you there. Now, on the count of three.” The teenagers and their parents each put a finger on the mug. “One. Two. Three.”

The Weasleys disappeared from view and Dumbledore disapparated from the Burrow to join them.

*

“It’s all our fault!” moaned Ginny. She started sobbing again, and her mother hugged her. But, over her head, Molly looked anxiously at Dumbledore.

The children had finished telling their parents and the headmaster what had occurred at the Ministry. The adults all looked very pale and grave.

Ron said regretfully. “We shouldn’t have gone! He said that he had a plan. He wasn’t worried about going to Azkaban. But, we screwed it up! They’re taking him there now! What do we do?”

Dumbledore said heavily. “I’m not sure that there’s anything we can do.”

“What?!” said the four teenagers together.

Molly held up her hand to silence her children. “Can’t you go to the Minister, Professor? Tell him that Umbridge is taking Mark to Azkaban without a trial?”

“For what purpose, Molly? Do you think that the Minister would intervene? Umbridge is correct in thinking that her boss would approve of her actions. For one thing, he’ll avoid a trial where Mark is sure to mention again that Voldemort has arisen.”

He held up his own hand to silence the protests around him. “And a trial won’t help Mark. It will just delay this moment.”

There was silence as the children gazed at the adults in betrayal. “So, you’re just not going to do anything?” asked George.

Arthur hesitantly asked, “Isn’t there any way for us to intercept Mark on his way to Azkaban? Maybe release him and hide him away somewhere?”

Dumbledore hesitated, thinking. “It actually might be possible because of Umbridge’s intervention,” he said thoughtfully. “This may be a lucky break. By sending Mark to Azkaban without a trial, he won’t have the tracking device that they put on prisoners during transport. That device would have been attached immediately following a conviction. It’s still dangerous to try to free him of course and, if anyone is found to have helped Mark, it would mean a lifetime sentence to Azkaban.”

“I can’t stand back and watch an innocent boy go to Azkaban.” Arthur looked at Ron. “Mark’s the same age as Ron. He’s muggleborn and doesn’t have anyone to help him.”

Molly looked like she might faint. But, she nodded in agreement. “I would hope that people wouldn’t stand aside and let something like this happen to my son. I can do no less for Mark.”

Dumbledore nodded and looked oddly relieved. “This isn’t the safest course for the Order but I have to admit that it’s been hard to do nothing about Mark.”

Ron gave a whoop of joy and Dumbledore cautioned. “This may not work. Don’t celebrate too quickly.”

Ron looked abashed. Dumbledore continued. “The more people who are involved, the more likely we are to be discovered. For this reason, I suggest just Arthur and one other person.”

“Why not you?” Ron demanded.

Dumbledore didn’t take offense at Ron’s tone. “Because, if we are successful in rescuing Mark, the Ministry will suspect me – even though I was one of his accusers. Fudge will think I was trying to protect a student from Azkaban. I will need to have an alibi, so I will be with the Minister at the time that Mark is discovered missing.”

“What about my father? Won’t he be suspected?” asked Ginny fearfully.

“I will be able to give him an alibi,” explained Dumbledore. “I will say he was waiting for me in my office and it’s impossible to leave my office without my knowledge.”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Arthur piped up. He had been thinking about who would be best to accompany him on his rescue mission. He ignored the clamoring of Fred and George who were begging to go with him.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “Perfect choice. The two of you will need to go to Dumas Pier. That is where the boat taking Mark to Azkaban will depart. You must take great care to hide your identities. Use disillusionment charms and I’ll lend you an invisibility cloak.

“You’ll be able to stun any guards, but the Dementors are only repelled by a Patronus. Be careful to stun the guards first so that they won’t see the shape of your Patronuses. Otherwise, your identities might be compromised. The Dementors can’t see the Patronuses, only feel them. When you get Mark, take him back here. Once we have him here, we’ll decide where to send him.”

Knowing that time was running out, they contacted Kingsley, who joined them at the headquarters a few minutes later. They quickly explained the situation and Kingsley immediately agreed to take part in the rescue mission. Wasting no more time, the men left the headquarters, apparating slightly outside the town where Dumas Pier was located.

They were both under disillusionment spells and couldn’t see each other. Neither spoke, but they heard each other’s footsteps as they hurried to the Pier. The air was cold around them, perhaps feeling the despair of the prisoners incarcerated in Azkaban prison. Both men tried to avoid looking out over the turbulent water at the prison. It loomed ominously in the distance, as if alive, like a monster waiting to eat its prey.

As they approached the Pier, the men gripped their wands tightly. But, the Pier was strangely silent. Where was everyone? And then, their hearts sank. The reason for the silence was explained. The guards had already departed. Across the water, landing at the Pier on the other side, at the entrance to the prison, was the boat. They watched hopelessly as the tiny figure of Mark Twist disappeared inside.

Without saying a word, Kingsley returned to the Ministry. He went to his office and waited for Dumbledore to come by. He pushed paper around on his desk, pretending to be working, but finding it impossible to concentrate. About a half an hour later, Dumbledore, leaving the Minister’s office, passed by Kingsley’s desk. He didn’t speak with Kingsley but flicked a hopeful look at the other man as he passed. Kingsley gave a short shake of his head. Dumbledore looked stricken but he did not stop or say a word. He left the Ministry and returned to Hogwarts.

Arthur apparated back to Grimmauld Place, where the rest of the Weasley family was waiting. Everyone stood up anxiously as he entered the room. The answer was on his face but Arthur said anyway, his voice breaking, “We were too late.”

*

Harry woke to a cell that resembled the holding cell at the Ministry. This cell was also bare, with only a cot and chamber pot. Harry took the thin blankets off the bed and wrapped them around his shoulders to ward off the chill that permeated the walls. The big difference between this cell and the Ministry cell is that this one seemed to be steeped in despair. The walls seemed grayer and the air thicker with hopelessness.

There was very little light in the cell. The sole illumination was coming from a small skylight, high in the ceiling. Out of habit, 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.

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 around 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. He tripped over the blanket he had wrapped around himself and fell hard on his backside.

“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 he had fainted in Moody’s office, 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 to lay on his bed instead. The Dementor had gone, but it had done its damage. Harry couldn’t think. He just lay on the bed, shivering, and cold inside.

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.

On one of his circles around the cell, he looked up at the door window as he passed and noticed a dark shape. He stopped, his heart sinking to his toes. A deep rattle sounded again. Harry immediately fell 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 again.

What should he do? The Dementors would come again. He may have just wished for death but, seeing how his mother had sacrified herself to save him, made him burn 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.

Thinking of Voldemort appeared to have conjured him up. Harry felt the shimmering tunnel inside his head and, recalling how this led him to Voldemort’s mind, at first tried to resist entering the cavity. But, at the sound of a rattling breath at the door again, Harry instinctively jumped inside. As before, Harry felt sucked through the tunnel in his mind.

“They sent the boy to Azkaban without a trial?” Harry asked Snape, who was kneeling before him. He laughed delightedly.

He turned his wand over his hand. His white, long fingers caressed the wood. “With that filthy little mudblood out of the way, I want to move forward with finding Harry Potter. Severus, you are sure that Dumbledore doesn’t have any clue where the boy might be? Are you sure he hasn’t been pretending?”

“Master. I have seen the old fool look for Potter for the past four years. He is frantic to find the boy. He does not know where the boy is, I am sure.”

“Um… I will wish to speak with Potter’s muggle relatives. They may have information that would lead me to the boy’s whereabouts.”

Snape continued hesitantly. “My Lord. I believe that the Ministry has hidden these muggles somewhere. When it was learned that they had abused the boy, many wizards were looking for revenge. To protect them, the Ministry hid them away.”

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.”

After a slight pause, he continued, “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 hesitated, 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.”

He glided down the path and stood in front of the door. The mat in front of the door read “Welcome.” Irritated, he pointed the wand at the mat and said, “Incendio.” He watched in satisfaction as it quickly burned up.

Then, turning his attention to the door, quietly said, “Alohamora.” The door clicked open and he went inside.

*

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 thrill of anticipation and the pleasure in the screams. He had felt the joy of throwing the final Killing Curse. These may have been Voldemort’s thoughts but they felt as if Harry had been thinking them.

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 what 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.”

“How do you know?” asked the sly voice in his head. “You need every advantage you can find. Someday, you’ll get out of here and you’ll need to be able to kill him.”

Harry paced around the room, trying to control his thoughts and to think logically. “Okay. I’m linked to Voldemort. No news flash there. 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.” 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 that I will need to cast to defeat him.” He swallowed hard.

“I’m going to do this. I am going to be strong and do this. That’s the only way to stop Voldemort from killing more people.” He could clearly remember 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. Dumbledore was right about one thing: 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 perfectly. Then, lying back on the bed, he forced himself to find the tunnel again and, closing his eyes and drawing a ragged breath, he entered it again.