Finishing up a rather late breakfast — after Charlie had gone to work, Sirius had decided he needed 'five more minutes', which turned into almost an hour — Sirius was just considering his options for the day, when he felt something warm vibrating in his robe pocket. He frowned — what could Harry want at this time of the morning? Surely he was in class… he racked his brain, trying to remember if his pup had a free period first thing on a Wednesday. His stomach churned uneasily as he dug out the mirror, hoping it was just a friendly chat and not an emergency.
Only, the face that appeared in the mirror's glass was not his godson's. "Neville?" Sirius greeted, surprised — the churning of his stomach grew fiercer. The Longbottom heir was pale-faced and anxious.
"Lord Black," he replied, only a hint of a waver to his tone. Sirius had told the boy to call him by his first name a dozen times, but he didn't think this was the time for another reprimand. "Sir. I think Harry's missing."
Sirius' heart sank. "What do you mean?"
"He wasn't in the dorm when I woke up this morning," Neville told him. "And he didn't show up to breakfast."
"And you're sure he didn't just sleep over with Draco and decide to have a romantic breakfast in the kitchens together?" The hope in Sirius' voice was plain, but Neville shook his head.
"Draco was at breakfast. I asked him, he said he hasn't seen Harry since last night. And, the castle — the castle isn't happy. It feels… wrong."
"Fuck." The panic began to rise, and Sirius shoved it down. Freaking out wouldn't help anyone. "Fuck. Oh, Merlin. I— where's Dumbledore?"
"He was at breakfast, didn't even seem to notice Harry was missing." Neville looked as suspicious of that as Sirius felt. From the amount of attention the headmaster had paid to Harry lately, him not noticing was a tell in itself.
"Neville, do you know about the Marauder's Map?" Sirius pressed, relief hitting him when the boy nodded. "Do you know where Harry keeps it?"
"I— he usually has it on him, honestly," Neville said, face falling. He disappeared for a second, and Sirius heard rummaging. "It's not in his nightstand. Nor is the cloak."
"Bollocks," Sirius hissed. Of course, the one time it would be useful for Harry not to have those things on him, they were shit out of luck. "Neville, listen to me." There was only one option left, now.
The boy's hazel eyes were alert as they met Sirius'.
"I need you to go to Professor Snape," Sirius told him, watching him gape. "I promise you, he's not what you think he is. He's on our side."
Neville bit his lip, visibly conflicted. "I… I heard Amelia say he saved her life, when the Ministry fell."
"He did. He's the only damn adult I trust at that school these days — and if you knew what we were like as students, you'd know how big a deal that is," Sirius added with a bitter twist of his lips. "Go to Snape. Tell him about Harry. If anyone there can help you, it's him. I'll… I'll raise the alarm here." He'd figure it out, somehow. They would figure it out.
Harry wouldn't be missing for long, not on his watch.
"Keep the mirror with you!" he added, before Neville could cut the connection. "Be safe, kid."
Neville nodded, and the mirror went blank.
Sirius barely resisted the urge to throw the fucking thing across the room.
He hurried into the main hall, heart pounding in his chest. "Remus!" he yelled, pushing magic in his voice to carry through the whole house, tugging at the wards in his mind to track the man down. Was he even home? He could have gone out. Narcissa was out, he knew that much — over at the Manor, dealing with her secret stash of refugees. Was Remus at the Pottery?
How long had Harry been gone?
"Remus!" he called again, more urgently this time. He started up the stairs, and halted when he saw the werewolf come out of the library.
"Padfoot, what's the matter?"
"Harry's missing." Sirius explained the conversation he'd just had, watching the blood drain from his best friend's face.
"Neville's an heir, same as Harry is," Remus pointed out. "If Harry's still in the castle, he'll find him."
Sirius wondered which of them the werewolf was trying to reassure. "And if he's not in the castle?"
Remus' face hardened. "Then it's up to us." His eyes flashed gold for the briefest moment. "Call Tonks and Kingsley. I'll go talk to the twins, see if they might have anything to help."
Sirius nodded, but before he could turn away Remus had him bundled in a crushing hug. "We will not lose him, Sirius," he declared strongly. Sirius gripped him tight in return, just for a moment, hoping desperately that could be true.
.-.-.
Of all the people to knock on the door of his office in the middle of a school day, Severus would not have placed Neville Longbottom high on the list. The boy was lucky Severus wasn't teaching — and that he hadn't interrupted anything important.
Then again, looking at the determined set of the Gryffindor's jaw, Severus wondered if that might be half the problem. "Harry Potter is missing," the boy declared, not a hint of the usual trembling stutter he spoke to Severus with.
The Slytherin's heart stopped.
"And why should I care?" he drawled dispassionately, stepping back and beckoning the boy inside. Longbottom hesitated only for a moment, but screwed up his courage and followed his most hated professor, only whimpering a little when Severus shut and locked the door.
Gryffindors, honestly.
"I— Lord Black told me to come here. Said I could trust you," Longbottom said, hands screwed into fists at his sides. "Harry's missing, I don't know how long for. He wasn't in the dorm, wasn't at breakfast. I… I know he's not in the castle." The boy's gaze dropped evasively.
"The wards confirmed that?"
Hazel eyes widened. "You know about the wards?" Severus nodded impatiently, and Longbottom seemed to bolster. "Then, yeah. The castle is worried. If he were here, I'd know about it. And— I asked Luna and Hannah, at breakfast. They can't feel him anywhere, either."
That was… concerning, to say the least. Thinking quickly, Severus scrawled a note on a piece of paper, tapping it with his wand. It vanished in a flash of silver light. "Can Hogwarts show you what happened?" Severus wasn't sure what the heirs' connection with the castle was like, but he knew Harry had talked about being shown things before.
Longbottom closed his eyes, face screwing up in concentration. "It's… foggy. Distorted. And dark. I can tell where he is — in the seventh floor corridor, not far from the Room of Requirement. But I can't properly see what happened. It's like— it's like I'm being blocked, or something."
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose — that did not bode well for any of them.
A knock on the door startled both of them. Gesturing for Longbottom to stand out of view, just in case, Severus dropped his wards and went to open it. Luckily, it was just Draco. His godson's face was pale, his lip slightly swollen where he'd been worrying it between his teeth. "Is this about Harry?" he asked urgently. Severus let him into the office, where he did a double-take at the sight of Longbottom. "You still can't find him?" Draco pressed.
"He was with you last night, yes?" Severus asked his godson. It was a testament to how serious the situation was that Draco didn't even blush.
"In the Room of Requirement," he confirmed, nodding. "We both left just after midnight. I went through the shortcut down to the dungeons, he left through the main door." His grey eyes were fearful as they met Severus'. "Uncle Sev, what if it's Death Eaters? I know there are loyal students in the school. What if… what if He has Harry?"
Severus placed a hand on his godson's shoulder, squeezing gently. "If the Dark Lord had a plan to kidnap Harry Potter, I would know about it," he assured confidently.
"Sir—" Longbottom cut in hesitantly, "what— what if they're not working to You-Know-Who's plan? What if they decided to… y'know. Take initiative?"
Severus snorted. "Death Eaters are not known for their initiative, Mr Longbottom. Young Death Eaters most of all." He didn't know all of the loyal students within the school, but he knew enough to know that they did not have the brains nor the skill to catch Harry unawares, not even if the boy was… distracted. Not after all the training Severus had put him through.
"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I believe we're looking at something worse than Death Eaters," he told them grimly. "There's only one person who can manipulate the school wards in a way that even an heir cannot fight back."
The two boys shared a look of slowly dawning horror.
Albus Dumbledore had finally reclaimed his Chosen One.
.-.-.
The world returned to Harry in fragments, fuzzy around the edges and ringing in his ears.
He was horizontal. Not on the floor — something soft. His limbs were splayed, a tightness around his wrists and ankles that grew tighter when he tried to move.
He was tied to a bed. Blinking away the fuzziness, he craned his neck, confirming the suspicion. A plain double bed, pale grey sheets, ropes thick with magic wrapped securely around him, connected at the other end to the sturdy wooden posts at each corner of the bed.
His attacker had let him keep his glasses on. How kind of them. He looked around — the room was nondescript, with cream-coloured walls and no features but the door directly opposite. No portraits, no wardrobe, not so much as a side table. There was a candle bracket on each wall, but that didn't do Harry much good.
Beyond that, everything was… muffled. Like Harry was in a jar with the lid on, trapped away from the rest of the world. He couldn't feel his connection to Hogwarts, outside of a faint persistence in the very back of his mind.
He could barely feel his own magic.
That, more than anything else, set his heart racing in terror. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, to look inwards at his own magical core. It was like trying to swim through cement. The very attempt made him exhausted, slumping back against the mattress. It wasn't gone, he could feel at least that much. It was just… blocked. Restrained, much like he himself was.
When the door opened, Harry wasn't surprised at who greeted him.
"Ah, Harry, my boy. You're awake." The headmaster swept into the room, face the epitome of a kindly old grandfather — except for the threat in his eyes, of course.
"Where am I?" Harry asked, glaring at the man. Dumbledore smiled, conjuring a chair to take a seat beside the bed.
It wasn't the room that blocked magic, then. That was good to know.
"Somewhere safe," Dumbledore assured, making him scoff. "I'm sorry for the somewhat… unorthodox method of getting you here, but I did not think you'd be willing to come quietly."
"Unorthodox," Harry repeated cynically. "Kidnapping, you mean."
The old man's beard twitched as he frowned. "It is for your own good, my boy. You will come to understand that, soon." Then, he smiled, a somewhat unhinged light in his eyes. "I must say, you gave me far more than I expected, bringing you here like this."
Harry's stomach turned. "What do you mean?" Fear gripped him. "What did you do to me while I was unconscious?" Had he stolen Harry's magic? Linked himself to it, like a parasite, like he once had the castle wards?
"Oh, nothing sinister," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. He reached into an inside pocket of his robe, pulling out a folded pile of silky fabric — Harry's invisibility cloak. "Merely, I did not expect you to be carrying this little marvel. My, if only I had known what it truly was, when it was last in my possession. I should never have given it back to you — no matter how necessary it was for my plans. Letting you sneak about the castle, hidden even from me. I should have known then what it was…"
Harry stared at him, utterly bewildered. It was an invisibility cloak — of course Harry was hidden beneath it? That was the whole point!
"Now that I know the truth, now I have the knowledge of the Peverell family secret. I have all three artefacts." He smiled, the expression sending a shiver of unease down Harry's spine. "I have become the Master of Death, my dear boy," he declared in a reverent tone. "A lifetime of searching, and you held the final piece all along. So you understand why I had to claim it back."
He'd gone mad. Dumbledore had truly lost it — Master of Death, what did that even mean? What did it have to do with the Peverells? And Harry's cloak?
Dumbledore leaned forward, and Harry wished he could scramble away, do anything to defend himself, but he was tied to that stupid bed! He was utterly helpless, alone in a room Merlin only knew where, with a madman who had kidnapped him for— what, exactly?
He flinched when Dumbledore's good hand patted him on the arm. "I wish things had gone differently, my boy," the headmaster said mournfully. "Truly, I do. Had you not gotten so… headstrong, perhaps this all could have been avoided."
"Had I not broken all your compulsions, you mean," Harry spat, glaring. "Had I stayed your good little Gryffindor pet, ready to sacrifice myself for the greater good — and your own damn glory."
Dumbledore didn't react, merely sighing. "Those compulsions were for your own protection, Harry," he insisted. Harry wondered if he truly believed that, if he had genuinely convinced himself he was still doing the right thing. "There is a great evil within you. Within your scar. I had hoped, when I placed that magic on you, that it would be enough to help you shed that evil. To grow stronger than its influence, to remain firmly within the Light. Sadly, that is not the case. I'm afraid we have no other choice, my boy — you must die, for the evil to truly be vanquished. You must die for Lord Voldemort to be killed. The Prophecy demands it."
Harry goggled at him, but the headmaster didn't notice, continuing his sad stare. "I wish it did not have to be this way. I wish you had been given the chance to face your destiny in battle, as a true Gryffindor should," Dumbledore told him apologetically. "But you have long since proven that your own selfishness — the influence from the evil within you — will win out. I cannot trust you to do the right thing anymore, Harry. I must take that burden upon myself." He gripped Harry's forearm tighter. "Please, forgive me."
"Bullshit!" Harry argued. "I already know about the horcruxes. I know all about the evil you think is within me. It's gone, now — the goblins removed it this summer. Just like they removed all your compulsions, and the blocks on my family magic, back before my third year. It's not the influence of evil that's pulled me away from you, it's your own damn actions! You're the one who manipulated me, who influenced me — you changed my entire personality to fit your schemes, to turn me into the perfect little pawn — your weapon!" Dumbledore's fingers dug in painfully. "The only selfish one here is you, Dumbledore. Raising a child for slaughter just to make yourself the hero once again."
To his surprise, Dumbledore just chuckled, shaking his head. "You're just like him, you know," he said — Harry doubted he meant James Potter. "He always thought he knew absolutely everything; that only his viewpoint was the truth, and everyone else was just lying, manipulating him. I can see now his soul has tainted yours on a deeper level than I ever imagined possible."
"Tom Riddle's soul is nowhere near mine," Harry snarled. "The only taint on it was yours, and I freed myself from that long ago."
"It saddens me that you think so, Harry," Dumbledore murmured. "But that just proves even further that I must do what is necessary." He finally released Harry's forearm, stroking his beard. "The difficult decisions have often fallen to me — it is a burden that most would not bear, but it is necessary nonetheless. Once I have dealt with you, I can find the remaining horcruxes and finally rid the world of the darkness that has plagued it for so long now." His smile turned sharp. "Maybe then everyone will stop believing those silly lies of yours and be properly grateful for everything I've done for them."
He paused, chuckling to himself, glancing at Harry. "The thing they don't tell you about power, my boy, is that once you have it, the people who gave it to you often have no idea what it truly takes to keep it. They think you can solve all of their problems, without the faintest idea of the work you do just to keep them alive and well." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "But it is no matter."
The headmaster leaned back in his conjured chair, expression turning thoughtful. "It surprises me to hear you speak of horcruxes — though perhaps it shouldn't, considering how long you have been one. How long has he been whispering in your mind, I wonder?" He surveyed Harry sadly. "You never stood a chance, did you, my boy."
Finally, he stood, pulling his wand from his pocket. Harry tensed. "I must return to the castle for a while — no doubt someone has noticed your absence. I must calm the students and direct the search to the appropriate places." With a wave of his wand, the chair vanished. "Perhaps, if I play this carefully, your tragic demise at the hands of Death Eaters will be enough for Horace to finally tell me the truth of what he knows." He pursed his lips. "How the man doesn't see that we're running out of time, I'll never know. He's always been a fool."
Abruptly, he seemed to remember where he was, that he had company. He smiled that grandfatherly smile at Harry, raising his wand. "I am sorry about this, my boy, but I cannot risk you doing anything reckless before I can return."
As magic began to gather around him, a stream of Latin pouring from his lips, Harry could do nothing but lie there and scream.
.-.-.-.
Neville didn't care that he was missing classes. His teachers would understand — they, too, knew that Harry was missing by now. Everyone knew that Harry was missing by now.
After he'd left Snape's office, Neville had gone to the Room of Requirement, asking for the Wardstone, hoping against hope that with his hands on the crystal he might be able to get a better view of what happened. Hogwarts obliged, but there was nothing more it could offer — just that darkened vision of Harry getting hit in the back with a Stunner, falling like a sack of soil.
That vision would haunt Neville's sleep for a long time, after this.
He called Lord Black — Sirius — again, to tell him he'd gone to Snape as asked. Sirius was with Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, which instantly made Neville feel better. He'd told them, what Snape said, about it being Dumbledore rather than Death Eaters. They looked like they'd come to that conclusion all on their own.
Neville felt so useless — he wasn't powerful like Harry, or connected like Draco. He didn't know half of what really went on in Harry's life these days, only the things it was safe enough for him to know. Snape had told him to keep his head down and look out for anything suspicious. How was that possible, when everything could be suspicious? Ron and Hermione not looking remotely bothered by Harry's disappearance was suspicious. Lisa Turpin and Tracey Davies laughing about it was suspicious. The continuation of daily Hogwarts life was suspicious.
How could they all be expected to just keep going to classes as if nothing was wrong??
Finally, it was lunch time, and Neville immediately went to Hannah at the Hufflepuff table. Luna was there too, and half their friends, all with anxious and drawn faces. "Still no sign of him?" Susan asked Neville, and he shook his head.
"There's people on the case. Outside the school. The usual crowd," he told her, not willing to use names in such a public space. Susan nodded, brow furrowing.
"That's good. Merlin… how could this happen? Harry's usually so careful. You've seen what his reflexes are like!"
Indeed, it had become a bit of a game for a while in the HA, trying to catch Harry off guard. Sending spells at all moments, from all angles — every time, Harry was too quick on the draw with a shield or just ducking out of the way. Neville knew he'd trained for it — now, thanks to Draco, he knew it was Snape who'd done most of the training — but that meant it had to have taken a hell of a lot of power to take him down in one spell.
"He was a bit preoccupied," Neville did point out; Draco had admitted that they'd both been sleepy and satisfied when they'd parted ways, that Harry might not have been at his most alert.
But Neville had seen Harry go from dead asleep to awake and fighting within seconds before. With the castle's awareness around him, even being addle-brained from orgasms wouldn't leave him that unguarded.
Then again, this was Dumbledore they were talking about. Even with the heirs taking the wards, he was still headmaster of Hogwarts, still connected to the castle. And he had been doing shady business around the school for longer than all four of the heirs had been alive.
"Have you Seen anything, Luna?" he asked in an undertone, but the Ravenclaw shook her head sadly.
"There's too many wrackspurts," she told him. "Things are so shrouded. So many paths it could take."
That, more than anything else, made Neville feel sick. A future so uncertain… it didn't bode well for Harry at all.
"Budge up." He turned — it was Ginny, and she had Draco with her, the blond's face drawn. "You need to eat something. Both of you."
Neville looked down at the empty plate in front of him, then guiltily meet his girlfriend's brown eyes. "I can't stomach anything, Gin."
She huffed, and in a few moments there were two sandwiches in front of her — she nudged one towards Draco, then practically forced the second into Neville's hands. "Eat," she repeated firmly. "Starving yourself won't help Harry any."
She was right, and they both knew it. The sandwich tasted like cardboard, but Neville ate it anyway, his mind firmly elsewhere.
He hated this part of being Harry Potter's friend. The waiting. At least last year, when shit went down, he'd been able to go along, able to help and be useful and stand at Harry's side. This was like the third Triwizard task all over again — staring at a maze, worry bubbling in his gut, knowing Harry was in danger but not able to do anything about it.
Neville finished his sandwich, and was just about to ask Draco if he'd heard anything else, when all of a sudden the tension in the hall seemed to rise abruptly. He looked up, and saw red.
Dumbledore had just entered the hall, looking entirely unbothered, that damned genial smile on his face like there was nothing wrong at all. He strolled between the house tables as if it were any other day — as if he hadn't just kidnapped Neville's best friend.
Before he knew it, he was on his feet and stalking towards the headmaster. "Where is he?" he demanded, drawing his wand on the man. Dumbledore paused, brows rising — like Neville was a mild surprise, and not a legitimate threat.
He didn't know what Neville could do. He didn't know what Harry had taught him.
"Mr Longbottom, I'm quite sure I have no idea what you mean," Dumbledore began, but Neville wasn't cowed.
"Harry," he spat. "What have you done to him? I know you took him!" Everyone was staring at them. A vein in Dumbledore's temple twitched.
"You're mistaken, Mr Longbottom — perhaps Mr Potter has merely left of his own accord? His behaviour has been rather… erratic, this year. It is entirely likely he has decided the castle is no longer where he wishes to be." He frowned sadly. "I know how upset you must be by his betrayal, Mr Longbottom, and I would be happy to offer you a friendly ear. Or perhaps Madam Pomfrey; she understands how difficult grief can be to process."
Neville growled, and it was only the headmaster's quick reflexes that prevented his silent Stunning charm from hitting. "Really, now!" Dumbledore scolded, frowning at him. "Attacking your teachers, no matter how upset you are, is not acceptable in this school! Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Longbottom, and detention with Professor McGonagall tonight."
"I don't care about detentions!" Neville shouted. "I just want to know where you've taken Harry! I know it was you — you've wanted him out of the way ever since he broke out of your compulsions!"
"That is enough, Mr Longbottom," Dumbledore scolded, his booming voice sending shivers down Neville's spine. "Control yourself, and cease spreading the lies Harry Potter has told you."
He strode past Neville, his lurid blue robes swishing as he went, and while Neville desperately wanted to throw another hex he knew it would be no good.
He turned away, eyes trailing over the students who had watched the entire exchange. They stared back, silent, knowing.
No one would believe that Harry had left Hogwarts of his own accord. Not after everything he'd done to protect it — not after everything he'd suffered within these walls without breaking. And especially not without taking Draco with him.
Dumbledore might have given him detention, but the damage was done. Neville could see the last vestiges of trust in the headmaster die a hundred times over, fading away in every pair of eyes looking back at him.
He straightened his shoulders, nodding decisively. He didn't care what it took, how many detentions Dumbledore might put him in.
He would find Harry if it killed him.