Harry Potter: The Making of a Dark Lord

Dumbledore's increasingly desperate thoughts continued as he reached his office and resisted the temptation to blast down the door. Everyone would be demanding his counsel when Voldemort made his presence known, but for the moment he felt trapped.

Short of a violent coup, there was little he could do. He had recruited a small band of people willing to fight Voldemort, but if the situation continued he would need the support of Bones and Croaker, and they didn't trust him at the moment.

Algernon's scathing rejection of horcruxes as a means of achieving immortality had initially stunned him. He had gone to so much trouble tracking the blasted things down. Had it all been for nothing? Even if it were, Dumbledore reflected, it did not change the landscape of the coming fight. The prophecy made it necessary that his plans for Harry Potter go forward.

But it was looking increasingly likely that he would have to reveal the prophecy to Amelia and Algernon.

It would then be imperative to convince them of the necessity of his plan to sacrifice Harry Potter. Even if they refused to handicap the fight, they would have to see the inevitability of the confrontation and send the boy immediately into the fray.

His plan to sacrifice Harry had been premised on the assumption that Harry was helpless, and that it would be a waste of time, resources, and lives to train him to defeat Voldemort. He still believed that to be true—training Harry would only prolong the conflict and cause a war of attrition that could bleed the wizarding world dry. If the prophecy were no longer operative, he and his allies would be free to destroy the Dark Lord.

But even if Harry was no longer a helpless child, it was exceedingly unlikely that he could last longer than ten seconds in a fair fight against Voldemort. Still, thought Dumbledore, perhaps Harry could pull off some miracle again. He seems to have an abundance of extraordinary luck.

Dumbledore felt the walls slowly closing in, and knew that the Dark Lord's public return was imminent. Malfoy was clearly trying to remove him as an obstacle prior to the commencement of their plans. If only Severus knew the details, Dumbledore thought dejectedly.

Time was now of the essence, and they were running out of it quickly.

Bones Manor, Dueling Room

"Confringo!" muttered Harry Potter fiercely, jabbing his wand forward.

A split second later a marble block on the other side of the room exploded into deadly shrapnel.

"Cor, Harry," exclaimed Tonks from his side, where she had been shielding both herself and Harry from the effects of the curse. "That was some blaster."

Harry turned and smiled sheepishly at her. "I was imagining Dumbledore standing there."

Croaker snorted and moved out of the shadows, where he and Madam Bones had been observing the testing. "Easy now, lad. Dumbledore is a right bastard, but he's not your biggest problem. Don't forget that."

"I agree, Mr. Potter," said Bones. "We will sort out Dumbledore, but you must remember that he's not the real enemy. I must agree with Auror Tonks that your offensive spells are impressive. Were they always that powerful?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know, but I don't think so. I'm not sure when Dumbledore put that block on my magic. Why would I have gotten more powerful?"

Croaker responded thoughtfully. "Hard to say, Mr. Potter. I can only surmise that it is the result of your conflict with the Dark Lord following his resurrection. You said you felt exhilarated after the wands locked and that something leapt from his wand to yours, did you not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, "but I don't remember the end of that fight clearly. I was really light-headed and then Fawkes flashed in and grabbed us."

"Well," said Croaker, stroking his short goatee in the stereotypical professorial fashion, "I would speculate—and this is still a guess, mind you—that the Dark Lord has been leeching magic from you all these years. That ritual he performed creates a link between the caster and the victim, and that link may be what allowed him to survive the killing curse."

Harry looked between Tonks and Bones, but they looked to be just as confused as he was.

"I don't understand..." Harry began. "How did he survive exactly?"

"As I said, Mr. Potter," replied Croaker, who was now staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, "I do not know for certain, but it seems to have been purely by accident. The Dark Lord may have been sustaining himself on your magic for the past fourteen years—in essence stealing it to remain alive, even if disembodied. As you became more powerful so did he. When you locked wands with him, it would seem that some of that stolen magic was returned to you…In any event, I think we should be pleased with the results of the removal ritual, yes?"

"Very much so," Harry sighed. "I just hope that my transfiguration works itself out."

"Be patient, lad. It will take some practice to adjust to your new situation."

For the past three hours, Harry had been performing various kinds of spells under the watchful eyes of Croaker, Bones, and Tonks. It was necessary to test him thoroughly for possible damage resulting from the removal of Dumbledore's prisoner's block. Harry's considerable skill at offensive curses—particularly blasting curses—was immediately noticeable, but so was his ineptitude at transfiguration.

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