Harry Potter: The Making of a Dark Lord

Ministry of Magic – Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Amelia Bones put down today's copy of the Daily Prophet and considered the growing problem of Harry Potter.

Last May she had investigated the death of Cedric Diggory at Hogwarts, and she had been shocked at his claims of Voldemort's return. Her incredulity was only reinforced by the sneers and dismissals that greeted Potter's statement. People don't spontaneously come back to life after being dead for a decade, after all. And yet something still smelt funny about the whole business.

They had discovered an escaped Death Eater, Barty Crouch, Jr., apparently masquerading as a Hogwarts Professor. But Fudge had ordered the man kissed before he could be properly questioned.

They had also confirmed that the Diggory boy died from an Avada Kedavra, and that it hadn't come from Harry Potter's wand.

The rest was still a mystery. Dumbledore was being tight-lipped about the whole thing, assuring her that he had it under control, and the Minister had told her to stop investigating. Now Fudge seemed intent on destroying Harry Potter's reputation through the press. And Dumbledore wasn't attempting to stop him.

Something was just…off.

Her niece Susan had told her that Potter was a quiet boy, not getting into much trouble except for the adventures that seemed to seek him out. Apparently the boy had only two friends and interacted very little with other people. Susan's description didn't jibe with the vain, attention-seeking Harry Potter described in the newspapers.

A sense of apprehension was growing in Director Bones. There were just too many events centered around Harry Potter of late, and too many powerful people had taken an interest in him.

Removing her monocle and standing to straighten her robes, she decided it was time to pay a visit to Algernon Croaker. Maybe he knows more about what's going on, she thought.

....

September 16, 1995 – Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

"Okay, Ron, I'm ready."

"Stupefy!" Ron shouted.

Harry made a quick upward motion with his wand. "Protego horribilis!"

Ron's stunner deflected off Harry's shield and was sent straight back at him. Ron shouted his own "protego" and the spell finally dissipated.

"You got it, Harry!" Hermione gushed happily.

For the third night this week the trio was practicing spells from Harry's grimoire in the Come-and-Go Room. Tonight's goal was mastery of the "Protego Horribilis" charm, a modified shield spell that sent most spells directly back at the caster. There were better shields that Harry wanted to master, but so far this was the best he could do.

It was no longer possible for Harry to hide his weakened magic from his friends. They had practiced reducto, diffindo, and several other offensive spells earlier in the week, and were now moving on to shields. It had been immediately apparent to them that Harry's magic was weaker when Ron and Hermione mastered the spells more quickly than Harry. Harry had offered them an abbreviated explanation for his newfound weaknesses, and they had accepted it without too much further prying.

Harry, now sweaty and exhausted, nodded his thanks to Hermione. Making such slow progress toward his goals was endlessly frustrating, and every day that passed with no solution further irritated him. Of the 100 or so spells in his book, the trio had only worked through the five easiest of them. It had taken Harry almost two hours of repeated failures and intense concentration to finally perform this spell properly, and now he felt like he could sleep for twelve hours.

Sitting down heavily in a chair the room provided, Harry leaned back as Dobby popped into the room with water for everyone.

Deciding to call it a night, the trio checked the Marauder's Map for lurkers and then exited their training room. It was closing in on curfew, and they still had essays to write for the next day.

Arriving in their dorm room, Harry collapsed on his bed as Ron tossed one of his mother's homemade cauldron cakes in his direction. Harry usually needed a snack after his training sessions, and Molly Weasley had made sure that Ron would be able to provide him with one.

.....

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair, absentmindedly fingering Harry's vault key and contemplating his upcoming plans. With Harry's will registered at the Ministry and Gringott's, there shouldn't be any difficulties in acquiring the bulk of the Potter Estate. Still, better safe than sorry, Dumbledore thought. Soon he would have to empty Harry's trust vault, just in case there were challenges to the will. If things didn't go according to plan, they would probably need that money.

Setting the key down on his desk to reach for fresh parchment, he was startled by a sudden pop of apparition directly in front of him. Shocked into immobility, Dumbledore simply stared as a house elf snapped up Harry's vault key and pocketed it.

"This is belonging to Harry Potter Sir," it said, before popping out again.

Dumbledore exhaled noisily at the elf's departure. Bloody buggering hell, he swore mentally, leaning back and trying to calm his racing heart.

This office was his inner sanctum, and he had never been surprised in it. Until now. By a house elf. The Weasley boy had told him about Dobby's presence in the castle, which worried him, but he had no way of warding the castle against a particular elf. He had never seen one behave so boldly as just now.

The loss of the key was not a disaster for him, as it would be easy enough to recover after Harry's upcoming demise, but Dumbledore didn't want Harry spending money recklessly or being tempted to leave the castle.

This will have to be addressed, he thought, holding a hand to his chest and wondering if he would now have to ward his office against all house elves.

.....

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