Harry Potter: The Making of a Dark Lord

October 1st, 1995 – Ministry of Magic, Dept. of Mysteries

Algernon Croaker sipped his morning coffee and contemplated the questions that Director Bones had just asked him about Harry Potter. He didn't have any answers for her, but he was beginning to think that Potter was somehow connected to the numerous unsettling events of the last two years.

Croaker had heard about Potter's explanation for Cedric Diggory's murder, but he didn't give any credence to the prospect of the Dark Lord returning. Unlike other wizards, he knew that immortality was impossible. His personal library contained several extremely rare volumes that described the various failed attempts at immortality throughout wizarding history.

And yet the events of the last two years were ominous. They had all the hallmarks of the Dark Lord's first rise, and Potter seemed somehow mixed up in it all. First Sirius Black had broken out of Azkaban and sought to kill the boy. Then former Death Eaters had terrified everyone at the Quidditch World Cup; there had been no serious injuries, but seeing the Dark Mark hovering over Britain once again was truly worrying. And someone had used Potter's wand to cast it.

Bertha Jorkins had disappeared while traveling abroad. Then months later Cedric Diggory had been mysteriously murdered by an Avada Kedavra, apparently kidnapped by someone straight off of Hogwarts grounds. Their investigation had turned up Barty Crouch, Jr., thought to be deceased, masquerading in Hogwarts as Defense Professor Alastor Moody. How had Albus not recognized his old friend? Croaker wondered, and just what was Crouch doing at Hogwarts?

Most recently Emmanuel Ollivander had disappeared. Ollivander was a longtime friend of his, and Croaker knew that he hadn't simply gone on holiday. No, Ollivander had either gone into hiding for some reason—unlikely, thought Croaker—or he had been kidnapped. Ministry Aurors were technically looking for him, but they had uncovered no evidence of foul play and had no clues. Croaker hoped that, wherever he was, his old friend was safe and whole.

Croaker ran his hand through his thinning white hair and rose from his desk. Perhaps there was some clue about what was happening in Potter's file?

Unbeknownst to most of wizarding Britain, and even most of the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries kept dossiers on nearly the entire population. They weren't strictly an intelligence organization, but it was helpful to know as much as one could about the abilities of others when studying magical mysteries. The Unspeakables were under a variety of oaths never to misuse such information, or long ago they would have produced a Dark Lord of their own.

Leaving his office after locking it, Croaker strode imperiously through the halls of his Department. He was in charge here, and he liked ensuring that the other Unspeakables knew it. What was Potter's connection to all of these events? he wondered. As he approached the secure room where all of the dossiers were filed, he hoped that some answers awaited him there.

If they didn't, he would have to pay Albus a visit, and he really didn't enjoy the presence of the Supreme Mugwump.

.....

Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

Harry Potter sat with his back against the stone walls of the Come-and-Go Room, his head in his hands. He was emotionally spent. Three hours ago Parvati and Padma Patil had turned his world upside down, and in the time since he had experienced a bewildering contradiction of emotions.

His knuckles were bloody from pounding his fists against the walls; his throat was raw from screaming in rage and pain; his eyes held no more tears, never having wept so much in his life.

At first he hadn't believed the story the twins told him. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny couldn't possibly do this to him. Were the Patil twins, or even the Weasley twins, pranking him? But the deadly serious demeanor of the girls assured him that this was no joke, and Padma had been able to recall the exact details of the argument they overheard. Parvati was in tears during her recitation, and Harry didn't think her capable of acting so convincingly.

When the girls swore oaths on their magic that they were telling the truth, Harry's stomach had dropped to his knees.

His mind reeling, Harry had skived off divination and gone straight to the Come-and-Go Room to think. He had gone through every possibility: could the Patil twins have misunderstood somehow? Could this be a ploy by Malfoy to sow distrust between him and his friends? Perhaps Ron and Hermione had been polyjuiced by Slytherins? This just couldn't be true.

But in his heart Harry had known that it was.

Harry had thought back over the major events of his life, and he had finally seen the pattern.

Growing up unloved and unwanted at the Dursleys, kept isolated from the magical world by Dumbledore, befriended only by Hermione and the Weasleys, both of whom revered Dumbledore. Confronting Voldemort or his followers every year at Hogwarts, receiving no information about how to defend himself, loathed by everyone except his supposed friends.

Harry finally saw it: his life had never been his own. He had been groomed from infancy by Albus Dumbledore, and apparently he had been groomed as a sacrifice to Voldemort. His entire life was a conspiracy that even his best friends were in on.

That was when the floodgates had opened. Every slight, every insult, every indignity, every danger, every death he had suffered boiled to the surface, and he released it all at once in a fit of rage and despair. The room had provided him with likenesses of Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione, and Harry had exhausted himself blasting them to tiny pieces.

Now Harry was spent. He felt devoid of emotion, save an instinct for self-preservation and a growing sense of paranoia. The walls were closing in, and he felt so very alone. It seemed that everyone was out to get him. As panic rose in his chest, Harry desperately pushed it back down and tried to think clearly.

.....

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