Harry Potter: The Making of a Dark Lord

Harry drew back his fist and punched Ron in the nose with all the force he could put behind it. A loud pop and a squelching noise were the only sounds that emanated from Ron.

"Bloody hell," muttered Harry, stepping back and shaking his hand. "That hurt, Ron. I can only hope it hurt you worse."

The redheaded boy's nose was now red and misshapen, clearly broken. A small tendril of blood began seeping out one nostril toward his mouth. His eyes watered and he blinked furiously, but otherwise was unable to move.

"Finite Incantatem," said Harry, taking off the petrification charm.

"Fug you, 'Arry," Ron bellowed, unable to breathe through his nose. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his stinging eyes.

"Language, Ronald," chided Harry. "Now, are you going to answer my questions, or am I going to have to start breaking fingers?"

Ron made no response except a small groan, so Harry continued. "I can only assume you're under some kind of oath too, Ron. When did you swear it?"

"Fug you," Ron repeated thickly.

"No, fuck you, Ron," Harry snapped. "I'm not the one plotting my best friend's murder, although you're doing your best to talk me into it."

"Tell me about Ginny," Harry continued. "Does she know about this? Does she know about the potions? And what about the twins?"

Ron coughed, then leaned his head back and spat a wad of blood and saliva onto Harry's robes.

Harry was stunned at Ron's boldness, and watched the blood trail down his robes as he contemplated his next move. He had not expected quite this much resistance, and he wanted Ron to be utterly humiliated before he left this room.

"So be it," said Harry. "The next time I see you, Ron, I'm probably going to kill you."

With that, he pointed his wand directly at Ron's right shin and incanted a bludgeoning curse. With no ability to dodge, the curse impacted Ron's leg at point-blank range and snapped his tibia with a loud crack. A few coils of rope also snapped, but it wasn't enough to help him get free. Ron howled in agony for a few seconds before Harry finally stunned him again to stop the noise.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, mentally reminding himself not to use any more magic. He felt like breaking every bone in Ron's body, but he was already tiring slightly from the spells he had cast over the last half hour. He would need all of his available strength when he left this room.

He turned again to Hermione. Her head was lolling on her chest as she breathed heavily and continued to cry; she looked broken.

"I'm leaving now, Hermione. I have no plans to stick around and let you murdering bastards sacrifice me to Voldemort for Merlin knows why. I thought about leaving you two in here to rot forever, but I'm not as cruel as you are. Those ropes binding you are real; I didn't conjure them, so they'll never wear off. In 24 hours Dobby will return here and free you. Your wands are in that corner," he said flatly, pointing at them.

Harry turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. He turned back around and looked at her one last time.

"You're dead to me, Hermione," he whispered, and left the room.

....

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Private Quarters

Albus Dumbledore awoke with a start and peered in the direction of the noise coming from his office. One of his detection devices was shrieking loudly. He sighed and rolled out of his bed, wondering what could be going on at one o'clock in the morning.

When he reached his office, he comforted an indignant Fawkes and then peered closely at his silvery instruments. What he saw left him momentarily breathless. "Bloody hell," he swore.

Harry Potter had just left the Hogwarts grounds.

Dumbledore grabbed his wand and performed a complicated movement in the air. Hmmm, he thought. He's in Hogsmeade already. How did he get there so fast, and how did he get through the suppression ward? Is he sneaking into Honeydukes for some candy?

But he was disabused of that notion rather quickly as his charm chirruped and showed Harry's location as London. "Shite," he said aloud, "he's making a run for it."

Growing alarmed, Dumbledore turned to Fawkes to make a desperate plea.

"Fawkes," he said quickly, "I need your help, you must—,"

But he never finished his sentence, as Fawkes squawked once and stuck his head under his wing, his intentions clear.

Dumbledore glared at the bird then moved swiftly to his fireplace. He wouldn't be able to apparate to Harry's location without leaving the grounds himself, and that would take some time. He called on the one person he knew was ready for action at all times.

"Alastor Moody," he yelled into his now-green fire.

Ten seconds later Moody's head appeared in the fire, looking disgruntled and wary. "What is it, Albus? Do you know what time it is?"

"Alastor, we have an emergency," Dumbledore said hurriedly. "Harry Potter escaped from Hogwarts just a few moments ago. He's already in London, and I don't know what he's planning. It seems that he has discovered something and is trying to hide."

"I'm on it," Moody responded, now fully awake. "I've got a charm or two of my own on that cloak of his. Don't worry; he'll be back in his bed within the hour."

Dumbledore nodded, relieved that Moody had been available, and hurriedly left his office. As he practically ran through the halls of his school, he wondered just what had made Harry Potter run and whether it could be obliviated from his memory.

.....

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