Year 6-09: Phantom's Revenge

A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains brief but graphic descriptions of animal cruelty.

Christmas was always a wonderful occasion in Harry's new life. He was not ashamed to admit that his family spoiled him; his parents and uncles always showered him and Dahlia with lavish gifts that made the day a lot of fun. But the real joy came in spending time with his loved ones, which was the one downside of attending Hogwarts year-round, as he missed spending quality time with them.

The best present of all was waiting for Harry in the kitchen on Christmas morning, as he headed downstairs for breakfast and found his father sitting at the table with Dale Greengrass. "Dad!" he exclaimed, rushing up to give him a hug.

"Harry!" James beamed, wrapping his arms around his son. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing great, Dad," Harry grinned. "It's good to see you." He'd been worried about his father all term, busy at the Ministry fighting the war on multiple fronts. James looked more haggard than Harry last remembered; he had lost weight and had dark bags under his eyes, indicating stress and a lack of sleep. But he seemed to be in good spirits, sporting his usual roguish grin and calm confidence that always set Harry at ease.

"Good to see you again, Harry," said Dale, standing to greet the teen. Dale too appeared weathered; Harry knew from the Prophet that he was leading the charge in the Wizengamot to get James' policies approved.

"You too, sir," said Harry. "Not spending the holiday with your own family?"

"I'll be back with them shortly," said Dale. "Unfortunately, this war rests for no one, not even on Christmas."

"We're going over some last-minute strategy for the upcoming ICW mid-term board meeting," said James. "We hope to bring an emergency resolution to the board to authorize troops to Britain to assist with the war."

"They still haven't agreed?" Harry grimaced. "Even now that Voldemort is confirmed to be in Britain?"

"The ICW is still downplaying his threat level," Dale sighed. "They don't want to get involved if they don't feel their own territories are threatened. At this point it's difficult to tell if it's willful ignorance or deliberate sabotage from You-Know-Who's camp."

"We suspect that is part of the reason Voldemort has been so quiet thus far," James frowned. "If he came out and openly declared war on the wizarding world, he would face far more push-back from the international community. As is, he has everyone second-guessing his intentions."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. It made sense – Voldemort was a savvy tactician, and he clearly knew the dangers that a full army posed to his plans of conquest. He was likely biding his time, searching for an opening to gain control in one fell swoop.

"Daphne tells me the mood at Hogwarts has been positive, thanks to you," Dale remarked. "It's nice to know the students have someone to look up to in these dark times. And it seems you've also gotten my daughter into a spot of trouble as a party-goer, if Astoria's account is correct."

Harry reddened at this. "Er, yeah, sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I shouldn't have involved Daphne in that, and she didn't do anything to be ashamed about—"

"I'm only teasing," Dale winked. "I'm glad to see my daughter having some fun for once. She puts so much pressure upon herself to be the perfect heiress that I worry she's not enjoying her childhood enough."

"Forgive me, sir, but doesn't pressuring her into a marriage contract kinda contribute to that?" Harry asked.

"That would be my wife's influence, not my own," Dale sighed. "Ariadne was always the more traditional of the two of us. I would never force my daughter to marry someone she didn't want to, and I would burn every contract offer if she didn't insist that's what she wanted."

"I see," said Harry. He knew Daphne was beholden to pure-blood traditions, but it was good to know her father wasn't the driving force behind it. Meanwhile, the other teens were beginning to trickle down for breakfast, ending the conversation there.

Fortunately, the tension between Harry and the others was lessened today, as they enjoyed a nice meal together before moving to the drawing room to open gifts. Harry received a pair of dragonhide boots from his father; a nice set of silk trousers from his mother; a portable recorder player and small collection of wizard rock albums from Remus; and a sackful of Galleons from Sirius (which was much-appreciated, after Harry spent nearly all of his tournament winnings the day before).

Harry also received a number of presents from unexpected sources. Fred and George Weasley gifted him a full wardrobe of shield garments – bracelets, socks, and even an undershirt and underpants, all good for up to twenty charges. Harry definitely planned to save them for his next foray into the underground dueling scene. Viktor Krum also sent him a self-cleaning kit for his Quidditch robes, and Fleur Delacour got him a wand holster made of spider silk, earning him a new round of playful teasing from his friends and family.

Harry was also happy to hand out his own gifts, most of which he'd picked out last-minute at Diagon Alley. Dahlia got a pair of comfortable sneakers with Cushioning Charms built into the lining; Lily got an enchanted cauldron ladle that could hold seven times the volume of its typical size; and James got an enchanted journal that could record entries via verbal dictation. He even got small gifts for the other teens as an olive branch...Hermione got a quill that could write in any color ink; Neville got a book on rare magical plants; and Ron, Ginny, and Damian each got a pair of Quidditch gloves designed for Keepers, Seekers, and Beaters, respectively.

The following days felt like a tentative ceasefire of sorts, as Harry knew it may be his last few days of peace before jumping right back into the fire when the school term resumed. He would savor these last few moments of relaxation, and use them as fuel in the dark days to come. He envisioned a future without Voldemort where such days were commonplace, without the fear of death and destruction looming overhead. And Harry would make that future a reality, no matter the cost.

Before he knew it, it was back to the Hogwarts Express to return to the castle for a new term. The atmosphere on the train was more somber than the ride home two weeks prior – students were once again being separated from their loved ones with no guarantee of seeing them again. When Harry passed through the train on his prefect patrol, he saw the many worried looks on students' faces, looking to him for reassurance. He hoped he would be able to provide it while also attending to his other duties in the months to come.

One unfortunate side-effect of his early O.W.L.'s the year prior meant that Harry had to take his N.E.W.T.'s a year early in three crucial subjects. Snape, Flitwick and McGonagall did not let their students off easy, challenging them with more and more complex material in preparation for the final exams of their subject. Harry was able to stay on top of the subject matter, but the amount of homework was worrisome, and he feared he might have to skip some assignments to make time for everything else on his agenda.

There was also another Quidditch match on the horizon, against his old Gryffindor teammates. Harry felt fairly confident about their chances, especially with how many of the old team had graduated, but he still had no idea how strong of a team Ravenclaw actually had. Slytherin had all but given up in their first match, giving him no indication of how well the team meshed. But no matter – his team's contribution wouldn't matter if he was just able to out-fly Ginny at Seeker, which he was confident he could do.

Harry's first meeting with Dumbledore of the new year came on Thursday night. He wondered if the Headmaster would bring up the awkward interaction with Bill at the last Order meeting, and had been brainstorming excuses to appease the man's curiosity. He knew that outright lying to Dumbledore was a lost cause, as he was far too savvy to fall for an obvious fabrication. He'd have to come up with a cover story to downplay the incident and explain it away as a simple misunderstanding.

The Room of Requirement was already active when Harry arrived at the seventh floor corridor that evening. However, when he entered the spacious room, he found it empty. Had Dumbledore activated the room and been drawn away before entering? Did he want Harry to wait for him before beginning today's lesson? Harry stood in the middle of the room, confused.

But his instincts warned him of danger, and a split second later, he flattened himself to the ground to avoid a chain of spells thrown at him from the corner of the room. He leapt back to his feet and fired a return salvo before rolling behind a pillar for cover. Dumbledore emerged from the shadows, disillusioning himself to make himself visible again.

"Very good," he appraised Harry. "Never let your guard down, especially when things are not as you expect them to be."

"Yeah, whatever," Harry grumbled, dropping into a fighting stance. "Let's get this over with."

Harry launched himself into a furious attack, trying to break down Dumbledore's staunch defenses. He was experimenting with mixing in illusions with his spells, throwing transfigured projectiles at the Headmaster alongside false copies that would do him no harm. But Dumbledore was far too savvy to fall for it, side-stepping the true threats while allowing the mirages to pass through him without incident.

As usual, it didn't take Harry long to grow frustrated. For half an hour he threw everything he could think of at the infuriating old man standing across from him. And every time, Dumbledore had the perfect response ready, effortlessly shielding, dodging, and deflecting every threat Harry posed to him. Harry pushed through the fatigue, despite knowing it was fruitless, and it eventually ended as it always did: with him on the ground, fallen to whatever method Dumbledore had chosen to end the match.

"I yield!" Harry groaned, and the stone golem Dumbledore had conjured released him from the chokehold it had him in. "I'm done! This is bloody pointless!"

"You have progressed tremendously in these past months, Harry," said Dumbledore encouragingly. "Your attacks have gotten far more precise, and your spell vocabulary is growing by the day. I daresay you can stand toe to toe with even the most dangerous of Death Eater by now, as it will take them far more effort to defend against such an onslaught."

"But it isn't good enough!" Harry huffed, kicking in frustration at the pile of gravel that had been the stone golem moments before. "I'm not good enough to face you or Voldemort! This is getting me nowhere!"

"With respect, Harry, it would take you many decades to stand up to the likes of me or him," said Dumbledore.

"Decades we don't have!" Harry shouted. "Voldemort is here, and I don't have time to waste before he's knocking at my family's front door!"

"You have my assurances that I will protect you and your family from Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "You need not concern yourself with him. Neville is the one who must defeat him."

"Says you," Harry grumbled, sliding down the wall to sit despondently and catch his breath. Dumbledore twirled his wand to summon a chintz armchair, sitting across from the teen in contemplative silence.

"I do not wish to antagonize or upset you, Harry," said Dumbledore cautiously. "But I would be remiss if I did not bring up the incident with Mr. Bill Weasley at our last Order meeting."

Harry sighed; he knew this line of questioning was coming. "It's nothing to concern yourself, sir," he said evenly. "I asked Bill for help with a personal project of mine. Yes, it's dangerous, and it was probably ambitious of me to assume I could handle it myself. But Bill is being overly-cautious in my opinion, and your assistance is not required."

Dumbledore nodded slowly as he processed this. "And given the context in which this project came up," he said, "can I assume it is related to the war in some way?"

"Tangentially, yes," Harry admitted. "If successful, my project would deal a significant blow to Voldemort's ambitions."

"I see," Dumbledore frowned. "And why did you go to Bill Weasley for assistance, rather than your father or somebody else?"

"Because it's his area of expertise," Harry shrugged. "And I did not wish to alarm any of my family members about what I was doing. It seems that I overestimated Bill's willingness to work in secret."

Dumbledore studied Harry in silence for a moment with those piercing blue eyes of his. Harry could practically hear the gears turning in the old man's head...he clearly wished to know more, but didn't want to overstep his bounds.

"And given the vagueness with which Mr. Weasley presented his concerns," Dumbledore continued, "can I assume that he was bound by some kind of magical oath not to reveal more?"

Harry sighed; of course Dumbledore wound be shrewd enough to make such a deduction. "Yes," he admitted. "So if you plan on asking Bill for more information, I would be very careful."

"Understood," Dumbledore nodded. "Harry, I know you do not trust me completely, and I can respect your wishes for privacy. But do know that your parents are highly concerned about your recent activities. Both have come to me in recent months in confidence, imploring me to watch over you and try to curb your tendencies to seek out trouble. I fear that I am failing them in this endeavor."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt at his words. "I understand the difficult position I've put you in, sir," Harry conceded. "But I would prefer not to discuss this right now. Despite what Bill may think, I am not in nearly as much danger as he suspects, and if it became a matter of life or death, I promise I would ask for more help."

Dumbledore clearly did not love this answer, but he nodded slowly in resignation. "Very well," he muttered. "I still do not fully understand your reluctance to trust me, but I accept your decision all the same."

"Perhaps one day, when this war is over, we can discuss that," said Harry, getting to his feet. "Good day, Headmaster." And he took his leave from the Room of Requirement, leaving Dumbledore sitting in his chair in contemplative silence.

Harry's mind was not with the Headmaster at the moment, or even with the horcrux hunt. He was still thinking about the duel and his repeated failures to defeat Dumbledore. For once, he could not think of anything he had done wrong in the fight – his opponent was simply better. There was nothing to learn, nothing to hope to improve. He was just hopelessly outmatched, and trying to win was a fool's errand.

He had to find other ways to improve, ways that Dumbledore would not approve of. He had finally obtained the last few ingredients he needed to conduct a blood ritual, and just needed to find the right time to perform it. But that wasn't all that weighed on him. His mind wandered to Ravenclaw Tower, to the tiny black stone wrapped in a sock and stuffed at the bottom of his school trunk. The supposed 'Hallow' that was one of a set of three, the other two being his father's cloak and the unbeatable wand of legend.

Could Harry somehow obtain this 'Elder Wand' for himself? It was the one Hallow he'd found the most information about, carving a bloody trail through centuries' worth of wizarding history. That trail had gone cold somewhere in the Balkans, over two centuries prior. It wasn't much to go on, but surely such a powerful weapon could not have gone unnoticed for so long. Harry had to start somewhere; might as well start there.

So that evening, he sat down to pen a letter. He realized as he began writing that he actually had a lot to say, and hoped to speak to this individual soon – not only as an informant, but as a friend.

Dear Viktor,

How have you been? It has been a while since we last spoke at the ICW summit in France. I apologize for the abrupt departure – I'm sure you read about the aftermath and understood the need for haste.

I'm writing with a strange request. I wondered if you've ever heard of an unbeatable wand, sometimes called the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, or the Wand of Destiny. I've been researching it and found that it was last seen in northern Greece in the 1700's, which is not far from your home country. I wondered if you or your relatives have ever heard of such a wand? Surely it must have reared its ugly head somewhere between then and now.

I also wonder if you've heard anything about my father's recent attempts to acquire reinforcements from the ICW. I know you offered your support before, despite your representative changing his mind at the summit. It may be a lot to ask, but could you look into your Ministry's current position on Voldemort? Surely they must know the risk he poses to mainland Europe if Britain falls, and believe me, this temporary peace will not last.

I read about your Quidditch victory against Macedonia last week...well done. I envy your ability to focus entirely on the sport during such a chaotic time. I have contemplated whether I would like to go pro myself as a Seeker one day, after the war, but I may not be able to thanks to the book you gave me and what I have planned with it.

I look forward to seeing you again, perhaps in a more casual setting than the last time. Now is perhaps not the best time to visit Britain, but I hear spring and summertime in Bulgaria can be quite pleasant. I would love to visit sometime, if you are not too busy with your training.

Best,

Harry Potter

P. S. - Hermione says hello.

Harry sent the letter off with Bandit the following morning, along with a pocketful of bacon to bribe him into making the long journey south. Harry had always liked Krum – not just for his celebrity status and Quidditch skills, but as a fair, honest man with a good head on his shoulders. If not for the age difference, the physical distance between their homelands, and the war raging on, Harry thought they might have been good friends. Maybe one day that would be a reality.

Harry also wondered if perhaps Krum would be a good candidate to bring into the fold alongside Fleur. He trusted the man and knew how much he loathed dark wizards like Voldemort, given his family history with the likes of Grindelwald. Could Harry bring himself to confide in the Bulgarian with his deepest secrets, like his true past and the horcrux hunt? Was it wise to give such critical information to such a renowned worldwide celebrity, one whose political affiliations with the Potters was well-known by now?

He would have to think on that question before coming to a decision. But part of him liked the idea of reuniting the Triwizard Champions and banding together to defeat Voldemort as a cohesive unit. The war may be confined to Britain for now, but it would soon spill over to involve the rest of the world, and there was something poetic in the idea of Europe's three wizarding schools coming together to put down a common enemy once and for all.

"...AND KATIE BELL SCORES! That's the fifth goal of the game for the Gryffindor captain, but her team still trails Ravenclaw, 90 to 110!"

Harry had to hand it to Gryffindor: they were a rock-solid team. Katie had fully transformed the roster after multiple graduations the year before, and their new Chaser trio of Katie, Demelza, and Dean Thomas was a well-oiled machine. They were running up the score on Ravenclaw's defense, which was facing its first big test of the season and failing miserably.

There was just one problem for Gryffindor, and its name was Harry Potter. He was by far the most skilled player on the pitch, and poor Ginny Weasley was struggling to keep up with him at Seeker. The Beaters fought valiantly to keep him away from the Snitches, but he'd caught the first two in the first fifteen minutes to take a comfortable lead.

But that lead was getting less comfortable by the minute, as the third Snitch eluded him and Gryffindor's Chasers got them back in the hunt. Harry couldn't take anything for granted; he knew Ginny was a skilled flier, and if she spotted the final Snitch before him, it could mean game over. He would have to be the hero today and pull off the hat trick to deliver his team the victory.

"And here's Cho Chang with the Quaffle…" said Ernie Macmillan, filling in as announcer for the match. "She passes it to Selwyn, back to Chang, who shoots—SAVED BY MCLAGGEN! Another brilliant save by the Gryffindor Keeper!"

The red and gold faithful roared their appreciation as Cormac pumped his fist in the air. Harry groaned...his team had only managed a single goal today versus Gryffindor's nine, making his job more difficult. He'd hoped they could cushion the lead so the final Snitch wouldn't matter, but it seemed that would not be happening.

Fortunately, Harry spotted the final Snitch a few minutes later, as the two teams were distracted with a play at the opposite end of the pitch. Nobody even realized what had happened until Harry swooped up to take his victory lap, the final golden ball clutched tightly in his palm.

"HARRY POTTER HAS THE SNITCH!" Ernie Macmillan exclaimed as the crowd went wild around him. "Another hat trick for Ravenclaw's Seeker, delivering the victory to his team, 160 to 100!"

Harry landed and accepted his team's grateful congratulations. He could sense their guilt, but he didn't care...a win was a win, and he was glad to bail them out this time knowing that the situation could be reversed in the future.

He hoped to escape the pitch before being mobbed by classmates, but the Ravenclaw faithful stormed the pitch soon after, mobbing the team excitedly for the close victory. Harry was hoisted onto someone's shoulders, and he sheepishly accepted the praise as half the school chanted, "Potter! Potter! Potter!"

Eventually he was let down to his feet, and suddenly Harry found himself face to face with Tracey Davis. Before he could register it, she pulled him in close and engulfed him in a hungry kiss. He stood in shock for a split second, but decided to just go with it, returning the kiss with vigor as their classmates whooped and catcalled around them.

Eventually Tracey pulled away, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Wanna meet up later tonight?" she asked, quirking a suggestive eyebrow.

"Er…" Harry said, somewhat confused. "I thought you said you weren't looking for—"

"And I'm not," Tracey shrugged. "You've never heard of friends with benefits, Potter?"

"Well...I…" Harry stammered. He was sorely tempted, and visions of what he and Tracey might be able to get up to in private later danced through his mind. "I can't tonight. Maybe later this week."

Tracey looked slightly disappointed, but she ultimately just winked at him. "Good game, Harry," she said, disappearing back into the crowd as Harry fought his way back into the locker rooms.

Truth be told, he would love to take the night off and celebrate his victory with Tracey, but he had other plans. He had decided that tonight was the perfect night to perform the blood ritual he'd been gathering supplies for over the past few months. According to his Astronomy charts, Jupiter was entering Capricorn tonight, which Professor Sinistra said symbolized personal growth, ambition, and discipline. Magic was all about intent, after all, and Harry figured that must be a good omen for the success of his own growth and ambition.

Harry returned to the castle with his peers, accepting his House mates' praise and waiting for his opening. Fortunately, Ravenclaw was not the type of House to party heavily after a win, so by the time dinner rolled around, Harry was able to slip away unnoticed. Nobody would notice his absence, as he frequently made himself scarce on weekends already. Dumbledore may want him to be a leader for his classmates, and he was happy to do so...between Monday and Friday, that is.

Harry wound through the castle until he located an empty classroom for privacy. After checking the Marauder's Map to ensure he was alone, he called out: "Dobby!"

There was a small pop, and the house-elf appeared before him. "Is Mister Harry Potter requiring a journey into Hogsmeade?" asked Dobby.

"Yes," Harry nodded. Then, he got a better idea. "Er, actually...can you take me anywhere outside the castle?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" Dobby nodded eagerly. "Will Harry Potter be needing to go to Diagon Alley? Or to the Ministry of Magic? Or to his home in Godric's Hollow?"

"No, not exactly," said Harry. "Listen...are you able to take me somewhere that's under a Fidelius Charm?"

Dobby frowned, wringing his hands slightly in confusion. "If Dobby does not know the secret, Dobby cannot take you there," he muttered.

"What if I can share the secret with you?" said Harry, reaching into his robes. "Here—" And he withdrew a small scrap of parchment, which he'd asked Fleur to create for him the last time he saw her. He'd gotten the idea from his original fifth year, when the Advance Guard took him to Grimmauld Place for the first time and gave him the secret via the same method.

Dobby unfolded the parchment, reading Fleur's neat handwriting within: 'Harry Potter's safe house is located at Raven House in Ashewick.' Harry felt a small pulse of magic as Dobby shuddered slightly, his body accepting the secret via whatever mystical means the Fidelius Charm conferred it.

"Harry Potter has a safe house?" Dobby asked nervously.

"Yes I do," Harry nodded. "And technically I haven't broken any magical laws to acquire it, so you can keep it between us, right? You won't have to report this to the Headmaster, or the Ministry?"

Dobby looked uncertain about this. "And Mister Harry Potter is doing all of this to help Neville Longbottom?" he asked.

"That's exactly right, Dobby," said Harry. "And the fewer people know about this, the better. So what do you say?"

Dobby considered this for a moment. "Very well," the elf sighed. "Dobby does not tell if Dobby is not asked."

"Thank you, Dobby," said Harry, sighing with relief. "Can you take me to the front porch of the safe house?"

Dobby nodded and held out his hand. Harry accepted it, and felt himself twisting into oblivion before re-emerging at the front steps of Raven House. Dobby looked up at the place with trepidation, his bulbous eyes wide.

"It just needs a bit of renovation," Harry said to reassure the elf. "Can I call you from here tomorrow morning, to bring me back to the castle?"

"Yes, Dobby can come and retrieve Harry Potter from here," said the house-elf. Dobby bowed and disappeared with another small pop. Harry hoped the elf would keep his word and not tell anyone about this place...he couldn't share the secret of its location, of course, but it wouldn't do for Dumbledore and the Ministry to learn that he had a hidden safe house. So long as Dobby didn't see what Harry was planning upstairs, Harry didn't mind the elf knowing about this place, if only to save himself the long-distance Apparation journeys that took a lot out of him magically.

But now, Harry had the full evening to himself. He planned to work well into the night, preparing potions and performing the blood ritual he'd been planning for months now. He didn't need to be back at Hogwarts until the following afternoon for the Dueling Club meeting, giving him nearly twenty-four hours of uninterrupted time to himself. And he planned to take full advantage of it.

He first headed up to his potions lab, intent on starting the brewing process for several concoctions he wanted to make. He hoped to fashion himself a modified Auror's Toolkit of sorts, with a number of different substances he might find useful in a pinch. Blood Replenishers, poison antidotes, Skele-Gro, Wiggenweld Potion, and a couple of corner-case brews for specific situations. Some potions required rarer ingredients, such as Lethifold skin for Thief's Downfall and powered moonstone for Felix Felicis, which Harry would have to find ways to obtain before beginning to brew them.

Best to start off simple anyway. Harry began filling the first cauldron with ingredients for the Blood Replenisher, starting the fire underneath it once he was done. After stirring for thirty minutes and adding the final ingredient – five drops of his own blood – he let it sit, knowing it would need twelve hours to simmer before stirring again.

Next up was the poison antidote. It was a more complex recipe, but he knew it well thanks to his O.W.L. studies (and practical exam) the year before. This one needed even longer to simmer – three days – meaning he would be back at Hogwarts when it was done. So Harry set a timer for the duration, which would release a Freezing Charm on the flame and a Preservation Charm over the lid of the cauldron until he could return to resume the brew.

Harry started a few more potions that he knew would need a long time to prepare, before stepping back to admire his handiwork. The temperature in the room had increased significantly from the flames, but he was confident in his fire-proofing charms to keep the house from spontaneously combusting. He left the cauldrons to boil over low heat as he attended to his secondary, but more important, task of the evening.

In the next room over, Harry had been amassing all of the ingredients he needed for the blood ritual. One final trip to Knockturn Alley the weekend before had gotten him the last few rare supplies he needed – now it was simply a matter of putting it all together. Following the instructions from Krum's book to the tee, Harry situated the required ingredients at each tip of the pentagram, carving the activation runes along the edges of the star.

Before he knew it, only one ingredient remained. Harry had dreaded this moment for weeks, but he could not afford to back down now. He headed downstairs and back out to the front yard, which was plunged in darkness due to the late hour. He had a rabbit to catch.

Harry knew it was futile to grope around underneath the foundation of the house to ensnare Phantom from his hiding space. So instead, he lit up the grounds with a few glowing orbs, then directed his wand towards the base of the house. He began filling the crawl-space with water, knowing that Phantom would not be able to hide in there forever – it would have to leave the safety of the home to avoid drowning.

Within seconds, Harry spotted a blur of movement dart out from under the porch. He swiped his wand at it, his conjured ropes barely failing to ensnare the creature. He silently stalked along behind it, his footsteps muffled by a Feather-Light Charm, intent on catching the troublesome animal more quickly than it had taken him on Christmas Eve.

It was tedious work, but slowly Harry managed to get the rabbit cornered near the northern tip of the property. The creature eyed him warily from afar, as Harry slowly advanced, making sure to leave no escape avenues. Phantom was even more annoying to capture than a Snitch, possessing strong survival instincts and remarkable reflexes. But that was precisely why Harry had chosen him after all.

Eventually, Phantom made his move. The rabbit darted right, but Harry was prepared, conjuring a brick wall in its path to prevent it from slipping away. Phantom swerved left, directly into Harry's path; he attempted to dart between his legs, but Harry was ready for it, lunging and grabbing the rabbit by the foot before securing it to his chest.

Harry did his best to ignore the pitiful squeaks and screams the rabbit emitted as he transported it back upstairs. It was as if Phantom knew what was coming next and was trying desperately to escape his fate. I'll make it quick, Harry thought miserably as the poor creature writhed and wriggled in his hands. I won't let you suffer.

Harry brought Phantom into the ritual room and closed the door, kneeling within the pentagram. According to the book, he needed to slit the rabbit's throat and spill its blood at the northern tip of the pentagram. Such a simple description on paper, but a gruesome act in practice. Harry picked up his silver knife he'd devoted to this task in one hand, while clutching Phantom with the other.

He held the creature aloft and looked sadly into its eyes. Phantom stared right back, its eyes wide with terror. Harry could see the red rings around its pupils as it stilled for the first time, watching him, awaiting its fate. Can I really do this? Harry thought. Can I take an innocent creature's life? Is this the monster I've become?

But Voldemort will do much worse to Britain if I don't stop him, he reasoned. It's a worthy sacrifice. I'm sure Phantom would understand if I could explain it to him.

"I'm so sorry about this," Harry muttered as he brought the silver knife to the rabbit's throat. "I'll try to get it over with fast so you don't—ouch!"

Harry flinched as Rabbit lashed out and bit him on the finger. His free hand jerked, and the silver blade sliced across Phantom's throat, spilling blood everywhere. Harry watched in horror as the poor creature twisted and writhed in his hand, dying from the blood loss. Harry set Phantom down on the northern tip of the star and watched as it lay twitching for several more seconds before finally, mercifully, falling still.

I'm sorry, Harry thought, tears welling up in his eyes as he realized the cruel act he had committed. It had to be done.

Hands shaking, Harry turned to complete the final part of the ritual. He stripped off his outer layers and sat in the center of the pentagram. He needed to add his own blood to the activation rune at the base of the star, and thanks to Phantom, he didn't even need his knife for that – his injured finger would suffice. He smeared the bite wound against the proper rune, which glowed gold. The ritual was ready.

Harry closed his eyes and began to chant in Latin. As he completed the incantation, he felt the magic swirl around him in a maelstrom, the mingled blood and ingredients gathering in the air around him. He did his best to ignore the heavy vibrations rippling through his body, keeping his body still, allowing the ritual to work around and through him.

That was easier said than done. The ritual felt far more violent than the last one he'd performed; his entire body felt like it was being shaken tremendously, as if by an earthquake. His breathing became shallow as the swirling maelstrom raged around him, at times pelting him with small bits of ingredients or spurts of blood that stung his skin.

Did I do the ritual right? Harry wondered. What happens if I did it wrong? Can this kill me? Will I be terribly disfigured afterwards? Can I cancel this before it gets any worse?

But just as Harry was beginning to panic, the swirl of magic around him began to slow, and the vibrations through his body lessened. Harry continued to hold still until the magic in the air slowed to a crawl and eventually stilled, and silence returned to the room at last. He slowly opened his eyes – the room was a mess, blood splattering the walls, but he appeared to be intact, with only a pile of burned ingredients and a cooling rabbit carcass within a pentagram as evidence of what had happened here.

Harry shakily stood to his feet. He was covered in blood – a mixture of Phantom's and his own, he realized – and he felt rather light-headed. The vibrations had ceased, but his entire body was still tingling from head to toe – otherwise, he felt no different than before. Was that normal? Was he supposed to feel the positive effects straight away? How would he know if the ritual was successful?

No matter, Harry thought as he headed to the table to retrieve his wand and clothes. I'll just clean myself up and then lie down—

The next thing Harry knew, he was flat on his back, twitching and gasping for air. He suddenly felt like his lungs were the size of prunes, struggling to take in enough oxygen. No matter how hard he tried to suck in air, it was as though his airway was blocked and could not take in any more. Something had gone terribly wrong.

I'm going to die here, he thought in a panic. Nobody knows where I am…

Harry weighed his options. He could try to Apparate to St. Mungo's and hope a Healer saved him in time. He could try to get to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, but that would likely cause a panic as Madam Pomfrey and whoever else was present would surely alert the Headmaster (and the entire school). Only one option stood out to him, one that would save his life and allow him to keep his secret safe…

"Dobby!" he croaked. A moment later, there was a soft pop, and the house-elf appeared in the room beside him, only to recoil in horror at what he saw.

"Mister Harry Potter!" he yelped. "You are gravely injured! I must assist you to the hospital at once—"

"No," Harry rasped, only able to say a handful of words at a time with his limited breath. "Find Dahlia. My sister. Bring here."

"But...but she will not be able to get through the wards!" said a distraught Dobby, wringing his hands.

"Give her this," Harry croaked; he lunged for his pant leg, still dangling off the side of the table, and retrieved Fleur's folded note from the pocket. "Make her read. Then come."

Dobby took the folded parchment with shaking hands. "Dobby will try," the elf bowed, then disappeared with a pop.

Harry had no idea how long the elf was gone. His vision was starting to go black around the edges, and fog was penetrating his brain, making it hard to think. Should he have just bit the bullet and gone to St. Mungo's to face the consequences? Would his desire to keep his activities a secret be his downfall? Had he just doomed his sister to arrive to find her brother's lifeless body, covered in blood?

After what felt like an eternity, there was another pop, followed by a blood-curdling scream. "Harry!" Dahlia screamed, dropping to her knees beside him. "What have you done to yourself?!"

"Can't breathe," Harry gasped. He was fighting to keep his eyes open; Dahlia's terrified face was swimming in and out of his vision as he started to slip into unconsciousness.

Dahlia whipped out her wand and began muttering incantations under her breath. Harry could not make sense of the flashing red runes hovering over his chest; Dahlia began frantically muttering spells under her breath, but nothing was working. She was not trained enough for this...Harry wasn't going to make it…

Then, Harry felt like two balloons had expanded within his chest, and he took in a great, rasping breath. He hacked and coughed violently, trembling as full consciousness returned to him and oxygen filled his greedy lungs. But with it came a searing pain, running up and down his entire body, as he gasped and trembled on the ground, curled up in the fetal position.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Dahlia demanded, still kneeling beside him. Harry looked up into her tear-streaked face, her green eyes narrowed in terrified anger at him. "Where are we, and why are you alone, half-naked and covered in blood? And is that a dead rabbit?!"

"Yeah," Harry groaned, flopping over onto his back. "Thanks for the help."

Dahlia stood, taking in the full room for the first time. Her eyes scanned the blood-soaked walls before landing on the pentagram etched into the floor, to the rabbit corpse at the northern tip of the star, to the expended ingredients at the other four ends. "Were you doing a blood ritual on yourself?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," said Harry, finally feeling able to sit up again. "And I followed every instruction to the tee. I don't know what went wrong."

"Something must have contaminated the system," Dahlia frowned. "Your lungs collapsed in on themselves. Are you certain you didn't add any ingredients you weren't supposed to?"

"I don't think so—" Harry groaned. Dahlia suddenly perked up, nose sniffing something in the air. She darted for the door and headed down the hallway. A few seconds later, he heard another gasp.

"Are you brewing potions next door?" she demanded, rushing back into the room.

"Yeah," said Harry defensively. "So what? You never know when you might need something in a pinch—"

"Why the hell would you do a ritual so close to an active cauldron?" Dahlia demanded. "Did you even ventilate the house properly? I can smell the fumes from all the way down the hall!"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. He had forgotten to ventilate the potions lab. For all his caution in fire-proofing the place, he'd forgotten the most elementary step...the fumes from the brewing potions must have been sucked into the blood ritual with nowhere else to go.

"You're right," he admitted. "Look, I know I'm an idiot. Can you save the insults for later, when I haven't just had a near-death experience?"

Dahlia stood for a moment in the doorway, hands on her hips, glaring at him for his stupidity. But she finally relented, dropping to the ground to sit in front of him, wide eyes searching his face.

"What is going on, Harry?" she asked softly. "You're really scaring me. First a panicking house-elf shows up in my bed, demanding I read from a piece of paper, then takes me to find my brother nearly dead and covered in his own blood?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you," Harry sighed. "I just...didn't want anyone else to know about this place, or what I'd been doing. Can you keep it a secret?"

"That depends," said Dahlia. "I want to know where we are and what you've been doing here. I won't tell Mum and Dad, but you can't expect me to save your life and say nothing without telling me what the hell is going on!"

"You're right," Harry nodded. He trusted Dahlia completely, and he knew it would be cathartic to let her in on some of what he was planning. Part of him wanted to spill everything, to tell her his whole life story, how he came to exist in this reality via the Veil, how he had dedicated himself to destroying Voldemort's horcruxes at all costs. But he couldn't bring himself to do that yet. That was one traumatic tale too many...he would save that for another day.

Instead, he told her about his decision to establish a safe house. His belief that his days at Hogwarts were limited. His entrance into the underground dueling tournament. His frustrating duels with Dumbledore, and subsequent realization that he wasn't good enough to stand up to the most powerful wizards alive. And he ended by tearfully explaining his sacrifice of Phantom the rabbit to enhance his speed and reflexes, winding up with a botched ritual that required Dahlia's intervention.

Dahlia listened patiently as Harry concluded his tale. He expected her to yell at him, to chastise him for being so stupid, for risking his life unnecessarily. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, catching him off-guard.

"You're only one person, Harry," she said. "Why do you insist on putting so much pressure on yourself? There's a lot of other people who want to help, you know."

"I know things no one else does about this war," said Harry. "I have no choice but to act on that knowledge. And I'm not alone...Fleur and Bill have been helping me."

"Whatever you're doing, Bill didn't sound thrilled about it either," said Dahlia. "Why not ask Dad for help?"

"He's got too much going on at the Ministry," said Harry. "I promise, Dahlia, I've got things under control...I just made a small mistake with the ritual, that's all. It won't happen again."

Dahlia frowned as she considered these words. "Fine," she said, then she got back to her feet and marched out of the room and down the hall.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry, standing to follow her.

"To fix this sorry excuse for a potions lab of yours," said Dahlia, walking into the next room. "For one thing, you're storing your cold, warm and wet ingredients too closely together without temperature control. For another, the cauldrons should be farther spaced apart – wait, are you brewing Blood Replenishers right next to a poison antidote? Are you trying to cause an explosion?!"

Harry chuckled and set to work re-organizing the lab under Dahlia's instruction. She'd inherited their mother's potions genius, and spent the next hour pointing out every minuscule flaw in his setup. She also insisted on checking every ingredient he'd added to each cauldron – to his relief, he'd at least gotten that part right, as she gave each recipe a curt nod of acknowledgment, reminding Harry amusingly of Snape.

After a while, Harry found himself feeling quite fatigued...the adrenaline rush of the ritual had worn off, and his entire body was sore. A quick Tempus told him that it was nearly three in the morning.

"You should get back to your dorm before anyone notices," he told Dahlia. "I'll summon Dobby to bring you back."

"Not a chance," said Dahlia, shaking her head. "Your lungs need time to stabilize, and someone has to stay here and make sure you don't suffocate to death in your sleep. I'm staying."

"Really, you don't have to," Harry insisted. "This place is a mess – you shouldn't be here."

"You're right, it is a mess," said Dahlia, looking around. "I can't believe Fleur let you stay in a place this disgusting. What is it with men and insisting on living in squalid conditions?"

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed at the jab. He had established this place as a safe haven for himself alone, with no thought for aesthetic or livability besides its magical protections. It seemed that no matter his efforts to sequester himself, his friends and family would not allow him to hide away from the world in darkness. He allowed Dahlia to lead the way downstairs, as she shot glowing orbs of light into every darkened corner to brighten up the space considerably.

Harry settled into the lone cot downstairs, his head feeling heavy already as he rested it on the pillow. "Get some rest," Dahlia instructed him. "I'll get this house into shape in the meantime, so it doesn't burn down or collapse in on itself while you sleep."

"You're amazing, you know that, right?" Harry murmured sleepily. "Thank you. For everything."

Dahlia knelt by his side and gave him another concerned look. "I don't know what you're doing or why you're doing it," she sighed. "But don't ever do something like that again without telling me first, okay? If you die attempting some crackpot ritual by yourself, I'll bloody kill you."

Harry laughed at this. "Love you, twerp," he quipped.

"Love you too, dimwit."

As Harry drifted off to sleep, he felt oddly at ease knowing that Dahlia had his back. Not only medically, but emotionally as well...she was far from the scared little girl he'd met over five years ago, emerging as a confident young woman who stood up for those she cared about. There was no questioning the House she belonged in...despite her obvious fear for her loved ones' safety, she would stand beside them and help however she could, no matter the consequences.

He also felt a twinge of regret and guilt for Phantom's gruesome fate. Such a selfish act, taking the creature's vitality and stealing it for himself! I promise your death won't be in vain, Phantom, Harry thought as he faded into oblivion. I'll take the gift you've given me and make the world a safer place for everybody.

A/N: It has come to my attention that a user by the name of Holy_Chad is reposting this fic under a different title on Webnovel without my permission. More concerning is that they are also advertising a Patre0n offering "advance" chapters of my stolen work for money. I have reported the Patre0n page (August_Writing) and would encourage others to do the same. I do not believe it is ethical to profit off of copyrighted material, ESPECIALLY when you didn't even write the material yourself. For shame!