Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.

Author's Note: Hello! Here's another chapter for you guys, hope you enjoy. I wanted to thank you again for all the support you guys show this story. You peope are the reason I keep writing! Stay beautiful.

Chapter 10: The Order Stands Divided

The chill of the air around him was bitter, biting against his skin where the pieces of his torn shirt exposed his body. The crackling of a distant fire, as well as the sound of ominous whispering stimulated his eardrums while he stared down at his trembling hands. It'd been so long since he'd eaten. What he wouldn't give for a drop of water. A small puddle of blood had settled between his hands - shoulder length apart - and a drop or two would slide up his neck to his chin where it would drip, splashing crimson onto the black, marble floor beneath him and disappearing into the numerous other droplets that had escaped from the pulsating wound on his throat.

"When, my Lord?" a shrill, female voice whispered, carrying above all others.

When Voldemort spoke, the rest of the room fell silent. "Soon, Bella," he said, striding closer to the caved and bleeding mess of a near man with blood encrusted, jet black hair, "Now that Potter knows everything, it's time for us to end it. As...equals." The last word could hardly be called anything but a sneer. Harry was wandless, broken, battered, starving, and sixteen years old. To say this was equality was laughable.

A pair of long, white feet partially covered by a black, slightly frayed cloak entered into Harry's vision. He swallowed and thought of Hermione. Would he ever see her again? Surely this was the reason why he'd had temporary immortality. His destiny was to destroy Voldemort or die trying; no others could take him from that outcome. And this was the end, staring down at Harry with vicious eyes, crimson as the blood that was shed in its path.

"Don't fret, young Harry," Voldemort cooed, bending to whisper, "You'll be with your dear mother and father soon. But before then, I have a special guest arriving. She specifically requested the opportunity to watch your long awaited death. I thought it fair considering the numerous times she tried to end you herself on my behalf."

The air felt colder, tighter. Harry knew who Voldemort was referring to and his heart stopped beating. Only moments later were his fears confirmed as nightmarish fact. The clatter of wide heels snapped in his ears, making him glance up involuntarily. The sound invoked a fight or flight reaction within the cavity of his paralyzed chest, though he had the strength for neither, and his body prepared for the onslaught, for pain.

"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, her tinkling voice making the hairs on his arms stand on end, "I dare say I've been waiting for this moment since we first met. Thank you, My Lord, for waiting as I finished my work at the Ministry before beginning this most noble task."

The dark wizard smiled in what was clearly intended to be a gracious way - an odd expression on the nose-less, serpentine face. "I wouldn't allow you to miss it for the world, Dolores. You've done me a service, breaking this boy in as you have. Not to mention," Voldemort said, now addressing his followers, "The great and honorable position Dolores has accepted to lead in the Ministry. She is a crusader for our ideal world."

Umbridge bowed her head with a wide, toad-like grin. Her eyes bored into Harry's. It gave him chills...made him want to hide or to run or to bash her head against the solid marble aching his bony knees until her brain and her blood was smattered across the floor like a gory abstract. Harry nearly smiled at the thought. How glorious that would be...

"Dolores, my dear," Voldemort drawled, twirling his wand between the slender, abnormally long fingers, "Perhaps you'd like to give us a demonstration...show them how it's done. I'd be ashamed to admit how many of my own have fought this boy and left him unscathed."

Umbridge puffed herself out to her fullest size. Harry wanted to jab a knife into her belly and see if she would pop like a balloon. He continued to imagine the triumph of spilling her blood while her wand aimed at his forehead. The Cruciatus Curse engulfed him and Harry thought no more. Had hours passed? Days? Months? Years? Did it matter anymore? He just wanted the pain to end. He wanted...no, needed death. When the curse stopped, people were laughing, watching him writhe and pointing with ballistic smiles. Harry ignored them, staring at the ceiling as he now found himself flat on his back.

"Shall we go again, Harry? Did you enjoy that?" Voldemort's high, chilling voice asked while Umbridge's bubbly giggle reminded him of a high stone ceiling and the smell of his own blood.

Harry continued to gasp silently at the chandelier dangling above him, an image of a bushy haired witch flittering through his mind in random flashes. He had to find her. He had to get back. But how? He was completely disarmed... When the second curse struck him, he couldn't contain the screams of anguish that shattered the crisp air. His hands clawed at the marble, at his chest, at his head, until his fingernails were bloody from the abuse. Then it was over again as quickly as it came. The laughter sounded hollow and far away this time. He shook gingerly on the hard stone, the aches in his body the only indication that he was still alive.

Hermione...

Like a prayer, Umbridge sighed, "Crucio," and he was crushed beneath the waves of agony once more. He kicked and writhed, swinging blindly at anything that could possibly be in the vicinity to strike but he found purchase on nothing except for his own limbs and the solid floor upon which he lay. It ended again, and the laughter became recognizable in the air once more.

"That's not all you did to him, Dolores," Voldemort murmured, now standing quite close to Harry's head, "You were quite creative, weren't you? Why don't you show my friends how to really torture someone?"

Umbridge gave no verbal indication that she had heard. But the next moment she had cried,"Diffindo!" and a great slash appeared upon Harry's belly beneath the slices the werewolf had given him. He felt the blood begin to seep from the gash, pour down his stomach, spilling over his sides. Granting no time to react, she had already plunged a jagged blade into his left thigh, burrowing through the flesh until it struck the marble on the other side. When she twisted the blade, it scraped his bone.

Harry almost lost consciousness. Before his eyes slid entirely shut, Umbridge was striking his face with earnest - forcing him awake. He shook his head, his lips clamped tightly shut as he grabbed wildly at her throat. There was a moment as he stared into her eyes where Harry truly believed that he would become a murderer until a sharp kick to his ribs created a sickening snap in the air as one or two of the hard bones shattered around his lungs. Harry gasped, a wetness building in his throat, and his hand fell away from her neck as his eyes began to slide closed.

"We shall do the murdering tonight, Potter. Not you, the Golden Boy. We wouldn't want you to ruin your image now. No...your soul shall remain pure," Voldemort jibed, much to the delight of his followers.

Umbridge struck Harry around the face again, jerking him back into awareness for the second time. This continued for hours. The longer it went, the worse it became until he was barely breathing, barely alive. That was when the Dark Lord decided to end it.

Harry was pulled to his feet by Voldemort's command, struggling to balance on his injured legs. Voldemort grinned maliciously, his eyes only on Harry. There was a moment of hesitation, perhaps to rouse suspense. No one in the hall spoke. Harry, still trembling, looked to Umbridge standing beside Voldemort with as much hatred as he could muster. In that thirty seconds where their eyes met, something feral snapped inside of him, unlocking, unleashing. Harry's vision grew distorted while his trembling turned into actual vibrations, a faint glow beginning to rise from his body.

Voldemort had seen enough and pointed his wand at the boy who was beginning to disturb him. This made the glow brighten, expand, before the Death Eaters and their kin were backing away, shielding their eyes. Voldemort opened his mouth and spoke the words, "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green and behind Harry's eyes, was the smile of a girl that he loved more than the Earth itself. He raised his blinding hand - he would not die like this...he hadn't even said goodbye - and the curse froze. There was a flash of light. Harry cried out as his head split open, bursting from the connection he shared with a man who was his opposite.

"Harry?"

Something shoved him roughly and a gutteral, animalistic cry escaped his mouth. His hand enclosed instinctively around the throat of the person who had touched him. His hands began to shake with an unseen force, power - magic - coursing through his fingers. Then a scent washed over him - lavender, parchment, honey...Hermione...

His vision suddenly cleared to reveal a bushy haired girl, suffocating beneath his tightening hand. Eyes widening, he pulled away, throwing himself off the bed and dashing across the room. The sound of her choking reached him, but his head was pressed against the wall farthest from her, as he gasped in abject horror.

"Harry..." she rasped. The sound of ruffling sheets and padded steps told him she was making her way towards him. He backed into a corner, his eyes never meeting hers, until he felt purchase of both walls where he slid down to the floor. He tied his body into a knot, protectively. Whether he was protecting himself or Hermione was unknown.

"Harry..." she said again, her voice now sounding almost normal. When Harry glanced up at her, he saw that she was still naked and realized with a start that so was he. The memory of their joining pricked in his heart but he buried it. It was best to not get attached...not when he was going to die. Hermione would get better with his help - he was determined - but he had little time left and to begin something beautiful seemed a waste of his lover's heart.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Hermione whispered, kneeling next to him and touching his bare knee.

Harry pulled his leg tighter into his chest, a clear indication that he did not wish her to touch him. She looked hurt but didn't comment, instead drawing her arm back into her side.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

Harry glanced at her before squeezing his eyes shut, rocking slowly back and forth, trying to quell the spiralling fear mounting in his chest. His mouth was dry; his lips were sealed shut.

"Harry, please talk to me," Hermione said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

He tried; he really did. He opened his mouth, shaped the words he wanted to say, but his voice box simply wouldn't vibrate, simply wouldn't produce sound. Dropping his head onto his knees, his bitten fingernails dug into the skin of his forearms, ripping as best as he could against the skin in an effort to force himself to speak. If he couldn't talk, then he would punish himself until he made sound.

Hermione grabbed his fingers - her heart giving a sharp pang when he flinched - before she tried to yank them away from his body. "Harry, it's okay. You're safe now."

His eyes filled with tears. He was safe for now. In a few months, he would be dead and Hermione would be alone. Perhaps it was better for her to lose him gradually rather than all at once. Then a sickening thought occurred to him: what if she didn't care either way? What if he was just a means to make her awful situation better, although never making a mark in her heart? He wanted to vomit at the thought. Even if he could form the words to ask her...she would never tell him the truth. She was much too kind.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears, her bony face sinking into a deep frown. "Please...don't do this," her voice was nothing more than a whisper. But she knew what he was doing...she knew he was letting her go. After everything they had been through together, after all that they had confessed, he was letting her go. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Her hands enveloped his face - ignoring the fearful flinch that shuddered through his body. She stared at him, glaring into his agonized eyes. It was several moments before his stiff form finally relaxed into her touch. It wasn't until then did she speak.

"I don't know what happened to you the last few days," she began, the tears building in earnest in her eyes, "And you don't have to tell me. But don't you dare push me away! We're all we have. I love you, in case you forgot. You can't walk away from this now...not when we've gotten so far."

Harry shuddered, his eyes searching the room around them trying in vane to hide the pain, the fear, the desperation he felt at her words. She didn't know how little time they had left. And since his goddamn mouth wasn't working, he couldn't even tell her if he wanted to. His eyes caught the corner of the notebook Sirius had given him and he touched Hermione's hands gently. She understood what he wanted and released him, watching warily as he walked toward the desk at the far corner of his room. Her eyes traced his naked body, lingering on the scars disrupting the milky white skin of his back. They made her angry and nauseous. He made a pit stop at his bed, dragging the fluffy black comforter to their spot in the corner. When he'd settled onto the floor, he threw the blankets over them, pulling Hermione into his side as he did so. She snuggled against his shoulder, a twinge of relief lessening the frightened pressure in her heart just a bit.

Harry opened the cover to the first page, crossing out the one sided conversation already scribbled there in his untidy scrawl. Then, he wrote. Hermione didn't try to read around his hand, rather she contented herself to sniffing the sweet scent of him: peppermint, cedarwood, oakmoss. She committed it to memory, revelling in the way it made her nose tingle with delight. Finally, after nearly five minutes, Harry handed her over the short paragraph covered in cross outs and revisions. She read silently, her trained eyes sliding gracefully over the script even as they filled with unshed tears.

It read: "I don't want to push you away. I love you too, more than I could ever properly describe, especially in writing. But I discovered some things about myself when I was missing...I found out the truth to my fate. I have to kill him, Hermione. I'm the only one who can. I won't survive. I can't. I'm still just a kid and he's the most powerful dark wizard of all time. You're going to lose me in the end...wouldn't it be easier to let me go now? So you can move on before I'm pushing up daisies?"

She read over the paper once, twice, then a third before she was certain she understood. "Harry," she whispered, "Don't say that. You...you." But the reality of it was crushing her. Would he survive when he had to face Voldemort? And if he did, then that meant that Harry would have to become a murderer himself. Her stomach twisted violently. Harry looked into her eyes, his pain taking on a new meaning to Hermione's scrutinizing stare. She bit her lip before saying the scorching words, "Even if it comes to that...I'd rather be with you until the end."

Harry smiled morbidly, his eyes suddenly looking very wet as he scribbled once more across the page, "I don't want to hurt you more."

"You've never hurt me," she said honestly.

He touched her neck gently, looking at the faint marks his hand left on her skin with a near feral expression.

"That was an accident," she muttered, swiping his hand away, "Besides, you'd be hurting me by avoiding me. You'd be robbing me from the time we have together. And...if you...when the time comes, it wouldn't be you hurting me. It would be him...it would be the world and the cruelty in it."

Harry looked away just in time to hide the tears sliding down his cheeks. He wiped them away angrily, pulling the comforter up to his face and squeezing it furiously in his hands. Why did the world have to be so horrid? Why could he never find happiness? His heart felt shattered in his chest, as if his own personal supernova had occurred in his ribcage, exploding the organs inside him, leaving him hollow and empty, voided like a black hole.

"It's you and me...until the end. And - god forbid - if you don't make it, Harry...I won't be far behind," Hermione whispered.

He was suddenly forcing her to floor beneath them, his hands grasping her wrists, holding them above her head. He was shaking so violently, she thought for a fleeting moment that he had lost his mind. "You...," he choked, "You can't! Don't ever...s-say that!"

She lay still beneath him, staring up into his eyes. Calmly, she whispered, "And what if I were to die? Would you wait around, soulless and empty and broken, for your natural end? Or would you seek it out?"

His face twisted into an expression of such pain she swore she could feel it just from looking at him. It was an expression of a man on fire, burning, while he tried to extinguish those that he loved. He shook his head furiously, his lips forming a tight line. He forced out three more words, simple but incredibly powerful, "You deserve happiness."

"No more than you," she said evenly. How she was so calm outwardly, was a mystery. Inside, she felt like she had already died.

He was shaking his head, wondering how the hell she couldn't see how vital her survival was to him. Whether he was alive or dead, Hermione needed to be happy. He could never find peace without this. He had opened his mouth, possibly to force more words from his unwilling lips, when a sharp knock on his door had him frozen on the spot. He looked down at the love of his life, still trapped beneath him, staring up at him like she'd just seen the sunset for the first time.

"Harry? Hermione?" It was Sirius.

Harry flew off of her, stealing the blanket as well as he tucked himself into the corner, hiding his unnaturally thin body from sight beneath it. Hermione watched him go, a twinge of pity and remorse filling her chest while she rushed to clothe herself.

"Just a minute!" she called, yanking up her jeans, clasping her bra, and staring in horror at the shredded mess that was her shirt. "Harry!" she hissed to no avail. In a stroke of inspiration, she threw his black hoodie up and over her head, relishing once more in his tantalizing scent. A moment later found her wrenching the door open and staring into Sirius's worried face.

"Hermione, where's Harry?" he asked.

"He's," she glanced at the unmoving lump in the corner, "Sleeping."

"I would normally never ask, but can you wake him? Something...very grave has happened. I need the two of you downstairs," Sirius whispered, his eyes appearing almost tortured.

Hermione felt her throat catch, "I...erm, yes, hold on." She clicked the door shut, hearing Sirius's steps retreating down the hall and turned to face the empty corner. Harry was now standing instead behind her, trousers already pulled on and a clean shirt in his hands.

He held it out for her with a meaningful glance at his hoodie. She blushed, and traded with him. "We'll talk about this later, yes?" she asked, lifting a brow.

His hand flew over the notebook in his arms before displaying it for her: "There's nothing more to say."

"We hardly even broached the subject," she murmured, wrenching the door open. Walking down the many flights of steps in silence, they followed a stream of yellow light in the foyer emerging from the kitchen stairs. Voices were hissing in low tones as they stepped down the steps fearfully. There seemed to be many of them.

When their feet were planted firmly on the landing, the voices ceased and all eyes were on them. Rather, all eyes were on Harry. Dumbledore, Lupin, the entirety of the Weasley clan with the exception of the ever absent Percy, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody, and several others sat around the long kitchen table staring in stunned silence at the dead eyed boy they used to know so well. Sirius, who sat at the head of the large, cherry table, cleared his throat meaningfully, already well aware of the faint line of sweat beading on his godson's forehead from the relentless scrutiny of the many eyes in the room.

"Harry, Hermione," he said, his voice grave, "Take a seat."

There were two chairs open; two - fortunately - right next to each other. One was beside Sirius's place on the left and Harry scurried quickly over to it, the notebook clutched into his chest like a lifesaver. Hermione sat beside him, squeezing his thigh beneath the table. He flinched like always, but relaxed almost instantly beneath the pressure of her touch. His eye caught on a familiar face - youthful, red headed, Ron... The sight of his best friend made his eyes feel oddly wet. It was almost too surreal to be sitting here with the entirety of the Order, almost as if nothing had ever happened to completely and utterly destroy his short life.

"We've gathered you here to share a piece of frightening information with you all. Granted, if any of you still follow the rubbish the Profit is spewing as of late, you already know about what I refer to. For the rest of you...well, brace yourselves," Sirius said, his eyes lingering regretfully on Hermione's tense face. He continued with, "Professor Dumbledore, perhaps you'd like to continue?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he glared down at the uneven patterns of scars on his hands while he waited for the headmaster to speak.

Dumbledore leaned forward onto the table, resting his arms along the deep, reddish wood as he began, "As we all now realize, Voldemort -" several people flinched at the sound of the name, "- has undoubtedly taken over the Ministry. Although we have done everything in our power to prevent this, it has happened. Of course, he remains hidden for now, controlling from the sidelines, under the mask of the Imperious Curse and blackmail. But, he has made grave steps to ensuring our world is twisted into his idea of a perfect society.

"Voldemort has created a Muggleborn registration committee. He expects all Muggleborns and their families to register and has made it unlawful to hide or to refuse. This directly effects one of our own," Dumbledore indicated a hand at Hermione, whose face had turned very white. "Of course," he continued, "All Muggleborn students will be safe at Hogwarts. That safety doesn't extend to their families, however, some of whom have already been tagged by Voldemort and his followers."

Hermione paled further, her face turning a frightening shade of grey. Harry grasped her hand beneath the table, comprehending where her train of thought had wandered.

"Professor..." Hermione whispered, looking at Dumbledore with a haunted expression, "My parents...are they safe?"

There was a tight silence around the table in which Harry could almost feel the anxiety pouring off of his girlfriend's now trembling form.

"Hermione," Sirius began, his eyes filled with pain and sorrow, "That's a big part of the reason why we've called you down here. Your parents...well..."

Dumbledore looked at the girl with untamed hair, his hand raising in a motion of comfort, as he murmured, "Your parents have gone missing. A note was left behind at your home, addressed to you. No one has read it, as it's your property, but if there is information regarding your parents' whereabouts, please know that everyone of us are ready to help recover them." The Professor extracted a plain, white envelope from inside his emerald green robes, stretching across the table with long arms to hand it over into Hermione's shaking fingers.

The room went silent. Hermione opened the parcel slowly, as if she was afraid of its spontaneous combustion. Harry watched, not as the note with tight, slanted script emerged from the receptacle, but instead Hermione's lurid face gradually morph into utter consternation. He felt sick watching the transition, hoping beyond hope that everything was fine with her family, already knowing all too well the crushing torment that comes with the loss of loved ones.

"He has them," she said weakly, glancing dazedly about the distressed faces around the table. "They're being held in Azkaban."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, while Sirius dropped his face into his hands. After a moment Professor Dumbledore spoke again, "Many others have also suffered the same fate. But don't fret, Miss Granger, we still have some of our own with deep connections in the Ministry." Dumbledore nodded to Tonks and Kingsley who smiled professionally at Hermione whose trembling had become so terrible the sound of her teeth chattering was audible to them even four seats away. Unperturbed, Dumbledore said, "They will do everything in their power to ensure your parent's freedom from Azkaban. Both Miss Tonks and Mr. Shacklebolt are very adapt at getting things done in the Ministry.

"In light of everything that has happened, I think now is the time to divulge into the most pressing topic of all: Harry Potter," he continued, crossing his hands upon the tabletop. Harry glanced up and wished that he hadn't. All the faces in the room were pointed in his direction, marred with curiosity or pity or fear, in some cases all three. Swallowing heavily, Harry glanced at Hermione who was chewing her fingernails, staring trepidly at the portrait of the shifty eyed man. Dumbledore cleared his throat, saying after, "Harry is the key to our success in this war. Without him, Voldemort cannot be stopped."

"Headmaster," Molly Weasley began, her eyes widening, "You don't mean to tell me that you still expect this boy to fight You-Know-Who, do you? Harry has already been through so much! How could you possibly expect him to win? He's still a child!"

Dumbledore looked at her, his face grave, "I do not expect this, Molly. Harry's fate demands it."

"Then take him away from this all! Train him for a few years, let him recover from the hell he's already been through!" Molly demanded, her face furious. Arthur flickered between his wife and Dumbledore, looking rather torn as to who to side with.

"How much longer can we wait Molly?" Dumbledore asked.

Lupin slapped his hand on the table, "I won't stand to have Harry slaughtered for the good of mankind. Harry being alive is for the good of mankind."

Sirius seemed ready to whop in glee at his old friend's proclamation, although thought better of it judging from the pressed lips to the clenched fists hidden upon his lap. In the seat next to him, Harry mourned for those sitting around him, knowing in a few months time, he would never see them again...knowing that their fears were going to become reality and that there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"Ultimately," said Dumbledore with an air of passivity, "It is up to Harry who has already expressed his desire to end Voldemort himself."

Again, all eyes bore into the boy trying to sink into the wood of the chair supporting him. Harry pretended not to notice them. A hand grabbed his, and Harry jumped forcefully. It was Sirius...only Sirius.

"Is that why you wanted to see the headmaster yesterday? To tell him you wanted to fight?" There was an edge to Sirius's voice.

Sirius's accusation wasn't entirely correct. Harry had vital information for Dumbledore - who stood the best chance of helping Harry gather the items he needed. But, then, saying Harry had surrendered himself to the fight was not a lie either. He bowed his head.

Sirius's fist was slamming into the table, his furious eyes fixed upon Dumbledore's calm face. "You can't do this! Harry has a right to live!"

"Absolutely," agreed Lupin, his face fierce.

Molly crossed her arms in morbid satisfaction while Arthur gazed at Harry's receded body, curled in on itself, an occasional tremor running through him. This was not the image of a man ready to fight. It was the image of a boy who'd lost everything.

"Professor," Arthur began, "Perhaps it would be in our best interest to allow Harry to train up a bit. Give him a chance to recuperate and learn how to properly harm someone if need be."

Dumbledore sighed. "I understand where you are all coming from. I do not wish to send Harry to the wolves either. However, our time is growing ever shorter and we can no longer wait to take Voldemort down. I intend to train the boy myself during this school year. Hopefully, any training I can pass on to him will give him a fighting chance."

There was a tense silence in which no one seemed to quite know what to say. Harry always had this unstoppable way about him, this uncanny ability to triumph in even the most daring of situations. But the evidence was in front of them now: he was a boy who had been dangled in front of the teeth of hungry psychopaths one too many times. He'd been snatched beneath the water to resurface mangled in every sense of the word. Now Dumbledore was suggesting they tie him back onto the stick and dangle him again, this time even cutting him loose over their enemy's den. But to disregard this plan was to disregard Dumbledore, their triumphant leader.

"There must be another way," Kingsley said, "It must be done without Harry."

"It cannot," Dumbledore murmured, "The prophesy has demanded it to be so."

A collection of gasps and murmurs whispered across the table. Bill Weasley, who had otherwise been silent for the duration of the meeting, finally put in his two cents, "So the rumors are true? There really is a prophesy?"

Dumbledore nodded, his bright blue eyes appearing rather dim. "It roughly states that Harry is the only one who can triumph over the Dark Lord."

That was a lie, Harry decided, his eyes fixing critically upon Dumbledore's. The prophecy stated that he would either have to kill or be killed. The chances of Harry triumphing in any regard over Voldemort were slim at best. Hermione's hand tightened around his.

"What do you suggest then, Dumbledore?" asked Arthur Weasley, "How do we proceed?"

Dumbledore stroked the long, white beard hanging from his chin, the fingers seemingly moving of their own accord. "I will train Harry during the school year to prepare him for the fight. I fear it won't be long now, a year at most before Voldemort starts making major moves against us."

"And what will this training consist of?" Sirius muttered, his face dark.

"Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that." Dumbledore's eyes shone once more. "I shall teach him how to properly duel, how to read his enemies, and how to protect himself from harm."

"And you intend to do this in ten months?" Sirius asked, his forehead wrinkling beneath the strain of his disbelief.

Kingsley cleared his throat, "If Dumbledore believes he can prepare Harry for the danger that is to come, then I will put my faith in him."

"I'm not too keen on the idea of letting my godson attempt to take down our enemy alone, 'prepared' or not. When it comes to a head, you can expect me to be by your side every step of the way, Harry," Sirius said, his face shining with a fierce determination, "And, by god, that son of a bitch will have to take me down first before he gets another chance to end the Potters."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Sirius's promise filled them both with a new hope. Suddenly, Bill Weasley had stood from his chair. "You have my wand as well, Harry. What you did for Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets is enough of a reason to give my life for you."

"All of us!" cried Molly, joining her son on her feet, "We will all stand and fight for you. You have been a part of our family for years now."

"You can count on me too, Harry." Tonks stood from her place beside Kingsley. On her other side rose Remus, his prematurely aged face filled with the same passion as Sirius's.

He said, "Me, as well, of course. I owe it to you and James."

Nearly everyone stood from the table - with the exception of Moody, Kingsley, and Dumbledore - and their eyes filled with promise and determination. Harry glanced at them all in turn. He stood from the table, his hands trembling. He opened his mouth, felt the familiar tightening in his wind pipe, and snapped it shut again. The nervous sweat had begun to dew along his face and neck as the rise and fall of his chest spiked to a frightening speed.

Harry dashed from the room.

Standing to her feet, Hermione gave an apologetic smile to each confused face around the table and ran after him. Sirius grimaced, his pale face following the hem of Hermione's jeans up the stairs until it disappeared on the floor above.

"What was that all about?" asked Moody, his magical eye fixed upwards, following a moving target no one else could see.

"Harry doesn't like to be the center of attention, particularly since...it happened," Sirius said as he scrutinized Moody's apathetic expression.

"What exactly happened to him, Sirius?" Molly asked. "The papers don't give any information on it. And Arthur tells me Umbridge has been reinstated at the Ministry."

"I don't know much myself," Sirius admitted, "Harry doesn't like to talk about it. But I do know that she tortured him with the Cruciatis Curse, among other things. Hermione knows, but she also refuses to talk about it."

"Hermione was there with him, wasn't she?" Ron whispered, his face paler than usual.

Sirius nodded, looking at Ron curiously.

"Well, it's time you children went to bed," Molly said, her motherly voice stern. Ron and Ginny didn't argue like usual. The members of the Order began to plan well into the night.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

~Charlie