A/N: Hello again. Sorry for the long wait. Life happened. But here's another chapter. ;)

Chapter 33: Freedom

"How did you get in here?"

Remus pushed past his anger and horror to focus on his former friend. A man who, going by his attitude, hadn't changed much in spite of his Azkaban stint. Confident, with a shadow of familiar arrogance tainting the picture.

"Is that really what you want to know, Moony?" Sirius paced inside the room, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats. "I know you can't stand the sight of me and there's nothing that will convince you of the truth unless I find a certain rat again. But I'm not here for that."

Mad ramblings from a madman. Remus couldn't help but find it fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Holding his side, he pushed himself forward, the pain of his injuries making the movements slow.

"What are you talking about?" he asked carefully. "You're here for Harry? You want to what? Kill him?"

He would kill Sirius before the man could even come close. Protecting Harry was and would always be Remus's priority.

Sirius barked out a laugh, the sound making the other wizard flinch. "This is going to be a long night," the convict said, repeatedly shaking his head. "No, and before you throw more accusations at me, let me just tell you that I didn't kill James and Lily that night. Peter did."

"Wonderful bedtime story, Sirius. I'm impressed," Remus hissed, angry. How dare him?

"Believe what you will." The haggard wizard made a dismissive gesture. "This is the truth. And I'm just here to find my godson and to take him home with me. Dumbledore and the Wizengamot and even You-Know-Who won't stop me in that."

"I won't let you."

Turning fully toward him, Sirius stared, eyes suddenly flashing dangerously, a hidden emotion speaking of all the horrors he must have endured in prison. Remus couldn't think of a way to fight him. Not when he was like this. Not when both of them had turned into different people.

"No? And what will you do?" the wizard mocked, eyes on the bandages. "The Death Eaters must have really done a number on you to reduce you to this. You used to be better at dueling."

He wouldn't be intimidated by that man. Squaring his shoulders, Remus held his gaze.

"Get it over with then. Kill me."

Sirius grinned. "What's Dumbledore doing to ensure Harry's safety?" he asked, dismissing the comment. "Nothing, right? He's just dangled my godson like some sort of object in front of all the dark wizards in the world. He hasn't even trained him properly."

"You aren't making any sense."

"I know the truth," Sirius said, utterly in command. "He and the Order. They left Harry with those Muggles instead of protecting him. And now he's run off to Durmstrang, learning Merlin knows what and the next thing I find out is that he's making deals with the devil."

His friend was furious.

And rightfully so. The shame came back, just as forceful and Remus bowed his head, trying to hide it from his friend. He had failed in this. He had failed in many things.

"I tried-," he breathed.

"You didn't try enough," Sirius shot back, stepping away from the bed to reach the windows. "Dumbledore and McGonagall and everyone else. They didn't do anything while I was forced to rot in Azkaban. And you...Didn't peg you for a coward but here you are."

Remus instantly reached for his wand, knowing how fruitless it would be, but Sirius already opened the windows, no longer caring what happened to him. Or both of them, really. He acted like a man on a mission.

"I will find Peter. And when I do, you'll be sorry for a lot of things." Gazing at him, the faint light from outside illuminated the man's mournful expression, making Remus still. "At least I had an excuse. You on the other hand..."

And with that he jumped, disappearing and leaving nothing behind other than cold shock and memories of a past Remus wanted to hold onto, but couldn't anymore. It was simply too painful.

Harry was unimpressed.

Being dragged into the middle of nowhere, with nothing but Karkaroff's pleasant company as entertainment, reminded Harry of a time when joining the wizarding world had meant this. Utter dependency. His white robes just added to the humiliation. He looked so much like one of them.

He'd burn this thing the moment he got out of here.

"They trust you a lot to let you do this," Harry commented lightly, staring at the limestone building in front of them. It was ugly and there was hardly anything to brighten the atmosphere.

"No, Potter." Karkaroff marched forward, not bothering to face Harry. "You have earned their trust. The association doesn't think it's necessary to supervise you anymore."

It has nothing to do with me, remained unspoken.

"It's not like I've done much," Harry mumbled, remembering one of the men leading their group lowering the wards around Harry's room. Harry had even gotten his wand back, to both Karkaroff's and Harry's surprise.

"Be happy about that," Karkaroff gruffed, knocking on the wooden door as soon as they reached it. Their conversation must have alerted the inhabitants inside, although Harry couldn't imagine why people would want to live in this place willingly.

"Some people are not so lucky," the dark wizard said, before the door was thrown open. Harry expected hags or maybe a poor witch or wizard from the association to greet them. It had been heavily implied that this house belonged to them, perhaps functioning as base. Instead they were both greeted by a small child.

Karkaroff's lips parted, but the girl just curtsied, having expected them. "You're here to visit our home," she said, a bit shy. "Mrs. Doyle is waiting in the parlor."

She couldn't be more than six, Harry thought, wondering where this was going. Going by Karkaroff's flabbergasted expression, he didn't know either. The girl, however, merely blinked and let them inside, closing the door behind Harry. Immediately, he noticed the sheer poverty ravaging this place. Wallpapers were pealing off, and with every step he took, Harry feared that the floor would give out. The gloomy atmosphere hung over their heads, startling both of them. And even from the way the girl was dressed, Harry could imagine that life inside this house wasn't easy. He didn't want to draw more conclusions.

They went to the sitting room and more and more children ran past them, laughing and playing around, their occasional accidental magic showing that this house wasn't part of the Muggle world. A few kids would stop to look at Harry curiously, before running back to what must be their rooms. But that was it, really. No one looked unhappy to be here.

"Is that...an orphanage?" Harry asked, looking around.

Karkaroff kept his mouth shut, though, merely following the little girl until they reached their destination. The child smiled brightly, before pointing at another door, waving at Harry before she left. How weird. If that was an actual orphanage, Harry didn't know what to think of it. He'd never heard of any wizarding orphanage where people were genuinely happy to be there. In fact, wizarding orphanages were incredibly rare, since Britain preferred not to finance them at all.

Mismatched furniture came into view and on a rickety chair Harry noticed an old woman sitting there, surrounded by her knitting work. She immediately looked up, her smile widening as soon as she noticed Karkaroff standing in the doorway. Even that was unusual. The former headmaster didn't return her smile, but he didn't treat her disrespectfully either, from what Harry could see.

"Madam Doyle. It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, pushing Harry forward slightly. Great. Harry rolled his eyes, not enjoying any of this in the slightest, although it had much to do with the old man. The witch however continued to smile, approaching them calmly, her slightly hunched back not detracting from her overall confidence.

"You say the nicest things, Igor. Did they put you up to this?" the witch asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry stilled, waiting for Karkaroff's reaction.

"I was meant to show Mr. Potter how it's like to live here." The wizard didn't even blink, although he kept his distance to her. And that was new information, since Karkaroff hadn't bothered to tell Harry what they were supposed to do here.

"I see," Madam Doyle replied, impassive. "Well, that's fine. I'll show the boy around. You can return to your superiors," she said. "I assume that they finally let him go, didn't they."

The wizard's expression darkened, but he nodded, giving Harry a last warning stare.

Well, Harry didn't care. This was his first step towards freedom since Merlin knows how long and he'd use the opportunity to escape all of this once and for all.

"Just go, alright."

Karkaroff grimaced, but surprisingly he didn't put up much of a fight. "Don't do anything stupid, boy," he said, before turning around and leaving. How anti-climatic.

The door was closed again and Harry was left behind, turning fully towards this unknown witch to see what she would do. What the association wanted her to do. It was pretty clear that this orphanage must be under their control, since she seemed to have a rather intimate knowledge of their current hierarchy.

"So, the boys and girls at the base must have left you in the dark, Mr. Potter," she began, indicating for Harry to take a seat. "It doesn't surprise me in the slightest."

Frowning, Harry chose the small, black couch, not letting her out of his eyesight. Just because she didn't appear like a threat, didn't mean Harry was safe.

"Who are you?"

"Alice Doyle, the matron of this orphanage," she said dryly. "And yes, this is a wizarding orphanage which is run by the association. Though I suppose, some people might not be happy about that."

His frown deepened. What was she trying to imply? Perhaps Scrimgeour might not know that some sort of renegade group was running orphanages, but it's not like he was a threat to the association, Harry thought. They've been at these things for centuries and the ministry hadn't done anything to stop them.

"Why am I here?" he asked. What was he supposed to do here?

Her aged features smoothed out for a moment, as she regarded him curiously. "You mean, why did they let you go, Potter?" Her voice was gentle. "Why they returned your wand?"

That, too. Harry bowed his head, not seeing the point anymore. He'd been a prisoner, and now he wasn't. He had his wand and he could finally return home without anyone trying to stop him. So what the hell had that been about? Had they manipulated him somehow, without Harry's awareness?

"Something like that," he replied after a while. Maybe it was time for the truth. "I thought I would be used by your people for some sort of grand purpose. They didn't exactly give off the impression that I would ever be free again." Harry straightened his shoulders, wanting answers. And Doyle could give him more than useless platitudes Harry had been forced to endure during his captivity. She looked like she wanted to.

"How long has it been since the fiasco at Nurmengard?" Doyle asked.

"Months." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"So you didn't return to your school, to Durmstrang?" The witch picked up her knitting things, seemingly disinterested. "Figures they would try to get you out of there."

Why? Harry wanted to ask, but her clipped remark made him hesitate. "I still could, now that I'm free again," he said. Waiting to see how she would react to that.

Her laugh was startling.

"But that's the point. Do you want to?" Doyle grinned. "You've been trained, you've been molded, my dear. Not just by us," Harry froze. What did that mean?

"Oh don't look at me like that," the witch said, amused. "I know a lot, because we've been tasked to keep an eye on you and what's going on around you."

"Great," Harry threw in sarcastically. "It doesn't mean that you control me. No one does."

But she waved him off, stretching out her legs instead. The small fireplace inside the room didn't provide much warmth, but Doyle didn't seem too bothered by it. It was strange, to see such a rundown orphanage up close and finding out that it belonged to the association who were by no means poor.

"Be that as it may," Doyle continued, looking at Harry calmly. "I would still like to invite you in order to see what the war is currently doing to wizarding Britain." And with that, she put away her stuff again and rose to her feet. Harry could refuse, could Disapparate away. But he was curious to see what the association wanted him to see. If he was supposed to be convinced of their charitable work, it wasn't exactly the best start. And besides, he already knew what Voldemort and everyone else was doing to Britain these days.

"People like Dumbledore and the Dark Lord don't care about collateral damage, unlike the association," she said, heading outside and directing her steps to one of the many rooms that housed these children. Her words confirmed Harry's suspicion. They wanted him to choose a side, to choose it with conviction by making Harry believe that everyone else was much worse than the association. Well, Harry had seen enough of everyone to know that the only side in this war he could rely on was his own.

"After you." And with that Harry stepped aide, as one girl ran past him, her small feet carrying her away from the others, who were playing hide and seek.

"This is Margot Bennett," Doyle said, her gentle eyes following the girl's movements. "Her father was killed by a stray dark curse during the attack at Hogsmeade a month ago. She lost her mother at the same day. One of the Aurors stumbled into the witch while she was trying to protect her child. It ended badly."

Harry's lips thinned, but he remained silent. What was he supposed to do here? Cry? Another boy took the staircase, grinning as one of the boys counted down loudly.

"This is Robin May," the matron continued, following Harry's gaze. "Pure-blood, American. Both of his parents died when the Dark Lord released a small pack of werewolves into the wild. They were tourists. We barely managed to rescue the boy."

How? How did they rescue these children? If the association operated outside the law, then this was practically kidnapping, which Harry knew, was one of their specialties. They had done that with so many people. And now children? They weren't doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, surely.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked promptly, making sure that his wand was safely stored inside his pocket. "I know that the government doesn't care about them. Hell, I would know that more than most other people."

Wizarding Britain only cared about Harry's location or wellbeing as long as he played by their rules, he thought morosely. And he had stopped playing that game as soon as he finalized his decision to stay in Norway. On Karkaroff's word, in fact.

Doyle nodded, smiling at another group of children who kept staring at Harry. "Yes, you could have ended up exactly like one of those kids. The association considered the option of taking you away from the Dursleys after Albus Dumbledore placed you there. It's why Alfred Clarke lived so close to you."

Well, how wonderful. Just bloody perfect. Harry's expression became closed-off. He'd been used and toyed with for so long, it was a joke at this point.

"But they decided against it, for reasons unknown to me," the old witch admitted, startling the Boy Who Lived. "But you didn't turn out bad now, did you, Harry? Can I call you Harry?"

Grimacing, he averted his eyes.

"Depends on your definition of bad. Some people would say I'm doing the wrong thing."

Lupin and Dumbledore, just to name a few. Harry sighed.

"An alliance with the Dark Lord," Doyle mused. "Yes, that's obviously not the wisest choice to make, never mind the fact that he simply humored you. He's not bound by any contracts or oaths. That man has a way of circumventing those types of enchantments." Seeing Harry's expression, the matron shook her head. "Oh, you didn't know that."

No, he had not known that.

"He kept you in the dark and he let you go, because he believes that you will destroy us for him," Doyle said, making Harry's thoughts spin. "That you will take leadership into your own hands and reform the association to your liking. Giving him enough time to focus on the Order of the Phoenix."

"He doesn't see me as a threat." Harry stared ahead, suddenly feeling bereft of something.

"You're too young to make an impact. But you can use the opportunity we gave you to thrive outside the boundaries he set," the witch explained, turning fully towards Harry. "You're allowed to use all of our resources, if you like."

"I'm not going to end up like Grindelwald?" Harry asked her, doubtful.

The witch shook her head, smiling pleasantly, her gaze sincere. "No. Let the Dark Lord believe that you're part of our resistance. My orders are to set you free."

Harry looked back, trying and failing to find the catch. Did they trust him that much? The point was that he could finally disappear without Voldemort's awareness. And while the Order would struggle to find Harry again, it would give him enough time to actually become stronger, become more influential and reappear when the time was right.

Thoughts spinning, Harry had a decision to make. Right here, right now. Surrounded by orphans and an old witch.

Now what?

"Lady Zabini," Voldemort said, greeting his prisoner with his usual aplomb. The witch stared at him blankly, her tattered robe no longer hiding the terrible state she was in now. Deep down, in one of the cells of Rowle's manor, she continued to pretend that his presence didn't affect her.

The man was unshakable, though. His eyes unyielding in their cruelty. He enjoyed her misery, enjoyed watching her as she continued to deteriorate while her son was still at Hogwarts, none the wiser.

Cecilia bowed her head, wishing for one moment that she could look at Blaise again, could touch him and reassure her only son that everything would be alright. That this war wouldn't touch them.

What a failure it had been.

But there was nothing to be ashamed of, really. Nothing she could regret after her small revolt against the Dark Lord and his cult of miserable followers. To even suggest that a halfblood like Tom Riddle was fit to lead the Dark was a travesty in itself. All of them, the Malfoys, the Lestrange family. Hypocrites.

Potter had done Britain a service to expose the Dark Lord's family background. It wouldn't go unpunished of course, but it had led Cecilia to this decision. And she would resist.

Propping her thin arms up on her legs, Cecilia observed the man closely. He stood tall, the flickering light of the basement not detracting from the man's ability to make his presence known to everyone. She had admired him, at some point in her life. The bitter realization hit her unexpectedly.

They had no leader. No one to defend their cause.

The Malfoys and the Lestrange family members, and so many others. They were hopeless to follow a halfblood wizard like him to their deaths.

"Don't be shy now," Voldemort began, tilting his head a bit. "Your futile rebellion used to be louder."

"I don't have much to say to you. Only this, maybe." Cecilia looked away. "Your followers will continue to doubt you, your abilities, your heritage, even your sanity," she murmured, proud. "What I've done...no, what Potter has done was a blessing to the Dark."

If her words angered the man, the Dark Lord didn't show it. He didn't even blink.

Voldemort hummed, considering. "Everyone can be replaced. What you did, my lady, was akin to a death sentence for a small opposition I have targeted since before the boy spilled his secrets."

"Your secrets you mean," she replied, pointedly. "Don't pretend that this hasn't weakened you." Cecilia grinned, her split lips tasting of blood. "Your reputation carries the war, Riddle. But now it's only carried by the amount of fear you inspire in your own cult," she hissed. "Not all of us Dark wizards are that spineless."

"And yet here you are," the Dark Lord replied dryly, his magic acting up, tainting the very air she breathed with its power. Merlin, why had it turned out like this? Despair gripped her heart for a moment, not letting go. The war could have turned out differently, with someone else at the top. Someone who was just as powerful, perhaps. But not nearly as insane as Tom Riddle.

"What do you want to do from now on?" she asked quietly, looking at the handsome wizard. "What happens when more and more families decide to turn their backs on you? What happens when they find someone more worthy to follow?"

Someone like...

She didn't dare to think about it. But the thought must have been evident, her expression not hiding the name everyone kept in the back of their minds in this war.

Potter.

Abruptly, Voldemort began to laugh, the tone sending chills down her spine. Other prisoners began to whimper, but he kept his attention on her, forcing Cecilia to resist, to endure his disdain, his amusement. His smile was twisted, sharp. He seemed to find the thought of Harry Potter becoming a leader of the Dark utterly absurd, and normally Cecilia wouldn't blame the man. She'd laughed all those rumors off in the past, dismissing the people who kept asking her what would happen in the future if the Dark Lord never returned. That had been shot down quickly, but the rumors never subsided.

"You know he's too young, Lady Zabini," Riddle said eventually, smoothly. "Even if Dumbledore himself begins to train the boy for years on end, it will be useless."

"So you want your war now?" she asked, coming to the realization quickly. " You want to kill Albus Dumbledore."

But the wizard merely hummed again, turning around to inspect the prisoner in the cell next to hers. "Be thankful that you won't ever find out what I intend to do with the wizarding world. Your narrow-minded worldview wouldn't be able to rationalize it."

And with that, Voldemort left, taking his own magic back with him and making it easier for her to breathe in the dank, cold space of her cell.

What did the Dark Lord mean? And what did it mean for the safety of her son?

She bit her lips, the throbbing sensation of the pain clearing her thoughts at once.

In the end, Harry found the decision to leave it all behind easier. Returning to Potter manor was a bliss and so was the company of his ancestors. Augusta Potter had almost cried upon seeing Harry again. Not to mention his house-elves.

And even Hedwig was currently perched on the windowsill, her accusing eyes not daring to leave Harry's form until he was safely back inside his bedroom. He'd missed her terribly.

It was with a heavy heart that he fell asleep, so tired of the journey and the constant hiding he had to endure. There had been Aurors stationed near the hidden manor and evading them took most of Harry's stealth away, leaving him drained of both magic and mental strength.

The only difference in this situation was that he had no Tom Riddle to rely on anymore. No Horcrux to spy on his thoughts, his skills and his future plans. That should have relieved Harry beyond anything else.

But the echo of something familiar kept itself logged inside Harry's heart. He could drown in it, lose himself to voices and memories. He could surrender to something cold and lifeless and all of it would have been for nothing. The Dementor's Kiss kept him up at night.

And if that didn't, then Voldemort's hissing certainly did.

Now, Harry was too tired to resit it anymore, falling easily into his nightmares as he'd done before the Nurmengard incident.

His mental landscape surrounded Harry, grey and white sliding into each other and creating some sort of image that reminded Harry of a train station. Why it looked like that, Harry couldn't tell. But now he was back again, walking a small pathway and letting shadows and figures dance around his form, disappearing and reappearing at random.

His heart thudded painfully inside Harry's chest, but the sensation didn't resemble the pain of reality. Heavy-lidded, he watched as the train station fell away to something unfamiliar, a richly decorated sitting room, with snakes coiling around each other near the fireplace, basking in the warmth of it, in the company of a man who was currently sitting in front of Harry, looking amused.

It was Voldemort. The one of the real world. Not the Horcrux that had taken a different form, before leaving the mortal plane.

"Decided to join me, finally?" the wizard asked, leaning back.

Harry stilled, not daring to come closer to this phantom. "You're not here." Voldemort was just a figment of Harry's imagination. "Not truly. I'm dreaming..."

But the monster only continued to smile, staring up at Harry who was still standing in front of him like a statue. "I'm afraid you're not a lucid dreamer. What is happening to you is happening to both of us."

"I destroyed..."

"My Horcrux?" Voldemort's mouth curved up even more. And why would he find that amusing? Harry thought alarmed. The man should be furious.

"Not quite," the Dark Lord explained after a while, reveling in Harry's fear. "You merely trapped my soul piece in a world beyond your reach. For now." He slowly began to move, leaving his seat to approach the Boy-Who-Lived. "Such a foolish thing to do, Harry. Or should I call you my Horcrux?"

"I'm not your fucking soul," Harry snarled, backing away from the man. "I'm done with you and your games."

"Oh, but we are just getting started, aren't we?" Voldemort crossed his arms. "I must say Dumbledore almost managed to fool the both of us, but we have other people to thank for that new development."

Harry looked around him, searching for a way out of this. He should wake up. This was his nightmare, his mind. He needed to wake up now. "The association?" he stalled. "You'll just kill them all anyway."

"Indeed, but none of that now," the Dark Lord continued to walk forward until there was no space left between them, nothing Harry could defend himself with. "My point is that you still belong to me. Which means you will return to me as soon as possible. And when that happens..."

"Fuck you!" Harry stared up at the man, expression fierce. He would not cower before his parents' killer. "I won't be used by you just because your sick mind comes up with twisted ways to claim ownership over a person."

"Harry." Voldemort bent down suddenly, invading Harry's personal space. They were breathing the same air now, in this dream-like world, crimson eyes flashing with satisfaction upon seeing Harry's shock.

"You'll never be free again. You'll never leave my side again."

Pale hands reached forward, tipping Harry's chin up. Why?

Why?

Harry wanted to defend himself against that man. But no magic rose inside him, only heat. Only embarrassment.

What was Voldemort doing to him? Those long fingers caressed his skin, curling more possessively around Harry's head, until his touch began to trace the outer shell of Harry's ear, until another hand tugged at black locks insistently, messing with his hair, playing with the strands.

Harry closed his eyes desperately, denying what was happening, wishing with all his might that Voldemort would just disappear.

And yet, for the first time maybe...

Harry's lips parted and he snapped his eyes open again. Voldemort's eyes widened at that, seeing something in Harry's expression that he must have never expected.

The world around them faded away.