Albus Dumbledore sat at the long table in the Great Hall, surrounded by the members of the Order of the Phoenix.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts before addressing them about Harry.
For the past two weeks, he had wrestled with what he had discovered: somehow, by some miracle, the Horcrux inside the boy was gone.
At first, Dumbledore had been overjoyed.
He had briefly believed the prophecy fulfilled.
But that hope had been short-lived.
The prophecy was clear—one must die at the hand of the other.
Neither Harry nor Voldemort was dead.
This also explained why Harry’s wand no longer responded to him properly.
The wand was simply no longer a match.
Tom Riddle’s influence within Harry had clearly run far deeper than Dumbledore had ever suspected—so deep that it had affected the very core of the boy’s wand, which shared a phoenix feather with Voldemort’s own.
Dumbledore also suspected Harry had simply outgrown the wand through sheer magical maturation.
He intended to ask those who had recent contact with the boy for their observations.
He himself had noticed how much calmer Harry had become.
Even when told he would be returning to the Dursleys, the boy had accepted it without his usual outburst.
Whatever the full truth, one thing was painfully clear: Harry would need to be trained.
Properly trained.
Dumbledore had never wanted this for him, but the choice had been taken out of his hands.
He could either guide the boy and steer him away from the dangerous path he was treading, or risk losing him entirely as Harry prepared himself by any means necessary.
Seeing that the entire Order was present—except for Tonks, who was on guard duty—Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“I have called you here tonight to discuss young Mr. Potter,” he began.
“What is there to discuss?” Snape drawled irritably.
“The boy demanded to be left alone to sulk all summer. I say we let him.”
“It is no longer that simple, Severus,” Dumbledore replied gravely.
“Have any of you noticed anything… different about Harry lately? Anything at all?”
“He was barely seen during the last two weeks of term,” Minerva McGonagall said worriedly.
“Ron mentioned that Harry didn’t get angry during their argument in the hospital wing,” Molly Weasley added.
“Not like he usually does.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“My observations as well. Anything else?”
“I came across Potter and Mr. Malfoy just before term ended,” Snape said thoughtfully.
“The exchange was unusually quiet. Whatever happened left young Draco with a burn on his cheek and quite shaken.”
“Aye, and the lad wasn’t happy when we spoke to his relatives,” Moody growled.
“I told you something was off about the boy, Albus.”
“I fear you may be right, Alastor,” Dumbledore sighed.
“But we may still be able to prevent the worst.”
“You really think Harry is turning dark?” Remus asked, voice tight with worry.
“I believe he is willing to do whatever it takes to kill Tom,” Dumbledore said heavily.
“The change in him is undeniable.”
“The boy is just sulking,” Snape sneered.
“He’ll be back to his arrogant self by the end of summer, mark my words.”
“I wish that were true, Severus,” Dumbledore replied sadly.
“But the change appears permanent.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.
“Are you sure it’s not just grief?”
Dumbledore sighed deeply.
“After my last conversation with him, the evidence is clear. Harry has outgrown his wand. That kind of permanent change does not happen lightly.”
“So what do we do?” Remus asked.
“We help him,” Dumbledore said firmly.
“We prepare him for the fight he is determined to face. I will bring him to Hogwarts tomorrow. He will spend the rest of the summer here, where I—and any of you willing—will train him.”
“Aye, I’m in,” Moody declared at once.
“If we teach him properly, maybe we can stop him from going too far.”
“What exactly will you teach him?” Minerva asked.
“To kill the bastard and his followers,” Moody growled with dark satisfaction.
Dumbledore nodded reluctantly at the blunt assessment.
The ex-Auror had clearly grown tired of the Order’s passive approach.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Molly interjected, horrified.
“He’s just a child, and you want to teach him how to kill?”
“Aye, and I reckon the lad will be damn good at it,” Moody said with a grim smile.
“He’s got the potential.”
“More than you know,” Remus murmured.
The conversation was cut short as Tonks burst into the hall, breathing hard and clutching her side.
“Harry’s been kidnapped!” she gasped.
The room erupted into chaos.
“What happened?” Dumbledore demanded, rising instantly.
“I was on guard duty outside. I saw a red spell flash through the window. By the time I got inside, Harry and all his things were gone.”
“The boy clearly ran away,” Snape drawled, unconcerned.
“I know what I saw, Snape!” Tonks snapped.
Dumbledore ignored their bickering and called for Fawkes, who instantly transported him to Privet Drive.
Less than thirty minutes later, he returned looking grave.
“Harry has indeed been kidnapped,” he announced heavily to the waiting Order.
“But it was not done by anyone who meant him harm. Of that, I am certain.”
“What do we do?” Tonks asked, guilt etched across her face.
“Severus, confirm that Voldemort does not have him,” Dumbledore instructed.
Snape sneered but nodded.
“The rest of you—make every inquiry possible. We must find him.”
As the members dispersed to their tasks, Dumbledore remained seated, staring into the distance.
“Please be safe, my boy,” he whispered.