Most Ministry employees had left for the day when a frantic Arthur Weasley hurried into the nearly deserted Atrium, desperate to meet urgently with the Minister. He sprinted toward a lift but halted abruptly upon spotting the man he sought.
“I need to talk to you,” Arthur sputtered urgently.
Alarmed by Arthur’s dramatic entrance and fearful expression, Kingsley Shacklebolt rushed from the lift and strode quickly over.
“I think I know what this is about,” Kingsley replied gravely, his deep voice echoing off the massive walls. “Let’s discuss it in my office.” He led Arthur into the lift, which ascended to level one.
Arthur looked at him in surprise. “You know what’s happened?”
“It’s about your son George, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Arthur replied sadly, lowering his gaze. “We received a Howler saying George has been kidnapped.”
Kingsley nodded as the elevator doors opened, revealing a small corridor. “I’ve heard. An Auror fire-called me reporting Death Eaters entering the joke shop in Diagon Alley,” he said briskly as they walked to his office. Turning the corner, they entered Kingsley’s workspace and sat in comfortable chairs. Kingsley immediately resumed the discussion.
“As soon as I recognized the shop, I dispatched more Aurors to investigate,” Kingsley said evenly. “I hurried from my office to find you in the Atrium.”
Arthur relayed, “Percy’s gone to the scene and George’s flat to gather information. I’m anxiously awaiting his return.” He sighed, fidgeting with restless hands.
Kingsley nodded. Folding his hands, he asked gravely, “Who sent the Howler? What was the message?”
Arthur replied fiercely, “Yaxley told us he has captured my son. He demanded we bring Harry to the Forbidden Forest before midnight, or else they will kill him.”
“Where’s Harry right now?” he asked.
“He’s with my son Bill. Molly’s there, too.” Upon finally realizing the meaning of Kingsley’s words, he glanced up at the Minister in a sudden panic. “Harry cannot come with us, Kingsley. He’s unconscious at the moment.”
“Unconscious?” Kingsley questioned, confusion spreading across his face. “Has his illness taken a turn for the worse?”
Arthur shook his head. “He’s very ill but not so ill that he has fainted. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny have begun the healing process; they are all unconscious now.”
“Why’s that? The potion didn’t work?” Kingsley asked curiously. “I knew they had to brew a potion, but other than that, I don’t know anything else about the process.”
“It did...,” Arthur said hesitantly. “But they must complete some kind of ritual or task. I don’t fully understand the process, but they’ve been gone for a while now, and we’re growing concerned.”
The Minister and Arthur were abruptly pulled from their thoughts by a loud knock at the door. Kingsley sprang up to open it, revealing Percy Weasley on the other side. With a curt nod to the Minister, Percy entered the room. “Dad,” he said upon seeing Arthur rise from his chair.
“What did you find out, son?” Arthur asked urgently.
“I couldn’t locate George. The joke shop was in complete disarray, and though no one saw him taken, neighbors reported seeing hooded figures go in. His apartment upstairs was empty too. What’s our next move?”
Arthur sighed anxiously and glanced at the Minister for answers.
“We must not take Harry to the Forbidden Forest,” Kingsley stated firmly.
“But how will we meet their demands?” Arthur asked worriedly. “I fear for my son’s safety.”
“There is another way. Let me gather the Aurors and we will handle this,” Kingsley assured.
----------------------------------------
The night was still, save for the soft hum of crickets, as Arthur and Percy approached Shell Cottage. Overhead, thousands of stars illuminated the humble abode that was their destination. Their conversation with Kingsley lingered in their minds as they walked.
Inside, Molly sat anxiously. At the creak of the door, she leapt up and hurried over, peppering the new arrivals with questions before Arthur raised a hand to quiet her. “I spoke with Kingsley,” he said gently, bracing her for the news.
Bill, Hagrid, and Slughorn gathered around Arthur, listening intently despite the late hour. Arthur continued calmly, “I informed Kingsley of Harry’s situation. He will assemble the Aurors to stake out the forest ahead of time. Then we can meet them there.”
Molly protested anxiously, “But we can’t arrive without Harry! They’ll kill George!”
“Kingsley will attempt negotiation first,” Arthur assured her.
“But—” Molly started.
Arthur cut her off, his expression steely. “We’ll get our son back, whatever it takes. If negotiations fail, we’ll fight them off ourselves.”
Molly bowed her head, her voice trembling. “I can’t bear to lose another family member.”
“Don’t worry, Mum,” Bill said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing bad will happen. Percy and I will go with you and Dad.”
Hagrid cleared his throat gruffly. “I’ll come too,” he offered. “I couldn’t stand ter see someone else close ter yeh and Harry killed by Death Eaters. There’s been too much death already. I’ll do what I can ter prevent more.”
“I’ll stay here with the children, in case anything happens,” Slughorn added.
Arthur and Molly nodded in agreement, and they set off into the unforgiving night to Disapparate.
----------------------------------------
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny entered another dim room, similar to those from the first two tasks but larger. The room’s eerie tension felt like an interrogation. A small, illuminated table stood in the middle, its surface rippling with light that contrasted sharply with the surrounding darkness. Harry’s eyes were drawn to a long, sharp object resting on the table. Reckless curiosity tempted him to approach.
“Harry!” Hermione called out when she saw him approach the table curiously. “Can we talk for a minute?” she asked, anxiety and worry evident on her face.
“Make it quick, Granger,” he sneered, already tired of their delays.
“We’re not doing the tasks anymore, and neither should you,” she declared firmly. “This isn’t a threat, but you’ll die if you continue this dangerous game!”
“What’s so bad about continuing this task?” he asked defiantly. “The last one we did wasn’t even dangerous.”
“Except when you nearly fell off your broom,” Ron said sarcastically. “But sure, not dangerous at all.”
Harry glared at him. “Why are you all so afraid to keep going?”
“Because the tasks are meant to test us,” Hermione explained patiently. “To see if we’ll look past the obstacles in front of us and press on, or if we’ll heed the warnings and stop.”
Ron nodded in agreement. “This isn’t really you, Harry,” he said, gesturing at Harry’s body.
“Don’t call me Harry,” he snapped. “We aren’t friends, and never will be.”
Ron looked stung. “But we are friends,” he murmured, seeming to reassure himself more than Harry. “Best friends, actually.”
Harry scoffed derisively. “Don’t give me that nonsense,” he said scornfully.
Hermione spoke softly yet firmly, “This is not rubbish, Harry. It’s the truth. We are your best friends—we’re in Gryffindor together. You’re friends with half-breeds and Muggleborns like me, and you’ve been the best friend we could ask for. We’ve shared so many adventures together. We’ve laughed and cried, and through it all, we’ve stuck together no matter what. We’ve supported each other and helped one another grow. Please don’t dismiss this, Harry. Try to remember who you really are!”
Ginny agreed, “You’re not yourself in this world, Harry. The real you has a strong moral compass and keen understanding of right and wrong. You are brave and selfless. You are not cruel. Yes, you are competitive at times, but you mostly act with humility and modesty.”
“And not only that, you’re gifted as well,” Ron added quietly.
Harry cast a contemptuous look at Ron. “Finally, I’m hearing the only truth from you, Weasley,” he said aloud as he rolled his eyes.
“Well, you fought against the Dark Arts, Harry,” Ron revealed.
That sparked Harry’s curiosity. “What exactly are we protecting against?” he asked hesitantly.
Ron smiled at his sudden interest. “Dementors, Death Eaters, Inferi… you name it. Oh, and you defeated Voldemort,” he added casually.
“Voldemort?” Harry questioned with a frown. What an odd name, he thought to himself.
“A dark wizard,” Ron clarified. “He’s the one who murdered your parents when you were an infant.”
Harry’s jaw dropped in shock and anger. Taking deep breaths to calm his rising irritation, he said, “Enough! I won’t listen to any more of this offensive nonsense.”
“Why not?” Ron asked, confused by the sudden change in mood. “I was just getting to the good part.”
Sighing in aggravation, Harry replied, “You’re telling me I’m some orphan who likes half-breeds and Muggle-borns?” He glared at Hermione. “How many other insulting tales do you have about me? I’m done with this conversation.” Cursing under his breath, he turned and stormed off.
Hermione begged Harry desperately to listen, trying in vain to catch up as he strode away. Suddenly, an invisible force threw her back. A smoky barrier materialized between them, forming prison-like bars that forbade Ron, Hermione, and Ginny from going any further.
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Taken aback, Harry exclaimed, “What’s happening? Did you do this, Granger?” He looked around in alarm.
“I didn’t do anything,” Hermione said breathlessly, slowly standing up.
Seeing nothing else materializing, Harry tentatively took a step forward.
“Harry, please stay with us!” Hermione cried, pounding the smoky barrier in desperation.
Harry, absorbed in thought, took more tentative steps until he was a foot away from the table. The object on top was already recognizable: a basilisk fang. Taking a deep breath, he reached to grab it, his fingertips inches away, when a cloud of gray smoke erupted from the ground. Rising higher and higher, it took the shape of a human. The figure hovered nearby, its face hidden in shadow. Squinting, Harry narrowed his eyes. Slowly, the figure drifted closer until it formed a face Harry could never forget: his own.
Transfixed, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stared at the scene unfolding before them. They could only guess that the Harry they knew would manifest before his counterpart.
“Harry?” they called out in unison, shock written across their faces. The figure did not acknowledge them. His eyes stayed fixed on Harry, who scrutinized every feature of the phantom.
The reflection’s skin was pale, as if he had lost a lot of blood. His messy hair stuck out wildly. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His usually vibrant green eyes looked dull and lacked their usual brightness. His clothes hung loose and baggy on his frame, hinting at considerable weight loss.
Harry realized the figure looked on the brink of death—a sickly, weakened version of himself. He couldn’t help but grimace at the sight.
The figure lifted his hand abruptly, palm open in invitation. Harry eyed the gesture warily. From afar, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny shouted urgently at him.
“Don’t take his hand!”
“Come back to us!”
“Don’t do this!”
Frustrated, Harry furrowed his brow at his stubborn competitors’ illogical arguments and constant protests. How could he determine if this was just another task without accepting the outstretched hand? Feeling stubborn himself, Harry slowly placed his fingertips atop the figure’s. Suddenly, Harry’s mind clouded with unhappy memories that were not his own. He became so immersed in the visions that he could no longer hear Ron, Hermione, and Ginny’s voices.
Harry saw himself - or rather a phantom version - being bullied as a child. His misty doppelganger dodged a stick swung by his cousin Dudley, while his Aunt and Uncle shouted abuse and treated him as though he were worthless. “Up! Get up! Now!” his Aunt Petunia commanded.
He was also frequently scolded by his blustering Uncle. “Go—Cupboard—Stay—No meals!”
Alone and locked in a cramped cupboard under the stairs, Harry saw his childhood self—bereft of caring parents—and felt acidic anger rising towards these cruel relatives he’d never known beyond muggle photos. Though from another world, Harry knew no magical child deserved such neglect. Yet now he found himself defending this mistreated boy. Disbelief at his own compassion soured Harry’s thoughts.
The memories faded as negative emotions surfaced. Some Hogwarts students, including Draco Malfoy, whom Harry knew well, bullied this other Harry, mocking his deceased parents and questioning his existence. When Harry tried to speak with his old friend, Draco walked right through him to hurl more insults at the other Harry.
“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?” Draco jeered with his friends.
Another memory of Draco surfaced, showing his bullying nature. “You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor Quidditch team? It’s people they feel sorry for. See, first there’s Potter, who’s got no parents—”
Harry frowned as he recalled witnessing Draco belittling other students he deemed unworthy of magic, but never imagined being targeted himself. Silently wondering why they were enemies in this world, Harry turned his attention back to the alternate Harry, whose murderous glare at Draco revealed the deep animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
The memory dissolved as swiftly as it arose, yielding to another unfolding before him. Harry discerned that Professor Severus Snape had been harsh on the other Harry, deducting points and dealing with him unfairly.
“Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything.” Snape sneered, appending, “A point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”
Another memory of Snape appeared, showing him snarling at a young student, “You—Potter—Why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.” This cruel, harsh Snape was unlike the kind godfather Harry knew, and it pained him to see Severus act so harshly towards students in this warped reality, clearly adept at ruining someone’s day.
Harry pondered speaking to his godfather Severus after completing his tasks. He wondered how Severus would respond if Harry asked him to consider becoming a professor at Hogwarts. Severus would likely scoff at the idea and call Harry crazy.
Harry observed numerous harsh punishments and detentions administered by unfamiliar professors he didn’t recognize. Some were severe, like the use of a blood quill.
“Yes, it hurts, doesn’t it?” a professor with a toad-like face taunted in a soft yet sinister voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up.
Harry stared in shock as he examined the words etched into the back of the other Harry’s hand: “I must not tell lies.” Blood oozed from the cuts, forming a gruesome reminder.
“Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn’t it?”
He had never seen such a sadistic quill used as a vicious punishment. Though disturbed by the horrific experience this other Harry endured, he felt grateful that he did not have such a cruel, vindictive professor at his own school. This toad-faced woman was an ominous stranger to him.
Another memory surfaced, and Harry saw people turn their backs on him instead of supporting him despite his talent. They called him a liar. But he caught the faintest sense that the hypocrites around him also lied and used him for their own gain. Unbeknownst to them, they had been deceived by hidden enemies.
“Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I did,” stated the man with a wooden leg, a magical eye, and a large chunk missing from his nose. His leer stretched into a deranged smile as he suddenly transformed into someone Harry distantly recognized as Barty Crouch Jr.
Harry was pleasantly surprised to discover this world also hosted Triwizard Tournaments, though he found this one excessively brutal. Was this why the other Harry was so famous in his own world? he wondered.
Then a different memory surfaced: “Sirius is being tortured NOW!” the other Harry had shouted.
“But if this is a trick of V-Voldemort’s—” Hermione, standing beside him, had stammered, looking extremely terrified.
Another memory surfaced, revealing Sirius Black falling through an archway as the other Harry collapsed to the ground, overcome with grief.
As Harry quietly wondered who Voldemort was, a memory suddenly appeared—an image of a man torturing and trying to kill another version of himself. Harry instantly knew this was Voldemort.
“Crucio!” Voldemort’s deep voice bellowed sadistically. “I asked whether you want me to do that again. Answer me! Imperio!”
Another memory rushed to flood his vision. “You won’t say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die… Perhaps another little dose of pain?” Harry saw the green glow of the Killing Curse taking lives.
Squinting, Harry sensed the deaths of many witches and wizards weighed heavily on the other Harry, who likely blamed himself. There must have been a war if Voldemort had tried to kill the other Harry as a baby. No wonder he was an orphan.
The last memory swirled into focus, settling on a candlelit room lined with rows of potions stacked high against the walls.
“Professor, is there any way to purify a corrupted soul?” Harry asked a short man with a silver walrus mustache.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he replied. “Creating a Horcrux is so evil that all information about the process was banned from the public. So I doubt any reference exists on mending a shattered soul under those conditions. To my knowledge, no one has ever tried to reverse that kind of damage.”
“Professor, if someone’s soul is tainted, how much would it shorten their lifespan? You said it would be drastic.”
“I can only assume it’s slow and agonizing, and you’d rather die swiftly as time passes.”
Suddenly, Harry was jolted back into the dim room as the shadowy figure severed their mental connection, dropping his hand and staring at Harry once more. In just minutes, Harry was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions. Though the figure’s tragic world made Harry grateful for his own life, Hermione’s words still haunted him. How could he be so sure which reality was true?
Harry met his counterpart’s gaze as the figure finally spoke, his voice flat and toneless: “Now that you’ve seen, which world will you choose?”
Harry noticed the figure remained emotionless as he asked his question, as if all the pains and sufferings were gone. Harry wondered if this was just part of the challenge he had to undergo, or if the figure had truly lost all remaining life.
Startled, Harry looked at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they tried to disrupt him.
“Harry, please hear us out first!” Hermione implored, tears streaming down her face.
Harry saw the desperation on their distressed faces. He wanted to let them in, but it was not his decision.
“We’re telling the truth!” Ron shouted, his voice strained.
“Please, believe us!” Ginny cried, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Just give us a chance to prove it to you.” Harry looked at them incredulously, surprised by this sudden shift. Though he normally enjoyed their torment, seeing them so broken and desperate now bothered him. Their raw emotion cracked through the facade they typically wore.
Hermione gripped the bars separating them from Harry so tightly her knuckles turned white, hysterical now as she pleaded with him. “The figure is only showing you selective memories to test you, Harry, but there are countless more happy ones that far outweigh the bad. You have friends who are like family now, who care for and support you. You inspire all of us. Please, believe in yourself and in us!”
Harry briefly remembered the Headmaster’s words. “Some situations will block your path. How you interpret and respond to difficulties will determine whether you can move forward. You’ll encounter your greatest fears, but don’t let fear cloud your judgment. Take control and stay focused.”
“You’ve faced your fears many times, Harry,” Ginny pleaded wretchedly, her hands flaring white as she clutched the bars, trying in vain to wrench them open wider, but to no avail. “This new reality you’re running from... Please don’t let it defeat you!”
Harry glanced at them and cocked his head. He wanted to believe them, but the life he now had seemed far more appealing. His parents lived, he had supportive friends, and no enemies tried to kill him. This life held everything he ever desired. How could he abandon this blissful reality for the torment of the other Harry’s existence?
Yet their desperate words rang true, resonating above all else.
“How do I choose?” Harry asked the figure. “What should I do?”
The shadowy figure raised its arm, levitating the fang into Harry’s open palm. “You have the power to erase me and continue living as you were, by piercing my form with this fang,” it rasped. “Or pierce yourself, and experience the life you glimpsed instead. The choice is yours.”
Harry’s eyes blazed with resolve; he had known all along which path he must take. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny watched in helpless horror, like caged animals straining futilely to break free and pull their friend from the jaws of fate.
“My time is too precious to waste on self-deception,” Harry said coldly, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the basilisk fang in his hand.
“Harry, please!” Hermione cried, her voice anguished. “Think beyond yourself!”
“So that’s it?” Ron demanded, his desperation hardening into anger. “You’ll let selfishness rule without considering the bigger picture?”
“Ron, stop!” Hermione pleaded. “You’re not helping!”
“I’ve heard enough, Weasley,” Harry sneered dismissively. “Don’t underestimate me.”
“Oh yeah?” Ron challenged, feet firmly planted, eyes boring into Harry’s. “We’ve stood by you all our lives. We’ve fought for what’s right. Your parents gave their lives to save yours. I swore I’d cherish those moments and stay with you to the end. Go ahead, take the easy way if you must, but no one finds happiness entirely inside their comfort zone, mate!”
“Harry,” Ginny said softly, “I know you’ve grown up with comfort and security here, and a difficult life is far from your mind because everything’s been handed to you. Even I would happily take such safety. But you’ve also glimpsed how different your life could have been without comfort. I know you’d never choose that other life, but here’s the thing—if you keep living this sheltered existence, you’ll never learn to fight for what matters. You’ll never grasp what’s truly worth fighting for, not nearly as much as you would in that harsher world.”
Ron and Hermione murmured agreement, but Harry just shook his head with a deep sigh.
“Ask yourself, Harry,” said Hermione pensively, her eyes on the floor. “Have you ever had someone you’d risk your life for?” If Harry heard her or cared about what she said, he gave no acknowledgement. He remained silent.
Struck dumb, Harry realized he had never considered having a real friend, though at least he had parents for whom he would risk his life. Still, he felt the absence of a vital part of himself.
Hermione’s emphatic words shattered the deafening silence. “We do have that, and it’s you,” she stated, conviction ringing in her voice. No clever argument, persuasive fact, or theory could dent her pithy pronouncement, not even for Harry, who jerked his head up in surprise. Leaning against the unyielding bars, Hermione visibly drained of energy as she surrendered her fight against the magic barrier.
“Why would you choose me?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.
“You’re our friend. I know you would do the same for us,” Ron replied simply.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you already have, many times,” said Ginny. “You’ve saved us all before.”
“And now we’re saving you,” Hermione added with a faint smile. “No matter the cost.”
“But why risk yourselves for me?”
“Because you’re family to us,” Ginny said softly. “We love you that much.”
Harry shook his head. He was tired of listening to their claims about friendship. There was no proof to support them. Though convincing, their words gave him only false hope for fleeting relationships. He had to make them stop spouting this pointless rubbish. He had heard enough.
“No!” he shouted defiantly, gripping the basilisk fang tightly, ready to strike.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gasped in horror as Harry raised his weapon toward the lone figure and—
“NOOO!” Ginny screamed while Hermione wept into her hands. Ron stood frozen in shock.
To be continued...