The handsome Harry Potter sat in his room. Now that his cousin Dudley had been dealt with, the Death Eaters had left nothing behind of the Dursley father and son.
Only Aunt Petunia remained in the household, serving as little more than a maid. To Harry, this seemed perfectly natural—he had lived like this once before.
Moreover, keeping Petunia alive allowed the blood protection to remain in effect. That protection did not safeguard Harry alone; it also shielded the fragment of Voldemort's soul fused within him.
Harry sat deep in thought, considering how to deal with his enemies.
Dumbledore, cunning and shrewd, always seemed to do nothing, yet at the crucial moment would intervene and ultimately seize victory.
As for the former Death Eaters who later turned traitor, Voldemort would have destroyed them utterly without hesitation.
But this Harry Potter, handsome and calculating, was considering whether he could allow them the chance to return to his side under certain conditions.
Lucius Malfoy was the perfect example. Accidentally discovered by his followers, Lucius quickly surrendered when confronted. Soon after, he presented a plan driven both by self-interest and the desire for credit: assassinate Arthur Weasley, a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
He succeeded. His actions gained him recognition from all the Death Eaters, and those who joined him vented much of their pent-up rage. After Azkaban, being cooped up in the Dursley household had been unbearable for them.
Death Eaters did not fear death, but they did fear being forgotten. They needed bold actions to boost morale and achieve goals that served their own interests.
After long deliberation, Harry finally made up his mind.
"Lucius, I need a memory from you—the last memory you have of Arthur Weasley. It must be from your perspective, and you cannot appear in it."
Harry's demand was not unreasonable. For a seasoned wizard like Lucius, modifying memories was no challenge, and guarding secrets was second nature.
"Professor McGonagall, this is an urgent letter from Harry Potter. He insists on returning to Hogwarts during the holidays."
Dumbledore received Harry's letter. Living at the old Black residence, Harry had been unable to sleep, plagued by frequent nightmares, the recent ones especially horrifying.
In his dreams, he stood by coldly, watching Arthur Weasley beaten to death in a parking lot. The scene was gruesome, yet Harry only looked on. He wasn't powerless—he simply chose not to act, even though he could have intervened in the dream.
Sirius Black also wrote a letter, echoing Harry's concerns, urging Dumbledore to look into it.
"This shows that the Dark Lord inside Harry is affecting him. Ever since the Dementor attack removed the seal on his arm, it has surely weakened Harry's resistance."
"Yes, I agree," Dumbledore said, adjusting his half-moon glasses as light flickered across them. "Two minds within one body… it's difficult for outsiders to see which dominates. But from the content of the letters, it's very possible Harry was actually present when Arthur Weasley's death occurred."
"Does this mean Voldemort might take control of Harry's body at times? How will this child ever face the Weasley family?" McGonagall's voice trembled at the thought. Even if the Dark Lord had been in control, Harry would still be held responsible for Arthur's death.
The memory originally belonged to Lucius Malfoy, but after slight alterations it became Harry's memory instead. Voldemort had deliberately ceded control to Harry, ensuring he would break under the weight of it. Tormented, Harry desperately sought help from the one man most likely to provide it: Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, what's happening to me?"
When McGonagall brought Harry back to Hogwarts, he burst into tears. The thought that he might be Voldemort himself, and perhaps had even led the attack that killed Ron's father, nearly shattered him.
"The truth isn't clear yet. This may be nothing more than an illusion crafted by the Dark Lord to break your spirit. If your mind falters, he will seize the advantage."
Dumbledore gently patted Harry's head, offering comfort.
"Headmaster, you summoned me?"
Snape drifted into the office like a ghost, eyeing the early-returned Harry with surprise. McGonagall's presence made it clear this was Gryffindor business, so why was he, the head of Slytherin, involved?
"Severus, I have a task for you—one only you can accomplish. You must teach Harry Potter Occlumency."
Snape, master of mental defenses, was the only one capable of passing on this skill. Without Occlumency, he could never have served as the Order's spy among the Death Eaters.
With a sharp tug, Snape dragged the reluctant Harry to his laboratory, where cauldrons of potion simmered. No wonder he had been annoyed when summoned—he looked like a man pulled away from a boiling kettle of milk.
With a sigh, Snape waved his wand, adjusting the flames beneath the cauldrons.
"Your mind is likely linked with the Dark Lord's. Whatever he does, or even thinks, you may sense. But you must learn to distinguish illusion from reality, truth from deception."
When his work was finished, Snape turned, his gaze on Harry as cold as if he were already dead.
"Frankly, I doubt you'll ever master Occlumency. You're far too emotional. How can a child who cries so easily ever control his thoughts and feelings?"
He raised a hand to silence Harry's protest.
"I will attack you with Legilimency. You must resist, keep your mind strong, and block me."
Not once did Snape bother to exchange words with him beyond instruction. To him, Harry was nothing more than a target.
"Legilimens!"
Snape's wand flared, and Harry was dragged into a storm of memories.
Fragments tumbled one after another—childhood curiosity, school friendships, the thrill of Quidditch, the grief of the Triwizard Tournament, and now the crushing guilt of Arthur Weasley's death.
"You must hold on to your consciousness. Don't let me plunder your memories so easily. Frankly, what I've seen already disgusts me."
Snape ended the spell, his verdict harsh and scathing: disgusting.
"Don't you dare call my life disgusting! I won't allow it!"
No one could bear hearing their life dismissed as revolting. But that was Snape's method: provoke Harry's defiance, fuel his will, and force him to grow stronger.
Without a hardened spirit, Occlumency was impossible. And true strength rarely came from joy—it was forged in pain. Insults, bullying, ridicule, the loss of faith, of love, of hope. If a person endured all of it without breaking, their mind would become unshakable.
This was the way Snape taught: through bitter empathy, driving Harry to resist.
"Legilimens!"
Without pause, Snape cast again. This time the assault was worse. Every memory fragment now bore Voldemort's shadow.
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