If Paths Diverge

Chapter 14

Harry chewed on the tip of his quill, the feather tickling his lips. Number seven, down, Dies and reborn from ashes.

Easy. Voldemort. Huh. And me, I suppose.

Harry grimaced and wrote, Phoenix.

The next one was harder, Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as what? Damnit. He really ought to have paid attention in Potions class.

If he hadn't scared away Hermione and pissed off Ginny, he could have asked one of them. As it was...

He put down the crossword just as the door to his room burst open and Kingsley entered, looking harassed. He threw up a privacy ward and strode to Harry's bed.

"Voldemort killed one of his guards," he said harshly, without preamble.

"What?" Harry gasped, completely thrown. "How? What about his collar?"

Kingsley nodded, looking grim.

"I don't know how he did it, but he accessed his magic while wearing the collar, which was something I did not think possible."

"Wait— where is he now? Has he escaped?"

Harry sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, but Kingsley put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"He's asleep. I've had someone in to repair his collar and hopefully even bulk it up more, but now that he's done it once, it's certain he will do so again."

"But— how did you get him to sleep? If he had his magic back, he... You said he would be gone."

Kingsley shook his head and swiped the chair with his leg, sitting down heavily with a sigh.

"The collar has a stopgap, remember? I told you before. I can knock him unconscious in an emergency if he is still wearing it but manages to access some magic. It was down in the literature, but apparently it has never happened before. No one breaks through it."

Harry nodded. Of course Voldemort would. And now that he had done it once, it would only be a matter of time until he was free.

For twelve years Voldemort had been controlled at the Ministry, and for twelve years Harry had cobbled together the illusion of a life. Yet in less than a month, Voldemort had managed to kill a guard and was close to escape and Harry's life was in shambles. It was as if they were each a flame set against the other's waiting fuse.

"Harry," Kingsley said, his tone imploring and low, "I need you to kill him."

Harry recoiled.

"What? I can't."

"You must. The prophecy said you alone could defeat him."

Harry stared at his friend, his breath staggered, his heart hammering. No. He could not do it.

Kingsley looked away, gritting his teeth and then faced Harry once more, determined.

"I know your relationship with the man is complicated." These words seemed to cost the Minister something. "I know he affects you. You have... an attachment to him, for whatever reason. But Harry, he is poised to escape. Right now. Whatever you feel for him, surely your ethical drive will compel you to save your friends once more. He will escape. He is about to. And you are the only one who can stop him."

Harry had no idea what to say. Of course he wanted his friends safe, but... how could he kill a man he had come to... care about? A man that was beaten and abused, alone, terrified...