The Lord of the Stone

India

The umpire raised his finger slowly and there was tumultuous applause from the watching crowd.

'And that's the end of Patel's innings!' came a voice over the loudspeakers. 'The Tigers must now bring out their final batsman - Harry Johnson!'

It was a blisteringly hot day in a large park reasonably far away from Harry's house. The sun was high up in the cloudless sky, and a reasonable crowd had assembled to see a cricket match between two of the local teams, the Tigers and the Serpents.

Harry grinned as he stepped out on to the pitch, wild applause from the Tigers' supporters ringing in his ears. He waved his bat in the air, acknowledging them, and moved towards the middle of the oval. One of the umpires - Harry's head teacher at school, John Harvey, and the Tigers' coach - smiled at him as he passed.

'Good luck to you, young Harry,' he said, and Harry grinned again. Harvey could well live in India for another thirty years and he'd still never lose his Irish accent.

'And what a finish we're going to see today,' the commentator continued. 'There are only two overs left for these promising young batsmen to gain the twenty-three runs the Tigers need for victory.'

Harry got into position behind the crease and adjusted his helmet, nodding to his team mate and school friend Steven Finch, who was leaning nonchalantly on his bat at the other end of the pitch.

As the bowler walked backwards to take his run up, Harry felt a familiar rush of excitement course through him, the one he always experienced when playing sports. He gripped his bat tightly and stood waiting. The ball came hurtling towards him, but he was ready - putting his left foot forward, he swung forwards with all his might and felt the ball strike his bat cleanly. He watched it sail towards the boundary and grinned.

'And Johnson hits a four on his very first ball! Nineteen runs to go!' Harry turned briefly and saw that the Tigers' supporters were on their feet, cheering. He could do this...

The second ball, however, caught him off his guard. It whizzed towards him at such a speed that he was forced to play a defensive shot. The ball trickled harmlessly to the feet of the nearest fielder, who gave the bowler a supportive smile when throwing it back to him. The next ball was similar, but Harry was able to put enough power into it to make one run.

As Steven stepped up to face his ball, Harry, at the bowler's end, felt a little fluttering in his stomach. Steven wasn't really a batter; he was a bowler, and a very good one at that. But this wasn't his area of expertise - and Harry really wanted to win.

'Come on, Ste,' he muttered under his breath, as the bowler took his run up. Steven lunged for the ball, but missed it by a couple of inches. The wicket keeper caught it deftly and gave his bowler a thumbs-up. There was a slight 'ohh' from the crowd.

The next time, though, Steven's aim was true. Harry barely had time to register his astonishment at Steven actually hitting the ball before the Tigers supporters were on their feet, shouting madly. Both umpires held their hands up in indication of a six - Steven hadn't just hit the ball; he'd almost knocked it into the crowd. The supporters took some calming down, but eventually they quietened for the last ball of the over.

As Steven missed the last ball horribly, Harry found his mind wandering. The Serpents had assembled at one end of the pitch and were now huddled together, muttering amongst themselves. Harry could vaguely see his feet trailing towards the batter's end of the pitch, but he wasn't concentrating on them. He was thinking about his dreams; he'd been having peculiar dreams now for the best part of three weeks. He remembered reading a strange book long ago about what dreams meant, but his current subconscious imaginings were quite beyond his understanding.

Hermione. Who was she? The question had been plaguing him over the last fortnight and a half. In every dream, he found himself walking with this girl - and very pretty, she was, too - as though he knew her, as if she was an old friend. He hadn't even mentioned these things to Sam - he had a feeling she wouldn't take them entirely seriously.

Something jerked him back into his surroundings. It had almost felt like he was being pulled back into that dream world, but the park was back, the bright sunlight spersing the trees. The commentator was speaking again.

'This game is going to have a fantastic climax! The Serpents are up, but by a mere twelve runs - can the Tigers snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in this final over?'

The Tigers supporters went mad at this promising announcement, and Harry had to laugh at some of the things he could hear them shouting. He steadied himself, though, and sharpened his concentration. They only needed two runs per ball...

He gripped his bat tightly once again as the bowler took his run up. The Serpents had changed and brought out their spin bowler for the last over. He launched the ball towards Harry with a sharp twist of his wrist. THWACK! The ball made contact with Harry's bat and flew towards the boundary. The fans around the ground waited breathlessly - was it going to drop before it reached... no! The Tigers supporters leapt to their feet as both umpires declared a six. Harry felt a weight lift inside him. Only six runs to go...

The bowler tried something different on his next ball - Harry was forced to hit across his offside. However, he made another clean contact. The ball trickled to a halt just beyond the boundary, and the noise, for such a small band of followers, was incredible. The Tigers only needed two runs from four balls to win the match!

Harry watched as the Serpents' captain walked over to talk to his bowler. They talked quietly for a couple of seconds, and then the captain returned to his position on the field. The bowler had a resolute expression on his face as he turned for a run up.

This time the bowler managed to get a better spin on the ball. It jumped across and narrowly missed the wickets. Harry's heart clenched as it sped past him, and he was extremely relieved that it only hit the wicket keeper's gloves. Close one, he thought.

There were three balls to go, and only two runs to get. The tension around the ground was mounting. The crowd was completely silent as the bowler ran up to deliver his fourth ball. It was a good one. Harry was forced to play a defensive shot, and there was some murmuring in the stands.

Harry, help us.

Harry almost fell over in shock. He'd unmistakeably heard a voice in his head, and a voice that sounded very familiar. Eyes widening, he saw that the bowler was coming at him again. Concentrate, he thought.

Harry, why can't you hear us?

It shook him. His concentration was ripped away from the game as the ball passed him and again just missed the wickets. Harry tried to steady himself, but he could feel a drop of sweat running down his forehead. There was only one more ball to be played, and they had to get two runs.

Harry, we need y -

Leave me alone! Harry thought furiously, trying with all his might to draw his mind away from the voices in his head (which he was sure he was imagining anyway) and back onto the match. Steven was shooting him a concerned glance from the other end of the pitch. Harry could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead, and adjusted his helmet slightly.

The crowd around the pitch was not moving a muscle. Every eye was fixed on the small red sphere in the bowler's left hand. Even the Tigers supporters with banners were not waving them around. They were watching. Waiting.

It all happened very quickly. The bowler took his run up and seemed almost to dislocate his wrist as he let it fly towards Harry. Harry leaned backwards slightly - careful not to go too far back - and let his bat swing forward. There was a crack as the ball met Harry's bat and he watched as the ball streaked off towards the boundary. But it wasn't going to reach...

'Steven, run!' he shouted, as he sped from his crease. Steven did the same. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that one of the fielders had almost reached the ball. He put on another spurt. Reaching the far end, he swivelled and headed back in the other direction, when he suddenly heard shouts and screams from the crowd. What was going on?

The answer to this soon presented itself. Steven was standing perfectly still at the batter's end, and the Tigers still needed another run. Meanwhile, the Serpents' fielder had reached the ball.

'Steven!' Harry shouted, livid. 'Run!'

Steven looked up at him helplessly as he drew nearer. 'I can't,' he said, looking for all the world like a lost child. Harry stared. 'I can't move my legs, Harry. They've been frozen in place, honestly! They just...'

But the rest of what he might have been about to say was drowned out as the Serpents' bowler triumphantly caught the ball and knocked over Harry's wickets. Harry stood next to Steven, stunned, as the Serpents' other fielders joined their bowler in the centre of the pitch.

'AND THE SERPENTS WIN IT!' the commentator screamed. 'What an incredible finish that was!' The Serpents' supporters were jumping up and down, cheering. The Tigers' fans looked shell-shocked; they had been so close to victory.

'Steven!' roared a voice from behind Steven and Harry. Both wheeled around to see the Tigers' captain, Adrian Taylor, striding towards them. Every step he took seemed to make the ground shake; steam was practically coming out of his ears. 'Why the hell didn't you run?!'

'I tried to, Adrian, but -'

'You know what, I don't want to hear it. There is no law of nature or otherwise that could possibly have stopped you running then, unless the Serpents have started practising magic.' He threw a dirty look at the celebrating fielders before continuing. 'Had a chat with you before the game, did they, Ste? Wanted to make sure they wouldn't be going home empty-handed?'

Steven cottoned on to what Adrian was saying and lunged forward, squaring up to the captain. 'I don't care what you think -' he spat, and he was a good four inches taller than Adrian. 'But how dare you suggest I fixed the game, you upstart little piece of -'

'Shut up, both of you,' said Harry wearily, stepping between them. Despite being disappointed at not winning the game, Harry could not remain irate for very long over something so superficial. He made them stand down from one another. 'Steven, Adrian is not accusing you of cheating, he's just annoyed because of the game. Adrian -' He hesitated. If Steven hadn't cheated (which Harry was actually quite sure of; Steven was an honest person), why hadn't he run? There was no explanation for it. 'I'm sure that whatever Steven did, he didn't mean it.'

'Look, Adrian,' said Steven, in a calmer tone. 'Cricket means every bit as much to me as it does to you. I wanted to get to that final as much as anyone else. So when I found myself physically unable to run, what do you reckon I was thinking?'

Adrian frowned. 'It doesn't add up, Ste. I know you're the least likely person to rig a game -' He shot his team mate an apologetic look. 'But still. Should we ask for an appeal?'

Harry sighed. 'Why bother, Adrian? You can't ask to have a cricket game replayed on the grounds that the laws of physics were temporarily reversed against your favour. There's no logical explanation for what happened. Did you suddenly feel really tired, Ste?'

'I felt perfectly normal, Harry. Except my feet seemed to be nailed to the floor. I couldn't move them an inch.'

'But they're all right now?' Adrian asked. Steven lifted his foot from the ground and nodded. 'Bloody hell. I'd like to see you convince Harvey how you did this.'

The man in question came over at that moment. 'Bad luck, boys,' he said, looking unusually grave. 'Steven, Harry - a word?' Adrian left them to rejoin the rest of the team, who were sitting near the stands looking as forlorn as possible. The Serpents and their fans were still celebrating on the pitch, whereas most of the Tigers' fans had left. Harry sighed again, and followed his headmaster and friend.

When Harvey started to speak, Harry got the impression he was very uncomfortable about something. 'Now, lads, you played good games, both of you.' The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, and he fixed Steven with his blue eyes. 'Now, Steven, tell me exactly what happened on that last ball.'

Steven explained again, assuring his coach that of course he had tried to run, his feet simply hadn't complied. Harvey, instead of looking disbelieving as Harry had expected, looked even graver about this.

'I believe you, Steven,' he said, after thinking for a few minutes. 'In fact, I am sure you're telling the truth.' Harry was unsurprised to see shock registered on Steven's face. Obviously he had expected Harvey not to believe him as well. 'Well, thanks Steven. Go and get changed, lad, Adrian will have explained everything to the others. Be off with you.' Steven left for the changing room as Harvey turned to Harry.

'You played some great shots, there, Harry. Although you seemed a bit distracted on the last few balls. Is everything all right?' Harry glanced up into the blue eyes of his coach and bit his lip. Harvey may well have accepted Steven's story, but there was no way he'd believe that Harry had been hearing voices in his head.

'Yes, sir, everything's fine.'

Harvey's face relaxed visibly. 'All right then.' He glanced around. 'But watch yourself, all right, Harry? Not everyone around here is as friendly as you might first think. And another thing - try and stay calm, OK? I thought you did a good job containing yourself today, but, ah - yes, stay relaxed.'

Harry blinked. He was one of the most laid back people in the area; why was he being told to stay calm? Still, not wanting to question his coach's advice, he nodded. Harvey smiled briefly for the first time.

'Good stuff, then, get off to the changing rooms. I'll see you for practice next week.'

Harry walked away from his coach, thinking. How had Steven been frozen in position, and why had Harvey believed his story without question? And what did any of that have to do with Harry staying relaxed? Why had he been able to hear voices in his head during the match? It all brought him back to the first odd thing that had happened: why had he started sharing dreams with a girl called Hermione?

It just didn't make any sense.

*

Tommy came to pick Harry up about half an hour later. He was driving his blue sports car, something that Louise was constantly complaining about.

'"Tommy, when are you going to clean that car? It's filthy - and secondly, stop parking behind me on the drive because it means I'm blocked in in the morning..." She's a nightmare, Harry. Honestly, you're a wise man for not buying a car, even if you can drive,' Tommy said as they drove home. It was still quite light, but the shadows were lengthening as the sun went down. Momentarily pausing his tirade about Louise, Tommy remembered something.

'Oh, your missus called. She wants you to go over and give her a -'

'Tommy,' said Harry, punching his brother on the arm. Tommy would probably have retorted had he not been steering.

'Here, don't do that, you'll kill us all,' said Tommy. 'No, seriously, she did call. She wants you to go over to hers when you get back, for something or other.'

Harry blinked. 'But hold on - she's away for the weekend, with her grandparents. There's no one in at her house.'

Tommy frowned. 'Well, it was definitely her on the phone. Think we should check it out together?'

Harry agreed, so Tommy changed direction and headed for the Prior residence.

*

When they pulled up at the front of the house, it certainly looked deserted. Sam's parents had gone on a trip to Europe at any rate, so they wouldn't be back for at least a few days. Frowning, Harry and Tommy walked up to the front door. Harry was about to ring the doorbell, but Tommy held his arm back.

'Don't,' he whispered.

They stepped back from the door and looked up. Every curtain was shut and every light had been turned off. The front lawn looked unkempt and overgrown, as though it had not been cut for weeks.

'There's no one here,' Harry said. 'This is how they always leave the house when they're away. So why did Sam call?'

Tommy frowned, and started to wring his hands together. Harry recognised this trait, the one Tommy displayed whenever he was nervous.

'What do we do?' They considered the house in front of them. It seemed calm - too calm, almost. The road was extremely quiet - it was as though all the residents had gone on holiday, not just the Priors.

'Hey, Harry, come and look at this.' Tommy was bending over something on the drive. It was a small piece of paper - it looked like someone had dropped a note in his or her haste to get somewhere - or someone. Tommy picked it up and they both pored over it.

K,

Dark Lord was delighted to hear you've found The One. You have authorisation to continue with Stage Two. The girl must not be killed. Take extreme caution. Good luck.

-N

Harry jumped. 'This is a secret message!' he hissed. 'Whoever these people are, K and D - they're doing something to Sam. We have to stop them!'

Tommy shook his head. 'It's not as simple as that. What's all this business about a "Dark Lord", and "The One"?'

'I bet they're codenames!' Harry said.

'But why would they need to find anyone around here? Nobody's parents are into anything that risky, except maybe -' He stopped, and looked closely at Harry. He started to say something but then stopped again. There was a brief pause.

'What did your real parents do, Harry?' Tommy finally asked. Harry glanced at his brother and then at the sheet again.

'What, you think these people are looking for me, or something?'

Tommy looked uncomfortable. 'You never know ... this letter seems to concern your best friend, though. Bit of a coincidence.'

'But why would any want to look for me? What have I ever done?'

'That's just it - it may be people who knew your parents. You don't know what they did?'

'I don't know anything about my real parents, Tommy. I don't even know their names.'

There was another pause. Tommy still looked troubled, but Harry focused himself again.

'Look, we should check out the house. Sam could be in trouble - we'll talk about this later.' Tommy nodded, and the two of them approached the house again. They were just about to knock on the front door when a scream pierced through the air. It had come from the back of the house.

Harry and Tommy looked at each other in alarm, before moving at the same time. They headed to the side of the house, and Tommy gave Harry a bunk over the tall fence. He landed smoothly on the other side and crept around the side of the house, letting his brother get over on his own. There was a muffled voice coming from somewhere ahead of him.

'Please, stop. No, please, I - help me! No, ahh -' Samantha's voice was cut off. Harry leaned up close to the wall, bemused, and put his head around it.

Samantha was leaning against the back door of her house, looking as though she had been beaten quite badly. Next to her was a man in a thick black cloak, and he was - no! Harry's pupils dilated as he realised what the man in the cloak was doing. Samantha's t-shirt was lying torn on the floor, and Harry could clearly see that very little of her was left to the imagination.

Blinding rage coursed through him. He had never felt such pure anger. He could not believe it - he refused to believe that something like that was happening to - to Sam, of all people. Concentrating solely on the black figure before him, he stepped forward. He did not consider the danger that might be involved; his one thought was to kill the black-cloaked figure as quick as humanly possible.

'GET OFF HER!' he shouted, still advancing. The black figure turned, shocked, and stared at Harry. Harry did not notice Sam's look of relief; he kept his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the man who had been - he felt a wave of horror shake him - assaulting Sam.

It was then that he noticed a small strip of wood in the man's hand. The man, who still looked completely stunned, finally muttered something. White light issued from the wood in his hand and headed straight for Harry - but he felt nothing. It bounced off him harmlessly.

It was then that the man tried to run. But Harry wasn't having that.

He sprinted after the man and grabbed him around the legs. He had the strangest feeling that he was almost radiating the anger that he felt. The man's eyes were wide as he fell to the ground, and he looked completely horror-struck.

'How dare you!' said Harry, punching the man, hard. 'HOW DARE YOU?!' With strength he didn't know he possessed he hit the man again and again, raining punches down on him. He had never been this angry before. How could someone treat a girl - let alone his best friend - in that foul way? He waited until the man was fully unconscious before standing up. Wiping a speck of blood from his hand, he stood up and turned, his eyes still blazing.

Tommy was coming towards him, looking almost as stunned as the black-cloaked figure had done.

'Bloody hell, Harry - how did you do this to him? I knew you were a good fighter, but -' He leaned down to inspect the man more closely. 'He's alive, but not very. I think you might have broken his ribs, let alone given him a concussion.'

Harry did not even blink. He turned away from Tommy and the intruder and stepped over to where Sam was standing, shaking visibly.

'Oh Harry,' she said, launching herself into his arms. He held her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. 'It was - I - I couldn't stop him. He just kept - over and over -'

'Shhh,' said Harry. 'It's all right. You're safe now.'

Whilst Harry and Sam held each other close, Tommy had a look at the stick the man had been carrying. His mind was reeling - not purely at the discovery of what had been happening to Sam, but also at the intense strength his brother had just displayed. He had seen Harry angry often enough, but never like that. He was scared, almost - could adrenalin alone produce that kind of power? He looked up at his brother and Sam - they were both calmer, now. Poor Sam, he thought. It'll take a long time for her to get over this. He felt his own surge of anger and looked at the prostrate figure on the ground.

'You sick fuck,' he said, under his breath. 'You're lucky to be alive.'

He picked up the piece of wood again, and, as if he'd always meant to do it, snapped it in half. Standing up, he kicked the body on the floor soundly and turned to look at the other two, who seemed to be clinging onto one another for dear life.

'We came in time,' he croaked to himself, as a tear glistened on his cheek. He tried to smile. 'You saved her, Harry.'

*

Hungary

Hermione sat alone on a large, moss-covered rock. She was tired. She, Sirius and János had managed to get quite far through Hungary in a short amount of time. Yawning, she cast her eyes across the wide landscape, inhaling the sharp scent of citrus.

She smiled. It was quite a nice evening, really. The moon cast shadows on the countless stars twinkling overhead. She heard soft footsteps from behind her and turned her head lazily. She felt warm and content as János slipped his arms around her.

'It's nice, isn't it?' she said. János did not reply. 'Are you all right?'

She turned to look at him, and was surprised to see him looking troubled. 'Something evil approaches,' he said, his eyes oddly subdued.

Hermione hugged him affectionately. 'Don't fret, János. Sirius is keeping watch over us. And besides, we're nearly out of Hungary. Once we get to Romania we can try and locate a werewolf.'

He smiled, and it lit his face up considerably. 'It is just over a week until the full moon,' he said, glancing upward. 'Do you think we will get there in time?'

'I'm sure we will,' Hermione said, leaning back against his chest. They sat like that for a few minutes, gazing up at the stars. There was a breath of wind passing through the trees, but it was warm. Hermione was about to say something when János suddenly tensed.

He jumped to his feet, almost knocking Hermione to hers. As she stumbled, he looked around wildly.

'What?' she whispered. 'What is it?'

He did not hear her question - or he did not answer it, at least. He stood petrified, as though a host of enemies was bearing down on him from every direction. His eyes were roving across the surroundings at an incredible speed.

'Go back to Sirius,' he hissed. 'I will not be long.'

Hermione acquiesced; she knew it was wisest to take János' counsel when he sensed impending danger. She turned to say something to him, but he had disappeared. It was as though he had simply melted into the shadows. Shivering at a sudden breeze, Hermione set off to the camp, a few minutes away, where Sirius was planning their route.

*

'All right?' she said as she sat down next to Sirius. He gave her a relieved look.

'Well, I'm glad you're back. Where's János?'

Hermione's insides writhed. She knew Sirius, in her position, would not have let János wander off alone. On the contrary, he probably would have gone with him.

'I think he went to get some more wood,' she said, looking directly at Sirius. Fortunately, he took her story without question. She felt a distinct squirm of guilt - lying to Sirius was not her favourite pastime.

'I hope he comes back soon,' Sirius said, talking as much to himself as to Hermione. 'It's getting more dangerous, Hermione. I've a feeling there may be something or someone on our trail. And even if we find our way to Romania -' He paused.

'What about it?' Hermione said. 'It'll be all right, won't it? I mean, there aren't any Death Eaters there.'

'Just because a Death Eater doesn't want to enter Romania, it doesn't mean that he can't,' Sirius said, sighing. 'But that's not the real danger...' He paused again.

'Sirius? What's the problem?'

'I made a miscalculation, Hermione,' he said, looking up at her dully. 'By the time we get to Romania, it's going to be the full moon.'

'I know,' Hermione said, surprised. 'János told me earlier, and...' But then she clocked onto what Sirius was saying. Before, she had only thought of the werewolves in terms of helping János. Now the danger of the situation hit her.

'It's not just the werewolves,' Sirius said. 'The full moon is the time when most magic beasts are at their strongest. And we have to cross a country full of them.'

'What can we do?' she said.

'Well, we can't stay here, that much I'm sure of. Unfortunately, the land becomes more heavily guarded the more progress we make.'

'Why can't we wing Romania, then?'

Sirius gave a derisive laugh. 'Too risky,' he said. 'And you'll draw attention to yourself. And Romania doesn't have the best terrain for winging. No - we shall have to walk through. As much as I like János, he's slowing us down considerably.'

'Then why can't we trust him?'

'Hermione, we've known him less than a week. It took us - James, Remus, Peter and me - several years before we felt we could tell someone. The number of arguments James and Lily had over it...' He assumed the faraway look he always had when thinking of his Hogwarts days.

'All right - but still, I'm glad we found him.'

Sirius smiled. 'I know.'

Hermione glanced at him. 'It seems like months since we left Switzerland, doesn't it?' She looked up at the sky. 'I hope Harry's OK,' she said aloud, though she hadn't really meant to. It was funny - the sky was one of the few things they shared. Wherever Harry was, whatever he was doing - he would always be under the same sky, night or day. It was a consoling thought.

'What was he like?'

Sirius looked up. Hermione was regarding him with an expression of interest and sadness. 'Who, Harry?'

Hermione nodded. 'You were his godfather for a year, Sirius. You must have seen a fair bit of him.' Sirius had never actually talked about the time when James, Lily and Harry Potter had all lived as a family.

'Where to begin...' he muttered, as hundreds of memories came flooding into his mind. 'All right, first let me tell you about the little village they lived in. Godric's Hollow, it was called; James thought this was because...'

They spoke for hours, without noticing the time. Sirius regaled Hermione with stories of Harry's childhood, between July 1980 and October 1981.

'They had us over for lunch that day,' Sirius wheezed. He hadn't laughed so much since the time he was describing. 'And James, he was cooking. This was the famous chef James Potter, of course, who had difficulties with toast. Anyway, he left Peter and me with Harry whilst he tried in vain to - what was it now? Boil potatoes, maybe. Anyway, Peter and I got caught up chatting and didn't notice that Harry had left the room. He couldn't half crawl! Turn your back for a second and he'd be gone, just like that. James always wanted to see him on a broomstick...' He allowed his memories to waver for a moment, and the cheerful atmosphere was almost broken. 'But anyway,' he said, returning to his original story. 'James was getting into a right muddle in the kitchen - Lily had persuaded him to cook the Muggle way, she said it tasted better - and he'd left his wand on the side...' He laughed. 'James' face, when he stormed into the living room...' Sirius attempted to compo! se himself.

'He came in, Harry under one arm and several potatoes under the other. Anyway - he had a huge hole on his jumper - vile, that jumper was. Lily and I had been on at him to get rid of it for ages. Apparently, because of two irresponsible idiots, Harry had managed to escape, get James' wand, and set his poor Dad on fire.' Sirius barely got out his last sentence; he was so choked with laughter. 'Ohh, James' face was worth a million Galleons, I tell you. Meanwhile, Harry was very pleased with himself over the whole affair. Didn't stop giggling. And it was even better when Lily walked in about fifteen minutes later ...' He stopped talking - he was now doubled over with laughter. Wiping a tear from his eye, he grinned at Hermione.

'That was brilliant. Although it was one of the last times I saw Harry...'

Sobering, he sat up again. 'That must have been the end of summer 1981. Around two months before Lily and James were killed.'

Hermione glanced at Sirius, surprised. It was the first time he had said it without trailing off. Perhaps it had done him some good to think about the times they'd spent together.

Sirius glanced at his watch. It was late. They'd been speaking for a very long time, although he hadn't noticed it. 'I'm sure Harry's doing fine, wherever he is,' he said to Hermione.

She smiled.

'I suppose we should get some sleep,' Sirius said. 'Tough day tomorrow.'

'What about János?'

Sirius sighed. 'He'll find his way back. Don't worry about him. He may be - well, you know. But he can take care of himself, that much I'm sure of.' He yawned and transformed, before padding away a short distance and lying down to sleep. Hermione smiled to herself - evidently Sirius cared more about getting a decent night's sleep than János discovering his ability. Then again, it would be dark once she put the fire out.

She did so, but did not transform. Instead she transfigured her thick coat into a sleeping bag, and shuffled into it. She put all thoughts out of her mind, and fell asleep quickly.

*

'Hermione? Hermione, wake up.'

Someone was calling her name. Hermione rolled over. The ground beneath her was damp, and an earthy smell filled her nostrils. Blinking back sleep, she looked up and saw a familiar pair of blue eyes.

'János!' she hissed, sitting up. 'Where were you?'

'I was thinking - alone,' he replied, looking straight at her. Hermione could sense that he was excited about something - indeed, his eyes danced with a new flame, as though he had long been waiting for this moment. He smiled. 'Will you come with me? I have a surprise.'

Hermione hesitated. Should she wake Sirius? She'd promised after Austria not to wander too far from him. On the other hand, waking him would reveal to János that Sirius was an Animagus. Also, she trusted János. She stood up and cast off her sleeping bag. Transfiguring it back into her cloak, she put it on.

János offered her his hand and she took it. It was much cooler now, and very dark. Very little moonlight reached the mossy ground of the wood they were resting in. A sense of excitement began to well up in Hermione as János led her on, his warm hand sealed over her cold one.

They walked in silence. Hermione could not keep track of their path - over a small stream, past countless trees, under a bridge... all she could deduce was that they were climbing. She remained in the dark until eventually they emerged in a very enclosed spot, where the trees were thicker and more tangled. Hermione gasped.

Unlike every other part of the wood, this area was not gloomy. Hermione gazed around it in awe - it seemed that on every tree branch there was a very small bright light, as though candles had been attached to every leaf. They twinkled like stars, illuminating the whole area. It was mesmerising.

'János - I don't ... it's beautiful.'

'So are you,' János whispered back, and Hermione felt her insides melt. She knew what was going to happen, but did nothing to prevent it. He moved towards her and pressed his lips against hers, drowning out her conscious thoughts. It was strange - he seemed to be kissing her with much more ardour than he had previously. She could taste his desperate longing, and desire.

She arched her back and kissed him back with equal fervour. She had never felt this free - this alive. Something began to build up in her, an incredible, dizzying feeling. With a moan, Hermione Granger did something she had never done before. Cutting off the passages in her mind to reason, sense and doubt, she allowed herself to be taken by pleasure.

*

Harry sat in the little park on his own. The day was just breaking, and several birds whizzed overhead. He frowned - she was usually here by now. Sighing, he stood up and walked towards the crystal fountain, humming to himself. She would show up soon...

*

When Hermione woke from a dreamless sleep she was struck by how cold it was. As she lay with her eyes closed, though, the memory of what had transpired the previous night hit her full force. Instinctively she reached out to her side - but János was not there. Her insides shivered. Something wasn't right.

'Get up,' came a voice from above her. It was János' voice. Relieved, she opened her eyes and looked up. But the sight that greeted her was so horrific that she tried to scream, but couldn't. Silence echoed around the coppice.

János was standing imperially in front of her, his arms folded across his chest. Flanking him on either side were black-cloaked wizards - Death Eaters - their wands drawn. Cruel eyes glittered at her from behind white masks. Hermione was at a total loss for words or thoughts. She froze completely, her mind numb.

He held up a hand - two of the Death Eaters next to him cast spells on Hermione and she fell back to the ground. Thrusting a hand into her pocket, she realised that her wand had been taken.

'You are looking for this, I presume?' János was holding her wand lazily between his fingers. His eyes were no longer bright and warm but cold, like blue chips of ice. He regarded her with sadistic amusement, twirling her wand between his fingers.

'I trusted you, you filthy traitor,' she spat, as the Death Eaters laughed. János, however, did not look remotely amused.

'What an ironic situation this is,' he said. He stepped closer to her. 'Betrayal is terrible, isn't it, Hermione? It eats away at you like nothing else - and all the time, you wonder why. And how. How could someone do something so foul - so despicable?' Hermione was puzzled. What was János talking about?

'I never betrayed you!' she screamed. 'I saved your life!'

Now some light finally came into his eyes. For a split second he looked so angry that she thought he would kill her. But it still didn't make any sense.

'You took my life and broke it into a million pieces, Hermione,' János said, edging closer still. 'And I think it's about time I paid you back!'

He held her wand tightly and shouted an incantation. Hermione screwed her eyes shut, but then the impact of his words hit her. She recognised the incantation. And then a cold chill began to grow in her heart. It spread to the tips of her toes and fingers, until every fibre of her being was shaking. She dared herself to open her eyes, and almost fainted in horror.

The blue eyes were gone - in their place were slits of stone grey, leering back at her. The hair was no longer black but silver-blond. And on his face was the most terrible expression she'd ever seen - fury mingled with triumph.

Draco Malfoy had exacted his revenge.

*