The Human Condition

Chapter Seven: Black Accusations

Harry's eyes widened, his pulse quickened, and his breathing became short and labored as he channeled all of his energy into listening for her.

"Is there something wrong?" Marc asked hesitantly. Harry held his breath and scanned the room for her.

"Uh," he replied, his eyes digesting the white nothingness, "no. No, just had a brain freeze is all." He swallowed hard then turned back to Simon. "It happens to everyone."

Marc narrowed his eyes at Harry, but didn't push the matter. "The night when I first met you," he said, his quill between his fingers, "you heard Leucosia taunting you, is that correct?"

Looking away from him, Harry nodded. He started to sway one of his legs again as Marc began the rhythmic scratching on his notepad.

"When do I get out of here, now that I've finished telling you the story?" he asked, watching the sheets move with his foot.

"I have to file the report first, Harry, you know that." He continued to scratch his quill across the pad then cleared his throat. "How exactly did you get back from Ithaca and wind up where you started; in the Weasley's backyard?" he asked, keeping his eyes on his pad.

Harry let out a low hissing breath, screwed his shut eyes tight, and clenched his fists around the blankets on his bed. "I'm not sure," he said in a strangely even way.

Marc began scribbling again. Harry had listened to that incessant and irritating scratching for days now. Each time Marc would write a looping letter, the quill would make a spine tingling screeching sound that was enough to annoy the most stable person in the world. Harry bit his bottom lip and glared over at Marc, who kept writing for several minutes without speaking.

Harry opened his mouth to make a remark, but someone beat him to it. He heard someone intake a breath in his left ear.

"He does not believe your words," Leucosia whispered to him. Harry's breathing became quick again. "I can see what he records," she continued. "You will be here forever..." she sneered.

"No," Harry answered aloud. The scratching quill halted.

"Pardon?" Marc asked. "No what?"

But Harry didn't respond to him; he was focusing on Leucosia who continued to whisper at him.

"Yes," she said, as if smiling to herself. "You poor darling."

Harry's chest rose and fell very rapidly now, as he inched backwards to the wall.

"Harry," Marc said, now standing up and reaching out toward him. "What's the matter?"

Harry whipped his head around. "Can't you hear her?" he whined.

Marc shook his head. "No, I can't."

Harry's hands started to shake and he felt himself growing goose bumps again. He heard her laughing- something brushed the side of his face. Harry recoiled and felt the air. Then there was a peculiar sensation traveling up the inside of his leg- Harry leapt off the bed with fists raised, scanning the room again.

Marc stood up but didn't summon for help or try to get Harry's attention; he wanted to study. Even he could hear Harry's heart beating frantically against his rib cage.

"Leave me alone," Harry said. "I said leave me alone!" he yelled, his fear changing into anger. "You can't control me. You can't make me do what you want!"

Marc took a step to the side just as Harry began moving around the room, swinging his arms as if trying to strike someone invisible.

"I won't!" he said again. "I will never -" his expression changed again, back to fear. "No - you can't do that. I won't let you, bitch. No," he repeated, looking around for her. "They won't. They won't!"

But Marc had to interfere soon; Harry's eyes were bloodshot now, sweat was oozing from the pores on his face, and he was near hyperventilation. He slowly walked toward Harry.

"Don't you touch them!" Harry growled, clenching his teeth. "NO THEY WON'T!" he yelled. "They'll believe me. They won't!" he yelled angrily at the wall.

Marc reached out and touched Harry's shoulder. He could feel Harry tense up even more.

"Harry," Marc said soothingly.

Harry slowly turned around to face Marc. When he made full circle, Marc saw Harry's eyes were strangely aglow, his eyebrows were pulled down in anger, but he was smirking.

"There you are," Harry growled evenly. "Glad you decided to face me."

Marc shook his head and walked steadily backwards, but Harry advanced.

"No, Harry," Marc said, raising his hands. "I'm not Leucosia."

But Harry didn't care. He steadily increased his speed and Marc soon found himself back against the far wall, Harry between him and the exit.

"I won't let you lay one finger on them," Harry declared.

He was so close now that Marc could see what looked like tiny bolts of lightening cracking in the irises of Harry's eyes.

"I won't touch them," Marc said, trying desperately to sound calm. "I promise."

Harry replaced his smirk with a nasty frown. "You lie."

Again, Marc shook his head. He felt that if he made any quick or sudden movements, Harry would do something rash. 'Course, it looked as if he would do something rash anyway. Marc decided it was time to stop pretending that he wasn't frightened beyond belief. He took a step to the side and began for the door.

But Harry simply extended his hand, grabbed Marc around the throat with an incredibly tight grip, and threw him back against the wall.

"I'm not letting you escape," Harry said to him with a smile.

Marc took a great breath and yelled, "HELP!"

With three fast punches to Marc's face and one painful kick in the gut, Marc was unconscious on the floor.

Whoosh

Harry whirled around. Seven nurses, six male and one female, dashed into the cell. Harry threw his arms up then the rest of his body followed so he could kick one nurse on his way up, and another as he came down. As his first two victims fell to the ground, Harry dropped his body, swung out his leg, and clipped another around the back of their ankles, causing him to fall backwards.

But Harry ceased momentarily in his battle when his eyes glimpsed the outside hallway; they had left the door open. He started for it, ignoring the four remaining nurses.

He could nearly taste the air outside his cell when he felt a familiar painful prick on the back of his neck. He spun around to see the female nurse holding an empty syringe. He felt the spot with his hand; it was slightly swollen and he soon realized that his vision was beginning to blur. But he had to escape. He shook it off and continued forward.

"I don't think so," someone said as they stuck Harry for the second time, this shot in the shoulder. Harry paused, suddenly feeling very weak, but it didn't stop him from swinging at the man. Unfortunately, because he now had two doses surging through his system, he missed. The nurse grabbed his arm and swung Harry to the floor, pinning both arms behind his back and shoving Harry's face on the cold, tile floor.

"You're never getting out of here," he said to Harry as his eye lids began to drop. "Never, you crazy bastard."

Harry saw other feet shuffle up toward him. He tried struggling against them, but it was no use. The potion was taking over much too quickly.

"I wanna go home," he whined, barely audible. His breathing became relaxed and his eyes shut.

A glass of cold water was given to Marc. He grabbed it and gulped it down, all of it, then set the glass down with a loud clank. He passed his hand through his thin, graying hair and sighed. For a split second he thought Harry was going to kill him. He hadn't really given much credence to the old adage "Life flashing before the eyes," but now he did. Marc sat on the hospital bed, legs hanging over the side, and pondered the flashes he saw.

If he had died, if Harry had killed him in such a brutal and violent way, would anyone mourn his passing? His wife barely cared about him and his friends would miss him for a few weeks, but would anyone be devastated to see him go?

He pushed himself off the bed but didn't leave.

There was a knocking on the wall. Marc pivoted around. A tall, lanky man in a professional set of robes smiled at him, but not in what one would refer to in a kindly greeting. This man wanted something.

"Doctor Marc Simon?" he said, barging in and extending his hand.

"Yes. And you?"

"Columbus Blair, Internal Affairs for the Ministry of Magic," he said.

"Oh," Marc said. "I've heard of you, actually. What is it that I can do for you?" Marc asked as he picked up his coat and started out of the room.

"I heard your patient thrashed you pretty good," he said with a grin. "I assume he's the one who told you about me. He probably didn't cast a favorable light on me?"

Marc continued his journey back to where Harry was. "I'm not allowed to give away details about my sessions with him, you should know that." He gave Blair a look of warning. "Now, I need to get back down to him, so please tell me what I can do for you."

Blair smiled in the same unkind way. "I was under the impression that you had finished with him."

"Oh really?" Marc said with one eyebrow raised. "And whom, may I ask, gave you that impression?"

They approached a security door. Blair flashed a badge to the security wizard and they were allowed in. Marc was still awaiting Blair's answer as they came to another security door.

"Perhaps I should tell you something," Blair said. He flashed his badge again.

"Tell me what?" Marc asked, growing tired of his guest. They came to the Observation room door which they both entered.

"I had the recordings of your sessions taken. Some of our own are looking into it now. I'm afraid, Doctor Simon, that you're out of the loop now. There is no need, therefore, to write a report. Your job here is nearly finished." He looked out into the cell, then back to Simon, who appeared scandalized.

"What?" he said breathlessly.

"You had the sessions recorded for future reference, didn't you? Well, the Ministry has confiscated them."

"Why?" Marc asked, keeping his tone even though it was becoming more difficult as the day progressed. "It's illegal to take his records and it violates his rights as a patient! He has told me private issues which he hasn't shared with any other. You simply cannot take those records!" Marc said, his voice rising. The wardens, all five of them, who were now posted and completely alert in the Observation room, began to listen.

"Well, you'll find there is a small loophole in that theory."

"Loophole?" Marc said angrily, now crossing his arms.

"Yes. You see the issue of a criminal charge has been raised against him," he whispered loudly, smirking in a sickly satisfied way.

Marc's eyebrows shot up his face. "Criminal charge? Like what, for example?"

Blair made a shameful clicking noise with his tongue. "Leading and forming this Black Order, for example. Don't tell me you didn't suspect him. The evidence is mounting against him."

Marc could have sworn he felt his stomach collapse. "Leading and forming that group of monsters who nearly killed him?" Marc asked.

But Blair grinned more widely and pitted himself against the wall. "Nearly. But didn't. And he is the only one who can say for sure that it was the Black Order. Don't you find that odd?"

"The hostages were under a spell," Marc replied quickly.

"A convenient lie," Blair said. "That is just one thing the hearing will cover. Among other incidents will be his persistent absences since the taking of his post a few years ago. He told Minister Wilson that he was working in the field, but he hardly showed anything to cover that story." He drew a brass pocket watch from his robes and checked it.

"Harry wouldn't form any such group. He has problems; I'll grant you that, but what you're accusing him of is not only ludicrous, but an insult to his integrity."

Blair kept smiling and nodded his head. "I've had the order given to his Healer," he started, verging clear of the accusations, "that he is to remain sedated until the day of the hearing which is two days from now. Until that time, I don't want you in that cell with him. Besides, he won't be able to speak rationally anyway, not with what he's on."

Marc shook his head and scrunched his eyebrows. "If you're going to charge him he needs to know about it," he said.

"You will tell him in two days when we have to move him for the hearing. We're making preparations for it as we speak. Moving him securely to the Ministry is going to be a huge feat and will take many expert wizards on the case." He extracted a mint from his chest pocket and popped it into his mouth.

"Who brought the charge?" Marc asked, removing his glasses so he could pinch his nose.

"I did. I consulted with our new Minister, who was hesitant about it, but then I showed him the evidence. To make a very long story short, he decided to have a preliminary hearing to establish whether or not a trial is necessary. The press hasn't heard about it... yet. I expect it will leak out after the hearing. In any event it will happen."

"What evidence?" Marc asked, replacing his glasses. "It sounds to me like you have mere coincidences, not evidence."

Blair grinned again and began his way out of the Observation room. Marc followed. "We're searching for that," he said quietly. He started up for the surface of the hospital with Marc working hard to keep up.

"Searching where?" he asked.

"His apartment. The Minister granted us permission to search it. Could I persuade you to come along? I would be interested in seeing where our Mr. Potter spends his time when he's not away or at the Ministry. It's the stage of some of his glorious stories, isn't it?" He paused to look at him. "You could give me your interpretation."

While Marc was most curious about what could possibly be in that apartment, he couldn't help but feel a moral obligation in not going. It was only for Harry to see, not anyone else. Still, there was a nagging in the back of his head which told him to just go and see a little bit of it. It may explain something, or open another door to Harry's mind. His mind. Was it as secure as he once thought weeks ago, or was Harry slipping? Either way, he had injured Marc and probably would have continued to attack him if he hadn't been stopped.

"I'm not sure you have the legal right-"

"But I do," he said whipping out a bit of parchment. "Minister Weasley has given me permission to search it for evidence that Harry is in fact leading the Black Order. If there isn't, then I leave. Come on, Doctor, I know you're just as curious as I am."

"Curiosity has nothing to do with it," he replied.

"Fine," Blair said, grinning again. "But I am going and you are welcome to come. Who knows," he said with a slight insidious chuckle, "you might find an explanation to why he attacked you so brutally." He let his last sentence hang in the air for effect then walked backwards before swinging himself around and walking away.

Marc followed.

They Apparated to Harry's apartment. Several witches and wizards were snapping pictures and snooping around through his possessions. Harry hadn't gone into much description of his residence, so Marc was a bit taken aback at its size. The main door opened into the large living room where a small black leather couch and ottoman were situated facing the immense windows along the entire wall. The dining room was just off of it, where a long oval table sat with several chairs. They appeared quite unused. The kitchen, to the left, had a small bar-like-counter with stools. Behind it must be the pantry.

"Nice digs, isn't it?" Blair asked as he walked inside. "You should see his book collection." He walked to it. Marc strode behind him, eyeing the balcony which lined the outside walls. It was a beautiful day outside. When they reached the hallway, there was a small door which opened into a medium sized room with several shelves filled with old and new books. Marc hesitated as he crossed the threshold but eventually stepped inside. There was a very odd musty smell in here, almost like mold.

"Most of these books are banned from public libraries because of their content," Blair said, pulling a very worn and ancient volume from one of the shelves. "The spells and potions in some of these books are the darkest of magic. The essence-reversal spell and the Mimicry hex are outlawed by our government. Yet their descriptions and instructions are all within these walls."

"He needs to know what he's fighting against," Marc replied quickly. "You're basically accusing him of what you're doing. Finding out about what he's doing by searching and invading his privacy. It's a reliable tactic, Mr. Blair."

Blair replaced the book in its slot then turned to face a large, shiny black cabinet which stood approximately five feet tall from the floor. It was locked. "Can't get it open," Blair said. "They tried every spell they could, but it's protected by a password that only he knows. We tried everything we could."

"Names and birth dates didn't work?" Marc asked as he scanned the titles of the books around him.

"No, they didn't. We tried every name of every person he's met, or that we know of. It might not even be a name or a date. But according to his testimony," he said, taking on his sick grin again, "he keeps weapons in here. Interesting for a wizard to collect weapons."

Marc raised his eyebrows then turned away to keep in a smirk. "Weapon is such a general term," he muttered. "How do you know they're dangerous?"

Blair didn't answer. Marc pulled his eyes away from the books and walked out of the library to hang a left. There were windows all along the right side of the hallway, allowing the bright sunlight to stream into the apartment. A bathroom of luxury was to his left, then he approached a well kept guest room, and directly ahead were two open double doors leading to Harry's room. It was huge. There really wasn't another word for it.

On the left side was Harry's personal fitness center complete with floor mats, a boxing bag hanging from a magically reinforced chain, weights, and a gymnastic horse. Marc's eyes moved to the king bed covered in dark fittings. In the far corner was an elaborate desk which, at the current time, was void of items one should see on a desk. Marc assumed everything had been collected and taken.

Under the desk was a small wooden trunk. Marc sauntered over to it, bent down, and clicked it open. Inside was a small photo album and what appeared to be a shattered glass mirror. His face was reflected several times in its pieces.

"Is it true?" he heard an unfamiliar voice say from behind him. Marc whirled around. A tall man with vivid red hair, long nose, and freckles stood before him with an anxious and concerned expression.

"Is what true?" Marc asked.

"Is he...?" He looked to the ground and shut his eyes. Marc sighed.

"Ron, isn't it?" he asked.

Ron nodded but didn't ask how Marc knew his name. As he got a better look, Marc noticed that Ron's hands were shaking and his eyes were red in the corners.

"Harry's sick," Marc answered him straightly. "I'm trying to help him, but I don't think he's well. I'm not sure when it happened or how or why, for that matter. Well," he mumbled shaking his head, "why isn't so hard to figure out."

But Ron didn't seem to feel any better. If he wasn't mistaken, he thought Ron might break down and weep. He began to shake all over now, his lips included.

"What's wrong with him?" he gasped.

Marc shut his eyes and bowed his head. "I'm still working on that. But to put it simply, he sees and hears things that aren't there. But it's really more than that, Ron. Harry, it seems, is traveling down a dangerous road that, if not interrupted, could lead to his eventual self destruction." He raised his head.

Ron shook his head as if in total disbelief. "H-How can that be?"

"He feels very trapped, isolated, and unhappy. Emotions which he has felt, unfortunately, long before you met him. I imagine that those emotions feel normal to Harry so he continually seeks them just to feel normal. But being trapped and lonely isn't healthy for anyone, and we are now seeing the aftereffects."

Ron's mouth fell open and Marc was sure he saw a tear or two in Ron's eyes.

"But he can't be..." he said.

"I'm very sorry," Marc said. "I know he's important to you. It isn't as if he can't be helped, though. You understand that, don't you? It will probably take years for him to recoup and partially recover."

Ron cleared his throat and stood up straight. "Partially recover?" he asked.

"Yes. Harry's been damaged and broken since childhood- the founding years. And since then he has encountered and dealt with burdens and situations even adults can't handle. He will never be able to fully come out of that... stupor."

Ron took a step forward. "No," he said firmly. "No, see, I knew him before all this. He was different when we were kids. He was nice, decent, well-mannered, and... nice. He was a great friend. He can be that person again, I know he can. Can't he? Can't he be that person again, Doctor?"

Marc sighed, shut his eyes, and shook his head. "It's not that simple. Harry is the product of his treatment from everyone around him. Because you and Hermione were always there for him, he is kind to the both of you. But Harry sees everyone else differently. At times the Harry you once knew surfaces, but only sometimes. It is my belief that the Harry you met was a weak wall which was being chipped at very slowly and with one great blow it came down. Right?"

Ron shifted his eyes in thought.

"It isn't fair," Marc said before Ron spoke. "It isn't the least bit fair, but that's life."

"What are they going to do with him?" Ron asked, his voice cracking. "He wouldn't hurt- I only hit him because of Hermione- I didn't know he was ill. I didn't know."

"I know," Marc said with a kind smile. "And I'm sure he knows. Harry values you and Hermione very much." Marc walked toward the two double doors. "I have to go."

"Tell him I'm sorry," Ron pleaded. "Tell him I'm so sorry for hurting him."

Marc smiled, patted Ron on the shoulder, and started out. As he swung one of the doors, he was sickened to see Blair leaning against the wall with his grin.

"He's lucid," Blair said. "Lucid, brilliant, and shrewd."

Marc did not sink down to respond.

Harry's eye lids slowly cracked open, allowing only a small sliver of dull light to penetrate his unused eyes. He shut them again; the light was too painful. He then realized that there was a strange numb feeling buzzing in his head. But that couldn't be. Numb can't buzz. Then there was that old taste in his mouth, like he hadn't eaten or swallowed in days. The soreness in his eyes was lessening; he tried opening them again. Though he wanted to open them fully, they only expanded a little.

He flexed his fingers; for some reason they felt like they were far forward. He tried pulling them back to a more comfortable position, only his hand was stuck. He tried his eyes again, but they were still too weak to move. Harry tried pushing himself up- but he was blocked. Something or someone was holding him down.

He groaned and tried again. This time he definitely felt something around his wrists. With all the strength he had, he opened his eyes. But he needed his glasses to see. If he could only summon the strength to reach out for them with his mind...

What he managed without them, however, were three colored shapes. A pinkish shape, like a hand, a dark brown shape below his hand, then the white of his robes. Harry tried pulling up his wrist again, but the brown whatever-it-was, kept him restrained.

"Let go," he whispered weakly to it. But it didn't. He tried his other hand to get the same effect. When he tried turning his head around to see it he realized he was face down and couldn't turn his head at all.

Whoosh.

They had opened the door again. Harry fought to free himself, but couldn't. They had chained him down completely; even his head was strapped to the device they had laid him on. It was stiff and uncomfortable, nothing like a bed.

Someone sat down in a chair next to him.

"Help me," he whispered to them. "Please. I wanna go home," he whined. Tears were forming in his eyes. "Please," he continued. "Please let me go. Please let me go home," he whimpered, his body shaking as he began to sob. "I wanna go home, please. Let me go," he cried, his face reddening as the tears dropped down. "Let me go." He pulled at his restraints futilely.

"Harry," Marc said from beside him, "relax. Harry," he said again as Harry tried, violently now, to remove himself. "Harry, stop it before you hurt yourself," he said, grabbing Harry's hand.

"Let me go!" he sobbed as he strained to push himself up.

"Harry, be quiet and listen to me!" Marc yelled. "You have to listen to me!"

Harry tried once more to free himself, but then quit. His breathing was labored after all his effort. "Let me go," he said again.

"I can't do that now. Don't you remember what you did to me?" Marc asked.

"No," he said. "I can't see anything," he added.

Marc sighed and stood up to unfasten a leather strap around the top of Harry's head. Four security wizards moved forward to stop him.

"It's all right," Marc said to them, "he still can't move." He unlatched it. Harry turned his head down, so his nose pushed against whatever it was they had put him on. Marc grabbed Harry's glasses. "Look over here," he told Harry, "and I can put them on."

Marc saw tears escape Harry's sealed eyes, and his lips quiver.

"I'm so sorry," Marc whispered to him.

"I want to go home," he said.

"You can't right now," Marc said. "You need to look this way if you want to see."

Harry turned his head toward Marc, who placed the glasses on him. Harry opened his eyes and looked at him.

"You attacked me two days ago, remember?" he asked Harry as he sat back down in his chair.

"No," he said. "No, I attacked Leucosia. She was in here. She said she'd hurt them. I had to stop her so she couldn't."

Marc frowned. "You attacked me. There was no one in here but us."

"I didn't hurt you," Harry insisted. "I know I didn't."

"Harry," Marc said, leaning forward, "you hurt me the same way as Hermione. Your mind is playing tricks on you, making you think you're seeing Leucosia, but you're not."

Harry continued to cry. "She's real," he whined. "She's doing this to me," he said. "She's torturing me."

Marc sighed again. The sight of Harry made him ill, especially those tears. "I'm not sure that she is real, Harry. But we can talk about her later, right now I need to tell you something." He folded his hands and took a breath. "I have to escort you to the Ministry of Magic. Harry," he said sympathetically, looking back at his patient, "they think you are the leader of the Black Order. You have a hearing in an hour."

Harry's mouth opened in aghast; his eyes lost feeling. If he could have shaken his head, he would have.

"No," he breathed. "No, no, no."

"You're going to be escorted down to the Ministry of Magic by these guards and myself." He extracted a syringe from his pocket and stood up. Harry started to panic again, pulling at his restraints. "I have to administer this," he said, pulling back Harry's robe sleeve. "It's just a muscle relaxant, that's all. It's for our safety."

"Don't!" Harry said.

"I have to," he said, pushing the needle under Harry's skin then injecting the clear fluid. Within seconds Harry relaxed but remained alert. Marc nodded to the four guards who came forward and freed Harry of his bindings.

Harry pushed himself up then clasped his head and lay back down.

"Got up too fast?" Marc asked kindly. Harry didn't respond. This time he rose steadily keeping his head cast downwards. Marc brought over a box which contained Harry's regular clothes. He set it next to him. "We'll turn around but please hurry," Marc told him.

"I'm not a criminal," he muttered.

"That's no longer for me to decide. Please get dressed."

Marc and the four security guards turned around as Harry changed quickly. Then Marc faced Harry again, watching him replace his Auror ring on his right ring finger. He rubbed it pensively then reached in the box to withdraw the last tiny object. Marc was floored when he saw Harry extract a thin black nylon rope with a small glass cross hanging from it. Harry fastened it around his neck as if he had done so for years.

"You're religious?" Marc asked.

Harry didn't look in his eyes or answer the question. Instead he dropped his hands on his legs and waited.

"Since when?" Marc persisted. "How long have you believed?"

Harry pushed the glass cross under his shirt and pushed himself up; he swayed slightly.

"I don't ask questions just for the hell of it," Marc said.

Harry sighed. "The Ministry believes that I am capable of murder, Doctor. Can't I be a tad bit distracted?"

"You don't strike me as the religious type," Marc continued. "I assumed you were agnostic."

"I'm not religious," Harry said. "I don't have a religion. Can I assume we're not Apparating there?" he asked in a dramatic subject change.

"But you believe in God, right?" Marc asked.

Harry chaffed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, okay, yes. Now, how are we getting to the Ministry?"

"A van. Since when have you believed in God?" he asked.

"Geeze, what's the big deal? Haven't you met someone else who has?" he asked angrily.

"Certainly," he replied. "But you- it's just- you're not the- well..." he said, frowning. "It's just very out of character, is the best phrase I can come by. It's strange for you. How did it happen?"

"A big booming voice from the sky," Harry said sarcastically. "When are we leaving for the hearing?"

Marc paced. "In a few minutes, when that potions has had a chance to fully circulate. And I'm asking a serious question. When did you begin to believe in God?"

Harry stared at Marc without blinking. "I made a deal and it came through. No," he said, shaking his head, "I'm not going to tell you what the deal was. It's not your business."

"You bargained with God?" Marc asked, one corner of his mouth raising.

A vein in his temple started to pulsate. "It was much more than a bargain," he mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets then walking around the room.

One of the security guards, a burly one, walked toward Harry with something in his hands. Harry reached down to his bedside table to grab the box of cigarettes, but the potion had taken it's effect; he wasn't strong enough to grasp it or lift it up. Harry had to lean on the wall to keep from falling.

"It won't be so bad once we leave this room," Marc said. "The disabling charms, remember?"

Harry nodded and shut his eyes. His head was uncomfortably light and dizzy and his knees were about to give way. The guard came up behind him and easily pulled Harry's hands behind his back.

"What're you doing?" he asked, trying to pull them away. Harry heard a click and realized he couldn't move his arms.

"We have to make sure you can't escape," Marc said. "Are you ready?"

Harry really wasn't able to answer that question. He was steered by the security guard to the exit wall, the other three wizards flanked him, two in front, one in back; Marc stood next to him. The door opened with its usual whooshing sound. They walked out. The moment Harry crossed the threshold, a small wave of strength washed over him; he smiled. "I will laugh hysterically," he said, "if this potion wears off."

"It won't," Marc replied, withdrawing three more filled syringes from his pocket.

Harry's face fell as he threw Marc a dirty look. "Party pooper."

The van was the same one that Harry had arrived in. On the outside it was a large and grey; very ordinary. On the inside, however, it was much more impressive. There were comfortable lounge chairs for every person, a refrigerator, and at the end nearest the driving compartment as a solitary bench.

"Let me guess," Harry said as they entered, "everyone else's get's the comfortable seats and I get the hard beam." And he was right. He was set down on the bench while the others took their seats. But once his guard had done his job and left, a strange clear wall, like a very soapy bubble, appeared. Harry frowned at it.

"Force field," Marc said, pointing at it.

Harry slid his foot toward the bottom of it, half expecting it to go through, but the bubble was as hard as stone. Then he felt the engine start and the van began to move.

The journey was relatively short. Harry would have liked it if it had been slightly longer. He wanted desperately to Disapparate out of the van and go home, but he knew he couldn't. Soon, the van rolled to a stop and the bubble was lowered.

The sun was setting when they pulled Harry out of the van and lead him to the visitor's entrance. He couldn't help the inflow of memories of the last time he had come to this entrance with more than one person. He shut his eyes as they all crammed into the phone booth.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," the cool female voice said the booth opened into the Atrium. No one was there.

"We had to clear the locations you would be walking through," Marc told him.

"Oh," Harry said gloomily. He had kinda wished he could see other people, perhaps some friendly faces. "I suppose you're going to take me to the Department of Mysteries, then?"

Marc nodded without looking at him.

"Yay," Harry said dryly.

They entered a golden elevator. Marc pushed the button for the right floor. The security guards had said nothing the entire time, which made Harry feel slightly uneasy.

"Keep your temper in line," Marc said as the doors clattered open. "You got that?"

The guard holding onto Harry started out, pushing him into the corridor. Harry focused on the black door at the end of it, resisting against his guard as they moved toward it.

"We're turning right," Marc mumbled, pushing open a courtroom door.

This courtroom was different from the one he had been in when he was fifteen. It was smaller and less overbearing. The Wizengamot did not sit so high, for one. They were on a platform, but it was only raised three or four feet. Instead of a chair with chains in the center of the room, there was a rectangular table for three.

"You did know," Marc whispered in Harry's ear as they walked toward the table, "that Arthur Weasley has been appointed as Minister, correct?" he asked. Harry looked up to the center of the Wizengamot to see Arthur Weasley seated uncomfortably; he was fiddling with a ball point pen and paper clip.

"Number three told me," Harry replied as he was pushed into the center chair of the table.

"Number three?" Marc asked as he sat on Harry's right side.

"Yeah, the woman. Psycho-babble number three. The one before you."

"Oh," he said.

Harry scanned the panel. Columbus Blair was seated where Umbridge would have sat; he was looking smug. Harry recognized the man sitting to the right of Arthur; Jacob Verit, a head prosecuting attorney and one of Harry's friends. Harry gave a small sigh of relief when Jacob gave him a small smile.

All was silent for several minutes while Arthur gathered his papers; he avoided Harry's eye.

"Well," he finally said, still looking down at his hands, "we should get started then. Uh, is the accused present?"

"Yes," Harry said loudly. Arthur looked up briefly.

"Then you are," he started in a scripted manner, "Harry James Potter of 117G Connely Building, Seventh street, London?"

Harry wished he could have responded rudely, because everyone always recognized him as Harry Potter.

"Yes," he responded.

"Very good," he said. "The charges against you. Yes. That you, the accused, have formed the secretive and Dark arts group commonly known as the Black Order. That you, after formation of this group, lead the group. That the accused gave orders to the group to kill several, whose families want them unnamed, and the late Minister Harvey Wilson. And finally, that you assaulted Hermione Granger on March 21, 2004 and Doctor Marc Simon on March 29, 2004." He shuffled his papers again. "Does the accused have any witnesses?" he asked.

"No," Harry said. "The accused was informed of this hearing only an hour ago, so he didn't have the time."

Marc sighed and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Keep it under control," he mumbled. He turned to the panel. "Harry was kept sedated for two days under this panel's orders. He wasn't allowed to gather witnesses."

"We understand," Arthur said jovially. Harry wanted to sock him. "To the hearing, then," he said. "Har- Mr. Potter, the reason these charges have been brought against you is because there are many circumstances and incidents that need your explanation. Believe me, I do not want to be here," he said, now looking Harry in the eye. "But evidence kept on mounting and I had to hold this hearing. If, by the end, we see no need to continue the matter, then you are free to go home. But, if this panel wants to know more or is led to believe that you are withholding information relevant to this case, we will hold you to a formal trial."

Harry swallowed hard; it hurt. "Okay," he said.

"Very well." He clicked his ball point pen and scanned whatever it was in front of him. "Please tell the panel of your exact whereabouts for.... September second through fourteenth of the year 2001." He looked up at Harry.

Harry hesitated and held his breath. "I was..." he started, racking his brain. "I had started my job at the Ministry not too long before that," he said.

"That wasn't the question," Columbus Blair started. "He asked where you were."

Harry bit his lip. "I can't remember," Harry said. "It was three years ago."

"Perhaps we should jump to more recent events, then," Blair continued. "Where were you from September to the end of November of the year 2003?" He asked. "It was just last year and you were gone for three months straight."

Harry swallowed again, looking around the room. "I..." he started. He felt himself begin to sweat.

"Yes?" Blair said.

Harry looked at Marc.

"You have to answer their questions, Harry," he said.

"Mr. Potter, can't you tell us where you were for so long?" Blair asked with a grin.

Harry took in a breath. "I can't." he said.

Blair grinned more broadly as the panel broke out into murmurs and whispers.

"You can't or you won't?" Blair pushed. "Sudden loss of memory?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I can't tell you. But I wasn't forming the Black Order!" he said.

"No," Blair continued, "they had already been formed by that time, hadn't they?"

The mumbling turned into chattering.

Arthur raised his hand to signal silence.

"Are you saying," he asked, "that you won't tell the panel where you were while the Ministry of Magic was paying you?"

"I was working, okay? I gathered information about the Black Order and I wrote a report as soon as I got back. I just can't tell you where I was." Harry shuffled in his chair.

"Can we assume," Arthur said, "that you were in the same place on December 24?" he asked.

"Ah," Blair said, "yes, do tell us about that. You told Nymphandora Tonks that you were home that day, isn't that right?"

Harry's face got hot. "Yes I did."

"But your House elf told us that you were not at your place of residence that day. Where were you?"

Harry bent his head and shut his eyes. "I can't tell you," he said again. The panel broke out into discussion again.

"So you were prepping that evening's display at Hogwarts with your Order, eh?" Blair pushed.

Harry shook his head. "No," he said. "No, I had no idea that would happen."

"Of course you didn't," Blair said sarcastically.

"I didn't. Why would I plan something like that? Why would I organize a group like them? They nearly killed me, for crying out loud!" Harry said.

Arthur raised his hand before Blair could speak again.

"Yes," he said to him, "they did. But they didn't. You were stabbed straight through the heart with a silver blade. It would have killed any man instantly, but it didn't kill you. What's more is you not only survived the stabbing, but the journey to the hospital and the surgical procedure. How? Why did you survive that?"

Harry felt like laughing. "I have no idea," he said. "I suppose the same way I've survived all the other murder attempts against me!" he nearly yelled.

The panel remained silent for a time. Then a woman spoke. "You said that the Black Order entered through the air?"

"That's right," Harry said.

"But it is impossible for anyone to Apparate inside Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," she told him.

"I know they didn't Apparate. They just... came through," he said lamely. "I know it sounds crazy, but that is what I saw."

"But no one else did," a different woman said. "The hostages said they entered through the doors."

Harry sighed. "Lucius Malfoy put a spell on them so he could modify their memories," Harry stated.

"A convenient little lie," Blair spoke. "It was a spell!"

Some of the panel laughed. Harry was feeling deja-vu. "Yes," he said seriously, "it was."

"It's interesting that you are the only one who identified those men. Lucius Malfoy, Kim Philby, and Guy Burgess... they escaped from Azkaban," Arthur said.

"Yes," Harry said, feeling that this avenue might take him into the right direction. "Draco Malfoy invaded the prison, killed off the security guards and freed them. I expect Draco Malfoy entered Azkaban the same way his father and friends entered Hogwarts."

"You know what else is interesting?" Blair said, folding his hands on the table. "The fact that you inspected the prison with Minister Wilson the day before the break-in. What did you do while he wasn't watching you?"

Harry shook his head violently. "I went with him because I had to. I didn't even want to go with him. I did nothing to that prison!"

A different man spoke this time. Harry was getting confused by them all. "Do you know who Guy Burgess is?" he asked.

Harry screwed his eyes shut. "Yes. He used to work for the IWBI over twenty years ago as a historian. They found out that he was a double agent."

"That is correct. But more importantly, Guy Burgess never had a trial and was never formally charged for those crimes," the man said.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I guess that's your fault then. What's this got to do with me?"

"Guy Burgess," Blair spoke again, "attended the wedding of your mother and father."

Harry felt suddenly cold. "I didn't know that," he said, shaking his head. "How could I have known that?"

"James Potter was a friend of Burgess. Maybe you felt he was wronged?" a woman asked.

Harry gasped and continued to shake his head. "I didn't know my father or Burgess. How could I have...?" Harry's head dropped. "I didn't do any of this. Why would I?"

But they continued to berate him with questions. "Explain to us why all the attacks you attributed to the Black Order occurred after you awoke in the hospital?" "Why were there no attacks during your brief lapse?" "Why did the attacks suddenly stop once Blair started to follow you?"

Harry could only keep up with his same answer: "I don't know." The faces of the panel became more accusatory as each question was posed and not answered. "I don't know" he would say. "I can't tell you that," he breathed. The questions kept coming. He kept letting them fall away, unanswered. She had done it, he thought. She said she would make them turn on you. They have. She has done it.

"Tell us about... uh, Leeuh-ka-seeah." Arthur frowned at the name then looked down on Harry.

"Loo-CO-sha," Harry said for him.

"Yes," Arthur said. "This siren woman. Tell us about her."

Harry gathered his thoughts then told the panel everything. He told them about entering Ithaca through the tree around the Weasley's home and he told them about the sphinx. He went into as much detail as he could about Leucosia's appearance, her voice, the lion she had. He even replayed the entire conversation he had had with her. But, as he feared, their expressions did not show signs of belief.

"A siren." Arthur shook his head. "She sounds extraordinary."

"Beautiful, seductive, well spoken, and powerful," Blair commented. "And best of all, she resides in a parallel dimension that none of us can see. How convenient for you."

"I'm not making her up," Harry said, though at this point he knew it was no use. "She's real and she's dangerous. The fact that you don't believe me is only part of her plan."

"To rule us all?" Blair said. "Come on, Potter. That's the best your villain can come up with? World domination? It's a bit over done. If you had wanted to be more believable, you should have had your antagonist more... believable."

Harry clenched his fists behind his back. "She doesn't want to take over the world, just our race."

"Oh!" Blair yelled. "Silly me. The Siren wants to control us; she doesn't care for the Muggles. How could I have made such a mistake? And best of all, she wants you to rule beside her. Isn't that sweet?"

Harry shook his head. "This isn't a joke," he said. "She has great power and she will get it if you don't believe me and fight with me! She wants this to happen. She wants you to lock me away so I can't stir a rebellion or fight her. Can't you understand that?" he asked, his voice rising.

Arthur let out a groan. "The Siren enters your mind and taunts you?" he asked.

"Yes but- wait. How did you-?" He turned to his right to see Marc's face redden. "Youtold them?" he whispered to Marc. "I trusted you and you told them?"

"No," Marc responded. "They took the recordings of our sessions. I can't explain right now."

But Harry kept his scowl.

"She made you believe that Hermione Granger was her as well as your appointed psychologist, right?" Arthur persisted. "She toys with your mind?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, despite all you have told us about her, Ministry psychologists, cognitive experts, and your own doctor believe that this woman, Leucosia, is a complex delusion you have created over the past three years. She is a combination of your powerful and lustful feelings which you possess, and she is your make believe leader of this Order," Arthur said.

"No," Harry said. "No!" he yelled. "She's not a delusion. I saw her!"

"Did you touch her?" he asked.

"I was in her palace! I was in Ithaca, dammit! I saw her, felt her presence, heard her voice. This is no delusion, it was real."

"But how did you get there?" Arthur asked skeptically. "How did you get back? Why is it that my family never saw you leave? Why was this dagger lodged in one of the trees? You said you were in the ocean, then why were your clothes dry? Why did you assault your best friend? If this siren wants to rule us, why hasn't she shown herself? Why can only you hear her? Why has she targeted only you?"

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Where do you go for such long periods of time? Who were the owls addressed to?" he asked.

Harry squinted up at him. "Owls?" he asked.

"That's correct. You told Hermione, when you were staying with her, that you had to write some owls. Who were they for? No one that we know of that you know received an owl from you during that week. Yet you sent some. Who did they go to?"

Harry stared at him but did not answer.

"Very well. Is there anything you can answer?" Arthur asked.

Harry's heart hammered. "These events you're recalling," Harry said with a shaky voice, "prove nothing. They're coincidences. Someone is trying to frame me! I wouldn't kill anyone. Arthur, please!" he cried.

"You will address him as Minister Weasley," Blair chimed in.

"You know me," Harry continued to Arthur. "I'm Ron's best friend. I gave Fred and George one thousand galleons to start their business. Ginny was infatuated with me for three years. I killed Voldemort!" he yelled. "Why would I do any of what you're accusing me of?"

"Silence him!" Blair yelled, standing up in his seat.

"I saved this world and you're going to convict me of murder!" Harry yelled. "Have you any idea what I lost?"

"Yes," Arthur said morbidly. "Sit down, Mr. Blair. Doctor Simon, I think it's time you administer the second dose."

Harry pulled away, but the security guard held him in place as Marc gave him a second shot.

"That's the only way I can be controlled," Harry said angrily. "You have to incapacitate me! I will not let this happen!" he yelled. He felt the potion traveling through his body so quickly, he felt as if he might faint. His whole body relaxed; his head lolled onto the shoulder of the guard and his torso slid forward in the chair.

"I'm afraid this hearing is concluded. All those in favor of a trial?" Arthur asked. Nearly everyone raised their hand. Jacob Verit, the lead prosecuting lawyer for the Ministry, did not. That was something. "Very well. Mr. Potter," Arthur stated, "because you cannot account for anything in this case, or bring to light your innocence, I have no choice but to hold a trial which will find you innocent or guilty of these crimes you are accused of. The trial date is set for June fourth of this year. Dismissed." The panel removed themselves and gathered up their things in a flurry of mumbles and other noises.

"No," Harry said to himself. "I didn't hurt anyone," he mumbled. "I wouldn't."

"Back to the hospital," Marc said, standing up to lead the way back to the van.

Harry was almost too weak to walk by himself. His guard did more than steer him to the van, he nearly carried him there. It was dusk by the time they reached St. Mungo's, yet even that small taste of fresh air did something for Harry. But it was a very small taste.

He was back in his white pants and long sleeve shirt within thirty minutes of his return. Harry was placed back on his bed so he could sleep. But he couldn't. There was too much to think about. Marc sat down next to him in a chair.

"Is there anything you would like to talk about?" he asked kindly.

Harry turned his head toward him, wearing an ugly face. "Fuck you," he whispered. "You go ahead and wait. You'll see that I'm telling the damn truth about her. She is not a delusion I created, Doctor. I know I'm not perfect," he growled. "I know what my problems are, but I am not crazy. And don't you dare sit there with your fucking degree and ask me if I want to have a chat. I have been locked up, talked at, and accused of murder. The very last thing I want to do is for you to analyze my behavior so you can go tell the Weasley King." Harry pulled the covers over himself. "Now go. Take that damn fucking security guard and get the hell out of my face," he said coolly.

Marc raised himself out of the chair and sighed. "I never told them anything. They stole from you. I know that's what they did."

"You think I'm nuts," Harry replied. "Get the hell out."

"Harry, you need to understand that I don't think you're 'nuts.'"

But Harry had shut the doctor off entirely. He turned his head away and screwed his eyes shut. Marc blinked several times, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it again. He nodded to the guard, who raised his eyebrows suspiciously, but eventually left with the doctor.

They were charging him with murder... he found himself thinking. After everything I did... after all the lives I saved... all that I have given up and couldn't have... He buried his face in his pillow. He couldn't help but thinking of what Leucosia had said to him. He tried not to think of her face, of her voice, or of her words. But he couldn't help it. She had been right.

They had nothing on Harry, no proof of their accusations, only coincidences. She had set him up. She had been playing him for who knows how long and now the game was set.

"Are you happy now, Leucosia?" he asked, expecting to hear her voice. "Are you watching from your palace?"

But no voice came. There was only a deafening silence which amplified his loneliness and despair. Then a second thought occurred to him, one that he really did not want to consider. What if? What if she wasn't real? But she has to be, I saw her with my own eyes. Yes, he saw her. She had to be real.

But you didn't touch her. Arthur asked if you had, but you didn't. You didn't touch her. You never even left the Weasley's backyard.

But I remember leaving. I was in the ocean, I saw the lion and the sphinx. Leucosia spoke to me and told me all about the human condition. She must be real. Everything about her was so real. I couldn't have imagined or created her, I just couldn't- I don't have that kind of creativity. She's real. Yes, she must be real.

But his thoughts were not soothed. He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. Where are you now, Leucosia? Don't you want to come and taunt me? Come on, have a go with me. Scare me. Threaten them...

No voice came. No sinister tone, no seductive signing, or tantalizing touch. It was completely quiet.

She wants me to think she's not real. Yes, that must be it. She wants me to think I'm crazy. She wants it.

Harry looked to his left toward the observation room. Chances are at least ten people were in there staring at him. Even if he did go to sleep, they wouldn't move. They would stay there all night making sure that Potter stayed put and under control. They were probably discussing the hearing that went horribly. He wondered if members of the press had somehow managed to sneak inside and ask pesky questions. He was sure some student psychologists were in there with their cute clipboards and ball-point quills writing down shortened notes.

He rolled on his side, his back facing the observation wall. He could feel his subtle strength returning as the muscle inhibiting potion began to wear off. He flexed his biceps and stretched out his fingers, sensing his power slowly come back to him. But as he clenched his left fist, he noticed a very small, round protrusion from under his skin in his knuckle. He frowned and brought it closer to his eyes. It didn't feel like anything; there was no tingling sensation or any pain. So what was it?

Harry passed his right index finger over it, which caused the small whatever-it-was to move to one of his left fingers. Then he felt it- it was solid and it hurt when he pushed against it. It could move so it wasn't part of his hand, and he was sure it wasn't there a few days ago. What was it?

Oh, he thought as a grin passed over his face, getting tricky are we? All right, you want a crazy show...

He rolled on his stomach and started to breathe steadily and deeply, all while he could literally feel the power surging back into his body. Harry's heart rate quickened as the anticipation of his next actions flashed before his mind.

Harry slowly pushed himself off the bed, swinging his legs off weakly. With eyes half open, he looked to the observation wall and yawned. Then raising himself up, he walked along the wall, holding on for support, and made his way for the lavatory, his feet shuffling on the tile. Harry didn't have much in his lavatory, other than a toilet and a sink. He cranked on the water, splashed his face with it, and then left.

It was time.

He shuffled back towards his bed but stopped himself midway. "No," he said, shaking his head, inhibiting the laughter inside him. "Leave me alone!" he yelled to no one. So far no one was coming into restrain him or sedate him with some kind of potion. "You can't!" he continued, now swinging around like a madman. "I said no, you bitch!" he screamed so loudly his face turned red. "You can't get me! I won't let you touch me!"

Harry clenched his fists, took in a breath, and struck his left hand on the wall. The pain was excruciating, but he held it within him and showed no sign of discomfort.

"Stay away from me!" he yelled, striking the wall for a second time with the same hand. Now blood spurt from the tops of his fingers, leaving stains on the wall. Still no one came. He punched the wall again, and again, and again so that both hands were wet with his red blood.

"Get out," he yelled, clenching his hair. "Get out!" He ran to the opposite wall, away from the door to his cell, and rammed his forehead against it. He could feel warm blood dripping down his nose. He suddenly felt dizzy but he kept on injuring himself. He pounded at the wall, kicked behind him, and slammed his head against it once more. He fell to the floor and lay motionless.

Whoosh.

No less than six people rushed into the room. A healer bent down over him to examine his injuries, touching his blood, feeling his pulse.

"We need to get him out of here," she said in a quiet tone. "Now." With wand in hand, she conjured up a stretcher. Two of the security guards lift him onto the stretcher, strapped him to it, and ran him out of the room.

"Where should we take him?" one of the guards asked. The Healer ran up ahead of them and told them to follow her. She couldn't take him to any level; Harry's injuries were self inflicted and couldn't be healed in any of the magical wards. She rushed them into a room on the same level they were already in, this one with no special charms or spells.

"Set him down," she said, "and call the psychologist and the other security. I need them to put an anti-Disapparation charm on him and the room." She began unstrapping Harry so she could begin her work.

One of the guards ran out of the room toward Harry's Observation room, as per instruction. The other held Harry down by the shoulders.

"My goodness," the Healer said, taking Harry's left hand which was damaged beyond simple care. "I wasn't expecting that." She moved her hand to his head.

Harry's eyes opened.

"Don't have time for that," Harry whispered to her.

The Healer pulled away in surprise, her eyes wide. "What the..?"

Harry smiled and with one punch to the guard's face, he stood up. And with a very loudpop he was gone.

The guard who was now rubbing his jaw, yelled to the Healer, "Start the trace!" as he ran out of the room. "He Disapparated!" the guard continued, "Potter's gone! Start the trace!"

Marc Simon, who had been called upon, heard the command and ran back to the Observation room. "Harry's gone," he told a short man who sat at an oddly shaped desk. "Start the trace."

With a wave of his wand the desk glowed white with a map of the country outlined in green. A blue dot blinked in London. "He didn't go far," Marc said.

"Wait," the man replied. The map zoomed in. "We have a problem." He stood up, commanded that Harry's cell be reopened, and walked inside. "Holy shit," he said. He strolled over to the wall and kneeled down in front of Harry's splattered blood.

"What is it?" Marc asked, dreading the answer.

The man stood up, and turning around slowly, showed Marc a tiny blue dot. "He beat out the tracer. We've lost him."

Marc couldn't believe it. "What did you say?" he asked.

"Harry Potter beat out his tracer. He was pretending to be crazy so he could tear out the tracer we inserted, and so we would take him out of this room for medical treatment. He's planned it and he got out. He could be anywhere."

Doctor Simon strode out of the room and back into the observation post. "Listen up, people," he said to the remaining witches and wizards. "I need everyone to contact his friends, and I mean all of them. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie Weasley, Fleur Delecur, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Rourke Everett, you name the friend you find them. Send owls for now but I need bodies ASAP before the Ministry comes in and takes drastic actions, you got that?"

No one answered.

"I don't have time for this, people. Who knows where he is and we have to find him. The Ministry of Magic will get violent, if necessary, to find him and I want him back safe, you understand me? Get as many people as needed, but we have to find Harry Potter! Check all his ex-girlfriends, all his professors, everyone!" He yelled. A few people started to rummage around, but most looked lost and clueless.

Marc swore loudly and exited quickly, jogging out of the wing. He needed a portkey. He needed a portkey to get to Hermione before Internal Affairs did. If he was Harry, Hermione would be the first person to talk to.

Luckily there were such portkeys awaiting use in one section of St. Mungo's for Healer and doctor use only. He told the short woman who manned the keys that he needed to get to the residence of Hermione Granger and fast. She looked up Hermione's address, muttered a few words over a teacup and nodded to Marc. He grabbed it.

He realized, as he was pulled most uncomfortably from behind his naval, why he drove a car. This was horrible. But it was over in a few seconds, luckily. He found himself outside a door to a very small house. He knocked urgently on it and sighed.

It was opened by Hermione. "Doctor Simon," she said pleasantly, opening the door for him. "What's wrong?" she asked, now noticing his troubled face.

"Is Harry here?" he asked, walking in and scanning the small room.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Is Harry here?" he repeated.

Hermione shook her head. "No. He's in St. Mungo's."

Marc began to pace nervously. "He escaped. Just now. Harry's gone and we don't know where he is. It's important that we find him before someone else does."

Hermione's mouth fell open, but not in anger or surprise. She almost looked triumphant. "Harry freed himself?"

"It is bad news."

"No," she said, smiling now. "No it isn't. There's no reason Harry should be locked away. Don't you believe him?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"No," he said, his voice rising, "I don't. But I don't have the time to go into a debate about Harry's psyche. Listen to me, Hermione. Chances are Hit Wizards, Law Enforcement, even powerful Aurors are out looking for Harry right now. They will do whatever they think necessary to apprehend him and bring him back. We need to find Harry first before anyone gets hurt!" he yelled urgently.

She bit her bottom lip and breathed steadily. "Okay," she said after a few moments of silence. "Okay, but Harry can take care of himself."

"It isn't Harry's safety that I'm worried about," he mumbled back. He assumed she knew what he had meant, as she didn't ask about his statement.

"Harry isn't a monster," she whispered. "He's the good guy, the hero. He won't hurt anyone unless he has to defend himself. And I'm not sure that I really can help you. Harry disappears to who knows where and I don't know where that is. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Besides," she said, "I don't want him to be placed back in that cage you had him in."

Marc rubbed his cheeks thoughtfully. "His escape makes him look guilty. If he's not here then maybe he's with someone you haven't met. Do you know if he's been keeping in touch with an old girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "He might be. But I only met a few of them. He had over a dozen when he was at training, and I only saw three. I don't even know the other's names." She dropped her head to her chest and heaved a giant breath. "I'll get Ron," she said, meandering to the fireplace.

"Hurry," Marc said, "Harry could be anywhere."

Blood covered his hands, spattered on his white clothes, and dripped into his eyes. He had to be certain no one could see him, but without his wand he couldn't perform such magic. If only he had the concentration to change his appearance at will, but his head was throbbing, his sight was failing him, and it was too dark to even worry about it. No one could see him.

He roughly fell out of a tree, stumbled onto the ground, then hoisted himself up and ran. He prayed that no one was looking out a window and seeing him. He passed house, after house, after house, tripping along the way.

"Almost there," he panted as he ran, looking behind him to make certain he wasn't being followed. "Almost there."

A house with a glowing porch light was waiting for him at the end of the street. Harry beamed at it and sprinted to get there. It had been too long since he'd seen it. He clambered to the screen door, opened it, but found the wooden door was locked. He knocked wildly and unevenly. "It's me," he whispered desperately, looking into the peephole. "Please be home," he moaned.

There was a clicking sound on the other side and the door opened. Harry grinned so widely it touched his heart.

"Harry!" a tall, thin, woman said with her dark eyes open in surprise. "My God, what happened to you?" she gasped. She pulled him inside by the hand and shut and locked the door behind her.

He kept smiling so brightly he felt he might cry; he was elated to see her at last. She pulled him by the hand into a bedroom, then to the bathroom inside it.

"What happened?" she asked tenderly. "What did they do to you?" She sat him down on the closed toilet seat and rummaged for bandages.

"I had to get out," he said, still grinning at her. "They think it's me. They think I started the Black Order, and I didn't. They think I'm crazy, that I made her up."

The woman walked to the wall and switched on the light. Harry could see her face much clearer now. He had always known she was the most naturally beautiful woman in the world. She had a thin face with full lips; her nose was perfectly straight and small, and her eyes, which were sparkling with tears, were a dark brown. She wiped a bit of her short, brown hair off her forehead, and then went to the cabinet for supplies.

"Made who up?" she asked softly, pulling disinfectant potion from a shelf.

"The leader of the Black Order," he told her. "Leucosia, this evil woman. She did it to me, Audrey, she did to me. She made them think I'm crazy. She wants them to think I'm crazy so I can't fight her. She's real, I know she is. Please believe me," he whimpered.

Audrey stood by him and started to clean the cuts on his head.

"She's real. I saw her," Harry repeated.

"Shhhh," she said soothingly, "relax. I need you to take deep breaths and relax. Okay?"

Harry shut his eyes and nodded. He could feel her gentle touch on his head as she tried to repair the damage he had caused. It felt as if she was working quickly.

"I missed you," he mumbled.

She let out the tiniest of laughs as she wrapped a bandage around the circumference of his head. "I should hope so," she replied, fastening the bandage down. "I missed you, too. When you're well I intend on reminding you how much I hate this secretive arrangement we have," she said kindly. She picked up his left hand and bit her lip. "Who did this to you, Harry?" she whispered, bending down before him.

"It was the only way I could escape," he told her. "I had to see you. It's been months since I've seen you."

She wiped his hands clean then wrapped them up with the same brand of bandage she used for his head. "I did the best I knew how. I should be healed by tomorrow morning, hopefully," she smiled to him. "You look tired."

Harry nodded but didn't lose sight of her. "I am."

She took both of his hands and rose him up. Standing, Audrey was only an inch and a half shorter than Harry was. She could easily look directly into his eyes. "Come on," she said to him, leading him out of the bathroom. "Let me get you out of those," she continued softly, sitting him on the edge of the bed. She took the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, taking care to ensure she didn't hurt him.

"Don't put them in the trash," he told her. "They might find me here if you do."

Audrey dropped the shirt on the floor. "I wasn't going to," she said. She walked to one side of the bed and pulled the covers out. "Get inside," she told him in a whisper. Harry got up and walked to her, then crawled inside the warm bed.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked, taking her hand.

"Yeah," she said with a grin. "I just need one more thing to make us complete." But Harry didn't let go of her hand. She sat down on the bed with him and rested her hand on his neck. "Looks like I have to work to fatten you up," she said, noticing his thin chest. "You went away much healthier."

"I didn't want to go at all," he said, clenching her hand in his.

"Let's not talk about it tonight," she said. "We have tomorrow for all this. I'm just so happy that you're back." She beamed at him. Harry bent his head closer to hers but she pulled back, still grinning at him. "No," she told him with a light chuckle, touching his lips with her fingers. "You know the rules."

While watching his eyes, Audrey reached one hand to her bedside table for a small, white porcelain box. She gripped it and brought it back to her lap. Harry now returned the grin. Audrey opened the box and extracted one solid gold ring, a wedding band, and, very gently, she placed it on Harry's left ring finger.

"There," she said with a sigh. "Welcome home, my love." She rested her free hand on Harry's chest then leaned in for his kiss.

Author's note: Old note has been removed on Dec. 17 now that next chapter is updated.