Intersections

Chapter 20: Prisoners

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:

I don't know how to begin, but I wanted to warn you about Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape.

Harry paused and took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before continuing.

Sirius and Remus took me to Voldemort by tricking me into drinking Firewhisky, and Snape

Another pause, a shakier breath. He forced himself to keep his hand steady and wrote the words very quickly as if he were tearing off a bandage.

...handed me over to Voldemort so he could torture me and keep me as a prisoner.

Harry paused for a moment, gripping the biro tightly, and bit his lip as he finished.

I know you said that everyone is safe, but can you please make sure that Hermione and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are all right? I don't think they know about the three traitors.

Thank you.

Harry Potter

Harry shoved the paper into an envelope that he sealed with his tongue. "Can you take this to Dumbledore?" he asked Fawkes, stroking the bird's red and gold feathers.

Fawkes trilled, grabbing the envelope with his beak, and disappeared in a burst of fiery light. One golden feather floated in the air, dropping to the floor in a graceful loop.

Harry picked it up and ran his finger through the warm barbs as he silently looked out at the placid street of Privet Drive.

-----

Dear Mum and Dad,

I can't tell you where we are because I barely know myself and there's a magical spell on me that prevents me from saying more. It's top secret, you see, because I'm living with a wanted fugitive (even though he's really innocent) and we're hiding from Death Eaters who want to kill us all and kill you and they attacked the Weasleys' house and -

(Crumple, crumple, and then a crackle as flames devoured the parchment hungrily.)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I haven't seen Harry in a week and I'm really worried. He was kidnapped by a dark wizard who wants to kill him and then a Death Eater used a potion to impersonate him, and I think Death Eaters also impersonated my friends who I invited into our house -

(Ink spilled over the parchment, consuming the words in a sea of black. Hermione was glad.)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I want to go home. Please come and get me so I can go home. I miss you. I think you were right, I should never have abandoned my GCSEs and come here. It was a foolish idea -

(Scratch, scratch, scratch, crumple - and now the words were blotted with moisture, blurred like rain against a window pane. She threw the letter into the fire.)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you. I will gladly come home for the Easter holidays.

Lessons are going well. My favorite is Arithmancy - it's like maths, but with magical properties, and I'm learning the more advanced aspects of it now. It's wonderful.

I'm not at the Burrow right now because it was damaged by the storm - I'm currently staying in someone's house, which is why I'm using an owl to send you this letter. (Wizards use owls like carrier pigeons were used in World War I). This owl is Errol, the Weasleys' family owl. He might need to rest before you can send him back to me. He's quite old.

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears as she wrote the next line.

Have you heard from my friends Daniel and Richard, from Witsford? I haven't been in contact with them ever since they visited the new house in December.

There was so much more she wanted to write, but she couldn't. They wouldn't understand, and she wasn't allowed to tell them.

The tip of the quill dug into the grain of the wood as she signed her name and stiffly folded up the parchment.

Love, your pearl,

Hermione

----------------------------------

Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see...Of course, James thought it was funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going...

Sirius tenderly brushed his trembling thumb over the photograph. "Prongs..." he whispered, watching James chase a laughing baby Harry around the small house in Godric's Hollow, "Prongs, I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

It was dark in the house, too dark. Even as sunlight flitted through the tall, boarded-up windows, illuminating the frozen, too-bright smiles of the skimpily dressed girls pasted on the wall, shadows continued to envelop the heartbroken man at the foot of the bed.

-----------------------------------------------------

Angry voices drifted up from the basement as Hermione started down the spiral staircase, her mind on one thing and one thing only: breakfast.

"...baby Acromantulas in the china cabinet and doxies in the curtains, Merlin knows how this house is still standing...I think there's a boggart hiding on the top floor, not to mention the house-elf heads and that horrid painting...this place is absolutely filthy -"

"I'm sorry it's not to your tastes, Molly," Sirius cut in sharply, "but I haven't been here for twenty years -"

"--which is why you need clean it! You have time, Sirius, if you start now you could get it done in a week, and yet--"

"Oh, of course," interrupted Sirius, bitterness coloring his every word. "I have loads of time, I've got nothing better to do than to sit around in this dump -"

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that, Sirius," Remus said in a strained voice, "we all know how much you hate this house - but it isn't safe for an untrained teenager to stay here while all of these Dark objects are around -"

"Harry isn't here!" Sirius bellowed.

Hermione flinched.

"But Hermione is," Remus countered tightly. "Or have you forgotten about her? She's only stayed here for the past two nights, and you've done nothing to make her feel welcome -"

"Welcome!" Sirius snorted. "I'm the one who told her about the Death Eater impersonating Harry, I'm the one who healed her hand, I'm the one who took care of her when you sent her here without so much as a warning - you two didn't tell her a thing -"

"And I suppose you would have done a better job, letting a Death Eater stay in your home for a week!" cried Mrs. Weasley shrilly. "But no, you packed up and left at the first sign of trouble! You didn't have to withstand the sight of him every day - serve him breakfast, lunch, dinner - let him sleep in your own child's bed and pretend as if everything were normal! You don't know how difficult that was, because you ran away like a coward!"

"I am not a coward!" Sirius snarled.

"PROTEGO! Sirius, Molly, put your wands d--!"

"FILTH! MUDBLOODS! TRAITOR OF MY FLESH!"

"Damn it -"

"VILE SCUM! DISGUSTING HALF-BREEDS -"

"SILENCIO!" Sirius came running into the entry hall, his wand aimed at the gap between the two moldy curtains hanging near the door. A yellow burst of light exploded out of its tip, and the only sound left in the deafening silence was Sirius' harsh panting. He glanced up at Hermione and lowered his arm to his side, his fingers clenching around his wand, and then he turned on his heel and strode away. Hermione sank down against the banister, her appetite now vanished.

She'd never felt more worthless in her life than she had the past two days at Grimmauld Place. Sirius spent all of his time ranting about the injustice of Harry's current living situation (a situation which Hermione actually envied - why couldn't she be in Surrey with her parents?); Remus spent all of his time pretending to ignore Sirius; and Mrs. Weasley alternated between Flooing to the Burrow and puttering about this house, clucking her tongue at its generally disgusting state as she attempted to set up a cleaning schedule involving everyone but Hermione. Apparently, Hermione didn't know enough yet about Dark creatures or objects she might encounter in the house, and so it wasn't safe for her to help. Hermione had proceeded to search the house for a book that would teach her about Dark creatures, only to find that the majority of the doors in the house had been spelled shut, unable to be opened even with "Alohomora." The only places she could access were her bedroom, the accompanying loo, the entry way, and the kitchen-basement.

It was clear that the adults still didn't trust her. And that hurt her more than she cared to admit.

Hermione took out her wand and inspected the curls of wood near the base, her words to Harry from so long ago echoing inside of her head. "I'm not going to give up a chance to learn about magic. It's a part of myself that I've never had the chance to understand. Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you go off and receive training while I stay here and pretend that I know nothing. I couldn't bear it..."

But had coming into the magical world really been worth it? What was the point of being here, where all she did was fight a losing battle against suspicion, fear, and frustration? Where everyone else was better at magic, and no one cared enough to catch her up - or provide her resources with which to teach herself? Where she was nothing more than an inconvenience - an afterthought to the boy that they really wanted to protect?

Hermione shook her head guiltily, trying to push away her resentment toward Harry. It wasn't his fault that he'd ended up back in Surrey while she was imprisoned here in a secret hideout. She couldn't believe she was being so selfish.

Sighing, she quietly made her way down the entrance hall and stepped into the tense, stifling atmosphere of the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Sirius were stiffly avoiding each others' gazes. Hermione piled some eggs on her place, forcing herself to eat. Her fork scraped against her plate, louder and louder with each bite she took.

The Floo roared to life suddenly, making everyone in the room jump. Arthur Weasley's head appeared in the bright green flames, followed quickly by the rest of his body. He brushed ashes off his shabby black robes as he gave Mrs. Weasley a quick peck on the cheek. "Morning, all," he said, glancing around the room.

"Is everything all right, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, bustling about and handing him a large stack of toast.

"I just came by to drop off some things before work," he replied between bites. "I brought the paper - you'll want to see it - and I managed to salvage some of the textbooks you were using for lessons. You're starting them up again today, aren't you?" He scooped a slightly wrinkled copy of the Daily Prophet out of his pocket and set it on the long wooden table, tapping it with his wand. An untidy stack of books expanded from the middle of the front page, the book at the top teetering dangerously. Mr. Weasley caught it and held it out to Hermione. "I think this is yours," he said with a frown, "it's a Muggle book. There were some sheets of parchment scattered around it, but I'm afraid they didn't quite survive the destruction..."

Hermione stared at the book she'd used to study Arithmancy. It, like the astronomical model, had been a gift from her friend at Witsford. What if it was also a trap? Mr. Weasley was holding it and nothing was happening to him...but then, he'd also checked the astronomical model for charms and things, and found nothing...

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, setting down the book with a look of surprise. "Well," he said awkwardly, "I'm off to work. Perkins thinks he's got a lead on the Nose-Biting Teacups, but it's up in Yorkshire...thank you, Molly," he said quickly, as he accepted another piece of toast from his wife. "I'll see you all tonight."

He stepped back into the fireplace and Flooed away.

"What's happening tonight?" asked Hermione.

"Dinner," Mrs. Weasley answered, glaring sharply at Remus, who had opened his mouth to answer. "Arthur's joining us for dinner."

"Is there an Order meeting tonight?" asked Hermione curiously. "May I sit in on it?"

"There is a meeting," Mrs. Weasley answered tersely, "but you may not sit in on it. You're not of age."

"Oh." A familiar tight, hurt feeling clenched her stomach. She took a deep breath and tried to get rid of it, playing with the single pearl that hung around her neck.

Sirius made a loud, strangled noise from the back of his throat. Everyone turned to look at him. He shoved the now unfolded newspaper toward the center of the table and pointed.

"Barty Crouch, Junior," he said hoarsely.

Hermione leaned over and peered at the pale, freckled young man whose thin face was twisted into a mad smile. A chill ran through her as she moved her attention to the headline. Something about that smile was eerily familiar.

Crouch Family Scandal Rocks Ministry of Magic

Death Eater Claims You-Know-Who has Returned!

On Saturday afternoon, a former prisoner of Azkaban long thought dead was brought struggling and screaming into the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. Barty Crouch, Jr., the infamous son of esteemed Ministry official and one-time shoo-in for Minister of Magic, Barty Crouch, Sr., reportedly died in Azkaban fourteen years ago, shortly after he was convicted of being a Death Eater and assisting Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black) in the irreparable torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

On Saturday, after being questioned under Veritaserum by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, Crouch, Jr. admitted that his father had smuggled him out of Azkaban one year into his imprisonment. Mrs. Crouch, the former Laurelia Hobbs, was overcome by grief at her son's fate. She and her then nineteen-year-old son took Polyjuice Potion and exchanged places, so that she died in Azkaban while her son was kept imprisoned at home under the watchful eye of his father.

Crouch, Jr. escaped from his father's house in late November of this year. With a gleeful laugh that nearly shocked Minister Fudge into a heart attack, Crouch, Jr. claimed that he had returned to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who was "very much alive". Crouch, Jr. also claimed that under You-Know-Who's orders, he had recently been impersonating the long-lost Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, "right under Dumbledore's nose." (For further information about Harry Potter, see page 5, Editorial: "Where is the Boy-Who-Lived? A Collection of Sightings of the Mysterious Harry Potter").

Minister Fudge is dismissing Crouch, Jr.'s claims as the ravings of a madman. "You-Know-Who has not returned," he said firmly. "I assure you that once I receive true evidence that You-Know-Who has come back, I will inform the public immediately."

Barty Crouch, Sr., who works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was not available for comment about this shocking piece of news. "Mr. Crouch has been taken ill for the past two months," reported Percy Weasley, Crouch, Sr.'s personal assistant. "I, personally, do not believe that Mr. Crouch is capable of harboring a Death Eater in his home." Many will recall Barty Crouch, Sr. as the ruthlessly intolerant prosecutor of Death Eaters in the war twenty years ago. Crouch, Sr. allowed Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters, making him immensely popular at the time. He was next in line to become Minister of Magic until his son was convicted of being a Death Eater, at which point he quickly moved out of the public eye. Is it that truly that surprising that Crouch, Sr. has yet another dark secret regarding his son?

Crouch, Jr. was given the Dementor's Kiss immediately after interrogation.

"Merlin," Remus breathed, looking across the table at Sirius, his face drained of color.

"I watched him die," Sirius said quietly, "in Azkaban."

Mrs. Weasley was clutching at her heart. Her eyes were wide. "P-Percy," she said shakily. She haphazardly moved her wand, and the empty dishes flew through the air and dropped into the sink with a loud clatter as she hurried out the door.

"Is...is Barty Crouch, Jr. the Death Eater who was pretending to be Harry?" asked Hermione hesitantly.

Sirius ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I think so. Veritaserum...it makes you tell the truth. If he said he was pretending to be Harry, then he was."

Hermione's skin crawled as she stared at Barty Crouch, Jr.'s picture, his eyes gleaming with madness. She'd taken several showers since she'd arrived here, but now she felt once more as if she'd never be able to scrub herself clean. She resisted the urge to scratch at her arms and instead pressed her palms flat against the table, taking deep breaths to get rid of the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

"Fudge is still denying Voldemort's return," Remus remarked. "That doesn't bode well for us."

"It doesn't bode well for anybody," Sirius muttered darkly, flipping to page five. "At least dear cousin Bella hasn't escaped from Azkaban yet. Merlin, look at this!"

A grainy photograph of a very young baby, his forehead smooth and unscarred, blinked up at them from the right column. "Harry Potter Sightings Across the Years," Hermione read in disbelief, skipping past the short biography at the top. "October 1, 1985, Harry Potter spotted in Surrey toy shop with Muggle relatives, source remains unknown...November 30, 1986, young Harry Potter sighted near the Leaky Cauldron...April 24, 1989, Dedalus Diggle claims to have met Harry Potter in east London while shopping -"

"I always did think that man had a big mouth," Sirius snorted.

"June 23, 1990 - Harry Potter reportedly spotted talking to snakes at reptile house in London Zoo, causing fear and panic among the wizarding community that he may be possessed by You-Know-Who - oh, he told me about this," said Hermione with a laugh. "I didn't know any wizards saw him, though -"

"Wait," Remus cut in. "He told you he talked to snakes?"

"Not exactly." Hermione's brow furrowed as she tried to recall Harry's exact words. "He made the glass on its cage vanish through accidental magic. He said he saw snake wake up, and he almost felt as if the snake understood him."

"Understood him," Sirius repeated slowly, exchanging a glance with Remus.

Hermione looked between the two men. "Is being able to talk to snakes a bad thing?"

"No," said Remus. "It's just rare, being able to speak Parseltongue, er, snake language. Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts, was a Parselmouth, and so was Voldemort."

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't know what to say to that. "He didn't ever say he could talk to them," she said, continuing to read the rest of the timeline. September 1, 1991, much to everyone's dismay, Harry Potter does not show up at Hogwarts...Harry Potter is not seen for four years, prompting rumors that he is being secretly trained and hidden by Dumbledore...December 12, 1995, Luella Crawfleet claims that Harry Potter visited her bookshop...December 17, 1995, Harry Potter spotted at Muggle comprehensive school 'Rock Wall High' in Surrey, leading the public to believe that he may be a Squib - Hermione paused. "What's a Squib?"

"A person born into a magical family but who can't do magic themselves," Remus answered absently, frowning as his eyes found the spot she was reading. "How on Earth did they know about his Muggle school?" He looked at Hermione. "Were you at Rock Wall at this time?"

"Stonewall," Hermione corrected. "And yes - December 17 - we were taking mock exams that week. I didn't see anything suspicious, though, and Harry didn't talk to anyone besides me and my friends..."

Sirius and Remus exchanged another dark glance. Sirius grabbed the paper and finished, "Where is Harry Potter now? Is he a Squib as some claim, or is he being hidden by Dumbledore as other theories like to suggest? With the possible return of Voldemort and a rise in Death Eater attacks, the time has come for the wizarding world's savior to step forward and take his place in the limelight. Wizards and witches, if you have any more Harry Potter sightings to report, please send an owl to Garinda Gamish at the Daily Prophet, Special Correspondence Division...this is rubbish!" Sirius declared in disgust.

Remus rubbed his forehead and sighed. "They didn't get pictures, at the very least. And they still don't know where he lives. The protections on Harry's aunt and uncle's house must be very strong."

"Stronger than in this house?" Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Sirius, don't start."

"Moony, I'm just saying -"

"Padfoot, don't." Remus' voice was sharp. "Please."

Sirius looked as if he wanted to argue, but he shut his mouth with a mutinous expression.

Remus stood and began to sort the books in alphabetical order. "You should probably keep these in your room," he told Hermione. "Why don't you bring them up right now? Come back down when you're done, and bring your wand. We're going to start with Defense today."

Hermione picked up the stack of books, staggering slightly under the weight, and started up the stairs as Sirius and Remus began a quiet conversation behind her back. She tried to pretend that she didn't notice.

When she came back down, the long wooden table had been placed against the far wall, and Sirius was gone. Remus turned and smiled, indicating for her to take out her wand.

"Today we're going to things a little differently. I've been teaching you how to cast individual spells, but not in relation to other spells. For example, you know that the Shield Charm is used as a defense against minor hexes and jinxes, but so far you've only been casting the Shield Charm by itself."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"I'm going to teach you how to use the Shield Charm to block other spells," continued Remus. "We'll start with blocking Disarming for today, and then Stunning if we have time. Now, when you see the spell coming towards you, don't hesitate - just cast the Charm. Ready?"

Hermione raised her wand and took a deep breath.

"Expelliarmus!"

A red arc of light soared towards Hermione much faster than she expected. She cried out and ducked, and the spell hit the floor, cracking the dirt-covered hardwood.

"Not quite," said Remus wryly, as Hermione flushed and pulled herself up. "Let's try it again, shall we? Ready?"

Hermione nodded. Protego, she whispered in her mind. Protego. Protego.

"Expelliarmus!"

Hermione watched the red light soar toward her for a moment before she came to her senses. "Protego!" she shouted, and an orb of white light shot out from the end of her wand, deflecting the spell by a hair's breath.

"Better," said Remus. "Let's try it again."

Remus trained her relentlessly for two hours, stopping only for a five-minute break for water. By lunchtime, Hermione was sore and aching, but her spirits had lifted immensely. She could now block (and cast) Stunning and Disarming spells with ease. She just wished that someone else were here to share her accomplishments. Her parents, perhaps. Or Harry - the real Harry, who she missed rather strongly at the moment. She wondered what he'd think of the newspaper article about him. He probably didn't get the Daily Prophet at his aunt and uncle's house.

"...once the house is clean...and we ought to redecorate the rooms, especially Hermione's..."

Hermione lifted her head at the sound of her name. "Pardon?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. "I was just saying that if you'd like, we can help you redecorate your room to something a bit more cheerful. I didn't think you'd like those snakes on the walls forever."

"An owl would be good too," Remus said thoughtfully. "You wrote to your parents and friends quite a bit when we were at the Burrow."

"She borrowed Errol yesterday," Mrs. Weasley pointed out.

"You and Arthur need Errol," Remus replied. "Didn't Arthur have some sort of Muggle telephone set up at the Burrow? Perhaps we can bring that here as well, though I'm not sure how it would react with the Unplottable Charm and the Fidelius."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I'm sure my dear old mum would love that. A Muggle device in her home...I'll ask Arthur about it tonight, or Kingsley, that man's a genius with Muggle things. Lily showed me how to use a telephone once..."

Hermione smiled slightly as Sirius recounted his one and only disastrous encounter with a telephone, wherein he accidentally called a Muggle shop of a rather profane nature instead of Marlene McKinnon, a Muggle-born classmate and friend. Remus choked on his sprouts from laughing too hard, and Mrs. Weasley, though she tried to look disapproving, blushed a deep red as Sirius described his conversation with the shop's phone attendant and hastily began to clear the dishes.

Perhaps being here isn't so bad after all, thought Hermione.

--------------------------------------------

"...the number of attacks in the city of London has recently decreased, leading investigators to believe that the criminal gang - informally referred to as the Greeners due to their habit of leaving this particular cultish, snake-like symbol in the sky - are trying to lure the public into a false sense of security..."

"For goodness' sake, Vernon, change the channel!" snapped Aunt Petunia, violently slamming down her spoon on the table. Harry's plate rattled with the impact.

"But Petunia, dear, the Prime Minister's just about to come on -"

"... reminding citizens to continue to keep their doors locked and their windows shut, and to report any suspicious activity to this special hotline..."

"Change it!" she screeched.

"All right!"

With a zapping noise, the thin reedy voice switched abruptly to a loud, obnoxious jingle for Fruit'n'Bran cereal that rang shrilly through the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" Uncle Vernon tore his eyes away from the television screen to glare at his nephew, who was pushing back his chair.

Harry tugged at his collar, trying to get rid of the constricting feeling in his chest as he watched the Dark Mark slowly fade from the screen. "I'm going out," he said, placing his plate into the sink.

"Out!" Aunt Petunia scoffed. "You're not going anywhere, boy, except for your room. Now get upstairs and stay there!"

Anger and irritation flared within Harry, breaking past the torpor that had lain over him for the past two days. "No." He turned swiftly on his heel and stalked to the door, wrenching his arm out of his aunt's bony grasp as he stepped onto the pavement.

"Boy! Boy, come back here if you know what's good for you!"

"Make me," Harry muttered under his breath. Without looking back, he began to stride down the dimly lit street, spots of color high in his cheeks.

He made it to the play park before his legs and adrenaline gave way. Panting, he sank down onto a nearby bench and ran a hand through his messy hair, the icy air cutting into his lungs as he watched the dead leaves scatter about the frozen swing set.

It was Monday night, one day and twelve hours since he had sent a message to Dumbledore, and Fawkes still had not returned with a response. Harry had spent two days confined to his room at the Dursleys', drifting between periods of sleep and boredom. Surprisingly, he hadn't had any nightmares, and he was grateful for that. Privet Drive was so dull that it was easy to slip back into the blank, indifferent mindset he'd had when he attended Stonewall. Perfect for Occlumency, he thought dryly, as the swing set creaked faintly in the darkness. He remembered another night like this, when he'd gone out to get away from Dudley, and a wizard - then invisible, then unknown - had followed him home...Harry wrapped his arms around himself and looked around warily, hoping that there were no more unseen Death Eaters waiting to attack him. He didn't want any more surprises.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Harry turned his head slowly, meeting the narrowed eyes of Piers Polkiss. The curly-haired boy was leaning against the gate, alone, a tall figure blocking out the light of the streetlamps.

"Polkiss," said Harry flatly, standing. His hand moved to his jeans pocket as he felt for the wand hidden there. "What are you doing here?"

Polkiss sneered. "Easy, Potter, I just came out here to smoke a fag." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and held it out to Harry, who shook his head mutely. "Anyway," said Polkiss, lighting a cigarette inexpertly with fumbling fingers, "I should ask you the same question. Where's that girlfriend of yours? Word at school is that you banged her up during the holidays, and that's why you both disappeared."

Harry coughed and turned his head away from the smoke veiled Polkiss' face. "She's not my girlfriend," he answered, "and I didn't get her pregnant. We both left...transferred to a different place." He shoved his hands inside his coat pockets and brushed past the other boy, preparing to leave. He was in no mood to deal with his former enemy.

"Hey, Potter! Wait!" Polkiss' nasal voice resounded in the still, peaceful night.

Harry paused and turned, an irritated glare covering his face. "What?"

Polkiss vaulted the frosted rails of the park gate and stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his trainer, leaving little grey ashes on the pavement. "Good to see you alive." And with that, he walked off in the other direction, leaving Harry staring after him in confusion.

Fawkes was waiting for Harry when he returned to his room. He trilled softly and dropped a slip of parchment into Harry's hand. Harry unfolded it, read it, and then crumpled it into a ball, kicking it across the floor in frustration.

Dear Harry,

Thank you for informing me of your concerns. Rest assured - there are no traitors in our midst.

Please await further explanation. I will see you soon.

A.D.

-----------------------------------------------------------

That night, Harry dreamed he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs, looking through the tiny grille that let in little slats of light. Hermione's bushy brown hair came into his range of vision, and he heard her calling out his name. "Harry...Harry...where are you?"

"I'm right here!" he shouted. "Let me out!"

Hermione gasped and peered in through the grille. "What are you doing in there?"

"I don't know," Harry snapped, panic rising in his chest as he rattled the doorknob. "Can't you let me out?"

Hermione bit her lip, and she looked behind her at something Harry couldn't see. "Dumbledore said you were safe there. I can't. I'm sorry." She turned around and began to walk away.

Harry pounded on the door. "Hermione, wait! Wait! Please!" He cursed as he hit his head against the corner of the stairs, gasping as he tumbled backward onto something soft and springy. There was grass beneath his fingertips, and, oddly enough, sand between his toes. Something was roaring behind him, and Harry turned as an ocean breeze lifted his hair. A tidal wave was rushing toward him, darkening the sky as it rose menacingly above Harry's body. He tried to run, but it was too late - the wave crashed down upon his body, and he was lifted up with the force, gasping, choking for air as salty water fell into his mouth and into his eyes. Something floated by him - a body, old and weathered and wrinkled - Frank Bryce. His eyes were wide open in terror, and at the shore, a familiar child's voice screamed for help. "Mummy!"

"Nicholas Trey Pembleton! How many times have I told you not to run off -"

Harry struggled to swim after Frank, but the wave pulled him back, twisting around him like ropes. Harry started to panic in terror. Sirius, Remus, and Snape were all holding his arms, pushing him headfirst into the water, and all he could see was bright green light as he tried to break free of their grasps. He couldn't breathe...he was back in the cupboard, and it was filled with water, and his arms were bound behind his back. He threw his body against the door, struggling to call out. "Hermione! Someone help...please! Please..."

The water rose up to his chin and filled his mouth. He gargled in terror...

A blast of golden light exploded into his consciousness. Harry shot upward, shaking and sweating, his sheets tangled all around him. It took a full minute for his tremors to subside, and he slowly came to his senses as he looked over at the phoenix perched on his desk. Fawkes chirped softly, his musical droplet of sound warming Harry like hot soup, and he flew over to Harry's bed, nuzzling against Harry's damp palm. Harry stroked the red and gold feathers gently and climbed out of bed, looking down into the street. His heart leapt in his throat when he caught sight of long silver beard, gleaming even in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps.

"Dumbledore," he whispered. "Finally."

------------------------