A Stranger in an Unholy Land

~~~~ Chapter III ~~~

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

Harry stood framed in the doorway as hundreds of camera flashes went off in his face. Tomorrow's papers would show the look of horror on his face, as he realised that his salvation was not what he had hoped for. He wanted - and needed - a private conversation with Dumbledore, not a trial in front of the whole country. How could he tell Dumbledore, in front of everyone, that the whole world was messed up? They would jeer and laugh. Dumbledore would believe him, or at least hear him out. Wouldn't he?

Beyond the flashes Harry could see hundreds, maybe thousands of faces. The audience was huge, hundreds of faces, glared at him from the pews. Such a celebrated Death Eater, as they thought him to be, must have attracted a large audience. Were these all people he had wronged? No, of course not, he hadn't wronged anyone and he certainly was not a Death Eater. This must still be part of the trick.

Are they hundreds of extras or just an illusion? wondered Harry.

Harry saw to his right, the Wizengamot, the supreme council of justice. In the centre, in a chair far more elaborate than the others, sat the Chief Warlock. He was looking sternly down at Harry without a trace of a twinkle, or even pity, in those deep blue eyes of his.

Looking along the bench, Harry could see Madam Bones, Dolores Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy. So the slippery git had managed to worm his way out of Azkaban and even onto the Wizengamot who ironically sentenced him to Azkaban just over a month ago. To Harry's surprise, Lucius Malfoy made eye contact with Harry and gave him a small smile and a nod. Not a smirk, but a smile. I bet he's loving this, thought Harry bitterly. This was the Malfoy revenge: utter humiliation.

Umbridge was glaring at him through her horrible glasses; her huge, toad-like mouth was stretched into a vindictive grin. The same one she had worn while making Harry write lines in his own blood last year. Dumbledore looked utterly cold towards him and Madam Bones looked as though she wanted to glare but was fighting to stay in control and appear impartial. The rest of the Wizengamot, whom Harry did not know were glaring down at him. Whatever they thought he had done must be pretty horrific. How could they? He was the Harry Potter for God's sake. After the slander campaign, he could understand a bit of wariness, even dislike, but not enough to put him on trial. He was their only hope. But they didn't know it. They didn't know about his destiny, about the prophecy. Only Dumbledore did. Why was he being so cold as well? Dumbledore was... had been his mentor. Wouldn't he even give him a chance to explain? He had done so before, why not now. Had he really changed that much? Why was everyone acting so strangely? It seemed to Harry that every eye was looking at him. Crouch took his place on the end of the front bench, behind the plaque reading,

Bartemius Crouch (Snr)

Minister of Magic.

The front bench was gently curved, like a shallow horseshoe shape. In the centre of the curve was a single chair. It was made of what looked like steel, with several clamps and manacles attached to it. On the left end of the front bench was a small dock with another chair in it. Harry recognised it as the Witness box he had once had to stand in. Even with Dumbledore's help, he had failed to convince Fudge that a Dementor had attacked him. Now he had to convince the world, including Dumbledore this time, that he was innocent without anyone to help him. And to add to his list of problems, Harry didn't even know what they were going to accuse him of.

His escort of Aurors led Harry to a large steel chair that sat before the curved bench of the Wizengamot. All eyes watched him, containing the utmost hatred as he was fastened into the chair. Polished metal bracelets about an inch thick and four inched long clamped his forearms and shins to the arms and legs of the chair respectively. A thin steel band about an inch wide wrapped around his neck, holding him upright. It didn't strangle him, but he couldn't turn to look around. Looking straight in front of him, like a horse with blinders, Harry surveyed his prosecutors. There were about twenty members of the Wizengamot. All sat along a wooden bench that was eight feet high. The wall behind them was covered in a large coat of arms, which presumably as the symbol of the Wizengamot. It was carved out of wood and mounted on the pale wall. Below it were two flags, the Union Jack and the magical flag of Great Britain. The carpet was a royal blue and the walls were pale. The room was lit very brightly around the front bench and Harry's chair, while the audience were in relative darkness.

"Burn in hell, Potter!" screamed a voice from the crowd.

This must be some sort of curse, thought Harry. It must be like an epidemic of the Imperius curse. It's making everyone act strangely, controlling their minds, making them try me. That or I'm in another dimension, which is about as likely as me kissing Snape. How could he snap them out of it? Could Voldemort really put the whole country under the curse? Could he really be that powerful?

To cast and maintain the curse on so many people, surely he couldn't be that strong. It would take immense power; power even a wizard like Voldemort could not possess without destroying himself. Maybe he had found a way to amplify his power, some ancient dark artefact that shouldn't even exist. So why had Harry himself not been affected by the curse? Maybe Harry's scar had protected him, and that is why he was unaffected. And then how could he have brought Crouch back to life? Polyjuice Potion? But why, even without Crouch, the number of people under his control was enough to dispose of Harry. This was far too elaborate for a plot to kill him. He had appeared by himself on Aunt Marge's farm. He had brought Harry to his knees and could do so again. Harry was unarmed and defenceless. He had had no protection so Voldemort didn't even bother bringing his followers. So why now go to all this trouble? Harry was still none the wiser as to what was going on. Looks like I'll have to wait to talk to Dumbledore, thought Harry.

"PLEASE STATE YOUR FULL NAME FOR THE RECORD!" came a woman's voice. The tone was formal but definitely lined with hatred; the sort of tone that Snape used when Dumbledore was in the room, and so had to be at least civil to Harry. Harry couldn't see who had spoken, but the murmuring and the abuse being shouted at him from the audience suddenly stopped.

"Harry James Potter," sighed Harry, rather bored by the proceedings. He wanted a quiet talk with Dumbledore and as such would have to wait until afterwards. Dumbledore was strong enough to resist the curse. He just needed Harry to make him realise he was under the curse. He would see Harry right, he always did. Harry didn't trust the headmaster completely, since the events of last year. He should have been told about the prophecy. It governed his destiny; he had a right to know. Harry still resented him for it.

But at this moment in time, Harry would take a piggyback on the Grim Reaper if it got him home and back to sanity. Harry didn't feel like he had anywhere else to turn to. He knew that the Headmaster was still the best person to turn to. If he cooperated, then the trial would be over much more quickly, he would see Dumbledore more quickly and he would be out of this mess more quickly. And if he was careful he would avoid contact with a Dementor, which was another concern of his, especially since he didn't have his wand with him. Speaking of which, where was his wand? They had better not snap it in half, thought Harry bitterly. If Harry couldn't defend himself then he was as good as dead and that meant that the rest of the world was the same.

OK, thought Harry to himself. Tell the truth, stay calm, be patient and it will all work out. You haven't done anything; just relax.

Ah, but you have, said a mischievous voice in the back of his mind. Let's not forget what you did to Bellatrix. Surely they didn't know about that. Bellatrix was a convicted and self-confessed murderer, not to mention a fugitive from the law. She was not in a position to just waltz into the Ministry and file a complaint against him. Surely this many people wouldn't be so mad at him for cursing her, not after all the suffering she had caused over the years.

"DATE OF BIRTH?" asked the voice crisply. Again Harry could hear the cold tone of dislike in the voice.

"Thirty-first of July, nineteen eighty," said Harry. Shouldn't they know all this already? It was public information. They are not going to go through every one of my details like this are they? thought Harry, worriedly. That'll take forever and a day.

"CURRENT ADDRESS?"

"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," said Harry unemotionally. Yes, they are going to do it one by one, realised Harry. He really wished he had had a cup of tea this morning. He would need the caffeine to stay awake. That or a heavy does of Amphetamines. Harry remembered hearing that in Thailand, where they were legal, amphetamines were put in tea, and that kept you up for days at a time.

"Excuse me?" said Madam Bones, from the bench. "Could you repeat that, please?" Oh, God, what's the problem now? Harry did as he was asked, this time with a look of puzzlement on his face. What was the complication? Dumbledore had kept this from the Prophet for obvious reasons, but the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot would both know where he lived. After all, they had sent him a letter expelling him last year and that found him easily enough. Harry wore a puzzled look, but not as puzzled as the one that was on Madam Bones' face. "Are you telling me that you live in Surrey?" she asked. She looked cynically down at him. Harry glanced quickly over at Dumbledore, hoping the Headmaster would give him some clue as what to do, a nod or a shake of the head at least. He got nothing but a cold yet curious stare from the Headmaster.

"Yes," replied Harry slowly. What was the problem? Dumbledore knew where he lived; he was the one who sent him there for God's sake. Would Dumbledore deny this to protect the Order? Did the Order outrank Harry? Without Harry the Order could never achieve its goal, and Harry couldn't achieve his without the support of the Order. This was going to be interesting.

"Even though we have proof that you have been living with You-Know-Who for the last two years?" enquired Madam Bones cynically. That had been the last thing Harry was expecting. He had not been living with Voldemort and he never would. That was ridiculous to the point of being insulting. They had owled him in Surrey; they knew where he lived. What was going on?

"I haven't," protested Harry. "You must know that I live in Surrey. You owled me last year because of Umbridge's Dementors. You knew my address then, what's changed?"

"My Dementors?" asked Umbridge, her frog like face stretched into a look of amusement and confusion all at once. "What pray tell are you referring to?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Professor," snapped Harry angrily. "I've still got the scars from your Blood-Quill. You can charm your way back into Fudge's favour, but I know what really happened, and as for McGonagall, you should stay away from her, unless you want to end up being transfigured into a toilet seat."

"What are you talking about?" asked Madam Bones with an impatient glare. "For your information, Mr Potter, the Dementors of Azkaban defect to the Dark Lord's side, your side, over two years ago. Surely you remember; it was, after all, you who stormed the island of Azkaban."

"May we please return to formalities," interrupted Dumbledore softly. Madam Bones fell silent, but kept her eyes firmly on Harry. Harry himself was at a loss. Storming Azkaban? Dementors defecting two years ago? What was she on about? "Madam Kitchener, if you would be so kind," continued Dumbledore. He must have been referring to the speaker of the house. For the voice, once again echoed around the hall.

"DO YOU DENY THAT YOU LIVE WITH YOU-KNOW-WHO?"

What were they on about? Why would he, Harry Potter, set foot in Voldemort's home, let alone live with him for two years. Sure they didn't know about the Prophecy, but they sure as hell knew that Harry and Voldemort were 'not best friends' to put it mildly. "Yes," said Harry exasperatedly. "I told you, I live at number four, Privet Drive, Surrey, with the damned Dursleys, where he put me," said Harry firmly, pointing at the Headmaster and Chief Warlock.

"Who?" asked Madam Bones, cynically.

"Dumbledore!" said Harry, trying not to shout. Why were they being so stupid about a fact that everyone in the country knows? Dumbledore could have answered these petty questions for him and save this stupid argument. Why wasn't Dumbledore answering for him? Why hadn't he sent someone to defend Harry? Was he going to do it himself?

"I beg your pardon?" said Dumbledore softly, fixing Harry with a piercing stare that Harry normally only saw on McGonagall's face. He sat forward in his chair, surveying Harry coldly over his half-moon spectacles. Harry saw neither a twinkle, nor an ounce of kindness in the Chief Warlock's eyes. "I placed you in Surrey?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry, trying not to sound as aggravated as he felt. "What's wrong with you? Don't you remember? After Voldemort-" there was a gasp as he mentioned the name they all feared to speak. The word set off a murmur, which went around the crowd like a wave.

"ORDER!" called Dumbledore.

"SHUT UP!" shouted Harry at the crowd. Unlike Dumbledore call, Harry's shout had the desired affect.

"MR POTTER!" snapped Crouch. "Restrain yourself!"

"Mr Potter," said Dumbledore softly. "Please continue."

"After He-Who-You-Lot-Are-Too-Pathetic-To-Call-By-Name murdered my parents, you sent me to the damned Dursleys because of the blood magic of my aunt and mother. You know the details of the spells better than I do."

"I'm afraid I do not know what you are talking about, Mr Potter," said Dumbledore with an amused look on his face. The twinkle was temporarily back in his eyes. "Before we continue, I feel I should ask if you are feeling alright? Have you perhaps bumped your head recently?" A murmur of laughter in the hall, echoed around the hall, Harry felt his face go red. Why was Dumbledore teasing him? Was he that angry with Harry for wrecking his office, that he was willing to deny all knowledge of him and send him to Azkaban? No, it must be a curse. The new Imperius Curse. He would just have to grin and bare it until he could speak to Dumbledore alone.

"I'm fine," said Harry firmly. "Except for the minor inconvenience of everyone thinking I'm a Death Eater and..."

"Are you saying you are not?" interrupted Umbridge, she was almost laughing. Something was amusing her. She looked as though she were trying to hold back a laugh as she looked down at him.

"Yes," said Harry as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He managed to reframe for saying 'Duh!' "You were there last year; you saw..." he was pointing at Umbridge though his forearm was bound to the chair.

"I was where?" asked Umbridge, smirking at him.

"Hogwarts," said Harry exasperatedly. Did she have memory loss as well as being under the mysterious new curse? Had Voldemort wiped the memories of every person in the country? Could he do that? Was that why no one seemed to know him? "You were teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"I assure you I was not," retorted Umbridge. Had she forgotten or was she pretending. She'd be up on many crimes against children if she confessed. Was she really ignorant or was she trying to protect her own skin.

"Oh yeah?" snapped Harry. "Then where did I get this?" He gestured as best he could through the restraints to the back of his hand. The court scribe walked over to him and glanced at his hands.

"I must not tell lies," he read out loud. "It was cut into his flesh."

"Good advice, Mr Potter as you are in a courtroom," said Dumbledore.

"Hello?" said Harry sarcastically. "Aren't you going to ask how I got it?"

"How did you get it?" said Umbridge in a bored tone of voice.

"You forced me to write that with a Blood-Quill," said Harry hotly.

"Really? Not a punishment from the Dark Lord?" suggested Umbridge. "And incidentally, Blood-Quills are illegal."

"That didn't stop you, did it?" snapped Harry. "And do you really think that Voldemort would use a Blood-Quill when he has the Cruciatus Curse at his fingertips and believe me, that hurts more than a quill."

"Mr Potter," exclaimed Umbridge. "In saying that, you've just confessed that you are familiar with the Dark Lord's methods of punishment and that you've felt an illegal curse."

"Of course I've felt it. He's been trying to kill me for fifteen years. He's come close several times, hence I've felt the curse," said Harry hotly. "Oh, and while we're on the subject, Professor Umbridge, why do you call him the Dark Lord? I was under the impression that only the Death Eaters called him that."

Umbridge visibly paled under Harry's glare. There was a stir of muttering among the crowd. Harry saw Dumbledore glance across at Umbridge before making a note on the paper in front of him. Crouch on the other hand, wasn't convinced by Harry's accusation. He was after the big fish: Harry Potter.

"This line of questioning is serving no purpose," interrupted Crouch. "I urge the panel to being the trial."

"Quite right," said Dumbledore. "The Wizengamot is now officially in session. Case number 56093: Potter, Harry James. Council for the Prosecution: Barthemius Crouch Senior. Council for the defence...Mr Potter I assume you are defending yourself?" Harry had expected Dumbledore to defend him. Harry now realised that Dumbledore had forsaken him as well. Whatever he now thought of Dumbledore, he had always been there and now Harry needed him more than ever. Surely he was strong enough to see through any curses. He must be. This was his choice. For some reason, Harry felt angry with the Headmaster.

"Of all the people," sneered Harry, shaking his head. "After everything we've been through, you'd actually believe that I did all those crimes? You are willing to abandon me and leave me to fend for myself before the Wizengamot? What happened to you, Dumbledore? What happened to the trusting headmaster we all knew and trusted?" Dumbledore's eyes grew wide. Harry's attack had been personal, and Dumbledore looked visibly shaken, something Harry had not seen in five years of going to the Headmaster with the most bizarre, exceptional, and unbelievable stories imaginable. Dumbledore didn't look angry, but Harry got the impression the words had dug deep. There was silence in the room. No one really knew what to say to that. It was Dumbledore who spoke next. After a few second's pause he cleared his throat.

"You are to defend yourself?"

"Seems like I'm going to have to," said Harry sarcastically, glaring at the Headmaster.

"No!" called a voice. "I am!" Harry tried to turn his head, but couldn't see who had spoken. His restraints didn't allow him to see who had spoken. He heard the sharp clicking sound of high heels behind him as a woman walked down the aisle. The clicking became closer and a murmur went up in the crowd. Harry didn't recognise the voice and couldn't see who she was, but he knew a woman was approaching. The audience could clearly see as they began murmuring amongst themselves. A chair appeared next to Harry's with a pop and small table followed suit. The sound of clicking hells softened as the woman arrived in the carpeted section around the front of the room. A figure in long black robes took a seat next to him, depositing a thick black file, bursting with parchment onto the table. Harry's blood ran cold and he knew he was doomed to Azkaban, as he stared flabbergasted at his new defence lawyer. He sat open mouthed, as she secured her long silvery hair into a tight bun, and opened the thick folder she had brought. "Narcissa Black-Malfoy QC," she introduced herself.

The murmuring in the crowd grew louder and Crouch turned a dark shade of Magenta in anger.

"ORDER!" called a stern looking witch sat two places to Dumbledore's left.

"Mr Potter, do you consent to Lady Malfoy acting as your council for the duration of this trial?" asked Dumbledore.

Lady Malfoy? Since when was Lucius Malfoy a Lord? "Why not?" said Harry, unenthusiastically. "Since you've done a Judas, why should I not sit in the company of the enemy? Someone out there seems to have a sense of humour." The entire front bench and Narcissa Malfoy both glanced at Harry with a stare that clearly said, 'Are you feeling all right?' Dumbledore made a note on the parchment in front of him.

"What are you on about?" whispered Narcissa. Harry looked over at her, but before he could speak, she cut him off. "Never mind. Keep quiet; the Dark Lord has instructed us to get you out. Sit tight and we'll get you out of here." What? After going through the trouble and probably the pain of putting all these people under a control curse or wiping their memories or whatever he had done, Voldemort now wanted him to be released? What was going on? Was he trying to frame Harry, to make it look like he was in with the Malfoys? What's the point? He already has the country in his grasp if this really is his curse. Why go to the trouble to frame him? Harry's head was spinning. So many questions, so few answers. None of it made sense. What was going on?

"Why are you doing this?" whispered Harry. Would she give him an answer? It was worth a try.

"I'm under orders," hissed Narcissa.

"What's going on? Is this all a trick? Is it a new control curse of his?"

"What?" Narcissa looked genuinely confused by this.

"Why does everyone think I'm a Death Eater?" said Harry

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked looked more worried than confused. She gave him a look that he had seen in Mrs Weasleys' eye many times before. Did she care about him? No, surely he must have imagined it.

"Why does no one remember what's happened these last few years?" pressed Harry. "Why does no one remember who I am, and why is Frank Longbottom out of St Mungo's?"

"Sorry about that," said Narcissa. She visibly paled. "It was Rodolphus' fault." She added hurriedly. "He was on observation and failed to tell us he had gone out. When we arrived he was gone; we got his wife though." Harry's mind flashed back to when he had been arrested. Frank had said that they had killed his wife and unborn child. He wanted to kill Harry, to avenge Neville. But Neville was alive! Harry couldn't have killed him. He had seen him a few weeks ago. None of it made sense.

"COUNCIL!" shouted Crouch, bringing Harry and Narcissa's conversation to an abrupt end. "If you've quite finished, we can press on."

"Thank you, Mr Crouch. Madam Bones," said Dumbledore formally. "If you would be so good as to read out the charges filed against the defendant."

"Of Course," replied Madam Bones. She unravelled a roll of parchment and began to read. "August 1994, Breach of the Law for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. Subsequently 14098 further offences of this nature have been committed, the last three yesterday. Use of the Imperius Curse on fellow human being: seventeen offences, including use on Sirius Black, Ludovic Bagman, Cornelius Fudge, Bilius Weasley, Rose-Marie Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Daniel Bell and-" she stammered slightly "-Susan Bones. Use of Cruciatus Curse on fellow human being: forty-one such offences, including on Muggles in sight of Muggles, hence in breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Use of Killing Curse on fellow human beings, eleven such offences confirmed, several more reported. Mr Potter rarely uses a wand for killing; preferring the use of a sword, exhibit 1A. First-degree murder through decapitation: thirty-four counts. Bombing of Canamarro Square in 1995, resulting in the death of fourteen people. Attack on Diagon Alley, May 1994, resulting in the deaths of 19 civilians, three Aurors and the Minister of Magic. Setting a Dragon loose in Butlin's Holiday Park. Impersonating an Auror. Impersonating the Minister of Magic. Taking part in the raid on the facility hereafter referred to as 'Area C'. The kidnapping of a St Mungo's nurse. Arson. Murder of two Aurors and two suspected Death Eaters. One count of being drunk and disorderly in a public place." There was a pause as the full horror of Harry's alleged crimes sank into the audience, the Wizengamot and Harry himself. He had done none of it, with one exception. Did they really believe that he of all people would do any of that?

"Quite a list, Mr potter," said Dumbledore coldly. "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," said Harry firmly.

"To all of them?" asked Umbridge.

"Not quite, your honour," cut in Narcissa, before Harry could answer. Harry had been about to confess to cursing Bellatrix, but Narcissa had cut him off. "My client does indeed plea 'Not Guilty' to all crimes listed above, with the exception of one." How could she know about that? thought Harry in a panic. Blood surged from his face as a chill went down his spine. He would go to Azkaban for that one alone. It had been an Unforgivable after all. But, how could she know? Bellatrix must have told her! What was she doing, if they found out he really had used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix, he's be down a Dementor's throat before he could say 'Expecto Patronum'.

"And which might that be?" sneered Crouch.

"Being drunk and disorderly in a public place," said Narcissa. Harry hadn't been expecting that. His eyebrows flew up and his eyes became wide. Narcissa turned to Harry. "We thought it would make the Ministry look even more stupid if all they could pin on you was a D&D charge. Bellatrix's idea."

"Fair enough," sighed Harry. Something this moronic had to come from someone like Bellatrix. Someone who was a few balls short of a snooker set. Crouch looked outraged and stood gaping like a fish at Harry.

"Mr Crouch," said Dumbledore formally. "Please begin."

"Certainly, your Honour," said Crouch with a grin. He was in his element here. Harry was reminded of the Penseive he had seen in his fourth year. If he was anything like how was in there, Harry would struggle to get a word in edgeways. Maybe Narcissa could swing it for him. As much as he loathed relying on her, especially after she helped kill Sirius, he knew it was the right thing to do. He had to play his cards very carefully. If she got him off then he could run to Hogwarts and speak to Dumbledore there. Harry decided it was probably better to play along and allow Narcissa to get the charges dropped. She was a QC. Queen's Council: that meant that she was one of the top lawyers in the country. Harry was actually impressed with his plan. Normally he would charge in head-first but now he was thinking. Snape would be impressed. Well surprised, impressed was a bit of an exaggeration.

"To begin with," said Crouch after melodramatically clearing his throat, "I would like to think back to the events of April 30^th 1994. As Hogwarts records will show, the accused did not return to Hogwarts in September 1993 for what would have been his fourth year. Mr Potter as good as disappeared for just over eight months. The next sighting of the defendant was on April 30^th, otherwise known as Bel Tain, in the area of Lydford Gorge known as the Devil's Cauldron. Bel Tain is the time of the year when dark magic is at its most potent. Devil's Cauldron, while appearing to be nothing more than a whirlpool to most, is far more than that. Devil's Cauldron was built for the single purpose of harnessing and concentrating Dark Energy. You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, Mr Potter among them amassed at the Cauldron on Bel Tain 1994. One witness to the events that unfolded is with us today. I call my first witness, Riener Attacus."

Harry tried to turn his head, but the restraints held him firmly. He thought he felt them tighten as he tried to move. They probably were magical after all. His head was already spinning. Bel Tain? He had heard Hermione mention it before he remembered. He remembered reading in History of Magic, under pressure from Hermione, that Devil's End, a small God-fearing village in Yorkshire had caverns beneath the Church, where witches of the 17^th century allegedly worshipped the occult on Bel Tain. In other words, wizards and witches had a piss-up and party on the thirtieth of April every year. But that was irrelevant. On April 30^th 1994, which was half way through his fourth year, he had been at Hogwarts preparing for the third task. Why couldn't anyone remember?

Harry sat, deep in thought for several minutes, trying to figure out exactly what was happening. Surely they would know that he, the boy-who-lived would not practice Black Magic with Voldemort on Bel Tain, especially when plenty of witnesses could tell them he was at Hogwarts.

"MR POTTER!" Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by Crouch screaming his name. He looked up. On the Witness box, sat an elderly wizard. He was about 60 to Harry's eyes, and wore plain robes, which looked old and tired. That was nothing compared to the man within the clothes. His face drooped, his skin looked old and wrinkled. Every inch of him looked tired, except for his eyes. They were alive with passion, the only part of him that appeared so. He reminded Harry of Mad-Eye for a second.

"Mr Attacus," began Crouch. "Following your honourable discharge from the Aurors in 1975, you became a free-lance Auror, did you not?"

"A delicate way of putting it," said the old man, his voice rough, probably from too many cigarettes. "Most would call me a Bounty Hunter or a Mercenary."

"I'll take that as a yes," said Couch, looking impatient. "You were, during the event in question, undercover within the Death Eaters, were you not?"

"I was," replied Attacus, his eyes fixed on Harry. "I felt I could be most useful as a spy. I was initiated and to this day I carry the Mark. I was however not alone. Against me better judgement, my wife Caitlin was also initiated along with me."

"In your own words would you like to tell the court exactly what occurred between the hours of 23:50 and 00:10 on Bel Tain 1994," asked Crouch.

"Gladly," said Mr Attacus. He sat up in his chair, and took a sip of orange juice from the glass next to him. Having quenched his thirst, he cleared his throat. "It was approximately five to midnight when...." Harry lost all interest in what was being said. As soon as he had drunk from the glass, Narcissa had started counting. He could hear her whispering under her breath.

"Ten...nine...eight, meet us in the lobby...seven...."

What are you doing?" whispered Harry.

"Get to the lobby...six, that wasn't orange juice," hissed Narcissa with a sly sneer. "Five...four..."

"What the hell is going on?" hissed Harry. His heart began to race. He broke into a sweat and started looking frantically around.

"MR ATTACUS!" boomed Crouch's voice. Harry's attention was snapped back to Crouch as the whole hall gasped. Harry followed their gaze to the witness box. Attacus was on all fours, coughing and retching. Blood was flowing freely from his eyes, nostrils and mouth. What the hell had he just drunk?

"Narcissa, what the..."

"Hold onto something," she hissed with a firm glare. Dumbledore was on his feet, moving along the bench. Crouch was also hastily making his way towards Mr Attacus. The audience murmured in confusion, many stood trying to get a better look. Harry had a perfect view from where he was. Mr Attacus continued to retch uncontrollably. He was coughing and spluttering, while desperately trying to breath at the same time. As Harry watched, smoke began to pour out of Mr Attacus' ears. The old Auror looked like he was on fire as thick white steam spouted out of his ears.

Suddenly, Harry realised what was about to happen.

"GET DOWN!" he screamed. Dumbledore reacted instantly. The Headmaster's instantly turned to Harry, then to Attacus. Using the same speed with which he had duelled with Voldemort last year, Dumbledore sent a banishing charm straight at Crouch, sending him sailing away from the danger. He instantly conjured a shield around himself, just as the body of Mr Attacus exploded. Pieces of bone and flesh were sent flying in all direction, accompanied by a fine red spray. The entire witness box was coated in blood.

Suddenly the door erupted into a ball of fire. The explosion rocked the entire room, sending debris from the door sailing through the air into the audience. As shards of splintered wood rained down on the audience, a figure came flying through the fire. It was human shaped, more or less but seemed to be made of pure fire. Burning red eyes shone in its fiery head as it swooped around the room coming to a stop over the front desk. The Wizengamot instantly fled, Lucius Malfoy still maintaining an aura of cool about him, as he marched towards the exit completely unfazed by the destruction of the room.

"Heliopaths!" screamed Madam Bones, standing alone before the enraged creature. So Luna had been half right: they did exist, but it wasn't the Ministry that used them for their private army. It was Voldemort. "Stand down!" ordered Madam Bones "That's an order! Stand down!"

The fire demon had no intention of obeying. That was another ally of the Ministry that had defected. Voldemort now controlled the Dementors and the Heliopaths. Harry could feel the burning heat of the fire-spirit, and remembered all to well the cold of the Dementors. The creature's eyes flashed menacingly as it sent a spout of fire straight at Madam Bones, who managed to move away just in time. The flame struck the ground where she had stood mere seconds before, reducing it to a pool of flame instantly.

Harry couldn't do anything to help, he couldn't even move. The Heliopath now started throwing jets of fire in random directions, setting the whole room ablaze. Harry could feel the heat on his face. It was unbearable. It felt like his blood was boiling.

"Help!" he called. "Somebody!" It was pandemonium. The audience was scrambling over each other in an attempt to reach the exits. There were bundles of people at every door, pushing and shoving, trying desperately to escape the demon's wrath. Smoke was filling the room, making it hard to breath or even to see. Where was Narcissa? She was supposed to be helping him to escape, Coughing and spluttering, Harry tried to think.

Boom!

The enraged Heliopath sent a geyser of fire into the first row of the audience. Luckily it was empty. The explosion launched the wooden benches several metres into the air. With a tremendous crash the pews returned to earth, splintering in every direction on impact. To his horror, Harry saw a robed figure stand up, riddled in flame. He - or was it a she - stood up, frantically flapping its arms. Then figure was engulfed in flame. The screaming was sickening as the burning figure flapped and ran in all directions, trying to put the fire out.

"ROLL, YOU FOOL!" shouted Harry. "DROP AND ROLL!" The figure didn't hear. It had been on fire for several seconds. The Heliopath roared, hovering a few feet above the flaming figure. Harry watched helplessly as the creature conjured a ball of flame in its hand, it hurled the wad of fire at the dying figure. The figure was propelled into the air, landing two feet from Harry and lying still. The fire was not out; the corpse was burning. The smoke was making him nauseous. He held his breath trying to resist the urge to throw up. The smell of burned flesh and skin was the most vile he had ever smelt. The body was the most disgusting thing he had ever laid eyes on. He shook his head, trying desperately to remain conscious. He could see movement all around him.

An Auror ran past in a panicked flurry.

"Help me!" called Harry desperately. The Auror paused, turning to face him. For a second they made eye contact. The Auror sighed and pulled out his wand, pointing it at Harry. He's going to set me free! thought Harry. A wave of relief spread over him.

Bang!

The front bench exploded as the Heliopath sent a geyser of flame at it. Splintered wood and debris rained down on Harry, while the unfortunate Wizengamot member who had been using it as a shield was sent flying and slammed brutally into the wall. The Auror who was about to release Harry was also catapulted through the air. Harry watched helplessly as his only hope of escape landed amid the wreckage of the front bench. With a sickening squelch, a jagged end of a shard of wood appeared through the Auror's back. He had been impaled as he landed. Thick red blood oozed out from around the spike. Harry watched helplessly, feeling a combination of sickness and despair as the Auror struggles like a hooked fish for a few seconds, before finally going limp. His lay surrounded by burning debris, motionless. Through the smoke, Harry saw a familiar figure in purple robes dart over to the fallen Auror and check his pulse.

Thick black smoke filled the room, blocking out any light, save for that from the Fire Demon itself. Dumbledore was barely visible to Harry as he knelt over the fallen Auror.

Dumbledore had forsaken him, and left him to fend for himself before the Wizengamot but right now, he was Harry's only hope.

"Professor!" called Harry, as loud as he could, considering his mouth was dry and his lungs were full of smoke. "Professor Dumbledore, please, help me!"

The Headmaster's head spun around, coming to rest on Harry. Dumbledore paused for a second before raising his wand. Harry felt his bonds retract. The neck brace slid back like a snake, while the shin and wrist bonds clicked open. Harry found himself able to move again. Despite being free, he was very weak; He could hardly breath as the thick black smoke invaded his lungs. He coughed in vain, trying to clear his airways. He pulled his arm a little way back into his sleeve and covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve in an attempt to filter out the smoke.

BANG!

The chair that had once bound him to the floor exploded under the Heliopath's wrath. The blast was so powerful it knocked Harry off his feet. Harry landed in a heap on the remains of the front bench. The remains of a chair and a soot covered plaque reading

Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore

Chief Warlock

were all that cushioned his fall. Harry founding himself lying on his front, covered in soot, staring into the cold hollow eyes of the Auror who had tried to help him. He quickly clambered to his feet, amidst the wreckage. Trying to spot an exit that wasn't blocked by fire. If only he could put the fire out, then he stood a chance. As he tried to free himself from the wreckage, Harry noticed that Dumbledore has disappeared. Thanks a lot, thought Harry bitterly. Really helpful.

The Heliopath let out one final roar of rage, and sent one final jet of flame into the Coat of Arms of the Wizengamot, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. Flaming debris fell like shooting stars to the ground around Harry. He covered his head with his arms, wishing he still had his wand with him. Whose side is this bloody creature on? thought Harry angrily.

Having completed its business, the Heliopath, turned and swooped silently from the room, leaving Harry, covered in ash, in the middle of what used to be the grandest room in the building, but now looked like Hiroshima in 1945.

Harry managed to climb to his feet once again and struggle through the wreckage. More by feel than by sight, Harry managed to find the exit. The remains of the double doors littered the hallway, which was now deserted. The smoke was less thick out here, and Harry lowered his sleeve. He coughed a few times, to try and clear his lungs. The heat from the Atrium was unbearable. His clothes were sticking to his body due to the sweat, and he could smell singed hair, most likely his own. He was covered in soot and his clothes were torn. He wasn't bleeding or burned, but he felt like hell.

Trying to clear his head, Harry struggled to walk down the corridor towards the lift. He stepped helplessly over the two bodies of the Aurors whose job it had been to stop people getting into the Atrium. They had been unable to stop the Heliopath. He bumped into the walls after every few paces. He had gone five paces when he twisted his ankle on a piece of door. Cursing colourfully, Harry continued on towards the lift. When he got to the lift, he pressed the button to call it.

Having recovered from the shock of nearly dying, Harry managed to stop and think. What the hell just happened? Harry asked himself. Narcissa plans to break me out, and so she switches the witness' drink. That much I can understand. Then, when the Heliopath arrives she leaves me to my death. Thanks a lot, love. Dumbledore helped me. Does that mean that Dumbledore has remembered who I am? Has the curse been broken? Is everything back to normal?

With a PING, the lift door slid open, bringing Harry out of his trail of thought. Harry stepped in and the doors silently slid to behind him. Tasting clean air was a relief to Harry. It wasn't fresh air, but it was better than the smell of singed flesh and fire. Harry wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and pressed the button marked Lobby. At once a woman's voice filled the lift.

"Apologies visitor," said the voice, in what Harry thought was a needlessly happy voice. "Due to security reasons, all lifts have been stopped. Please use the stairs situated to the right as you leave the lift. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a prosperous day." The doors slid open as the voice vanished.

Harry felt the wave of smoky air hit him as the doors opened. He coughed instantly. Damn! he thought. I'll never get out of here. Aurors would be at the top of the stairs and he would end up back in that awful cell again. Covering his nose and mouth once more, he walked out of the lift. As the voice had instructed, he turned right. The second door on the right had a picture of some steps next to it. This must be the one. Harry cautiously pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Harry closed the door behind him and looked up. Luckily he was completely alone. He lowered his sleeve. A little smoke was pouring underneath the door but it was still clearer air than outside. Harry looked up. Before him was a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. The beech wood steps with bronze handrail spun upwards and away. There had to be at least a thousand steps in the staircase.

"And me without my slinky," muttered Harry bitterly, to no one in particular. Groggily, he began to climb. When will Wizards invent a stair-lift or an escalator? he thought as he climbed.

Harry had only climbed two floors when the voice returned, echoing throughout the corridors.

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION! THIS IS A CODE RED ALERT. THERE IS A MAXIMUM-SECURITY PRISONER LOOSE IN THE BUILDING. ALL STAFF AND GUESTS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE ENTRANCE HALL. ALL AURORS PLEASE REPORT TO LOWER LEVELS. MR POTTER, YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. TURN YOURSELF IN AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED...THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC WISHES YOU A PLEASANT MORNING."

"Bollocks," cursed Harry under his breath. They still thought he was a Death Eater. After what had just happened they would add attempting to escape and probably several more murders to his list of crimes. Another trial, Azkaban, not to mention several nights in another maximum-security cell. No thanks. Harry decided that the best course of action was to try and get out of here and go to Dumbledore himself. But Dumbledore thought that he was a murderer too. So who else could he turn to? Not the Order, not...no one. He was totally alone. Except...maybe...NO! Absolutely not! He would never resort to asking Voldemort for help. Not that Voldemort would even consider giving it. Where had that thought come from?

Whoever he turned to, he still needed to get out of the Ministry, so one problem at a time. Harry hurried up to the next floor. His lungs were full of smoke making him feel exhausted. Every step felt like a mile. As he reached the next landing, he stopped fro breath. He was two floors below the entrance hall.

"Two more floors to go. Only two," he panted out loud. Suddenly he heard a voice above him.

"Split up in teams of two. Two per floor I want that son of a bitch found!" said a commanding voice.

Aurors! Harry was trapped. He quickly darted through the door, closing it quietly behind him. He found himself at the end of a long corridor with offices on either side. The corridor was bathed with red light. Harry hurried along, passing deserted office after deserted office. The whole floor seemed completely deserted. Every office that Harry passed was empty with the doors wide open, cloaks and hats remained on hooks and chairs were either knocked over or far from the desk. Nothing was put away and the ink-bottles had no lids. The occupants must have left in a hurry. Harry couldn't see too far in the red light, but he could see that he was alone, for the moment at least. He had about twenty seconds until the Aurors arrived. He passed a door marked Gentlemen. The toilets would be the first place they looked. Harry dived into an office. It was, like the rest completely deserted. Harry then spotted the cloak that had been thrown over a chair. Quickly he removed his prisoner's shirt and donned a cloak that he found in one office. It was a little long, but was thick and would cover the prisoner's trousers he wore underneath it. He pocketed a hat as well. It might be useful if he had to pass other people. There was a click as the door opened at the far end of the corridor. Harry was trapped in the office. Bollocks! Quickly he discarded his prisoner's shirt and hid under the desk. Oh what an original hiding place, thought Harry bitterly as the sound of Aurors footsteps became audible. He could hear the Aurors' boots on the hard floor. Their voices echoed down the deserted hall. About as stealthy as a herd of elephants. As they came closer Harry could hear what they were saying. These had to be new recruits. They were about as professional as Voldemort was charitable.

"...and this guy was like huge, you know, looked like a bouncer at a club. And he says to me, he says 'She's a bit of a looker on reception'. 'Too right, mate', says I" These morons are supposed to be our best line of defence, thought Harry. Jesus, we're in trouble. Actually, it was quite fortunate for Harry, because the two Aurors were more interested in their conversation than doing a thorough search for him.

"And who was on the front desk?"

"Rachel."

"Yeah, she is a bit of a looker. Gorgeous tits." The footsteps were so close. They were about three feet from the door of the office in which Harry was hiding.

"That's what he said. He goes, 'she looks athletic. I bet she rides like a minx." Harry heard the second Auror snort with laughter. They stopped, right outside the door. Harry could see their feet from where he was hidden. Please don't look in here! he prayed silently. The Auror continued. "It gets better. I said, 'yeah, she rides horses as a little bonus.' He says 'stop it mate, I'm gonna have to go to the bog and knock one out'"

Both Aurors erupted into laughter. Come on, thought Harry, impatiently. Move away. One look in the right direction would be all it would take to find him. Please leave! thought Harry, desperately.

"Any sign of the boy?" one asked the other as he recovered from his laughing fit. The two Aurors didn't even bother looking, they just turned on the spot "Should we check the emergency exit to the tubes, do you reckon?" asked one Auror. Secret exit? The Tubes? If Harry could get to the Underground, he could go anywhere in London.

"Nah," said the other. "Hardly anyone knows it exists, certainly not Potter. How do you know about it?

"Black told me. Him and Potter know all the secret passageways."

"Yeah, well. Let's get some lunch," said the first Auror. "Hey, did you see that new girl today?" To Harry's relief, the two Aurors began to head back towards the lift. They hadn't even looked.

"The blond one with the sparking blue eyes and glasses?"

"I wasn't looking at her eyes, mate," replied the first as they disappeared into the stairwell. With a click, the door closed and Harry was alone again. He released the breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Quickly he crawled out from his hiding place and out of the office.

"Emergency exit to the tubes?" muttered Harry. So there was a secret exit on this floor. Thank God, thought Harry. The only problem was that Harry didn't have a clue where the damn thing was. If it was anything like a secret passageway in Hogwarts he could walk right past in a thousand times and not notice it

He walked through the corridor until he reached the end. It seemed logical to him that the exit would be as far from the lifts as possible. He could be wrong, but it was as good-a-place as any to start looking. When he reached the end, he saw a door labelled,

ARCHIVES

Thankfully it was unlocked. Cautiously, Harry opened the door and slipped inside. Inside were hundreds and hundreds of filing cabinets, each full to bursting with pieces of parchment. Piles of parchment were perched on top of the cabinets. Thank God for magic, thought Harry. It would take someone centuries to search through all this by hand. The walls were parchment colour as well; at least it looked the same colour. He couldn't really tell as the red emergency lighting made it hard to tell colour.

The cabinets were about three feet high and above them, posters decorated the walls. Some were of bands, Harry recognised the Weird Sisters in one poster, waving happily to him. There were Quidditch players zooming around in them and then there were Muggle posters. Film posters covered the end wall. Whoever ran the archives was a bit of a Muggle fan. There was a poster for Jaws on one wall. Someone had tried to magically alter it so the shark would swim around. It had worked, but the shark still looked fake. Harry looked back and realised that he had walked over one hundred metres into the room. It was huge. Filing cabinets as far as the eye could see. The room was narrow, but very long indeed.

He was just turning to leave when he felt a rumble. Instinctively he put a hand on the nearest cabinet to stop himself falling, the rumbling lasted for a few seconds then passed. He knew what it was. It was the sound of a train running through the tunnels behind the wall. He was close. The door must be along the wall next to him. That narrowed it down to about two hundred metres of wall, with God knows how many pictures and posters and even if he find the right one he still needed a password to get it open. This would take forever.

The Italian Job, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, ET, Indiana Jones, the Shining, the Shawshank Redemption. There was over two hundred metres of wall-space on each side and hundreds of posters.

Suddenly the doors opened. Harry's stomach leapt to his throat as the sound of footsteps could be heard from the entrance to the Archives. The Aurors have come back! He had nowhere to hide. The filing cabinets were all side by side with no gaps. Every shelf was full, but didn't face the door so there was no room to hide. He was trapped. This time there was no escape. He was caught.

Harry could hear footsteps coming towards him. They sounded quite soft of boots, but they were definitely coming towards him. The red light only allowed him to see a few feet.

"Bloody Aurors," grumbled a voice "Drag me out into the freezing cold and after all that they couldn't even find the little brute. Should have been hung when he was first caught if you ask me, Alice."

Alice? Harry's blood ran cold. There was someone else here. He was outnumbered and he didn't even have his wand.

"Come on Alice, come here," said the voice soothingly. What? thought Harry. Why is he talking like that? Is Alice a child?

Harry sighed with relief as he heard a faint meow. Alice was a cat! Harry sighed with relief. However, he sighed a little too loudly.

"Who's there?" called the voice from the red shadows. "Come out, I'm armed!"

Harry didn't even have a choice. He was unarmed. He had already heard the man's views on what should be done to him when he was caught, so he wasn't keen to give up, but he had no other choice. Harry walked forward, his hands in the air. As he walked, the figure of a man came into view. Harry couldn't see his face in the dim red light, but he could see where he was and that he was aiming a wand at him.

"Well, well," sneered the man. "In infamous Harry Potter. Hands up!"

"They are up, " said Harry coldly. He was three feet from the man now and could see him a little better.

"Don't come any closer. I swear I'll hex you." He looked serious. He was about thirty years old, with dark hair and a moustache. He wore long robes but Harry couldn't see the colour because of the red light.

"Ok. Stay calm," said Harry gently.

"Shut up!" hissed the man. "You're coming with me."

Without warning the lights came back on. The red vanished and bright white light shone in the room. Everything was lit brightly and both Harry and the man blinked. Harry reacted quickly taking advantage of the confusion. He grabbed the wand arm of the man and twisted the wand loose from his grip before pushing the man away. He had disarmed the man in one move.

Harry blinked twice and aimed the wand at the man. The librarian was blinking quickly trying to regain his sight.

"You bastard!" he spat.

"Shut up and listen!" said Harry firmly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. There is an exit to the tubes in this room. You are going to show it to me and open it, ok?"

"Never," spat the man, rubbing his wrist.

Harry pointed his wand at Alice the cat. "One more time, where is the exit?" he asked.

"Behind the Great Escape poster," sighed the man. "The password is Open Sesame."

"How original," said Harry, sarcastically. "Lead the way." He wanted the man to do it to prove it. He wasn't going to let him go until he saw that the password worked and that he really was free.

"What?"

"You are going to show me," said Harry. "No offence, but I don't trust you."

Followed by Harry, the man lead the way to the poster, with Harry's wand pointed at his head the entire way. Sure enough, on the left hand wall about eighty metres down was a poster of the Great Escape.

"Open Sesame," said the man. A section of the wall swung open, revealing a short passageway.

"Thanks," said Harry. He stepped into the passageway. "Have a nice day." He closed the door behind him.

In front of Harry was a short corridor, about five metres in length. The walls were made of brick, which had turned a muddy brown with age. There were cracks in the mortar, but no water leaked. At the far end was a metal door, with a big sign that read.

CAUTION!

MUGGLES AHEAD

PLEASE TRANSFIGURE ALL MAGICAL ATTIRE

Harry took a breath and then pushed open the door. For a second he thought he had gotten away with it. The door opened a fraction and he saw the empty platform in front of him, with many benches and a few vending machines dotted around. There were no trains or people present. Harry managed to take one more step before he had to cover his ears.

Suddenly a siren sounded. He had set off an alarm. The sound was deafening. He clasped his hands to his ears in an effort to drown out the noise. Aurors would be arriving any minute and then he would end up in Azkaban. Quickly Harry broke into a run, he turned right and headed to the end of the platform. Once there he took cover behind a vending machine. Peering around the corner he saw two figures emerge from the door that he had. Aurors! There was no mistaking what they were, especially since they were dressed in full battle armour with stun batons. Red trousers and a jumper were covered with dragon scale breastplate, gloves and boots. Each carried a wand in one hand and a glowing Stun-Baton in the next. The short sticks were glowing red and Harry guessed that they were carrying the traditional Stunning Spell rather than anything more potent. Each was wearing a long red cloak, thrown back over their shoulders so that they could move more easily.

"He said Potter came down here. Spread out, find him!" ordered one. They both headed off in different direction, one of them straight towards where Harry was hiding. He was about twenty feet away. Harry still had the wand he had taken from the archivist. If all else failed he could try and fight them. He could hear the footsteps of the nearest Auror. What was he going to do?

Suddenly he heard a rumble come from down the tunnel. Peering out from his hidey-hole, Harry could see a light coming closer down the tunnel. A train! He could escape. Harry stood perfectly still, trying not to breath. The rumble however was distant, perhaps a mile down the tunnel. The Auror was getting so much closer. Harry could hear the footsteps over the rumble of the distant train.

"She's the dancing...hic...queen...hic...young and sweet, only... hic...seventeen..."

What the.... Harry peered out from behind the vending machine. He couldn't believe his luck. A drunken Muggle teenager was making his way down onto the platform. He looked about Harry's age. He was wearing a shirt and jeans. Harry guessed that he had probably been out clubbing, despite being too young. He was holding a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff Vodka. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the train pulled into the station.

He paused when he reached the platform. He took one look at the two Auror, who had had the sense to extinguish and hide their stun-batons but were still dressed in red robes and armour. He looked at them for less than a second before vomiting. One Auror rushed to help, patting the poor boy on the back as he retched again.

Thanking God, Harry quickly moved to a better hiding-place nearer the track. A closed Newspaper Stand proved perfect. It was four feet from the track. Wish a whoosh, the doors to the train opened. The Aurors had noticed the arrival of the train now. Harry quickly slipped inside. He immediately ran into the toilet and locked the door. Harry waited with baited breath, hoping to feel the train begin to move. If the train was moving he was safe. He was so close. Come on! Get a move on! Then he would be safe, or at least safe for the moment.

Second passed, and with every one, Harry's anxiety grew. Why weren't they moving yet? Had the Aurors stopped the train? Wouldn't it leave until they found him? Were they going to unlock the door? Come on! pleaded Harry to no one in particular. Seconds passed, dragging on and seeming like hours. Harry had broken into a cold sweat as he sat huddled in a tiny and not particularly pleasant or hygienic Water Closet.

Knock! Knock!

OH NO! They had found him. Someone had knocked on the door.

"Hello?" whispered a male voice. "Damn," it said much louder. "We'll have to find another one. I don't know if I can hold on!"

Oh great, thought Harry. Just what I need: someone fouling up the carriage when I'm trying to evade Aurors.

"Don't worry, sweetie," soothed a woman's voice. "Let's find another one and I'll take care of that tension for you" The woman broke of into a giggle.

"God, you look hot tonight, babe," said the bloke. "Come on, let's try the next carriage." Harry sighed with relief as he heard the door slide and then silence. They had left the carriage. Just then there was a whoosh and the doors slid shut. Harry was knocked of his feet as the train suddenly began to move. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He unlocked the door and stepped out. Were the Aurors on board? Where were they? He kept his wand firmly in the right hand, ready to raise a shield if the need arose.

Harry was dressed in denim trousers and a denim shirt, which had been his prisoner's clothes. He also had a long black cloak over the top of it. The tunnel was dark outside and the train was well lit so the windows acted as mirrors. His hair was sticking up in all directions. He reached up with a hand and tried to flatten it. His sweat had dried and acting as a gel held it firmly upright. He wiped the remaining soot from his face so that he looked more or less presentable and wouldn't attract attention. He looked incredibly pale. He had hardly slept or eaten since leaving Privet Drive. He had bags under his eyes. He looked terrible.

Harry took a seat at one side of the train. He was the only person in this carriage. Harry sat down and made sure his robes covered his wand arm. He still held the wand; he just had it hidden so that no one would know. The carriage was warm and the seat was comfy, compared to the metal trial seat at least. Harry allowed himself to relax.

The magic carpet ducked lower, skimming silently over the treetops. Harry could have reached down and plucked a branch off if he felt the need. Faster and faster the carpet sped over the treetops. Ahead of them, lights could be seen in a clearing in the forest. A stately home was visible, silhouetted against the sky. The tall dark structure was barely visible against the moonless night. Behind them two more carpets each carrying four men were skimming silently behind them. They were all dressed in black and wearing plenty of armour. Harry checked that his sword was secure across his back and that both his wands were present and easily reachable. His primary wand was holly, and Phoenix feather. The brother wand to that of his Master. Truly, he did deserve to be his master's second in command. There was no Death Eater that came close to him. He and the master were so alike. In power, their wands, their blood, thought neither would admit it and their cold desire to rid the world of the filthy Mudbloods.

He had chosen not to wear a clock tonight, as it would get in the way. The customary cloaks and masks had not been used, as they would show up against the night. Instead black balaclavas would be used. The carpet slowed and then dropped. It came to a stop two feet above the ground at the edge of the clearing. Nine Death Eaters dismounted, and the three pilots disappeared into the sky. Harry and eight others were alone. An owl hooted in the distance, the wind rustled in the trees. Ahead of them was a wire fence and to their right was a gate, guarded by two men with machine guns. Harry could see the mansion clearly. Security was quite light. There were two guards in the security house by the gate with two more on patrol. The house itself should be clear. To his right was the gatehouse, consisting of a small concrete building and a red barrier that would be raised to allow vehicles in. Two spotlights skimmed across the clearing, searching for any intruders.

"Next time it passes," Harry whispered to his comrades. "Remember, no spells. The Ministry has too many wards around this place. Also bear in mind that the guards are Muggles. Kill if you want to, but no spells. Also watch out for their weapons. Guns are very loud they must not be allowed for fire or raise the alarm. Absolute silence from here on in." The spotlight made one pass and then headed off back towards the south end of the fence.

"Michaelses!" hissed Harry. There was a twang as the two Michaels brothers loosed an arrow from their bows. The two guards at the gate fell silently to the ground. "Now!" whispered Harry. All nine of them surged forward, reaching the gate in five seconds. Two of them dragged the bodies into the hut, while another two donned the uniforms.

"Sir!" hissed one. Harry turned to face the man. There was a hole in the uniform where the arrow had pierced with a small circle of red around it. "Shall I fix it?"

"No spells! And wand-work and the Ministry will be down on us in seconds. No Apparation either." hissed Harry. It will have to do. Hopefully you won't encounter anyone."

Leaving two of their party posing as guards, the remaining seven crossed the courtyard. One went off to the small box on the wall marked 'HIGH VOLTAGE'. Harry watched as he opened the box and removed a wire. The alarm was now disabled. He then opened another box and smashed it with a stone. Telephone lines were now also disabled. The Death Eater gave Harry a nod and then ran back to the guards. So far so good.

Harry and his five companions entered the Mansion. The alarm and the cameras were all dead thank to the removal of a certain wire outside. They found themselves in a magnificent entrance hall. There were Greek statues in every corner and a massive marble staircase in the middle of the room. The room was in darkness and the house was quiet. Harry checked his watch. It was 00:57.

"Three minutes ahead of schedule. Damn I'm good," muttered Harry. "Donahue, Molotov, south end. Kent, Radcliffe, you take the north, Set timers for one fifteen. Black, you're with me."

Four of the figures in black disappeared into the shadows, leaving Harry and Regulus Black alone. Harry disliked Regulus, he reminded him of that pathetic Godfather of his. However, the Master had ordered him to take him, so here he was. Harry was tempted to kill him and tell everyone that he dies in action, but he wanted this to seem like an accident and having the body of a Death Eater in the rubble of the Colonel's house wasn't going to look good.

Harry silently tiptoed up the stairs. At the top he turned right, and stopped outside the first door. Regulus was right behind him. Harry put a finger to his lips, motioning for Regulus to stay silent. Then he pointed to the door.

Regulus nodded and silently opened the door and slipped inside. Harry then slipped through the door on the far side of the hall. The room was lit only by the light from a fish-tank. In the dimness Harry could make out the shape of a bed and a small figure curled up inside. Harry tiptoed across to the bed and gently pulled back the covered. He pulled a roll of Duct-Tape from his pocket and tore off a piece about three inches long. In one quick movement, he slapped it across the mouth of the sleeping girl. She woke instantly and Harry heard her muffled cry through the duct-tape.

"Silence!" he hissed. "We're going to see daddy now. Be good and you won't get hurt." Harry pointed his wand at her. He could see her eyes gazing at the wand. They were wide with absolute terror. He felt a rush of power. He alone had the power to choose if she lived or died. However, he had already chosen. "Get up!" instructed Harry. The petrified girl did as she was told. With Harry right behind her, she walked to the bedroom door and opened it. They emerged out into the hall where Regulus was waiting with the Colonel's son, also with a piece of duct-tape over his mouth. The four of them silently walked along the corridor until they reached the last door on the left, the master bedroom. Inside this room was the colonel.

The four of them slipped silently inside and Harry drew his sword. Regulus also produced a blade, a large machete. Harry saw the light from a Penseive shimmering off the walls and the blade.

"Ready?" he asked Regulus. The response was a clear nod.

Harry flipped on the lights, picked up a book and threw it hard at the two sleeping figures in the bed.

"What the..." started a gruff voice as the colonel and his wife were rudely awoken. Both sat blinking is shock at the sight of both their children duct-taped and held hostage by two figures in black armed with a samurai sword and a machete.

"Maria, Simon!" squeaked the Colonel's wife.

"Your children are perfect safe and have not been harmed, Madam Fortescue," said Harry politely. "Whether they remain that way is up to your husband." It was a complete lie: none of them were leaving this room alive. Harry was enjoying himself; he loved the feeling of absolute power. He could decide who lives and who dies.

"What do you want?" growled the Colonel.

"One simple thing, Colonel," said Harry softly. "The location of the facility code-named Artic Thunder."

"I don't know what you're talking about?" stuttered the colonel, his eyes never leaving his children.

"We'll see," said Harry coldly. "Give me the boy." Regulus pushed the colonel's son Simon roughly forward. Harry caught him by the scruff of the neck and raised his sword to the boy's throat.

"NO!" screamed the colonel's wife. Her eyes filled with tears.

"One more time, Colonel," said Harry coldly. "Where is Artic Thunder? Your children's lives are on the line here, colonel. I'd advise you to think very hard before answering."

"I swear," stammered the colonel. "I don't know!"

Why does he have to make things so difficult? wondered Harry, impatiently. With a sharp tug of his right hand, Harry dragged the blade quickly over the throat of the young boy. The colonel and his wife screamed as a red stream of blood poured out of the gaping wound, spilling down the boy's front. Harry felt another adrenalin rush as he watched the life, flow from the gaping wound on the boy's neck. Harry let the body fall to the ground, staring unemotionally at the Colonel and his hysterical wife as the boy bled to death before him.

"He killed him! He killed him!" wept the Colonel's wife. She sobbed frantically into her husbands shoulder.

"HE WAS INNOCENT, DAMN YOU!" roared the Colonel. "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?"

"I didn't have to kill him. I would have let him go if you'd answered truthfully. His death is on your head," shot back Harry icily. "The girl," he said to Regulus.

"No!" screamed her mother.

"Let's try again," said Harry icily, raising his bloodstained sword to the girl's throat. "Colonel?"

"Devon," said the Colonel desperately. "Please, it's in Devon. Just north of Mary Tavy on the A386. It's hidden beneath a South West Water purification plant. Please, just don't hurt my daughter."

"See how easy that was Colonel," said Harry with a sly smile. "Your son would still be alive if you have answered earlier." Harry threw the girl forward into the arms of her mother. "And with that thought, I must leave you." Harry turned on his heal and left followed by Regulus.

"Time?" asked Harry.

"Eleven minutes past one," said Regulus after consulting his watch.

"Lock them in, then move out. We have four minutes until the bombs go off."

Regulus pulled out a blowtorch and some solder from the bag he was carrying. He ignited it and soldered the lock on the door, trapping the colonel and what was left of his family inside. They would die together.

"Let's go!" said Harry quickly. We have three minutes to clear the area.

"Hey!"

"Hey!" Harry awoke with a start. " I said, you gotta light?" said the man. He was holding a cigarette in one hand. The train was still humming away as it sped through the tunnels.

"No, sorry," said Harry quickly. The man sighed and moved on leaving the carriage. Harry took a deep breath. He was sweating all over. The dream it had been so real. It was almost familiar to him though. He had never seen the place before, or any of the people in it, yet it seemed familiar. The dream had been horrible, evil. It was disturbing. The boy's lifeless body was printed so vividly on his mind. He could almost feel the boy's trembling body in his hands.

Just then, the doors slid open and in stepped four men. They were older than him by a few years, probably University students. One wore an England Rugby shirt, another wore a chequered shirt and jeans, while the other two wore cheap tracksuits and baseball caps. The two whose head Harry could see had shaved their heads.

They spotted Harry immediately, being the only one in the carriage. A vicious sneer appeared on the Rugby player's face, the same one Harry had seen on Dudley's face many a time.

"Well, lookie 'ere, lads" sneered the Neanderthal. "Little goffic boy, 'ere." They crossed to where Harry was sat in seconds, and stood looming over him. Harry knew he was in trouble. These were people of Dudley's calibre and they called him Gothic, which wasn't usually a good sign. He recalled Dudley's triumphant tales of beating up Gothic kids.

"Bet 'e finks 'e's right cool, in 'is long black coat, and spiky hair. Marilyn Manson! Slipknot! Cool Man!" sneered the Neanderthal sarcastically, making the devil sign with his hand. He colleagues found this hilarious.

"Nice one, Gaz," chortled one of the men in tracksuits.

"Fing is, though, mate," hissed Gaz viciously. "Is we don't like goffic twats like you."

"I am not gothic," said Harry firmly. "If I had other clothes, I'd wear them, but I'm in a bit of trouble at the moment.'

"Too right, mate," sneered Gaz. "Hand over your wallet and maybe we'll let you go."

"I don't..." Just then the door opened. The two young lovers were back. The sight of four young skinheads towering over a short little boy in a cloak made them stop in their tracks.

"PISS OFF!" shouted one of the skinheads. They didn't need to be told twice. They were gone before the skinhead had finished speaking.

"You were saying?" sneered Gaz.

"I was saying I don't have any money on me," said Harry. He kept an eye on their hands. He knew this was going to turn nasty. When you live for ten years with a thug you learn the tell tale signs of when things are going to kick off. He just hoped they didn't have knives.

"Little goffic boy has no money, well, that means e's eiver a liar or a tramp."

"E's' a liar!" declared the man in the shirt.

"And what do we do with liars?" sneered Gaz. He turned his back on Harry to face his comrades.

"Kick the shit outta him!" cheered the other gang members.

Gaz's right hand instantly swung back towards Harry's face. Big mistake! Harry's instincts kicked in without a thought. Harry caught it instinctively with his right hand and twisted it sharply, dislocating the wrist in one movement. He rose from his seat, spinning on the spot in one movement and brought his foot up into Gaz's back. The force of the kick slammed Gaz into the wall on the far side of the train. Harry's instincts had taken control once more and he was on his feet and ready. The second thug attacked. Harry caught his punch and brought his foot up into the thug's jaw, causing him to cry out in pain and fell to the floor. He had bitten his own tongue as blood was flowing through his teeth, making them appear yellow. The shirted man took the next swing, Harry ducked, causing the man's hand to miss and strike the metal pole behind him. The thug cried out in pain and Harry grabbed him by the shoulders. He brought his knee up into the thug's stomach forcing the air out of him. Just then a thick pair of arms, grabbed him from behind. Harry threw his head back, smacking his cranium into the nose of the thug behind him. It was the one who had bitten his won tongue. Harry's head butt had broken his nose, leaving his face a bloody mess, yet still his arms held firm, crushing the air out of Harry.

Harry kicked off the wall, forcing the thug backwards, smashing his back into the far wall. The thug released the grip. Harry gasped for air, as he felt the thug's hands land on his back and push him roughly towards the wall in front of them. Harry kicked off the floor, and then the wall, executing a classic, movie-style flip over the top of the thug. Harry landed gracefully behind the bewildered thug. As he turned to face Harry, he lashed out. Harry caught the punch and pushed his hand into the back of the thug's elbow, stopping it from bending. He then pivoted, spinning the thug around and sending him headfirst into the wall. He collapsed, fading out of consciousness.

The last skinhead looked absolutely terrified, but had his hands up ready.

"If you want to go, go," said Harry softly. The thug turned on his heal without hesitation and ran. Suddenly Harry heard a click behind him. He turned around to see Gaz back on his feet. He was holding his right hand close to him, but in his left was a flick-knife.

"Bastard!" he cried as he lunged with the knife. Harry quickly sidestepped and caught the knife arm by the wrist. He punched the inside of Gaz's arm, causing his elbow to bend. From there he twisted the whole arm behind Gaz's back.

Gaz cried out in pain. Harry managed to get his self-control back before he did something he really regretted. He had been ready to snap the skinhead's neck.

"Shut up!" hissed Harry. "I have had a very trying day and you have not helped. Next time you ride the tube, leave the passengers alone because however hard you are, there is always someone out there better than you. Now I am willing to let you go, give you back your arm and relocate your wrist. It'll cost you your shirt."

"Piss off!" spat Gaz.

"Fine," sighed Harry. He pushed Gaz away from him into the side of the train. Gaz turned, brandishing the knife.

"I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born!" he snarled.

"Happened a long time ago," snapped Harry. Gaz lunged. Harry brought his foot up. Gaz's wrist collided with the sole of Harry's boot. Harry spun, delivering a spinning lick to Gaz's stomach knocking the air out of him. As Gaz curled up, clutching his stomach, Harry delivered a karate chop to the back of Gaz's head, knocking him out instantly.

Gaz's body crumpled to the floor. Harry checked both the adjoining carriages. Luckily no one had seen what had happened. Acting quickly, Harry bent down and managed to pull the shirt off from around Gaz. He quickly swapped it for his robes. He wasn't built for rugby, but it fitted well enough. Normally Harry would never consider robbery, but this was an emergency. What surprised him, as it did when he had killed those Death Eaters in St Mungo's, was that he didn't feel bad. He felt no remorse or anything. Perhaps it was because he needed what he was taking to survive that helped him to justify his actions. If I've gone this far, thought Harry, I might as well go the rest of the way. Then I could get a taxi.

Harry rolled the unconscious body over and removed the wallet from the back pocket. Harry quickly flipped it open. Inside was a photo of a girl who bore a startling resemblance to Millicent Bullstrode, a condom, hardly useful in this situation, a membership card to Varsity's Bar and forty-five pounds in cash. That was more like it. Harry pocketed the wallet and then lifted Gaz's body onto a seat. Then he laid the cloak over the top of him so that he looked like he was asleep. He would probably be arrested for squatting, but that was no loss to Harry.

Two minutes later the train pulled into the next station. Harry got off and quickly made his way up the steps into the daylight. The taste of fresh air was wonderful. He hadn't been outside since Marge's farm. He had to squint in the bright sunlight. He was in the middle of London. Muggles were everywhere bustling about their usually business. Shoppers pushing into queues, little children demanding sweets, and shop assistants trying desperately to cope with the demand. Cafes were full to bursting and pubs were as loud as ever.

Harry ducked into the nearest Newsagents. Luckily there was no picture of him on the front pages of papers. Unluckily, there was far more troubling news. More mysterious deaths, more strange-goings-on, warnings to stay in homes. The headlines were a depressing read. Harry bought himself a bottle of coke and a large pack of Malteasers, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since breakfast and he had done a lot since then. It seemed like days ago.

Back out in the busy street Harry decided on his best course of action. If he went to the Ministry, he would end up back in a cell. Hogwarts would probably be the same story. It was obvious that that would be where he would go. The best place was somewhere secret where Dumbledore would be. Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Harry hailed a taxi, and a black cab pulled in to the side of the road. Harry gave him the address as number 17 Grimmauld Place, since he wouldn't have heard of number 12 because of the Fidelus Charm. The driver had to look it up on his map, but they were off in seconds and heading across London, as fast as one can in London Traffic.

Harry watched through the window as Muggle went about their daily lives. They were completely oblivious to the war that was raging around them. That is how I could have ended up, thought Harry. If Aunt Petunia had successfully kept the truth from me. Was she trying to protect him? Did she really love him, or was it simply that she wanted to keep magic as far from herself as possible. If this hit the papers, that he was a murderer and a fugitive, it would please Uncle Vernon to a tee. He would have been right all these years. On the other hand, the neighbours would say that they had raised a villain in their own homes and Dudley wasn't much better and that would be so pleasant for the Dursleys.

He saw two young children in the window of Derry's department store trying on blazers and ties for the upcoming school year. They were young and incredibly excited. They had t be first years. Harry was reminded of his first trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. The light, the colour, the whole new world that had been laid out before him. He had been presented with a world of opportunity, a chance to wipe the slate clean and start a new life, and this is what he had made of it. Diagon Alley held fond memories for Harry. It was there he had first met Hedwig, there that he first brought his wand, that he had first heard the words, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Voldemort was a shadow over him even back then, even before he knew what he was. Harry remembered so many good times in Diagon Alley. So many....

Harry walked through the dark, dingy passageway that was Knockturn alley. He followed in the wake of a tall figure in black robes, with a hood pulled up. The lowlifes that occupied the Alley seemed to clear a path for the ominous figure. He radiated power with his very presence. It sent a cold chill down the spins of those who saw him. Harry could see past his master, to the light at the end of the alley, to the sea of colour that was Diagon Alley.

Harry had to squint, as the Alley ended and Diagon Alley stretched out before him. Shops down both sides, as far as the eye could see doing a roaring trade. It was as busy as Harry had ever seen it. Young children were darting around, playing in the snow. A huge Christmas tree adorned with glowing lights and silvery decorations stood at the far end. Christmas carols could be heard, floating over the noise of the Christmas shopper. A big banner hung over the top of the tree.

THREE DAYS TO GO!!!

Harry could see the choir near the tree coming to the end of Good King Wenceslas. Gringott's was wide open, with everyone withdrawing money for Christmas shopping. The Goblins even had tinsel wrapped around their hats and those in uniform were not looking overly happy about it.

"Harry, my child," whispered a voice beside him. Harry turned to look at the tall figure beside him. The hood cast shadows over his face. Harry could just see two burning red eyes almost glowing in the darkness. "Remember the Cauldron, Harry. Remember Bel Tain. You are stronger than you ever thought you could be. This is your night, Harry. Make me proud."

"I will, Master," said Harry, bowing. "I will."

Harry turned to the men behind him. There were six in total. Each was dressed in black robes, thought none had their masks on yet.

"Ready?" asked Harry. Six heads nodded. "Let's rock and roll."

Harry turned and began to walk down the alley towards the Christmas tree. This is going to be so great, he thought to himself as he walked. He bumped into a girl about his age as he walked but didn't even turn to apologise. Stupid cow, he thought angrily. Probably not even pure blood. Harry walked swiftly towards the tree. The tree stood on a wooden stage that was raised five feet above the ground. There was a podium there, from which Rueban Levinson, the Minister of Magic, was answering questions from the press.

"What is your response to the claims that You-Know-Who has murdered Mr Scrase, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" shouted one reporter.

"At this time we are unsure of the facts," replied the Minister serenely. Stupid git, thought Harry. Scrase's home is ransacked and burned and he is missing. If course he's dead. Harry reached the foot of the steps. He looked behind him. His six accomplices had split into two groups of three. One on each side of the Alley. They were in a perfect position to surround the stage. There were only two Aurors around, one on each side of the minister. Security was a joke.

"So you are saying that he is not dead?" pressed the reporter.

"Oh, he's dead all right," said Harry loudly. The gaggle of journalists turned to face him. They eyes were full of hunger for a story. "I was there. The Dark Lord held his wand like this..." Harry took out his wand and took up a dramatic pose. "...and performed a spell, much like this one... INCENDIO!" The podium erupted into a ball of flame. The Minister of Magic was sent flying backwards by the explosion and the two Aurors were knocked of their feet. Screams went up from the crowd. All eyes turned to look as six figures in black robes and white masks started shooting curses in all directions. Men, women, children, none were spared as curses were flung in random direction.

"Evana Vatuwai!" cried Harry, blasting a hole in one Aurors' chest over three inches in diameter. "Yushus!" hissed Harry, collapsing the lungs of the second Auror. "Paralysio," he roared at the Minister, who was trying to crawl away. The paralysis spell hit him on the back. The minister fell helplessly to the floor, unable to move.

The Death Eaters were firing curse after curse into the crowds. It was carnage. Bodies littered the ground, while shoppers were bundling to get out. What was once a sea of colour and Christmas cheer was now a burned battleground with debris and broken displays littering the ground. Windows were shattered, displays ruined. Diagon Alley was scarcely recognisable. Newly orphaned children or mourning parents lay crying over loved ones. It was pandemonium. Harry felt a sense of pride. He had done this; he had done well. He had served his Lord well. The Master would be pleased with him. But he had one final job to do.

The reporters had been right at the front. The endless volleys of curses had cut down most of them, yet a few remained, unable to move for sheer terror, unable to believe the devastation that lay around them. Harry pointed his want at the tree. "Incendio" he muttered. A small flame appeared at the bottom of the tree and began to grow. In seconds the entire tree was alight and burning brightly. The Alley was now deserted, everyone had left or been killed. The six Death Eaters returned to the stage.

"Hey," called one as he approached. "We've got a live one!" He pointed his wand at the terrified reporter.

"Stop!" ordered Harry. "Bring him here." He needed one of them alive.

The Death Eater paused, but obediently picked up the man and roughly pushed him up the steps onto the stage. The man tripped over his won feet and ended up on his knees before Harry.

"And you are..." said Harry coldly.

"Patrick, Patrick Fletcher, I'm just a journalist, please don't hurt me!" the man was on the verge of tears. He was terrified beyond rational thought.

"Don't worry, Patrick, you have my word you will not be harmed. I will let you go because I want people to know what happened here today. Take a picture of the burning tree. It will look good on the front page." Nervously, Patrick raised his camera and took three pictures of the burning tree. "You will have an exclusive," said Harry with a small smile. "The Prophet will pay good money for your story and you will be famous. I get the press coverage and we're all happy. You see I want people to know exactly what happened here today. I want people to know the extent of the Dark Lord's wrath. I want them to see the price of resistance. I want you to see what happens to those who stand in our way. So, with that in mind..." Harry turned to the Minister who lay snivelling on the ground before them. Harry raised his wand. "...AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NO!" Harry woke with a start. He frantically looked around. He was still in the back of the taxi. He had just fallen asleep. The streets and houses of London whizzed by out the window to the sound of a beaten old stereo playing forgotten classics from decades past.

"Y'all right, kid?" asked the cabbie.

"Eh? What?" stammered Harry trying desperately to flush the image of the dying man from his mind. The dreaming had been so real, so vivid. He could almost smell the burning pine tree, the stench of death. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. "I said, are ya ok?" repeated the driver.

"Yeah," said Harry quickly, "I just had a fell asleep. Bad dream."

"Sure."

"Yeah." Harry didn't want to talk. The sooner he was back at HQ, the better.

The ride lasted only another few minutes. Harry checked his watch. It was ten past twelve as the taxi turned into Grimmauld Place. Harry paid the driver and got out. The street looked just as cold and deserted as it ever had. The streetlamps cast dingy shadows over the houses and Number twelve stood in near perfect darkness, with curtains firmly drawn. Harry cautiously looked around, and then, once happy that he was alone opened the door to Number 12.

The entrance hall was in darkness Harry entered. He was surprised to find the door unlocked and the hall so dark. There was something different about the house. It seemed that all the Weasley's efforts over the last year had been in vain. The Elf heads, and dark relics and creepy paintings once again adorned the walls. What had appeared for a few days almost homey was once again creepy. Maybe it was the fact that he associated this house with the painful memory of Sirius that clouded his judgement but Harry suddenly hated this house more than ever.

"Good afternoon, young man," said a voice behind him.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin in fright. He instantly spun around. He was relieved to find that it was not a person who had spoken to him, but a portrait. Mrs Black, no longer covered by curtains, smiled kindly down at him from the picture on the wall.

"I said, good afternoon, young man," she repeated.

"Oh," said Harry. "Sorry, good afternoon to you Mrs Black." It was then that Harry realised exactly to whom he was speaking. Why wasn't she screaming? Why was she suddenly being polite to him? Did the Imperius Curse work on portraits? Why had the house changed so much?

"They're all in the drawing room, my dear," said Mrs Black in a tone of voice Harry would normally associate with Mrs Weasley.

"Thanks," said Harry politely. Mrs Black and then

He bade farewell to Mrs Black and headed for the Drawing room. The house seemed deserted and if this was the only room in use, it was most likely that the Order were in the middle of a meeting. Still this was important. Harry decided to knock. He rapped three times on the door.

Listening carefully, he heard a shuffling from inside. There was a magical squelch as the Coloportus charm was removed and the door opened about an inch. Peering out at him through the crack was a man Harry had never seen before. He was about 40 years old with greying hair. He wore glasses and seemed to be very nervous.

"Who the hell are you?" he squeaked nervously.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Sorry, I'm new," said the man timidly.

A second face appeared in the crack.

"Are you insane, Steepleton?" gasped the man in surprise. "This is the Harry Potter." They recognised him. The order recognised him! Things were getting back to normal! "Well don't just stand there, Steeps, let him in. He's had a hard day."

"Too right," smiled Harry as he entered. "Luckily, things have gone back to normal."

He froze as his eyes took in the surroundings. One look around told Harry things were far from normal. Inside the room were over a hundred people in long black robes and white masks, and right at the far end, sitting in a large red armchair by the roaring fire, surrounded by his pet snake, sat Lord Voldemort.