A Stranger in an Unholy Land

~~~~ Chapter VIII ~~~~

Leopards Can't Change Their Spots

Holy man open up your eyes

To the ways of the world you've been so blind

As the walls of religion come crashing down

How's the ignorance taste second time around

Welcome to the horror of the revelation

Tell me what you think of your saviour now

I reject all the biblical views of the truth

Dismiss it as the folklore of the times

I won't be force-fed Prophecies

From a book of untruths for the weakest mind

~ Slayer (New Faith)

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

The words repeated over and over again in the Dark Lord's mind. A Prophecy had been made predicting his downfall. How could this be? Voldemort had many spies in the Department of Mysteries, yet none of them knew of any Prophecy pertaining to his defeat. Was this a fake, one of the old man's tricks? No, it did not feel right. This was real. Deep inside, Voldemort knew that this was a real Prophecy. Fear was a feeling he had not experienced in decades, and yet it was the only word he could think of to describe the sickening feeling he now felt. It had been a Prophecy that had thrust him to power, and it seemed too poetic that one would be made to end it all.

Voldemort stood by the window, staring out into the grounds of the old mansion. The wind was blowing through the trees, causing them to sway and rain pine needles and leaves down onto the lawn. An old Muggle with a bent back and bent nose was attempting to rake up the leaves, but the wind prevented him making any progress. Frank Bryce had been the gardener since before Voldemort had been born. He was kept on to keep up the appearance that the house was deserted. He had been blamed by the townsfolk for the murders Voldemort himself had committed here all those years ago. His father had gone first, Voldemort remembered every detail of his face as the life was sucked out of him in a green flash. His wife had followed and then their son, Voldemort's half brother. Frank remained here to keep the place in shape enough to keep the Muggles happy and away, and made sure it was not demolished. There were Muggle repelling charms on all the doors and windows to keep him from actually entering.

Voldemort suppressed a smirk, at the Muggle's misfortune. He stared out of the window, watching the old man for a few seconds before he saw a large snake slither across the lawn and into the hedge, unseen by the gardener. The cobra, as he recognised it as being, slithered quickly across the lawn. Voldemort hardly gave it a second thought. Two things kept running through his mind. Aside from the Prophecy, there was one other thing that infuriated Voldemort. Harry's Dark Mark had gone. He had noticed it as soon as he had entered the cellar where Harry had lain unconscious all night. He had given Harry the mark over a year ago and he knew for a fact that it was impossible to remove. It was a mark of ownership, which was branded onto a man's soul. There was no spell in existence that could remove it. Yet, Harry no longer had it. Instead he had a strange curse scar on his forehead. Voldemort had made sure not to mention the fact it had been removed while other Death Eaters were present. He knew that some of the newest recruits hadn't adapted yet, and may still be looking for a way out. If news got out that it could be removed then he may suffer huge defections. But it was impossible; it cannot be removed! So how had Harry done it? Harry's demeanour had changed, his whole attitude was different, and the Mark was gone. But it was still Harry. It wasn't an impostor; of that he was certain. So how had Harry removed it and why had he defected?

But back to the Prophecy. Voldemort had not actually been looking for the Prophecy. He had not known of its existence before he had stumbled across it. He had been searching for the meeting with Dumbledore. The mind, or at least the unorganised mind, works in a very predictable way, and a rather inefficient way at that. When there is a thought one wants to hide and protect then that thought is towards the front of the mind. When you try to hide that thought, you invariably think of it, pushing it right to the front of the mind. That was part of the skill of Occlumency; to be able to hide thoughts and memories like that. Harry was obviously no Occlumens. He seemed to have received poor instruction to fight off a forced entry. He had the potential to be able to force someone out of his mind with better tutorage and more practice, but to be able to allow his mind to be viewed, but still conceal certain memories without appearing to do so was something that Harry could not do. Voldemort had forced his way into Harry's mind, searching out memories regarding his meeting with Dumbledore. The first one he came to was the one Harry deemed most important, and also the one he was most trying to hide, and now Voldemort knew why. Born as the seventh month dies; Harry was born on the last day of July. To those who had thrice defied him; James and Lily Potter had escaped a total of eleven times, but at the time when Harry was born, Voldemort counted only three. The Dark Lord shall mark him his equal; was it referring to the ceremony at the Devil's Cauldron? Voldemort would not define that as marking him his equal, certainly not in terms of strength and power. But then again, maybe it meant the Anima Mergus spell that had been used at the Cauldron. For that spell, they truly did have a fifty-fifty claim on it. Was that what the Prophecy meant? The next part was more hopeful. One must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. Voldemort knew that he must dispose of Harry Potter quickly. But then again, it didn't say which of them would win. No, it was not worth any risk. The boy had to die, immediately. Voldemort wouldn't take the chance. There would be no summoning, so ceremony, no witnesses, just plain death, for the traitor who was destined to kill him.

Voldemort turned from the window and walked silently across the room, the door magically burst open on his arrival. He marched through, making no noise as he went. The sentries on either side of the door bowed as he passed, but he spared them no sign of recognition. He marched down the corridor until he came to the stairs. The Dark Lord stepped downwards into the cellar. At the bottom of the stairs was a small room with a thick steel door on the far side, behind which Harry Potter should be feeling new levels of pain, but something was very wrong.

Voldemort froze at the bottom of the stairs. The door was slightly open and there were no sentries. He had ordered that there be two at all times. Withdrawing his wand, Voldemort strode forward towards the door. With a single curse, Voldemort blasted the door off its hinges, sending if flying into the room. He stepped into the cellar, rage building with every step. What he saw caused his anger to reach new heights. Just inside the door were two fallen Death Eaters. They were breathing but unconscious. Lying in an inch of water next to a steel table was the Auror. His eyes were wide and his breathing short and sharp. He was deathly pale and was spasming with every breath. His hands were clutched to his thighs. There was no sign of Harry Potter.

Voldemort strode over to Scholes, his anger causing green sparks to fizzle around the end of his wand.

"What happened?" he hissed at the Death Eater. Scholes' eyes moved ever so slightly to look at him. He took two or three short tight breaths, his whole body bucking slightly with every breath. "Where is Potter?" continued Voldemort. "Answer me!" Scholes was no longer able to talk. He was clearly dying, from what, Voldemort did not know. Harry Potter had not only betrayed him, but once captured, he had escaped. He had made Voldemort look a fool in front of his men.

"Crucio!" screamed Voldemort, pointing his wand at the fallen Death Eater. His anger was boiling beneath his skin. His eyes glowed with rage. He vented his frustration with the most powerful Cruciatus curse he had cast since Harry himself. He poured every ounce of anger, hatred and frustration into the curse. His blood seemed to heat up, and a rush enveloped his heart. The sheer power he had over the man seemed to calm Voldemort. He had the power over life and death for Scholes. The rush of power was what he craved. I was like an addictive drug. To kill gave him such a high. The anticipation leading up to it, the fear in the eyes of the victim, the power flowing through his veins as the curse was cast, the rush of having the godlike power over life, and the respect that followed. The kill was all that matter.

As Voldemort's anger pulsed through every nerve ending in Scholes' body, the broken body thrashed uncontrollably. It was nearly three minutes before Voldemort lifted the curse.

"You have failed me for the last time, Scholes," said Voldemort icily. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Scholes was gone in flash of green light. The sound of rushing death was like a symphony to Voldemort's ears. As the last breath left Scholes' body and the light faded from the curse, Voldemort stood in silence, immersing himself fully in the rush of the kill, the feeling of total power and content. It faded again after a few second, leaving a lust, an overwhelming desire for more. Two More Death Eaters had been on guard and let the boy escape. Two more would curb his blood lust before the sun set that evening. And as for Harry, the boy would die, as soon as Voldemort discovered where the boy was hiding.

~~~~ + ~~~~

At first, Harry thought he was still dreaming. As the sea of red came into focus, he didn't dare believe it was true. His dreams had been full of snakes, swords and wands. Nightmares were a natural reaction to what he had suffered. Post Traumatic Stress, to give it its medical name, affects eighty-five percent of hostages. But then again, Stockholm syndrome affects large numbers as well, and there was no way that Harry would ever fall in love with his captures. He could, and would, rise above these dreams.

As the blurry mass of red came into focus, one thought filled his mind. I'm home! Or at least, home in this world. It had been a while since he had woken up, expecting to be back in his own world, but this place was good enough. The Room of Requirement was a good a home as he was hoping for. At least here, he was safe from snakes and Death Eaters.

Memories of his time with Voldemort came to him in a series of vivid images, which raced through his conscious mind, reminding him of what he would rather forget. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the feeling as Gryffindor's sword was slowly dragged across his exposed skin, slicing into his defenceless flesh. But Scholes had got what he had deserved. Harry realised that he felt absolutely no remorse for the man. He felt bad about the Trolley Witch on the Hogwarts Express. She had been innocent and he had order her killed. At the time, it had seemed the right thing to do. Everything had worked out and it seemed he had made the right choice. He still believed that now, but it did not change the fact that he still felt incredibly guilty and her terrified face still haunted his dreams. Mr Scholes on the other hand was a different kettle of fish. He had betrayed his friends, family and the entire Wizarding population by siding with Riddle. Not only that, he had also tortured Harry. Images came to him of his suffering at the hands of the treacherous Auror. Harry had had the chance to save him, but he had chosen not to. He had left him to die what was certain to be a painful death. Harry didn't regret it, nor pity the man. Scholes had enjoyed the torture too much. He was not a soldier doing his job in a war. He was a sadist who enjoyed hurting people and he had died for it. Harry had felt no compassion or pity for the man. He was surprised at the ease with which he had left the man to die. He could feel a mass of anger in his stomach, a darkness that seemed to be bubbling deep inside, waiting to break free. Harry's only concern was that his parents and Rose would judge him by that one choice. Did it make him a bad person? He had essentially murdered the man and did not regret it. Was he any better than Voldemort?

But it didn't matter, not now at least. He was home, safe and unless Madam Pomfrey had lost her touch, was on the road to recovery. Harry awkwardly glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. This was not as easy as it sounds as his neck was heavily bandaged. The room was once again laid out like the dormitories of Gryffindor Tower, with a few more veils in the room. The curtains around his bed were replaced with translucent scarlet veils, which fluttered slightly in the breeze. Through the window, Harry could see the moon, shining outside and bathing the room in the gently glow of silver.

He tried to sit up, but found it hard to move. His entire body ached, and parts of him were as good as useless. He managed to prop himself up against the headboard of the bed. From there, he was able to survey his injuries. His head was spinning, and ached, but he was sure he wouldn't suffer any long-term effects of continued exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. His mental health was fine, he was sure, or at least, it was as it had been before. His mind, may have been fine, but his body was another matter. Looking down, he was dressed only in a pair of pyjama trousers. However, most of the rest of his body was covered in bandages. Most of his ribs were bandaged and taped. His right wrist was heavily bandaged and strapped to a thick splint. He shivered as he remembered Malfoy's curse. The burn and the sword incisions were concealed beneath the bandages on his ribs. His nose felt as though his sinuses were blocked and he could feel patches of plaster over his eye and cheek. His neck was also wrapped tightly with bandages, making his uncomfortable to breath and hard to move his neck. He throat was very dry, he realised. He glanced around as best he could looking for a drink. He eyes, instead of coming to rest on a glass of water, stopped on a figure he hadn't noticed before. He could only see cascade of red hair and scarlet robes, leaning on his bed. Lily Potter must have fallen asleep as she sat with him. She was dressed in red and with her red hair covering her face, was almost camouflaged against the red of the bed.

Harry didn't really want to disturb her, but couldn't move on his own. He gently placed his left hand over hers and lightly squeezed. Her head slowly and groggily rose. He blinked a few times, trying to shake the grogginess from her eyes, before she realised exactly what she was seeing. A warm smile spread slowly over her face. Harry tried to smile back, but smiling stretched the healing wounds on his face, causing him a great deal of discomfort. Lily moved her other hand, across to wipe the hair away from Harry's forehand. He recoiled slightly as her fingers brushed over his scar.

"Please don't," he said softly, his throat aching with every move. She withdrew her hand, placing it atop of his. Her eyes sparkled with tears once more. Harry realised that he had hardly seen her happy. She seemed to be on the edge of tears every time he saw her. It was his fault. Among the many other disastrous effects of his return to Voldemort, he had also put her through the ordeal of loosing a son, again. She didn't deserve it, none of the Potters did.

"How do you feel," she whispered, gently rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. Harry didn't want to alarm her, but he felt awful. Not only was his body in a near critical state, but also his mind was plagued with guilt and regret. His infiltration had been a disaster on many levels.

"How do I look?" he replied, trying not to look as bad as he felt. He didn't want to discuss how he felt, and hiding his pain was what he had always done. Harry wasn't sure if she could see the pain he was trying to hide, but she sighed and still managed to smile, albeit faintly. He realised how awful he must look. He was nearly a mummy with all the bandaged that he was wearing.

"You'll recover," said Lily. "Madam Pomfrey says you need..."

"Rest?" offered Harry. Judging by the state of him, she would probably prescribe six years of rest. Normally he would try and escape at his earliest opportunity, but in this case, a few days in hospital was just what he needed. That and the fact that he couldn't move, would keep him there.

"Among other things," said Lily. "Several potions and ointments wouldn't come a miss either. Poppy left them here for you." She gestured to s row of five bottles on top of the table.

"That bad, huh?" sighed Harry. "Is a drink out of the question?"

"Of course not," said Lily kindly, passing him a beaker of water. He took a few sips and then handed it back to her. She popped it back on the cabinet from which she had taken it, and turned back to face Harry.

"What time is it?" asked Harry. His watch had been removed and he knew better than to trust the sun or the clocks in this particular room.

"It's twenty to ten in the morning," said Lily, checking he wristwatch. That meant the moonlight outside was meant to make it easier for him to sleep. It was thoughtful, but it meant he could hardly see. It also raised another point; he had no idea how long he had been asleep for.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what day is it?" he asked, expecting the worst. Lily bowed her head and sighed deeply. That was an ominous sign. If she was reluctant to tell him, he must have been out for a long time. How long had it been? A day, two, three? "What is the date?" he repeated. He didn't want to hear it, but he had to.

"It is Saturday, thirteenth of September," she said softly. "You've been asleep for seven days." Seven days? There had to be a mistake. Seven days would mean that he arrived back on the sixth. He left on the third. He had been a captive for over forty-eight hours. To him, it was still one big blur of pain. He had no idea how long he had suffered, or how long he had remained unconscious in the Dark Lord's home. Seven days? That was a personal record. He was usually awake within a day of passing out. But then again he had never suffered as he had in the last week. A bite from an acromantula and a stabbing in one arm seemed trivial compared to the extent of his injuries this time.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by the arrival of another figure in the Room of Requirement. Albus Dumbledore had arrived. He wore the usual purple robes as well as an additional cloak and red hat. Concern was etched into his aging features, but he broke into a smile upon seeing Harry awake.

"Good morning, Mr Potter," he said jovially as he approached the bed. Harry couldn't move even if he wanted to. He was sitting up, leaning against the headboard of the bed. The veils surrounding the bed magically parted, letting the breeze in. Harry briefly shivered as the cool air hit him. "How are you feeling?" inquired the Headmaster.

"I've been better," said Harry flatly. "I take it Snape told you what happened?" He didn't really want to have to relive the events in Little Hangleton, nor his stupidity on board the Mary Sue. Speaking of which, "Where is Rhiannon?" he asked. His mother gave him a confused look while Dumbledore smiled calmly back.

"Miss Rumanov is safe and sound," replied Dumbledore. "She is a little shaken about the loss of her father. Her future has yet to be decided. It is probably that she will be handed over to Russian Social Services. She does however send her thanks, asks how you are." Harry nodded. He was glad the girl had managed to get away and succeeded in contacting Kingsley. He did not need her death on his conscience and she did not deserve any more suffering. "As for your first question," continued Dumbledore. "Yes, Severus has informed us of the meeting, what little he witnessed. He also returned that evening, when you were to be tried and executed before the Death Eaters, only to find that you had escaped. There are large gaps in his tale, and I believe you are the only one who can fill them in."

"I'd rather forget all about it," muttered Harry.

"Unsurprising," said Dumbledore. "However, needs must."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry bitterly. He had been waiting for the inevitable, but it just didn't seem to be coming. He was expecting Dumbledore to turn around and accuse him of messing up an Order operation and getting Aurors killed in the process, all of which he was guilty of. Harry wished he could turn back the clock and undo what he had done.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. This was what Dumbledore was infuriatingly good at: making him feel even more guilty about what he had done, without Dumbledore even having to say a word. Harry couldn't take it any longer; if Dumbledore wasn't going to bring it up, he might as well take the plunge himself. Half of him wanted to just forget it, not to talk and hope it wasn't brought up. The voice of reason told him to get it out the way, because it would be more difficult later. For once, the voice of reason won.

"I know what you are thinking," said Harry slowly, staring at his feet, or rather the lumps beneath the bed sheets that were his feet. "You're thinking that I should never have run off like that, that my rash decision cost the lives of Aurors and nearly compromised Snape as a spy. I nearly destroyed the Order with one fit of stupidity."

"Is that what you think?" asked Dumbledore calmly. God Damn it! Harry hated it when he did this. He wanted Harry to confess the full extent of his mistake in front of other people. Harry found himself hating the Headmaster's utter calm, his twinkling eyes and composed stare. He made Harry feel as if he was hiding something, or not being truthful. He wanted Harry to make his own conclusions. Harry had never objected to it until last year, when his utter calm had stopped Harry's utter rage. Maybe he was jealous of Dumbledore's ability to remain calm. He didn't know or care; all he knew was that at this moment, it was infuriating. Did he want Harry to confess in front of him and his mother? Was humiliation his goal? It didn't seem like the Headmaster he knew, but then again, this wasn't the Headmaster he knew.

"Well I did, didn't I?" he asked. "You all warned me not go, but I wouldn't listen. I marched blindly into a nest of vipers. What hope did I have to lie to Voldemort? What made me think I could be a spy? I had no experience or anything. It was a stupid move, you all saw it, but I didn't. I then fell right into their hands. I sent the Aurors to Paddington, and I can assume there were casualties. I got myself caught, nearly lost Snape as a spy, and only just managed to escape. What could possibly be good about that?"

"Swings and roundabouts," said Dumbledore calmly. "Every cloud has a silver lining."

"Like what?" said Harry, a little more aggressively than he meant to.

"The Dark Lord believes you had help escaping," said Dumbledore, leaning forward. "Severus was with the Death Eaters at the time. He has an alibi and so Tom still trusts him. Not only that, we had known that the Dark Lord would try to break the Death Eaters out of prison. We knew the ministry could not hold them and that they did not have manpower to mount a decent guard. So, we replaced Rodolphus Lestrange with a highly experienced field agent with years of experience in the Aurors. The real Rodolphus Lestrange is in this castle in a secure cell. Dawlish and Kingsley managed the swap. We now have two spies in the Death Eaters. Not only that, you gave your father and Sirius the location of a Death Eater stronghold. Less than an hour after your call, the Aurors assaulted the address in Grimmauld Place. We have twenty-eight Death Eaters in custody and a further nine are dead. Not to mention all the documentation and Dark texts that we have confiscated."

"And you have returned to us," added Lily.

"Yes, your safety is of great concern to us," said Dumbledore.

"I bet it is," said Harry making his doubt blatantly obvious. All because of that bloody Prophecy. Lily opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off. He was in no mood for an argument, and so he moved it on to another awful consequence of his actions, that Dumbledore needed to know. "We have another problem. Tom saw the Prophecy. He used Legilimency on me while I was under the Cruciatus Curse." He saw Lily visibly shudder as he mentioned the curse. Had she felt it or was she just concerned for him? He was grateful that she cared, he really was, but he didn't know how he should be feeling towards her. Was it right to let them get close if he knew he had to leave. He must leave, he knew that and it would only hurt more in the end if he allowed them to get close. That was cool logic but the look in her eyes, the same look he had seen from her daughter as well was heartbreaking. He couldn't shut her out. She had suffered so much on his account. She didn't deserve it, none of them did and he felt he was owed a little happiness amidst the horrors of war. Why not indeed?

"What else did he see," asked Dumbledore gravely.

"Not a lot, just a few images, they were fast, but nothing important, just from my youth. I think he saw Dudley chasing me and that is about it. He caught a glimpse and then sent the rest of the Death Eaters out of the room. He replayed the Prophecy, once, maybe twice, I'm not sure, I was barely conscious. After that he stopped to think. That's when he turned me over to the Auror, Scholes."

"Another gain from last week," said Dumbledore. "A highly placed source has been neutralised."

"Good choice of words," said Harry darkly.

"Well he can no longer return to the Aurors," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes.

"He won't be returning to anyone," muttered Harry.

"Was do you mean?" asked Lily, glancing from Harry to Dumbledore. Harry didn't even have to say a word. Dumbledore seemed to understand. He nodded gravely interlocked his fingers in front of his face in a sign of tiredness that he topped with a deep sigh.

"If Tom has seen the Prophecy then he is scared," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "He believes in them, which is more than I can say for many wizards now-a-days. He will most likely make an attempt to breach the Department of Mysteries to confirm the Prophecy."

"I thought you were checking on it," said Harry. Flamel had said he was going to investigate the Department of Mysteries.

"So we did," said Dumbledore. "And as expected, it was not present. Voldemort will therefore assume that I had it removed."

"Could we insert a false prophecy with a little misdirection?" suggested Harry.

"A good suggestion, but he already has the Prophecy from you and a Pensieve will allow him to revisit it. It would be pointless," said Dumbledore nodding in approval. "However, now is hardly the time to talk business. After your ordeal, I think we can grant you a few days before you have to face the world."

"Face the world?" said Harry and Lily together.

"A figure of speech," said Dumbledore. "I would not dream of making you relive your ordeal quite so soon. You have already let me know that Tom has discovered the Prophecy. That is more than enough for today." Harry was glad the old man wasn't going to push him any further. He shivered at the thought of what had been done to him over the last fortnight. "The reason I am here," continued Dumbledore. "Is because in your absence, I made a promise to myself. What you said to me, before you left about how I should stop manipulating people."

"I was angry, I just wanted to..." began Harry, trying to shrug it off. He would not be led down another guilt trip by the old man.

"It is quite understandable," Dumbledore cut him off. "But it made me think. I have been manipulating people all along."

"Albus..." began Lily, but she too was cut off.

"You made me take a long hard look at myself," said the headmaster. He suddenly looked several years older. He removed his spectacles and began to polish them on his robes. Harry had seen him do it before when they had talked. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. When he was under pressure like when Harry had first been told of the Prophecy, he seemed to polish his glasses. At length, he replaced them upon his nose. "I realised that I have lost sight of the forest, amongst all the trees. I promised myself, that if ever I got to speak to you again, I would not do so. I would listen, for once, truly listen to what you think, what you feel."

"I made my own promise," said Harry weekly, lying back down on the pillow. "I promised myself, that if I ever got out of there alive, that I would tell you everything, well, more my family to be perfectly honest, but I promised myself that I would stop hiding and tell you who I really am."

"Harry, you don't have to..." This time it was Harry cutting Dumbledore off. Time after time he had skirted the issue of his past. There were demons lurking there, demons he would rather no face, but he had to. He could run from his past, or he could learn from it. He never learned from his mistakes. If he had, he would never have gone back to Voldemort, and probably he would never have gone to the Department of Mysteries last summer. If only he wasn't as foolish. If only he learned from his mistakes.

"No, I do," he insisted. "I was angry at you, last time for arresting me, and angry at my Dumbledore for keeping things from me, but I realised that childishly blocking you out won't help. I have to realise that you are not him; I have to stop being difficult to you just to try and spite someone else."

"We all do things we are not proud of," said Dumbledore. "I have lived for over one hundred and fifty years, and I have never met a person who is free from regret."

"Most of us learn from those mistakes," said Harry. "I never seem to. Over the years I have gone from one near-death situation to another. I don't seem to learn from them. Time and time again I make rash decisions, I ignore what others tell me. I played with fire, and I got burned. Or rather someone else got burned because of me. If I had done as I was asked, if I had not been so headstrong, if I had listened to reason and not tried to save the day myself, Sirius would never have come to the Ministry, he would never have fought Bellatrix Lestrange, he would never have..." Harry trailed off. He was rambling. He realised he had been staring into space. Tears had formed in the corner of his eyes. It was all his fault. He knew it and they knew it. Worst of all, he had let Sirius' memory slip. He had had a lot on his mind recently, what with the change of worlds, the trial and then his capture. Sirius had hardly crossed his mind. He felt like he had forgotten about him. He had betrayed Sirius' memory.

"He was the closest thing to a father I have ever known," began Harry. "I've spent so much of my life alone, hiding my pain, keeping secrets from everyone but myself. I have never spoken of some of this. Even Dumbledore and my best friends don't know half of it. The whole world seemed to think I was a disturbed, attention seeking, little show off. They think I wallow in fame, and enjoy having this god-forsaken scar on my forehead. Ron and Hermione know better, they know I hate it. Their help is reassuring, but I can't ignore the masses. I try not to let it get to me, but it does hurt. I hide it as best I can, but Rita Skeeter and the Prophet's lies do hurt. Everywhere I go everyone recognises me. They recognise the scar on my head, and they see the boy from the papers. The Boy-Who-Lived, they dubbed me. One boy, who at the age of one, was responsible for the first defeat of Voldemort. Thanks to me, Voldemort disappeared and Britain knew over a decade of peace. Thanks to me they could resume their lives, and not have to worry about being attacked. I did the world a favour, and in return I am famous. That's what they think, because none of them know me. None of them can see past the bullshit, sorry, Mum.

"But they don't see the obvious. They don't see me. They see the legend. Do they think I'm proud of it? Do they think I enjoy being in the Prophet? The attack fifteen years ago cost me everything. My parents were killed, my godfather incarcerated in Azkaban, and I was sent to live with the Dursleys. Do they not see that that event ruined my life? Don't they see that I would give up everything for a chance to meet my parents? And therein lies the irony. That is how I have always thought. Ever since I can remember I have wanted nothing more than to know my parents. The first time I ever saw you, Mum, was in the Mirror of Erised. Now I'm here, and I have what I have always wanted, I find that I want nothing more to go back to my old life. It's not that I don't like it here; it's just that they are my friends, and they were relying on me to help them and now I'm stuck here. I can't leave them to the fate that awaits. When I first realised that I might be stuck here, I thought about settling down and not getting involved, but I couldn't do it. I've come to realise that I have but one purpose in life, to fight. I can't escape fame, or so it seems. I have always wanted a normal life, but even here I am wrapped up in this damn war. Here they see a monster, I don't know if that is better or worse than before. At least here I am known for what I did actually do.

"In my world, people look at me and they assume that I was always the pampered prince. That couldn't be further from the truth. When you left me on the Dursleys' doorstep, you left a letter. When Petunia took me in, she sealed the magic that kept me safe for years. As long as I called Privet Drive home, and as long as her blood resided there I could not be touched. Great. You knew Tom would return sooner or later, so I had to be preserved. The protection would keep me safe. But once again, the Boy-Who-Lived was safe, but poor old Harry Potter was in hell. I lived in the cupboard under the stairs until my first year at Hogwarts. I was underfed and locked up in the cupboard often for days at a time, coming out only one a day for a bathroom break. She accepted me, but resented me for it. By your own confession you knew I would suffer, but for the greater good and all that nonsense you permitted it.

"Once I left Primary school, myself and Dudley were going off to secondary school. He was off to the prestigious Smeltings, while I was to be sent to the local comprehensive. They never gave me anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Dudley's old clothes became mine, when he was too big for them. I never had pocket money. I hate to think what would have happened. I was doomed from the start. When I had finished year eleven, I would have been out on my arse. I would have no home, no money, mediocre grades from a mediocre school and no prospect of amounting to anything. I was in a living hell, where everyone hated me, but never even told me why. I had no friends, no one wanted to cross Dudley by talking to me. I never got a Birthday present until I was thirteen. I was in hell, and I knew I had nowhere to go from there. I couldn't escape, and I would end up on the streets.

"Then Hagrid came. I can't describe the feeling I felt. For the first time in my life I had hope. I knew who I was; I knew why they hated me. I was going somewhere where they couldn't follow. I was unique. Everything I had ever owned, except my glasses, were previously owned by Dudley, but then overnight I had my own stuff. I was more than an annoying shadow about the house. I had friends, once I got to school. Looking back on this age of innocence, I can't help but smile. Life was simpler back then. Voldemort was nothing but a name in the History books, a boogy-man figure. Some people said he was still alive. I believed it, but I felt safe, knowing he was miles away. I was content in my new life. I had friends, two really good friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. On the train on the way up I brought a load of sweets with the money in your vaults. I had always had just enough to survive, so having something to share felt so new. Hermione was a bit bossy, and to this day remains bossy and bookish, but I wouldn't trade her for fifty Aurors. She has saved my life time and time again. She truly is the brightest witch of her age. And then there is Ron and the Weasleys.

"I first went to the Burrow before my second year. They accepted me in five minutes, while the Dursleys took ten years and still loathed me. The Burrow was so warm, inviting. It was the family environment that I knew nothing of. Molly almost counted me as one of her own. I look at Ginny, almost as my sister, and Ron.... Is it wrong to envy them? Love almost radiates from the Burrow, and it is there I felt most at home. I keep thinking to myself, that that is how I should have grown up. That might be what life would have been like had Voldemort not come and taken everything from me in one foul swoop.

"I never had a guardian that cared for me. I kind of hoped Sirius was up for the job. I never even heard his name before he escaped from Azkaban at the beginning of my third year. He was supposed to be after me. I wasn't allowed out of the castle and everyone seemed to form an advanced guard everywhere it went. Dementors were guarding the castle. That was the first time I ever heard my mother's voice. Every time a Dementor comes to close I hear her begging Voldemort to take her instead of me, I hear the screams and the sounds of rushing death. People laughed when I first encountered a Dementor. They all felt cold and sad, but I ended up on the floor. Remus was such a help that year. He was your friend and I knew I could go to him if I needed help. He also taught me the Patronus Charm. Sirius found me at the end of the year, and as it turned out, we had been wrong. He had never been the secret keeper, and had never betrayed my parents. He even offered me a home, once his name was cleared. For the first time in my life, a future was in sight. I had always gone home back to the Dursleys every summer, back to the prison as it seemed. But here was an offer of a home, a real home, like the Burrow. I felt like at last, my life was going somewhere, that I wasn't bound to go back to the Dursleys. It so nearly happened, but it all went to pot and Sirius was forced to flee. He was on the run, and I was back at square one. I figured that I was owed a little good luck after the last twelve years or my life, but it was not to be.

"So I went back to Privet Drive, back to the tiny room with locks on the doors and two inadequate meals per day and an endless list of chores that bordered on slave labour, which to an extent it was. The irony is that everyone else thought I was a pampered child, who got anything I wanted. They thought that my hostility towards the Dursleys was arrogance and unjustified. Dumbledore knew I would suffer, and wouldn't let me leave, not that I knew it at that point. That was the year of the Quidditch world cup. Arthur Weasley got up top-box seats. It was great. That was probably the best summer I have ever had. I only spent a fortnight with the Dursleys. Then it was off to the Burrow, the closest thing to home I had. I do owe Molly and Arthur so much, but I have never told them. One or many regrets I have.

"The Triwizard Tournament was reinstated that year and guess what, my name was entered. Not by me, but by a Death Eater posing as Mad-Eye who was teaching Defence. I didn't put my name, yet I was forced to compete. Everyone thought I put my name in to boost my ego. Even Ron left me then. Then there was Rita Skeeter, who wrote articles telling the world what a disturbed individual I am. It was all lies, but fiction makes for better reading than fact. I didn't want to be in the tournament, I just wanted a normal life. It is what I have always wanted, but no, once again I was put in front of dragons, mer-folk, skrewts, boggarts, acromantulae and God knows what else. But it was all a trap, Voldemort turned the cup into a Portkey and used it to kidnap me. I made Cedric take it with me. He should have won, but he wouldn't take it. I wouldn't take it. If he had taken it, he would have been killed, so I'm thankful he didn't. If only I hadn't been so noble and taken it myself, he would still be alive. But no, we both took and Voldemort had us. Bone of a father unknowingly given, you will renew thy son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive thy master. Blood of the enemy forcibly taken you will resurrect your foe. He used my blood to get his body back. We duelled and out of sheer luck, I managed to escape.

"Voldemort was back, but no one believed me. After Skeeter's articles, everyone thought I was attention seeking. I gave everything for these people. I lost my family, friends. I have nearly died more times than I can count. I have bled, fought and endured what these people daren't dream of, and they think they have the right to judge me. Based on what? The rantings of a woman who twisted the truth to better her story. They don't know me, or what I have suffered. They still think they have the right to tell me that I'm insane. Dumbledore believed me and the Order of the Phoenix was recalled, but he was the only on. Cornelius Fudge, the minister of magic, removed Dumbledore's titles, and had the Prophet make sarcastic comments about me to further my bad image. They put a High Inquisitor at Hogwarts to monitor us. Dolores Umbridge ruled the school by terror, removing Dumbledore and anyone who opposed her. She didn't want the students becoming an army against the Ministry. Defence became purely theoretical. Clubs were banned without her approval, and I was banned from Quidditch. Some of us resisted, starting a Defence club in secret to practice defence to pass exams and because of the return of Voldemort, which I don't think any of them believed. Still we trained, until one stupid girl's treachery resulted in the groups end. All through the year I had been having dreams, strange dreams sent to me by Voldemort, but you never told me. You kept your distance and so I wandered blindly for a year. You refused to so much as look at me. All I had to deal with Umbridge's reign of terror and these dreams with no help from you. Christmas was a welcome break. Aside from a little trouble with Arthur Weasley, who was attacked. We all went to Grimmauld Place. It was the closest Sirius and I ever got to a normal life. I can still see his face as he went around singing God Rest Ye Merry Hippogrif. He had offered me a home two years prior and finally we had one. I went back to school filled with hope. Maybe I would be leaving the Dursleys. Maybe I could live with him over the summer.

"When OWLs came around, we all knuckled down to working. They went alright I think. Even Potions. I think it helped I didn't have Snape breathing down my neck. Halfway through the history exam I had another Vision. Voldemort had Sirius in the department of mysteries. Dumbledore had been removed and had escaped. McGonagall had been sent to St Mungo's after taking four stunners to the chest as the Aurors tried to evict Hagrid. We were alone, and alone we went to the Ministry. Myself, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. IN my world he is alive and well. He has been my friend for five years. It was his parents that were tortured to insanity. I've seen them at St Mungo's wandering aimlessly around. Their loss destroyed Neville's confidence. You can't help but feel sorry for him.

"But it was a trap. Voldemort sent me a false vision and I marched straight into a trap. Push came to shove and we ran. We were outnumbered two to one by Death Eaters. Ginny broke her ankle, Ron was nearly killed by a mutant brain and Neville came face to face with the witch who had broken his parent's minds. Bellatrix Lestrange. In my world she is married. WE had been lead to the Prophecy section. Only myself or Voldemort could remove it and he didn't want to reveal his presence. He could move more easily if the Ministry refused to acknowledge his return. We took the prophecy and ran. But we were cornered. Then the Order came. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Moody all came for us. The Prophecy smashed in the mess that followed. Sirius...was killed, pushed backwards through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix had cast the spell. I hate her more than anything else on the planet, maybe as much s Riddle himself. For the first time in my life, a home, a family was in sight and she snatched it away from me, just as Riddle had done fourteen years earlier. I ran her down. The Unforgivables carry I life sentence, but in times of stress it seems worth it. Pure rage, that the best I can describe it. If I thought I could manage it, I would have killed her. I wanted her to suffer for killing him. But I could never enjoy causing pain, so the Cruciatus curse failed. The Prophecy was lost and the Ministry was in ruins. Voldemort came to make sure. He was about to kill me when you turned up. I watched you duel. It was unbelievable. I knew then that I had no hope. I could never duel like you can, but the prophecy says that I have face and beat him. I can't do it. I keep deluding myself, but I know I could never match him.

"But now everyone knows he is back. The last week of school was different. I didn't care about anything but Sirius. He was gone and nothing else seemed to matter. People suddenly wanted to know me again. Suddenly I mattered again. It just shows how shallow everyone is. Now the truth was known, people were nice and expected me to just forgive them. That's how they always think of me, They expect me to fight him for them. They expect me to do it, so they don't have to. Then they think they have the right to tell me I am not doing enough, or doing something wrong. Then they think they have the right to tell me I am deluded. What right do they have to judge me? They take me for granted. They do nothing but sit on their arses waiting for me to kill him. Sometimes I wish he would appear in the Great Hall and scare the hell out of them all, just so they can see what it is like."

There was silence in the room. Dumbledore sat looking pensive, while Lily was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. He stared unblinkingly towards Harry, but not seeing him. He seemed to be staring past Harry. Lily on the other hand, had her hanky out. Her eyes were full of tears and she was holding the white handkerchief up to her face. They sat in silence for a few seconds, before Lily stood and enveloped Harry in a huge hug. It was gentle so as not to hurt him, but it was just as warm and meaningful as if she had crushed the air out of him. Harry felt lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She had not rejected him, despite all that he had done and the fact that he was not hers.

"You seem intent on blaming yourself," noted Dumbledore at last. "Your story tells of great suffering, but I feel I have to point out that some of it is needless."

"I've heard it before," said Harry over his mother's shoulder. "What am I supposed to say? Bollocks to Cedric, it happens? Move on? Forget him? I can't do that. He was murdered because he took the cup at my request. How can I not feel guilt about that? And Sirius. I went to the Ministry that night. You should have told me about the Prophecy, but at the end of the day, I should never have gone. I should have alerted the Order somehow. I tried with Snape, but there were other ways. I had a two-way mirror, but it never thought to use it."

"What do you mean, you tried with Snape?"

"I told me that they have Padfoot in the place where it is kept," said Harry. "He spat it back in my face. I should have known he couldn't overtly show he was going to help in the face of Umbridge, but I was so worked up, and I hated him so much that I thought he was really ignoring me. He went on to alert the Order who came to rescue us."

"So Severus is a spy in your world too?" said Lily.

"Sort of," said Harry. "Before Voldemort fell he came back to our side. Once Voldemort did fall, the Death Eaters were tried. Evidence was presented that Snape had come back to our side. Dumbledore defended him. It is public knowledge that Snape came back to our side. When Voldemort came back, Snape couldn't go back because of the fact that it was known he had turned before his downfall. The Wizengamot even acknowledged Snape as being cleared. At his rebirth, Voldemort even said that he knew one of the Death Eaters had left his service forever and would be killed and one was too cowardly to return. The coward was Karkaroff, who fled that very night and the other had to be Snape. I don't know what Snape does, but I expect he follows known Death Eaters, using his extensive supply of Polyjuice potion."

"You mentioned that Voldemort sent you a vision?" said Dumbledore. "But how is that possible."

"My scar is a psychic link to him. I have been meaning to ask you about that. Why is not working here. He couldn't touch me without being burned until he took my blood in his rebirth potion. He hasn't taken my blood here, yet he can still touch me. Also, I can't feel his emotions or presence. Usually I can feel if he is happy or angry. I can tell if he is close, but I feel nothing here."

"Do you remember how I mentioned the idea of a soul rather than a body?" asked Dumbledore. "That kind of psychic link would theoretically be linked to the soul, rather than the body. Your link would be to the Voldemort of your world, rather than then one in this world. Hence he would not feel this pain you describe when he touches you and you would not feel his emotion." That was a relief. At least he didn't have to worry about Voldemort sending him a migraine if he found out how. ON the other hand he had lost his early warning system, the same ability that had saved Arthur Weasley's life last Christmas.

"Why can't I feel the Voldemort from my world?"

"Perhaps this link cannot cross between worlds. In theory, you should not have been able to."

"On a related note," said Harry. "Any progress getting me home?"

"Harry," moaned Lily softly. He glanced over at her, still with tears in both of their eyes. There was a harsh truth to face. He had to leave and it would not be easy on either of them. Already he was attached to them and he knew it would break more than one heart when he had to leave.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "But ultimately, I have to go home. As much as I want to, I can't stay here forever. Too many lives depend on me. I can't just forget about them."

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "You have suffered some horrific injuries in the last fortnight. Your right wrist was completely shattered. Madam Pomfrey can fix bones in a heartbeat, but your bone was smashed into seventeen different pieces and will take a further two to three weeks to heal. Your bruises will go down in time. The venom has been flushed from your system, and the cuts and burns to your torso and arms have been closed and healed. You need to take this potion for your wrist. Unfortunately its side effects are drowsiness. For the next few weeks, you will feel very week and drowsy. Even if I found anything, I must insist that you remain here in our care for that amount of time."

"Even if, as in you are not trying?" He felt frustration bubbling in him. Dumbledore had to help him. If he was just stalling, Harry would...no, he would not kill him, but...he felt so angry. He had better not be holding back.

"On the contrary, Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile. "I have found an ancient Greek text which talks about what has been interpreted as Black Holes and to quote them 'the world beyond'. From the first page or so of our translation, it speaks of an attempt to make a gateway. It failed, but was only a first attempt. We are working on the translation as we speak. Unfortunately, the book is written in the language of a long lost tribe, rather than the actual Greek language. It should take about a month to translate. I have high hopes for this book."

"Thank you," said Harry. "Was Gryffindor's sword any help?"

"Not as such. I would not wish to recreate the circumstances that brought you here, in case you were killed. And we would need Tom, who I doubt would be willing top help you get home. That combination of magic launched you into this world, but not in a controlled manner. Even if we could get it to work again, there would be no knowing where you would end up."

"Ah."

"So who is doing the translation?"

"Someone I trust, Harry," Dumbledore reassured him. "Professor Flamel."

"What does he teach anyway?" asked Harry. "I know Snape does Defence, my mother does Potions, McGonagall does Transfiguration. What about Flitwick, Sinestra, Vector. Who does Care of Magical Creatures? Is Trelawney still here?"

"Slow down, Harry," said Lily. "Yes, Professors Flitwick, Sinestra and Vector are here, teaching Charms, Astronomy and Arithmancy respectively. Care of Magical Creatures was taught by Hagrid until an incident with a student and a Hippogriff a few years ago."

"Malfoy?"

"Bingo," said Lily. "Now we have Professor Grubbly-Plunk. I don't know who Trelawney is, but Professor Flamel teaches History of Magic."

"Well anyone would be better than Binns."

"Professor Binns died years ago," said Dumbledore.

"I know," said Harry. "In my world, he just got up one morning and left his body behind. He taught as a ghost ever since. Good time to catch up on other homework or have a sleep in History."

"Not here," said Dumbledore, his amusement evident. "Nicolas receives positive reviews from the students here."

"No more Goblin rebellions?" asked Harry.

"One or two."

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "I am glad you decided to share your past with us. I can imagine how hard that is. You have clearly lived a very hard life. I am afraid to tell you that you cannot leave here for the next few weeks, until Madam Pomfrey informs me that you are strong enough to be able to defend yourself. As you should have guessed, there is a price on your head."

"Really, how much am I worth?"

"Harry!" snapped Lily.

"Sorry," muttered Harry.

"Once you are fit," began Dumbledore, his amusement clear. "We can work out how to reintroduce you to society."

"Rather than to a cell in Azkaban," said Harry.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Azkaban has been rebuilt and strengthened, following your attack eighteen months ago."

"That's another question for you," said Harry. "Why me. Why did Voldemort choose me to be his number one? Surely Malfoy, or Bellatrix, someone like that would be a better contestant. Why, at the age of fourteen, was I taken?"

"I couldn't say," said Dumbledore gravely. "We truly don't know why it was you, or exactly what was done to you."

"Didn't Snape see anything?"

"No. He was not present at the Devil's Cauldron."

"I've heard that before. What is it?"

"It's a naturally occurring area of Lydford Gorge in Devon. It is a whirlpool filled with jagged rocks, about thirty feet below ground level. The rock there harnesses and concentrates dark magic. The air is thick with it. We know you were there with Voldemort and the inner circle, along with a few sentries including Riener Attacus and his wife Caitlyn, who were mentioned in your trial. What happened, we do not know."

"So what happens now?"

"Now, you rest," said Harry.

"For three week?"

"You may use this room however you wish," said Dumbledore. "Myself and Nicolas believe it best to place an article in the Prophet announcing your current situation."

"The truth?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "We feel amnesia is the best excuse we have. It accounts for you not being familiar with some aspects of our world."

"So what, we publish the article and then one day I pop up in a charms lesson. Hi guys, remember me? I used to be a student here before I went on a killing spree. I don't think that would work."

"This is not an easy task," Dumbledore conceded. "The article will break the ice. I do not deny that this is an uphill struggle. The Ministry is in disarray. There are calls for the Death Penalty to be reinstated, simply because of you. Many people have been affected by your actions of the last year or so and the public will react very badly to this at first. Blood is thicker that water. Revenge and anger will cloud their minds and calls for your execution will be numerous. Not only that but you are a symbol of all that we fight against."

"In my world, I was seen as a beacon of light," said Harry soberly. "Here..."

"You are precisely the opposite. You were once dubbed to be the Dark Knight, in comparison to the Dark Lord. IN fact they names the Death Eaters after chess pieces. Tom was the Dark Lord, or King. You were going to be the queen as the most powerful piece on the board, but you are male so that piece was given to Bellatrix Black. Rodolphus Lestrange was the Bishop, Antonin Dolohov was the Rook and you were the Knight. Occasionally you are still referred to as the Dark Knight."

"So was Batman," muttered Harry,

"For a time, Prophet Headlines read like a game of chess. When an old friend of mine was killed, the Headline read, Dark Bishop takes white Rook. Rather insensitive in my humble opinion. That label soon died out, but around the school you are sometimes simply referred to as him, which, I am sure you can appreciate, is only one step short of You-Know-Who. The Aurors may be easy to swing, all least those in the Order will, but the Ministry on the whole is more complex. Politically, Barty Crouch would be made to look a fool if he did not conduct a thorough investigation before approving you. From there the hearts and minds of the people will need convincing. From there we can go to an audience with the Minister and Wizengamot, a private hearing of course. From there, we would take it one step at a time. I am afraid you are for a long haul. Many will find it hard to forgive and will tip toe around you."

"I deserve it, though," said Harry sadly. "I did all those things."

"It wasn't you," said Lily, firmly, squeezing his hand gently.

"I still carry the memories with me," said Harry, bringing a look of concern to the adult's faces. "I have nightmares. When I sleep I sometimes see what he did. I often dream of Sirius dying, and Voldemort's rebirth. But now, there is...murder, death. I see the time I attacked Diagon Alley at Christmas."

"Black Noel," gasped Lily.

"I see the fear in the eyes of the Minister, just before I kill him," said Harry, looking at his feet. "Memories come to me sometimes, faces, images, and dreams. Sometimes I feel like déjà vu when I go somewhere and it's getting stronger. When I first came here, I was fine. Then after my escape, I started to have the dreams. Now I find more and more faces coming to me. I can feel the darkness in me. I am dangerous: I killed a man at St Mungo's by instinct alone. I lost control, I didn't mean to, I just reacted when I saw the wand. And then there was Scholes. No mercy, no pity, no compassion. I'm scared I could hurt Rose or Ginny or any other student if I got near them." Harry could feel the anger in his belly. It was what had driven him to nearly kill in St Mungo's. Every instinct told him to kill them. He was sure he could have managed the Killing Curse at that point. That was the same darkness that compelled him to nearly kill Kreacher. He knew he had to resist it.

"You can beat this," said Dumbledore. "You have been through hell, and have every right to feel angry and vengeful, but you don't. You beat your anger then, you can do so again. Your family will be invaluable, as will the Weasleys. At present, only Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie and Ginny know of your situation and only Ginny knows more than the fact that you are here and that you wish to join the Order."

"I never said that," said Harry firmly. He was not going to be taken advantage of.

"But it is what you want?" Damn it, it was, but he didn't want Dumbledore to think he would bow to his every wish.

"It's what I need, not what I want. Haven't you been listening?"

"Harry," objected Lily.

"He is going to come for me," said Harry solemnly. "I can't hide, nor can I run. I have to make a stand and this is the only way. Surely you see that."

"I've already lost you once," said Lily, tears filling her eyes.

"You won't again," said Harry. "But I can't just sit and wait. I have to prepare and we both know I can't do that alone. Keep Rose out of the Order. She doesn't need this, she needs to be kept safe, but I do need this, because there is no way for me to be safe."

"He's right, Lily," said Dumbledore. "There is no other way."

"Trust me," said Harry. Lily looked from one to the other and nodded, sighing deeply as she did. Harry knew she didn't want this and he didn't either, but he had to. Both of them knew this, accepted this, but resented it anyway.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "Do you have any ideas what you would need, training wise, to help you?"

"You'll need a pen and paper," muttered Harry bringing a smile to the old man's face. "A bazooka, a nuclear warhead and enough TNT to flatten Arnold Schwarzenegger and I might have a chance."

"I don't think Diagon Alley will stock all that," said Dumbledore lightly.

"Try Knockturn Alley," said Harry, causing both adults to chuckle. "No, seriously, I think I need duelling lessons, with Mad-Eye and Kingsley. Occlumency would be good, but not with Snape; I need a teacher, not a sadist. Lastly, and I have been thinking about this for some time. Actually, I've been thinking about this ever since I first cast a Patronus. The first time I saw Prongs, I thought that....well....I was wondering if...I was thinking of trying to become an Animagus, like my father."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Since you are still a minor, you will need your parents permission. I can get the papers for you..."

"Off the record," said Harry interrupting. "No registration, no one else is to know."

"That's illegal," said Lily.

"If we do this on the record, then with the Ministry being so full of leaks, it will be out in the open in no time. This has to be done in secret. Once he knows then I can register, but not until he has found out the hard way."

"You have too much of your father in you," said Lily. Harry couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a criticism.

"If that is a yes, I will ask Minerva to come and see you this evening," said Dumbledore. "Bear in mind that this is not something to be undertaken lightly. Not everyone can become an Animagus. It takes time and dedication to become one. Are you absolutely sure? Don't answer now. Think long and hard. Minerva will come to you after dinner. Now I am afraid I have a lot of business to attend to. I just want you to know, that from now on, I will try and be less manipulative."

With that the Headmaster left the Room of Requirement, leaving Harry and Lily alone.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Minerva McGonagall placed her knife parallel to her fork on her empty plate and wiped her bottom lip with the napkin, which had been delicately folded by the House Elves of Hogwarts into an ornate star-like shape. She took one last glance at Albus who was engaged in a conversation with Professor Flitwick. Why did I agree to this? wondered Minerva.

Albus had that annoying ability to be able to convince her of almost anything. To be fair, asking her to instruct Harry Potter to become an Animagus was the last thing she had expected him to ask. As she made her way out of the back entrance to the Great Hall, she made doubly sure that her wand was where it could be easily reached. She trusted Albus, she truly did, but she couldn't suppress years of instincts. She knew what the boy had done, and all this talk of Alternate Realities just seemed a little too far fetched. She wanted to believe it was true, she wanted him to have turned for Lily and James' sake. She remembered when Harry was just another young Gryffindor, and come to think of it, when James Potter was another young Gryffindor. Having said that, she was not going into that room with no means to defend herself.

Becoming an Animagus was not quick, easy or painless. She remembered hearing for the first time that Potter, Black, and Pettigrew had all managed it. She was surprised to say that least that they had managed it, that they would do it for a friend and that they had managed to keep a secret. She wondered if Potter would have the ability to do it. If he didn't then no amount of teaching would allow him to become one. It was like rolling one's tongue. It was a birth ability, though not something one inherits. No one truly understood why some wizards can and others can't.

She made her way up to the portrait, and glanced in both directions. The last thing she needed was for Draco Malfoy to see her and inform his father that Harry was here. Satisfied that she was alone, she opened the door and stepped into the room. A small smile crept over her face at the manner in which Potter had customised the room. She quickly quashed it, as it did not compliment her image as the disciplinarian of the Hogwarts staff. She realised that should she ever become Headmistress, she would have to change her image. Albus had a way with the students, a respect that was based on more than fear. So had the man before him and the man before him. That was the way of the Headmaster. If Minerva every rose to that rank, she would need to drop the image, but until then, disciplinarian it was.

The room had changed into a large terrace, floored by decking. It led out onto a white sandy beach, and past that, Minerva could see the magnificent blue sea. Palm trees grew on the beach and swinging gently in a hammock was Harry Potter. The Caribbean scene was strangely comforting to Minerva. There was a light sea breeze and the sun shone warmly over head. Lying on a sun-lounger next to the hammock lay Rose Potter. The two were deep in conversation and had not heard Minerva enter the room.

"So I turn away, right," said Harry, clearly in the middle of an anecdote. "I knew he wasn't going to do anything, he'd too scared. So as I turn and then I feel this warm furry thing shoot past my head. I thought, that can't be a curse. So I turn around, wand in hand, ready to hex him into tomorrow. But I can't see him. In his place is this small white ferret. Now, Grabbe or Goyle, can't remember which, don't really care to be honest, goes to pick him up. Moody tells him to leave him. He goes on about how he hated people who attack from behind, and how his father managed to get his charges clear without even seeing an Azkaban cell. Next thing Moody, points his wand at Malfoy and BOING! Malfoy is launched into the air. Moody bounces him off every wall in the Great Hall, off the ceiling, the floor and windows and just about anything you can think of."

"Fantastic," said Rose, between her laughter.

"So he's there bouncing him around, we're all laughing, Crabbe and Goyle are standing around looking like, well like they usually do really, thick and stupid and then McGonagall comes in. Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Potter in an awful Scottish accent. Minerva raised an eyebrow in distaste. "We don't use transfiguration as punishment, put him down now!" His accent was terrible, but Rose found it hilarious. Minerva was slightly amused, but also slightly put out. She managed not to let her distaste show too much.

"Spoilsport," said Rose.

"Transfiguration is not a sport," interrupted Minerva at that point. Both Potters spun around to face her, the elder even had his wand in his left hand. "And you may wish to brush up on your Scottish accents, Mr Potter. They say impression is the sincerest form of mockery, so please be sincere enough to practice the voice."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, blushing slightly, and lowering his wand.

"Dinner is served, Miss Potter," said Minerva. Rose glanced at her brother before nodding and then leaving the room. Minerva approached the sunlounger and caught her first clear look at Harry's injuries. His face was covered in ugly purple bruises and he had two white patches, one over his right eye the other over his left cheek, as well as a piece of tape over his broken nose. His neck was heavily bandaged as was his right wrist. He wore black trousers and a dark blue shirt, which was open slightly, exposing his bandaged ribs. Minerva shivered at the thought of the pain he had suffered.

"You know why I am here, Potter," began Minerva. After debating whether or not to come on strong and risk getting him angry or to come on gently, she had decided to just be herself. Her wand, which was secure on the inside of her cloak, was a small comfort.

"I do," replied the boy, rolling out of the hammock and sitting on the other end of the sunlounger.

"I am here to find out if you have the potential to become an Animagus," said Minerva. "Please note that it is not a skill suited to everyone. About forty percent of wizards have the capacity to be one. Of those forty percent, only about five actually do become one. I am amazed that all three of Lupin's friends had the potential, but I digress. It is not easy and will require a lot of work, dedication and unfortunately pain. "

"I'm no stranger to that," said Harry softly.

Minerva thought to add, 'I can see', be chose not to. "Be that as it may, I hope you are not taking on this endeavour lightly. Let me explain to you what will happen. Firstly, assuming you do have the potential to master the skill, and I would like to point out that you should not assume you do, It is a birth skill, but not a hereditary one. Just because your father was one does not mean that you can. If you do have the ability, I will give you simple exercises to get used to transforming yourself through the power of your mind. I hear that you are going to begin with Occlumency, this may help you, but the greater steps you take the more painful it will be. You will start with simple things like lengthening fingers and nails. At first it will hurt to maintain then transformation and even more so when they return to their original shape. It will feel like a build up of lactic acid, as if you have run five miles and then stopped with no warm down. You must build it up. If you went straight into transforming your entire arm, then I would hate to think what it would feel like. As your exercises increase and you get used to it, we will being to discuss your form. Now, as with wands, the form will chose you rather than you it. It will come to you. From there, I will endeavour to find an animal for you to get to know, to study in order to further your connection to it. Eventually, you will be able to transform completely. From there, you must keep practicing or the pain will return. It will hurt for about a month, until you get used to it. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure you want this?"

"Yes."

"Once we start there is no turning back."

"There is no going back already," said Harry. "The idea is stuck in my head. I can't forget and it will haunt my dreams forever. No, this is definitely what I want."

"Don't get your hopes up," said McGonagall. "We don't even know if you can. If you can't nothing can help you."

"Okay," said Harry.

Minerva was sure he did not appreciate the high probability that he would not have the ability. HE seemed a little cavalier and that caused a raised eyebrow of irritation on Minerva's face, but she didn't say anything. Ah, the arrogance of youth, she thought to herself. In these cases, a scalded hand teaches best. "Right," said Minerva. "I want you to think back into the past. Have you ever done any accidental magic?"

"Yes."

"Was any of it on yourself, more specifically, did you change yourself?"

"I once grew my hair back in one night, after my aunt cut it. I was so worried about going to school looking like it, that I grew my hair back. I didn't know it was magic at the time, I didn't even know I was a wizard."

Interesting, thought McGonagall. In her heart, she was hoping that he was not capable, so she wouldn't have to teach him. Her heart fell as he spoke. This was just the sort of thing that she was dreading. "I see," she said keeping emotion out of her voice. "Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of," said Harry.

"Okay," said Minerva. "I want you to look at your fingernails. Look closely, take in every detail. Examine them and commit every detail to memory. You should be able to visualise them clearly with your eyes shut."

He gave he an unconvinced look, but did as he was told, starting with his right hand. His emerald green eyes stared unblinkingly at his fingertips.

"You look unconvinced," noted Minerva. "I am not doing this for my own good, Mr Potter. If you don't want to do what I tell you then I can leave." The boy's eyes widened and he quickly stammered an apology.

"No," said Harry. "I'm sorry. This just isn't what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?" said Minerva amidst a patronising stare.

"I'm not sure," stammered Harry,

"Then how do you know this was not it?"

"Never mind," stuttered Harry, trying to end the discussion. Minerva conceded and held back any more comments.

For the next five minutes, Minerva sat in silence watching him. His fingertips were held inches from his eyes. They took in every detail, moving from one hand to the other. Occasionally he closed his eyes for a few seconds, presumably seeing if he could picture them with his eyes shut. He hasn't said a word since he had started, noted Minerva. She had expected him to stop after thirty seconds and tell her that he had done it. It was a pleasant surprise. She doubted he truly comprehended what was ahead of him, but she would not let him quit. He was in it until the end. Contrary to what she thought earlier, the attention Harry was working with caused a change in Minerva. She found that she was quite looking forward to having a little project. It reminded her of when she was at school, with a goal ahead of her. She didn't have too many goals in life these days, and young Harry may just make a good project, if he continues like this. But it was the first day, and young boys were always attentive, until the novelty wore off. She was worried that in a fortnight, he would be whining and wanting to quit. She hoped it was not the case, but she knew how the mind of a juvenile male worked.

"Okay, stop," said Minerva quietly. He looked up at her. His body was one of a sixteen year old boy, but she could see in his eyes that he had lived like a man, not a boy. They betrayed an older man. If what Albus said was true, then he would have grown up fast. The trouble with people like that is that they often think they should be allowed to act like a child when they want to and an adult when they want to. They think they have a right to run their lives, but also have a right to get any protection they want and avoid what they don't want to do. She hoped Harry had a little more maturity than that. "Next I want you to close your eyes and relax. Sit still and relax. Listen to..." she glanced around, looking for inspiration in the Caribbean surroundings. "The waves. Can you hear the waves gently breaking on the shore?" he nodded. "Listen to them and relax. Breathe slowly and clear your mind. Put all thoughts of war, home, people, paces and Dark Lords aside. Imagine you are just lying on the beach, staring up at the deep blue sky. Be calm."

Minerva watched him sitting cross-legged on the lounger. His arms were both in his lap. She wondered if the pain from that arm would cloud his ability. She hoped it wasn't so, but didn't want to direct his thoughts to it by bringing it up. She watched him for a few seconds. His face was still the neutral mask that he had worn since the beginning for the meeting. She sat waiting until to her relief she saw the mask begin to melt. The muscles in his face relax and the mask slipped, leaving a truly blank face. Minerva smiled inwardly to herself. He was letting go, he really was relaxing. This might just be worth it, if he has the potential.

"Now, picture you fingertips. Call that picture to the front of your mind. Concentrate on your fingernails and only your fingernails. Nothing else exists, just your fingernails." She waited a few seconds, hoping that he was complying. He was not saying a thing.

"Now, imagine that your nails are much, much longer. Imagine that they are two inches long. Can you picture them like that? Picture your fingertips, with nails that are two inches long. Concentrate. Hold that image." She watched his fingers, which lay in his lap, intently. Come on, she thought. You can do it. She noted how much her thoughts had changed from the time she had entered. Then she had not wanted him to succeed; now she did. She didn't even remember when it had changed.

"Now believe that your nails are like that. That is what your nails look like. You really do have two-inch nails. They are huge. They really exist. Concentrate. Believe."

She spoke quietly and gently, in little more than a whisper. Harry sat motionless on the lounger. She couldn't tell if he was absorbing what she was saying. He had definitely relaxed, but so far he was not making any progress.

"Relax Harry," she gently urged him. "Picture the nails clearly. Concentrate." She watched him for over a minute without any form of success. She was beginning to think that maybe it had just been accidental magic and not a manifestation of Animagus potential that had allow him to grow his hair back. It was not conclusive proof. Usually the story was that the subject could reach something and his or her arm grew by a few inches to reach it. Hair was often there but on its own was not conclusive proof.

Out of sheer hope, Minerva allowed him to continue for another five minutes, whispering the same old words over and over again to him. It didn't seem to be doing any good. His fingernails seemed no longer than they had been a few minutes ago. His left hand was placed protectively over the bandaged right. It looked like Harry was going to be going him disappointed. Minerva reached out to gently touch Harry on the arm, to bring him back out of his meditation.

"Wake up, Harry," she whispered. "Come back to me." Slowly the boy opened his eyes.

"Did I...?" he asked, looking hopefully up at Minerva.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Minerva sadly. "You nails didn't change. It looks like you don't have the ability. I'm sorry."

The boy bowed his head in defeat. Minerva hated to tell people that they had failed. She was known to be a stern teacher, but she didn't enjoying giving people bad news, which was inconvenient, as she often had to do just that as Deputy Headmistress.

"I tried," said Harry solemnly. "I just couldn't ignore my wrist. It hurts too much. I think the painkiller potion has worn off."

Minerva paused. An idea came to her. He may still have a chance. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She had never used the room before, but had been told how it worked. When she opened her eyes there was a small table next to the sunlounger, on which there was a small phial containing a dark green liquid. She handed it to Harry.

"Drink this," she said. Harry took the potion and obediently drank it. "Now, try again."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

Minerva watched in silence, repeating the words, not aloud but to herself. In a silent mantra, Minerva hoped that Harry would succeed. You can do it, she thought. She was almost pleading to herself. She watched his fingernail. Both hands were laid apart in his lap. The numbing Potion should take care of the distraction. Come on!

She watched for thirty seconds, but nothing happened, but then slowly, she saw his fingernails lengthen. It was subtle at first. She didn't even notice it until they were nearly half a centimetre longer than they should be. Minerva couldn't help but let out a long sigh. Big mistake; that broke Harry's concentration. His eyes flew open, just in time to look down and see his nails shrink back to normal.

A huge smile was plastered all over his face. He looked like a child in a sweet shop, grinning from ear to ear. "I did it?"

Minerva nodded, smiling herself. "Congratulations. You have taken your first step. I think that this also shows that we need to take the potion until that wrist of yours is healed."

"So anytime I get injured I won't be able to transform?" he asked.

"No," said Minerva. "You will in time. Once you get used to this it will become second nature and you will be able to transform when you are not meditating, but initially it helps. Until you get comfortable, we will take the potion and meditate. The waves here were most convenient."

"Yeah, relaxing," said Harry lightly.

"And they will help," said Minerva. "Okay, I have seen enough. For tonight, you can continue to try and do your fingernails. Do not try anything further and do not take more potion. That potion will last for about another ninety minutes at the most. Practice all you can, but do not stray beyond the nails. You are not ready for it yet. The potion can be very addictive, so don't take anymore until I return tomorrow evening."

"Okay," said Harry.

"Now, as it is getting late, I suggest you get to bed. Sleep is the best healer. I will leave you this book on Animagi. Some background reading may help."

Minerva placed the book she had taken from her own personal collection on the table and then left the room, she saw it change. The sun became the moon. The full moon shone down on the beach and Harry was climbed back into the hammock. The gentle breeze rocked the hammock, and the air was pleasantly warm.

"Sleep well," muttered Minerva as she closed the door.

~~~~ + ~~~~

And that was the way it went for the next fortnight. As Harry's wrist healed, McGonagall came around each evening for an hour and a half and they practiced changing his hands. They had progressed from lengthening his nails to his entire fingers. Harry found the experience as painful as McGonagall had warned. He had been a little cavalier about it, if he was being honest. Both his hands ached at the end of the night, but McGonagall seemed delighted with his progress. During the day he had Flamel come by and try and teach his Occlumency. Flamel was a far superior teacher to Snape. After just one lesson, Harry had some idea on what he was aiming for. After informing him of McGonagall's mediation exercise with the waves, Flamel had decided to adopt that same image of the waves. Flamel had Harry meditate, much as he had with McGonagall, emptying his mind, just listening to the sound of the waves. Unlike Snape, Flamel also took the time to explain exactly what Occlumency was and what he was aiming for. He explained how to repel an attack as well as how to hide memories from intruders, rather than just bullying Harry with it. Now that he knew what he was aiming for, he felt a little more confident about the whole thing. He had frequent visits from his family. Ginny even made an appearance on the first Thursday.

Life wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be, being locked in a room all day. Sure, there were places he would rather be, but it wasn't too bad. He got to know his family a lot more over the fortnight he spent in 'hospital'. Someone was with him more often than not. It was quite refreshing to know who they are. For the first time, his parents were more than a scream in his mind, or an image in a Pensieve. For the first time, he felt like he had a family. It was a completely alien feeling to him, but he soon found himself immersed in it. He found it a great relief that they were so ready to accept him, knowing all that he had done, and who he really was. He assumed his mother had told her husband and daughter. This was what he had dreamed of. This is how he should have lived. Rose one told him it was as if he had never left. Harry disagreed, but was took her statement as a compliment. As far as he was concerned, memory is what makes a person. If you obliviated a person to forget five years of their life and full their mind with five years of false memories, then you would make a different person. People often say that they would like to forget what they have learned. Harry disagreed. He thought it was better to live in peace knowing how bad it used to be, so you can truly appreciate just how good life is, and how lucky one is. If you did not remember the hardship, you would be just as discontent as you were and would walk the same ill-fated path all over again.

Two weeks and four days passed, until Harry lay dozing in the hammock at dinnertime on Tuesday second of October. Madam Pomfrey had been in that morning to remove the bandage from his wrist. It was still sore and he was told not to lift things with it or use it to wield a wand for a few days. He had a scar where the bone had pierced the flesh, but otherwise looked fine. It was paler than his arms, as he had tanned slightly in the sun the room had provided. He had done a few Animagus exercises and had managed to shrink and extend his entire hand. Up until then he had only done it on his left hand, not wanting to risk damaging his right. He had no wish to lengthen the amount of time needed to recover. When he was not practicing, he had to wear a wrist support, which was basically a thick padded thing that was wrapped around his wrist and thumb, which seemed to be made out of wetsuit material. With it wrapped tightly around his wrist, he could use it for simple things. It strengthened his wrist and helped with the healing, but he still had to be careful when lifting or twisting.

He had made it his practice to go running along the beach when he woke up, as the sun rose to make him feel less guilty about sleeping in until eleven. That helped him feel a little less like a couch potato. That evening, as Harry lay dozing, the door opened and McGonagall came in. Checking his watch, Harry realised that it was Animagus time. He had lost track of time. He had been thinking about his home, about the Dursleys, about Ron and Hermione and all that he had left behind. He also thought about Rose, Ginny and his family here. If he went back, he would be turning his back on those who loved him, just as he would be if he stayed. If he went back, he would condemn a world to fight alone, just as he would if he stayed. If he went back he would be putting his life and the lives of everyone he loved in both worlds in danger, just as he would if he stayed. It wasn't a happy thought, but it was all that filled Harry's mind.

For the next fortnight they practiced every night, and after a week, Harry progressed on to changing toes and well as fingers. Once Harry had managed to stretch his toes, it was simply a matter of being able to hold the transformation for extended amount of time. It was basically endurance training. Harry found that after about fifteen seconds, his hands and feet began to ache and then it really hurt once they returned to normal and then just ached for a long time afterwards. He had progressed away from needed to meditate first, and could grow his nails with little more than a thought. McGonagall also had him grow them, hold it for five seconds, shrink them, and then five seconds later do it all again. After two repetitions his hands began to sting, but she assured him that the more he did it, the less it would hurt.

Just then the door opened and Dumbledore stepped into the room. Harry was relieved as it would give his aching hands a short break.

"Sorry to interrupt," the Headmaster said. "Ah, the Caribbean." He added upon taking in the surroundings. "I really must visit you more often, Harry."

McGonagall rose to her feet as the Headmaster entered. He sat himself down on the sunlounger opposite Harry.

"If you no longer need me, I've got some essays to mark," she said before receiving a nod from Dumbledore and leaving.

"How is your training going?" asked Dumbledore.

"Animagus training is good. I just need to find my form," said Harry. "As for Occlumency, well, now I have an idea what to aim for, I think it will work a little better. I'm just getting to grips with the idea of clearing my mind."

"It will come in time."

"I'm not very good at subtly," said Harry. "Potions and Occlumency seem to defeat me. Snape always said I don't have the patience or skill for such tasks. I am better at Defence and Charms than that kind of thing." He remembered Snape's initial introduction to Potions in Harry's first year, just before he had spotted Harry. As there is no foolish wand-waving and silly incantations he did not expect many to understand the subtle art and exact science that was potions making. He had been right. Harry didn't do subtle or exact. Battle was a much more fluid situation where improvisation and adaptation were the key to success, not precision and technique. Hermione sometimes needed to realise that. Having said that her knowledge had saved him time and time again.

"Again, it will come in time, if you are willing to put the effort in," said Dumbledore.

"So what was the reason you wanted to talk to me?" asked Harry.

"I believe that you are now more or less strong enough to face the world," said Dumbledore. "Obviously I can't just take you into the Great Hall. We need to get the word out. Over the last fortnight, I have circulated word that you have left the Dark Lord's service. Not to the Ministry, but I had Mundungus Fletcher start the rumour in Knockturn Alley. The underworld are talking about you. I am proposing that we enter this article into the tomorrow's prophet."

He produced a sheet of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Harry. Harry glanced over it. It was good, but it was not enough. Harry knew from experience that one honest article would not sway the masses. It would do little to no good.

"And then what?" he asked. "People won't just believe you. Trust me, after last year, I know how the public will take this, especially if there is an emotional attachment. They'll crucify me and you'll be removed of all titles."

"Which is why after the article, you will have a meeting with Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, and possibly Dawlish if I can get both him and Kingsley away. Next the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

"But they will want answers, answers I can't give," protested Harry. "And if they give me Veritaserum."

"You have the right to refuse," said Dumbledore, "and it will not come to that, not while I run the Wizengamot."

"Even if you call it Amnesia, they'll still... it won't work," said Harry. No-one would believe them. It was deja-vu. He would be feared and despises here as well as in his world.

"We have no other choice," said Dumbledore. "It is far from ideal, I know. But what else is there?"

"I hope you're right, for all our sakes," muttered Harry. "Fine, with my mother's permission, go with it. Just brace for impact. And keep an eye on Rose, once this breaks, the students are going to come down on her like a tonne of bricks." Harry didn't want her or Ginny to suffer on account of him. Too many people had already done so, and he didn't need them on his conscience.

"It will be taken care of," said Dumbledore, rising to leave.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Ginny Weasley had just finished her second poached egg the following morning at breakfast when Rose entered the Great Hall. She sat down next to Ginny and helped herself to a large piece of watermelon and half a grapefruit.

"Sleep well?" asked Ginny.

"Hibernated," replied Rose.

Ginny smiled to herself. She hadn't seen Rose so happy since before Harry disappeared. It was as if someone had re-lit the fire that had long since gone out in her. She smiled, genuinely smiled. She seemed to be holding her head high once again, instead of hiding in the shadows. She looked a year younger than she had a month ago. It was almost as if the last two years had not happened. Harry had finally done something good for her.

When they had first met, Ginny had not trusted him. She had not wanted to, maybe that was it. She had read about what he done, and believed in it. She didn't believe his story. She had even gone to Hermione Granger and asked if she thought it was possible. The answer had been anything is possible, but that is as improbable as it was possible to be. But, the real Harry or no, he was back, he had suffered for the Order and he had not broken. Maybe this really was for real. It seemed too good to be true, for Rose-Marie anyway. Maybe, just maybe it was true.

Just then there came the flapping of wings from overhead. Ginny glanced up to see hundred of owls come swooping into the Great Hall. It briefly occurred to Ginny that if there was a hole in the ceiling or them to get in, why did they not get a draft in the Great Hall, or wet if it rains. Probably some form of spell. Merlin knows, the roof of the Burrow had its fair share of leaks, until Bill and Charlie had gone around and sealed them up.

As the bird delivered their payloads to various people in the hall, Ginny became increasingly aware of the whispering that was going on. A nervous whisper seemed to have broken out and crowds were gathering around those with a paper. Oh Merlin, thought Ginny. What has happened now? What has You-Know-Who attacked? The whispering grew louder, and to her surprise, Ginny noticed several glanced being shot over to her and more specifically, to Rose. Ginny suddenly realised what the article must be about.

She glanced around looking for the nearest owner of a copy. She glanced at Ron, who was completely oblivious to what was going on and was current stuffing his face with hash browns.

"Hermione," called Ginny, addressing the girl who was reading a copy by herself two places to her right. "Can we borrow your copy?"

The bushy-haired girl nodded and passed the paper over to her. Ginny laid the paper flat between her and Rose.

"Jesus," muttered Rose, just as Ginny muttered 'Merlin'.

HARRY POTTER DEFECTS!

In December 1994, amid the destruction of Diagon Alley, in what has become known as the Black Noel, one name was whispered with almost the same respects as the Dark Lord himself. Knockturn Alley was alive with the buzz of gossip. Rumours circulated that the Dark Lord had one Death Eater he valued above all others, one lieutenant, one heir. Who was this mysterious figure who had murdered the Minister of Magic? Who could rise above the ranks of the Death Eaters to sit on the Devil's right hand? Many names and aliases were whispered, many tales of terror and destruction at the hands of the Dark Knight. It was not until the infamous Gringott's Siege of 1995 when the world learned the truth. The Dark Knight went by the name Harry Potter.

Harry James Potter was the first son of Lily and James Potter, a Hogwarts Professor and Auror respectively. He was born in July 1980. His parents were amongst the forerunners in the fight against the Dark Lord. He grew up as any normal boy would, and when he was eleven received the famous letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Everything seemed to be proceeding normally, until the last day of August 1994. Harry Potter disappeared in the middle of the night. It quickly became one of the biggest man-hunts in Wizarding history. He was next seen at Diagon Alley in December 1994. We all know the stories that followed.

Since then, the name Harry Potter has been associated with death and destruction. The now 16 year old Death Eater has been missing since he disappeared in August 1994, however after Black Noel, the Missing Presumed Dead, tag was replaced with Wanted Dead or Alive. The bounty for information leading to the capture of Harry Potter is second only to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Among his most infamous exploits are the attacks on Diagon Alley, Canamaro Square, and setting Dragon's loose in Butlin's Holiday Park. But there is however, one final twist to the Harry Potter saga: Amnesia. Rita Skeeter can exclusively reveal that after suffering a massive mental trauma, Harry Potter has suffered near total memory loss.

Upon his arrest last month, and right up until his escape, Potter's behaviour was described as confused and erratic. While his words were dismissed as a mind-trick, it now appears that Mr Potter truly does not know why he was being arrested. The exact cause of his mental trauma is still unknown, but Mr Potter claims to have no memory of any of the atrocities he has committed. Does this make him innocent? Far from it, whether he remembers or not does not change the fact that he did in fact commit them. While it is easy to dismiss this claim as nothing more than a mind-game or an attempt to reduce his sentence, one must consider the possibility that it is true. What if you were to wake up one day, not knowing what you had done and being told that you were Britain's second most wanted?

Potter's location is a closely guarded secret at present, though the boy has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore has long been known for his unorthodox decisions, such as the hiring of Half-Giant Rubeus Hagrid as Hogwarts Gamekeeper. With one of Potter's parents on his teaching staff, Albus Dumbledore's view can hardly be seen as unbiased. Potter has yet to be questioned by the Aurors, though that is set to happen in the next few days. The Minister of Magic was unable to comment at this time, as was Albus Dumbledore and Master Aurors, Moody, Dawlish and Shacklebolt.

So, it had finally broken. Part of Ginny was relieved, part of her scared. She was worried about how this would affect Rose. She had met Harry twice more since the first time. She had seen the extent to which he had suffered. He refused to talk about it, saying that it didn't matter now that he was back, but Ginny wasn't stupid. He was covered in bandages and had spent over a week in a coma and then a nearly another fortnight before he was strong enough to leave the room.

All around them, heads were turning, gazes were falling on Rose, who's face showed a mixture of emotion. Ginny glanced over at the head table, where Professor Potter was reading her own copy over a bowl of cereal. Ginny watched her exchange a quick glance with Dumbledore before glancing over at Rose. Her eyes met Ginny's briefly, but long enough for the professor to beckon her over.

Ginny rose and quickly made her way to the top table, several eyes following her. She caught a few pieces of conversation on the way.

He can't be coming back, not after what he has done.

It's a lie, I don't believe of for a second.

You expect me to trust him.

I bet she's in on it too. Harbouring a criminal. It doesn't say he's pardoned.

You reckon there's a reward if we find him. I reckon he's here somewhere

We'll ask in Potions.

Ginny reached the table after a few seconds. The Potion's Mistress beckoned her to lean in close.

"You've read the Prophet?" asked Potter. Ginny nodded, causing to the teacher to smile slightly. "So by now everyone knows. The reason I wanted to talk to you was because, by now, rumours will be flying around. You are the only one, aside from Rose-Marie, who already knew. You are in her classes all day, are you not."

"I am," said Ginny.

"I want you to stay with her. Everyone is going to want answers from her. She needs someone to help her. Don't let he be hassled all day." Ginny glanced over to Rose who was already in a conversation with another Gryffindor. Ginny wasn't sure if it was about Harry was chances are it was. Poor Rose; Ginny knew just as her mother did, that Rose was not going to have an easy day.

"I'll do my best," said Ginny. "I could hear the whispering on the way here. I think you'll get a barrage of questions in your lessons."

"I can deal with it," said Potter calmly. "Rosie is going to have a hard day and she will need a friend, the fact you already knew will help."

"So am I supposed to stop people asking her anything?" asked Ginny.

"Do what you feel is right," said Lily. She could have been a little more specific. "If she seems alright let her, be, if it gets out of hand, intervene."

"And if I'm asked?"

"Be careful with the facts. Amnesia, that is to be the only message getting out."

"Okay, luckily were don't have Snape until tomorrow. He'd be a nightmare." Ginny noticed a small smile spread over the teacher's face. She had been to school with Snape, as well as working with him for ages. She knew what he was like. Was he unpopular even in the staff-room?

"I'll speak to him," said Lily. "Now, you'd better get back. It looks like your brother has spotted the article and subtlety is not what he is famous for."

Ginny swore under her breath as she glanced back over to the table where Ron was reading the Prophet and slowly turning red. Ginny headed back to table just as Ron finished the article. She arrived back in time to hear him start his barrage against her friend.

"You knew? Why didn't you tell...how long?" he stammered.

"Shut up, Ron," said Ginny hotly, taking a seat. "I knew as well. And we were ordered not to say anything."

"You knew?" said Ron, going even redder. He was clearly getting angry. It took all Ginny's composure not to roll her eyes.

"Yes I knew."

"You're a member?"

"RON!" snapped Rose. She gestured at Hermione Granger who was sitting next to her. How could Ron be stupid enough to mention the Order at the dinner table of all places?

"How come you're a member?" snapped Ron, his anger getting the better of him. "I'm a year old than you and they never asked me. What I want to know is why Ginny, who is least able to defend herself, gets to join when none of us can!"

Ginny suddenly felt furious. Least able to defend herself, indeed. Her spell work was just as good as Ron's was; she was capable of a E in charms and Defence though Snape informed her every day that she was destined for a T. If Ron didn't stop soon she's prove it with a well-placed Bat-Bogey Hex.

"It's got nothing to do with that," said Rose calmly. "And for your information, Ginny is more than capable of defending herself."

"So why is she in?" asked Ron.

"It's because of Harry," said Rose calmly, buttering a slice of toast.

"You've met him?" asked a startled Hermione.

"Twice," said Ginny matter-of-factly.

"And..." Ginny was suddenly aware that it was silent around them and everyone seemed to be listening to him.

"And he seemed nice enough, if a little confused," said Ginny picking her words carefully.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Lily Potter marched into the Potions Classroom just as the clock on the wall struck nine. Usually, she would have had to tell the occupants of the room to calm down and get ready. Usually they would be chatting, playing, and all crammed onto the back few rows. Not today. Everyone seemed to be crammed to the front and they all sat in silence, looking eagerly at Lily as she removed her cloak and threw it over the back of her chair.

The class comprised of sixth year students from all for houses. They sat in perfect stillness during the register. Lily knew why this was and she also knew that this was how every class that day would begin. She sat at the desk in silence for a few seconds before beginning.

"The elixirs you made last lesson require two weeks to ferment, and as such are not ready for you to continue with. Consequently, today's double lesson will be split in two. For the second half, we will be making Bone Replacement Potion, commercially nick-named Skele-gro. This is an immensely complex potion. It is made in one hour. You are consequently on the go as the ingredients go off quickly in the air and must be properly prepped and added on a tight time frame. At first glance it seems quite simple, but it is easy to lose composure, get flustered and miss a deadline, and therefore ruin a potion. For the first half, I'm afraid it will be purely theory, so place your equipment to one side and grab a quill."

Lily had her lesson plan all mapped out. She would discuss the differences between reptilian and mammalian ingredients and the consequences of their use. She would teach them how they react to different categories of ingredients and see if they could put together a recipe based on the simple specification she provided. NEWT level was all about the 'why'. Why did ingredients go together, or not as the case may be, and hence how given a problem, ingredients should be selected. As it was, she didn't even finish three sentences before the first hand went up, and unsurprisingly it was a blond haired Slytherin.

"Do you have any thoughts about the Prophet this morning, Professor?" sneered the Slytherin.

"Many, and none of them are your concern, Mr Malfoy," said Lily coldly. She took a deep breath and was about to launch back into her introduction about reptilian blood, when the boy spoke again.

"Have you seen him yet?" asked Malfoy, rising from his seat.

Lily sighed and walked over to in front of Malfoy's desk. She glared down at the young Slytherin, making a mental note to inform Severus of his interruptions. Not that it would do any good. Aside from overtly favouring his own house, Severus could not punish him as he had to keep up the appearance of being a loyal Death Eater. Lily also was not allowed to elaborate too much on the situation.

"Mr Malfoy, I am not at liberty to say much about this," said Lily icily. "If you interrupt, you will find yourself helping Mr Filch to clean the owlery this evening without magic, is that understood?"

Reluctantly, the blond sat down, glaring daggers at Lily.

"And wipe that look of your face," snapped Lily. "Sulking is very unbecoming of a Malfoy." A murmur of laughter when around the room. It was not her custom to put Slytherins down unless they deserved it and this boy definitely did. She would just as happily put down a Gryffindor should they behave likewise. Firm, but fair. Having said that, she did feel a certain pleasure at striking out at Lucius Malfoy's son.

"But you must know something," said a voice suddenly. Lily's eyes fell on Ron Weasley. He had once been Harry's friend, she knew. He was often around for Order meetings with Ginny, but Lily did not know him too well. He sat next to his girlfriend, Lavender, with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan on his right. Lily noted that Hermione Granger was sitting well away from the rest of that her housemates, her books open and looking a trifle annoyed at the interruption. Lily smiled inwardly. She knew that she used to be like that before a certain raven-haired boy had brought her out of her shell. Someone needed to drag this girl out of her shell, or she would be so busy reading about wizards who had lost their lives, that she would forget to live hers.

Lily stared at Ron for a few seconds then gazed around the class. Everyone else sat in perfect silence. One could have heard a pin drop. Lily sighed knowing that there was no way around this.

"Fine," she said, bringing smiles to the other faces. "Ten minutes. After that we are continuing and anyone who doesn't finish this lesson will come back after dinner and remain here until they finish. Anyone have a problem with that?"

"No, Professor," chorused the class.

"Okay, I will answer your questions as best I can," she said evenly. "In return, you leave Rose-Marie alone, is that understood. You don't harass her, and if I find out that she is being harassed, that person will find themselves in detention until the end of term with Mr Filch, and each evening they will write me a one thousand word report on the detention and what they have learned from it. Is that understood?"

"Yes," said everyone in more or less unison. Some looked a tad more nervous, and would probably not speak to Rosie at all that day. Not necessarily a bad thing, concluded Lily.

"Then begin," said Lily, looking at Ron.

"Where is he now?" asked Ron.

"Close enough," said Lily. "I can't say exactly where."

"Is he coming back to school?" this time from Dean. "To our dormitory?"

"That is as of yet undecided," said Lily, sitting down behind her desk and removing a Thermas flask from her bag. Old habits died hard. "His whole future is still unknown. He faces an interrogation by the Aurors and Wizengamot. Since he was never expelled and just left, he can still come back. I can't say if this will happen though. His skill is such that he may just take NEWTs and not return to school. Even if he did, he may not return to Gryffindor Tower, but rather stay with me in the staff wing. But all this is speculation, until the Aurors, the Ministry, the Board of Governors and Professor McGonagall come to a decision, you will not be seeing him." She poured herself a cup of tea from the Thermas flask and placed it back in her bag before sipping the tea.

"But you have seen him?" said Malfoy speaking out of turn again.

"I told you not to interrupt," said Lily. "And yes, I have seen him." A murmur went around the room at that, and several people exchanged concerned glances.

"Isn't that harbouring a fugitive?" smirked the Blond. "Is that not a crime in itself?"

"And what about your father?" snarled Ron from his desk.

"My father was cleared of all charges," said Malfoy. "It was in the papers nearly three weeks ago. He was under the Imperius Curse when he allegedly attacked you on the train. That had been proved and he is a free man." Lily grimaced internally. Malfoy had indeed pleaded bewitchment and had somehow gotten off. Lily was sure gold had changed hands. Luckily Albus had wiped Lucius Malfoy's memory and didn't know it was Harry who was responsible for his capture.

"We all know that's bollocks, Malfoy," said Ron, seething with anger. "We all know you're a Death Eater's son."

"Prove it," said Malfoy, leaning back in his chair, looking smug.

"You are eating into your ten minutes," said Lily evenly. "Lucius Malfoy's innocence or guilt is not what we are discussing here. And that will be five points from Gryffindor for language, Mr Weasley." Reluctantly, Ron sat back down, though continued to glare at Malfoy who was smirking at him. Several members of the class had their hands in the air.

"Is it true he has no memory?" asked Parvati Patil. Lily glanced at the girl, who she knew was only here to learn beauty potions and hair-care potions. It made Lily laugh when she thought of it, but she put that aside.

"He suffered a massive mental trauma shortly before his arrest which seems to have wiped most of his memory," said Lily carefully. It was a lie she had rehearsed, but she wanted to make sure she got it right. "He no longer remembers most of his life or experiences. His skills, instincts and fundamental knowledge, for example, the ability to read, write, speak English, are unaffected. He still knows what Floo is and who is the Minister of magic, but all his identity and his personal history are a mystery to him. He has dreams, nightmares about what he has done, and is feeling huge amounts of guilt for it."

"And so he should," said a voice icily.

Lily shot a glare instinctively at the speaker, Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff. Lily sighed, knowing all to well her reason for speaking out. Her mother had been killed nearly six months ago, when she tried to defend Hannah's Aunt and baby cousin from an attack. Her mother had died at the hands of Harry Potter. Lily remembered seeing the pictures in the Prophet of the cold, dead infant, next to the mess that was Hannah's mother.

"I know where you are coming from," said Lily evenly. "Nothing I can say will comfort you. All I can do is point out that he does not remember ever doing it. He is a changed person know. Last time I spoke to him, he said that he didn't want to know who he was anymore, because everything he had found out, he wanted to forget. Is that the thinking of a murderer?"

"Tigers never change their stripes," said Hannah coldly. "And how do we know your love for your son hasn't clouded your judgement. Maybe you want him back so much you have blinded yourself from the fact that he is a monster." There was a gasp from everyone. No one spoke to a professor like that, especially not this professor, or Snape. Lily opened her mouth to take points from Hufflepuff, but managed to stop herself.

Lily couldn't answer that and she knew it. She couldn't ask her to forgive Harry. She couldn't tell her way she knew, only that she did. He had murdered her mother and nothing could bring her back. Susan would hate Harry for the rest of her days.

"I can offer you no proof," said Lily softly. "All I can say is that Harry faces a trial by the Wizengamot and Aurors, before anything can happen to him. They will be your proof. Now, any other questions?" She glanced at the few remaining hands in the air. Most had lowered their to ponder her response to a very personal question. He picked one. "Yes, Miss Granger."

"Is it not strange that he only lost some knowledge?" asked Hermione.

"What do you mean?" asked Lily cautiously. She felt the awkwardness in the pit of her stomach. Granger was very clever, too clever in some respects. Had she already seen through the façade?

"I mean, it is very selective what memory he has lost," she said. "I can understand remembering skills and muscle memory and things like that. Reading and writing, okay I can go with, they are instinct after all those years, but to know who the Minister of Magic is? Using Floo? That's not the sort of thing that would be instinct. Why would he recall that?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I just noticed an inconsistency. Is it not possible that he knows more than he is willing to reveal?"

"He met the Minister after his capture last month," said Lily. He is picking up knowledge all the time, relearning things. He also has dreams. They say that imprisonment is the worst punishment, and having visited Azkaban once with my husband, I can verify that it is horrific. However, Harry has nightmares of all that he has done. He has no memory of doing them, he is a changed person, but he still dreams of violence, death and destruction the likes of which I don't dare imagine, night after night. He has to relive it night after night, even though he, from his point of view, never did it. He is trapped in a nightmare he cannot escape from. He is suffering over this too. He is not a pleasure cruise." She seemed to accept the answer.

"How can you be sure he is for real and this is not a trick?" asked a Ravenclaw near the back. "What is to stop one of these dreams triggering him to remember who he is and return to his wicked ways? This lack of proof bothers me. I personally, don't believe it, based on the information I have. No offence, professor."

Lily knew the answer, but she also knew that she couldn't give it. She couldn't tell them where he came from, nor that these nightmares wouldn't cause him to remember as he never knew it in the first place. This was a different person, but they didn't understand; they couldn't, they mustn't. This was an argument that she couldn't win because the answers weren't hers to give. She sighed inwardly and wondered if Rosie was fairing any better.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Ginny stood with Rose threw their things into their bags with added urgency at the end of Professor Flitwick's Charm's lesson. They had just had double charms and since they had worked together, they had both managed to avoid the inevitable interrogation that they would both receive during the lunch break. The two Gryffindor's slung their bags over their shoulders and almost ran out of the room, before the others in the room could say anything.

A rather inefficient detour later, the two girls arrived at the Great Hall, five minutes later than they would have been had they gone directly. The few people they had encountered had been alone and had wisely kept their distance from the girls, both of whom had their wands in their hands ready. Both expected a certain blond haired Slytherin to appear at any moment.

As the girls arrived at the Great Hall, Rose's heart fell and Ginny turned a shade of red in fury that seemed to match her hair. There was a crowd around a section of the Gryffindor table, through which Rose could just about see a head of red hair and could certainly hear a familiar voice preaching to the audience.

"Yes, my family has always been very close to the Potters," Ron was telling his audience. Rose knew he had a lot of brothers to compete with, and craved attention, but this seemed low. Rose didn't know if she felt more angry or betrayed. She glared furiously at Ron, but her anger was nothing compared to Ginny's. Just as Rose had inherited her mother's fiery temper, Ginny had inherited her mother's ability to shout. How could Ron do this? It infuriated Rose the way he tried to impress Lavender by claiming that he was involved in Dumbledore's hush-hush fight against Voldemort. This was a new low. Harry had described Ron as being a tad jealous of being in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived. Here, he was not in anyone's shadow except his brothers. Nor did he have the experience of combat as Harry's Ron did. How could Ron be so oblivious to the ways of the world? How could he be so insensitive?

"I am not allowed to tell you too much about what is going on," continued Ron, loving the limelight. "Security reasons and all that."

"But you must know something," pressed a Ravenclaw first year.

"Of course I do," said Ron affronted. Rose glanced up at the head table. Unfortunately her mother was not present. She knew the inevitable interrogation would come, sooner or later, but Rose had every intention of putting it off as long as possible. She didn't have to justify herself to anyone. With her mother absent, people would inevitably ask the questions she feared.

"And what would that be, Weasley?" drawled a familiar voice, from somewhere in the crowd. Oh great, thought Rose. Malfoy was there as well. "Well?"

Ron looked a tad flustered, but managed to recover. "I told you, my hands are tied, I can't tell you much. Let's just say that the Prophet's report is accurate. Ginny and Rose will tell you the same."

Rose glanced at Ginny who sighed apologetically for her brother.

"Ready?" asked Ginny, laying a hand on Rose's shoulder for support.

"As I'll ever be," muttered Rose, before starting forward and pushing her way through the crowd. As the audience noticed the two new arrivals, the crowd parted to let them through. Ron, Rose noticed, went a deeper shade of red as the girls sat opposite him on the Gryffindor table.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny in false innocence.

"You're idiot brother was telling us everything he knows," supplied Malfoy. "So as you can imagine, it didn't take long," he added, sneering at Ron.

"What's he been saying?" asked Rose. Ginny thought she heard a note of concern in his voice.

"That you're harbouring a fugitive," sneered Malfoy. "If the Ministry heard that you were hiding a mass-murderer, you would all be in Azkaban."

"As if you don't know where your aunt is hiding," snapped Rose. "As if you don't know where your father is, while he grovels at the feet, begging for power like a sick puppy. Is that what you want in life, Malfoy. To spend your time on your knees? Where's your Malfoy pri..."

Malfoy's wand shot out of his sleeve into his hand in the blink of an eye. The boy's face turned pink in anger. He was seething with rage. He levelled his wand at Rose's throat, just as the wands of almost everyone else gather levelled at his. He was outnumbered thirty to one, thirty to three if you included Crabbe and Goyle. Rose stood perfectly still, she hadn't even withdrawn her wand.

"Tell me Malfoy, is it customary for Malfoys to kiss the feet of Half-Bloods?" asked Rose calmly. "You did know, didn't you. According to Harry, the man's a Half-Blood. Just because he murdered his father, doesn't mean he isn't still half and half. The heir of Slytherin a Half Blood, now there's irony."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Half-Breed," sneered Malfoy, lowering his wand. "You and your parents picked the wrong side, the losing side. No one stands against the Dark Lord, even if this amnesia bollocks is true, you have gained nothing. The Dark Lord will rip him apart. He made him, and he can break him just as easily. One day soon, Potter, you, your brother and your whole filthy family will meet a very sticky end."

Unblinkingly, Rose raised both her hands and clapped once, twice three times, slowly. "Good, speech," she said calmly. "I didn't want to interrupt. It sounded really good. You really ought to write that all down." She was glad to see that this only made the blond madder, luckily before he could utter a spell, they were interrupted.

"What's going on here?" asked a voice at that moment. Rose sighed inwardly in relief. Professor Potter had arrived in the nick of time. "Mr Malfoy, I believe I told you not to pursue your investigation here," she continued.

"Professor," said Malfoy calmly. "I have not asked your daughter a single question. I was merely informing her of current affairs, and the nature of causality, as well as listening to Weasley's riveting tale of what he doesn't know."

"Am I to understand that you, Ron, have taking it on yourself to inform the school about the article in this morning's Prophet?" asked the Potion's Mistress, advancing on the shaky looking Gryffindor.

"Well..." began Ron, stammering on the single word.

"And if you don't mind me asking," continued Lily firmly. "How have you acquired this knowledge? I know for a fact that you have not come into contact with my son, and both your sister and my daughter had specific instructions to keep their mouths shut until the Aurors had conducted their interviews."

The crowd seemed to hang on every word. Ron was a deep shade of crimson and it was getting darker.

"Next time you wish to share your expertise, make sure you have the facts first," she said sharply. "The rest of you can return to your tables." With that she swept past them and up to the top table.

Ginny waited for the crowd to disperse, before she turned on her brother.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Lily Potter made a quiet exit from the Great Hall once she had finished her dinner. As soon as Minerva had entered the hall, she knew that the Animagus training was over. Harry would be alone, and after today, she needed to talk to him. Despite her arrangement with the Sixth years that morning, she knew that Rosie and Ginny would have been barraged with questions all day. It had been a very long day and right now she needed someone to talk to. It was lonelier being a teacher than most people realised, especially at a boarding school. Her husband was away with the Aurors most of the time, though when he was allowed leave he would spend most of it at Hogwarts, but he could always be called back in, in the case of emergency. She had her daughter, but when it came to people her own age, she had little contact. The other staff were all lovely people, even Severus once one managed to see past the outward hostility. She had friends of course, but she rarely saw them. She would occasionally leave at the weekend to go and see them, but with all the work she had, it seemed that she ended up in her office working more and more at the weekends. And then there was the Order. She was not required in the field, but that was more of her time she did not have to herself. Right now, she needed someone to talk to; someone who knew what she had been through, someone who knew the truth.

She left the hall discretely, but not discretely enough, for a certain pair of steely grey eyes, which had been watching her intently, narrowed as she left.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Draco Malfoy watched the Potions Mistress leave the Hall, after a quick glance each way. His eyes narrowed. It was time. That morning, when she had been asked where Potter was being kept, he had seen it in her eyes. He was close. Since he had allegedly turned, but was not in Ministry custody, that must mean that Dumbledore's band of Mudbloods must have him. Ten to one, Draco thought to himself. Potter is in the castle. Twenty to one, she is going to meet him.

Draco got up, quickly, shaking his head at Crabbe and Goyle as they started to rise with him. They sat back down and continued with their plates which were piled high. He didn't need them for this. He needed to be stealthy, and they were just not suited to the job. He had to be discrete. He walked quickly out of the hall, sparing a quick glance at the Potter girl. Unluckily she looked up at that moment and their eyes met. Draco panicked for a second, but managed to keep his face in his well practiced sneer he used for Gryffindors. She glared at him, and then went back to her meal. Draco sighed inwardly. That was stupid.

He had to be careful. One of the interesting things about Professor Potter was that she seemed to have a sixth sense. She always seemed to know where people were in the castle. She knew if someone was hiding around corners and in broom closets. If someone was absent from her class without good reason, she would send a prefect to fetch them, knowing precisely where they were. No one knew how she did it. Draco hoped she didn't detect him, he needed to find her son; he needed answers.

Once he got out of the hall, he accelerated to a quick jog, but concentrated on keeping his footsteps light. He turned right and then right again, into the passage, which ran along the side of the great hall. He hurried towards the exit that the Potions Mistress had used. He arrived at the door and glanced in al directions. The passages were all empty. He cursed inwardly to himself. He listened intently for the sound of the heals she usually wore. He couldn't hear anything. Damn! he cursed to himself.

Taking a gamble he sprinted up the stairs in front of him. At the top, he was just in time to see a head of long red hair and a black cloak sweep around the corner at the far end. Was it her, or was it the Weasel girl? No, she was eating in the hall, wasn't she? Draco ran forward, and peered around the corner. Yes! He thought. It was her.

Finally he was going to get some answers. Something about this didn't make sense. He could feel it in his bones. Being a professional liar himself, he could see that Potter was hiding something. It had been written all over her face as she had spoken about him in the lesson that morning. There was something deeper going on.

Firstly, they wouldn't seriously just think about letting him loose into the school population. He had done so much damage in the name of the Dark Lord that he could never be pardoned. Did Dumbledore really expect everyone to just forgive him. The Hufflepuff girl was just the beginning. He had killed many more than just her mother. Draco knew of eleven people who had lost a member of their immediate family to Potter and the Death Eaters, and many more who's parent had been Aurors. If Dumbledore thought that he could just let Harry Potter join classes again, then he really was a foolish as father always said.

Secondly, Harry himself. Even if he had lost his memory, which Draco didn't entirely believe. As much as he loathed to admit it, Granger had a point. What he did recall wasn't consistent. If he did recall all his skills, then he was still a killer heart, so what had changed? He would still bare the Dark Mark, which Draco himself hoped to one day. She had mentioned nightmares. What was stopping him remember who he was? Nothing. If his instincts were intact, why was he running to a group of Mudbloods, rather than the Dark Lord. That was another thing. Why turn your back on the Dark Lord. He was clearly winning this war. It was only a matter of time. Those who stand in the way would die. So why would be defect. Why not return to his master and get his memory back? There was no logic in his moves. Something didn't add up.

Maybe it was a trick. Potter was not stupid enough to betray the Dark Lord. Maybe this was all a trick and he was working for the Dark Lord. Maybe this would finally cripple Dumbledore's forces. Draco smirked at the thought. He had to get to Potter, find out where he was. He had to be sure. Most likely this was a trick. Maybe he could help. Harry Potter was his right hand man. No other Death Eater had the power he did. Even father had had to bow to Potter in the past, much to his disgust. The Death Eaters often stabbed each other in the back to gain the Dark Lord's favour, but none dared to touch Potter, for his anger carried the wrath of the Dark Lord. If Draco could help Potter out, then he might carry him on and get him the Mark. Draco was a Malfoy, and that meant that while power was the ultimate objective, it also meant that he weighted up his chances. To be perfectly honest, a life as a foot soldier did not appeal to him. He was not supposed to walk amongst the masses. He was a Malfoy. He was supposed to command their respect.

But to oppose the Death Eaters, meant death, with no uncertain terms. He had to side with the Dark Lord. Neutrality would not be an option once he left school. He could stand with Dumbledore and die, or he could join the Darkness. That gave him the chance of survival. But he didn't want to be just another anonymous Death Eater. His father was a cold bastard and he knew that he could expect no help from him. He was fairly sure that Lucius would happily cut out Draco's heart, or his wife's if it would gain him favour with the Dark Lord. But Potter on the other hand. Potter was a shortcut. If Draco could get to him, help him, maybe he could carry Draco into the Dark Lord's favour. He could be initiated immediately into a position of power greater than his father's. He remembered his father's disapproval that Granger had received higher marks than him in all exams. He had put Draco down time and time again. But when Draco immerged into the inner circle, on Potter's right hand, having the power to command his father to do his every bidding, Lucius would see that Draco was now the man of the house.

Draco wiped the smile off his face as he pursued the Potion's Mistress down the passage. She climbed the stairs onto the third floor. Draco waited in the shadows until she was clear of the top of the steps. He was about to step out, when he heard the sound of heavy feet running up the passage behind him. Draco stepped further back into the shadows. He held his breath as a familiar figure sprinted around the corner. He felt a flush of anger as he recognised the figure. Pansy Parkinson ran forward to the bottom of the stairs and then glanced upwards. After a quick glance she ran up the stairs, her heals clicking on every step.

Damn! cursed Draco silently. She was following Potter too. Parkinson's parents were also Death Eaters, though not inner circle. Pansy was ideal foot-soldier material, Draco realised. She was vicious and for lack of a better word evil. However she was as thick as pig-dung. She didn't have the ability to think beyond what was in front of her face. Draco could think ahead and that was why he deserved more than she did. The foolish girl was attempting to follow the Potions Mistress. He wondered if she had come to the same conclusion of had realised that of Draco was following her, then she might as well. It seemed perfectly obvious that Potter was lying. Oops! Draco realised he had mentioned he didn't believe her to Vince and Greg earlier and Pansy had been there. She was going to try and find Potter and let her father know. If Lucius had mentioned nothing, this whole Potter ploy must be a need to know. She could ruin everything. Draco cursed again, before tip-toeing up the stairs.

He withdrew his wand, preparing to stun Pansy. He couldn't let her mess this up for him. As he turned left to follow the two women, he froze. Pansy was turning right at the end of the passage. As she got to the corner, Draco saw her freeze. He watched in horror as she took two paces backwards. From around the corner, the figure of Professor Potter stepped out of the shadows.

"Looking for something, Miss Parkinson?" she asked icily. What have you done, Pansy? cursed Draco silently. She had gone and gotten caught. Stupid slag! Pansy tried to stammer an answer, but brains never were her strong point. She couldn't get a coherent word out.

"If you have no business, get back to your common room," snapped Potter. Draco rolled his eyes. As a Potions Mistress she wasn't that bad. Not as good as Snape had been, but she knew her stuff. She was fairly popular amongst students, though possibly mainly for looks. She was the only shagable member of staff. It was also a well-known fact that she was not to be messed with, and had quite a temper. Pansy didn't see that.

"I can be here if I want," replied Pansy, making Draco cringe. He was embarrassed to be in the same house as someone so stupid.

"You can be in detention with Mr Flich for a week, if I want," said Potter icily. "Now get back to your common room, before I take points."

Pansy stood for a second before turning and stalking off.

"The same goes for you, Mister Malfoy," called the professor once Pansy was gone. Draco's eyes grew wide in shock. Pansy's interference must have given him away. Damn her! Draco stepped out of the shadow and turned, coolly walking away. He made a mental note not to try and follow her the next night, or the one after, but the one after that. For the next two nights, she would be very cautious. Two nights without any attempt should cause her to relax. Also, next time, he should follow the daughter, who would be less likely to notice him. Sounded like a plan, but in the mean time, he had to stop Pansy from doing something incredibly stupid.

Draco sprinted down the stairs and made his way as fast as he could to the Slytherin common room. He didn't even stop to take points from Weasley who was snogging Brown down one passage. On reflection, he would have vomited it he opened his mouth to speak. He didn't stop until he arrived out of breath in the common room. He arrived just in time to see Pansy closing a window. She had sent an owl!

Draco froze in horror. Pansy shot him a knowing glance. She thought she had the right thing. Idiot! Think! Draco walked to the desk by the window, where there were a few sheets of parchment. He picked up the top sheet and then glanced around. He spotted what he was looking for in the corner of the room. Two second-year Slytherins were sitting there, once drawing a portrait of the other in charcoal. Draco marched over and 'confiscated' a piece of charcoal. He returned to the desk. Turning it on its side, he rubbed it over the parchment. As he did, the charcoal filled the imprint left from Pansy writing on the sheet, which had been on top of this one. Draco's heart fell as the letters appeared on the parchment.

Dear Father,

I read in the Prophet this morning about the defection of Harry Potter. I realised that his mother was hiding something this morning when she told us about him, so I followed her after dinner. Unfortunately, some Mudblood students happened by and asked for directions and I lost her. She was being very cautious. I believe Potter is being held in this castle.

Love

Pansy

Draco scrunched the paper in frustration. She was so stupid and a pathetic liar. She didn't see that this had to be a trick. This was all going wrong! He had work to do, to try and rectify this show of stupidity.