Harry Potter and the Battle of Wills

Chapter One: The Beginning of a Very Bad Day

A fine, misty rain drifted down over the rooftops and gardens of Little Whinging, covering everything with tiny drops like delicate beads of glass. The low clouds hanging heavy overhead completely blocked the sun, putting a coolness in the air quite unusual for the month of July. Although the rain could hardly be called a downpour (it was really more like a thick fog), the residents of Privet Drive were doing their best to stay indoors, watching television and cooking dinner.

Here and there, a few cars passed by, off on various errands or returning home so the occupants could leap out with armloads of parcels and hustle into their houses to avoid getting wet. Even in the lightest rain, everyone in Little Whinging were highly averse to the visual effect of dampness.

Everyone, that is, except the boy seated on the back terrace of Number Four, Privet Drive. Covered with little rain-beads, his black hair clung wetly to his scalp and forehead above his wire-rimmed glasses, and his damp, too-large clothes clung to his skinny body. Completely motionless on the lowest step of the back terrace, he resembled nothing so much as a bizarre lawn ornament, with his bright green eyes staring at nothing.

Harry Potter was aware that the news was playing inside on the television, but he didn't bother to go into the house. And this time, it wasn't because his aunt and uncle had forbidden it. The Dursleys had in fact been almost tolerant of Harry in the week since they had picked him up from King's Cross station at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. Instead of bellowing, "Boy! Come here and do such-and-such," Uncle Vernon now muttered, "Got some chores for you. See to it they're done by dinner." And then Harry was usually left alone.

There was little doubt that the reticence of Harry's Muggle relatives had to do with the greeting party assembled by the Order of the Phoenix to chat with them when they'd arrived at King's Cross. A close encounter with Mad-Eye Moody was enough to give even the average wizard pause, and so naturally, Uncle Vernon had found himself a bit intimidated. Now the Dursleys lived with no greater fear that one or more of the bizarrely-dressed, mildly-threatening characters they had met at the station would turn up on Privet Drive and destroy their beloved "normal" existence if their nephew made any complaints about his treatment.

But all in all, there was little reason for the Dursleys to be worried: since coming back to Privet Drive, Harry Potter had scarcely uttered a word.

After a good deal of instruction from Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley had finally figured out how to use the telephone properly, and so Harry got either a telephone call or an owl from one or the other of them (and sometimes both) every day. Harry preferred the owls; all he needed to do was write that nothing new was happening and yes, he was staying on the Dursleys' property, no, they weren't mistreating him, yes, he was looking forward to getting O.W.L. exam results, no, he didn't need them to owl or call every day.

But that didn't stop them doing it.

When the phone calls came from Ron, Harry was usually able to get out of talking much; he just let Ron tell him all about his summer at the Burrow, practicing Quidditch with Ginny and whichever of his brothers happened to be home, helping the twins with the store, and making ready to run for Headquarters at a moment's notice. Harry only had to make the appropriate noises in between Ron's sentences and give a few one-word answers to convince Ron he was all right.

Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't so easy to fool, and endlessly nagged Harry about how he was doing. Somehow in the past few weeks since year's end, she seemed to have developed a little understanding about his usual reaction to prying, and avoided mentioning outright what she wanted him to talk about. But while she was very skilled at detecting subtleties in others, when it came to it, Hermione wasn't very good at using them herself. And it was painfully clear to Harry that the one subject she wanted most to hear about was the one subject he wanted least to talk about.

It had barely been three weeks since Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had died in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, falling through a stone archway that led...well...nowhere. Worse still, his death had been caused by Harry's precipitous rush to the Ministry that led him straight into a trap set by Voldemort and his followers. Harry had gone there to save Sirius, and in the end, that was the reason his godfather had died.

No, he did not want to talk to Hermione or anyone else about it. So he spent every minute trying to occupy himself, be it with the Dursleys' chores or summer homework.

On the second Monday of summer holidays, Harry had finished all his chores by one o'clock in the afternoon, and spent the afternoon revising his N.E.W.T Potions essay. The previous Friday, O.W.L. results had arrived: Harry had received seven, and acceptance into the N.E.W.T courses that would keep him on the track to becoming an Auror, even Potions. He had scored far better than he'd expected in Potions, receiving an "O" in the theory and an "E" in the practical, and by some miracle (perhaps a little nudging from Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore) he'd been admitted to N.E.W.T. Potions.

It should have made him happy, or at least a little smug, to have made it into Snape's N.E.W.T class. But it didn't. He should have felt excited, or at least a little encouraged, by the fact that he still had a chance of becoming an Auror. But it didn't. In a strange way, since returning to Privet Drive, Harry had achieved what he had told Professor Dumbledore he wanted on the night Sirius died: he could no longer see to feel. Anything.

Even when the Daily Prophet had come yesterday with more news of Minister Fudge's frantic efforts to recruit more Aurors to guard Azkaban prison after the dementors had abandoned it, he had felt nothing. No fear, no anger, not even vindication at Fudge's feeble attempts to explain last year's events (particularly why he had not listened to Harry and Professor Dumbledore's warnings that Voldemort had returned.)

What was left inside of Harry was a silent apathy, leaning toward glum. But gray nothingness (kind of like the foggy rain falling on him now) was still better than the agony of grief and rage that had burned at his insides during the first days that had dawned in this horrible new World Without Sirius.

After finally deciding his Potions essay was as perfect as he could make it, Harry had gone outside. Maybe he could send it to Hermione for some corrections; it might set her mind at ease--or worry her that he was further ahead on his schoolwork than she was.

He'd been sitting on the front steps at first, until Aunt Petunia had come out and told him, "If you're just going to sit about all day, kindly do it in the back garden so the neighbors don't have to see you."

So Harry sat in the rain from three in the afternoon until seven in the evening, silent and unmoving, and trying (and failing) not to think of Sirius.

Hearing Aunt Petunia's call for dinner at seven, he got up and went inside, to her scandalized exclamation of, "You're sopping wet! Get upstairs and change into some dry clothes before you ruin the carpet or get sick! What were you thinking?!"

So Harry trudged upstairs and put on some dry blue jeans and one of his jumpers from Mrs. Weasley (he was a little cold, he had to admit) then came back down to help set the table. He did all of this in his usual silence.

As they sat down to dinner, Uncle Vernon watched Harry picking idly at his roast beef and remarked, "Is skinny stylish among your lot, or've you lost your taste for normal food?"

Harry blinked and looked up, startled that his uncle had actually noticed his lack of appetite, then he just shrugged and pushed a fork full of meat into his mouth. Aunt Petunia bristled, "Young man, don't think for an instant that your lot's threats will allow you to get away with cheeky behavior!"

Harry swallowed his food, kept his eyes on his plate, and muttered, "Sorry." His aunt, uncle, and cousin frowned at him, but he wasn't surprised. His voice had sounded strange even to his own ears; he used it so seldom anymore. It just...wasn't worth the effort.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to have a word with you," he said sternly. Harry felt a brief urge to groan. "Your aunt and I have decided that whatever little state you're obviously in, we don't intend to let you continue this week like last week." Harry scowled at his plate and said nothing. He would have thought they'd be thrilled by his silence. Uncle Vernon went on, "Whatever you've been sulking about, it's no excuse for this lack of respect. So your manners are going to shape up or no matter what threats your lot makes, I'll be taking away the privilege of letting you practice your tricks under this roof. Understood?"

Harry sighed, forcing himself to look up. "Yes, Uncle Vernon." He held their gazes until they seemed satisfied, then looked down and half-heartedly continued eating.

Dudley rolled his eyes at Harry. "What's eating you, anyway? It's summer holidays, and you're acting like somebody died!"

A lump of roast beef turned to ash in Harry's mouth. It was several minutes before he could swallow, but once he did, he looked coldly at his cousin. "Somebody did. May I be excused?" Without waiting for Aunt Petunia's reply, he picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen.

***

Curled up on the floor of his room next to his bed, Harry sat over Sirius's two-way mirror. He had shattered it when it hadn't worked at Hogwarts, but repaired it with his wand the very day he got back to Privet Drive. And every night since then, he looked into it and called for Sirius.

"Sirius Black."

Silence. One heartbeat. Then another.

Nothing.

Harry should have gotten angry like he had at Hogwarts. He should have been disappointed, or sad, or at least his heart should have sped up while waiting. But it didn't. There was only his face staring back at him in the mirror, a little drawn from rapidly-lost weight, and little color except for the green of his eyes. His eyes looked empty and hopeless, which made sense, for that was exactly how Harry felt.

The prophecy that Voldemort had lured Harry to the Ministry to obtain--and failed, but with Sirius's life as the price--told that only Harry had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. And that one of them must die at the hand of the other. So Harry would either be murdered by Voldemort...or Harry would have to be the one to kill him. And Harry couldn't even muster up the will to care anymore.

He heard the telephone ring downstairs. It was probably Ron; he usually called after dinner. Harry didn't have the energy to get up and find out, but a moment later, there was a rap on the door. "Telephone."

"Coming," Harry said, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Harry? How are you, mate?"

"All right, Ron. You?"

"I'm at Headquarters. Hermione's here too--with her parents! Everyone's really worried that the Orde--I mean, the Aurors' families'll be the first targets of You-Know-Who, so they're all being moved into hiding."

"Your family's there too, then?" Harry asked, feeling a little whisper of relief at the news.

"Yeah, except Percy, but he's been sent to a safe house. He sent Mum a letter telling her he's safe outside work."

"Oh."

"Don't really know if that's good or not," Ron went on, "I mean, he did stop Dad in the Ministry hallway on Friday to make sure we were all leaving the Burrow. I guess that's something, but with the start of the war and all, we didn't really get the chance to hear much from him."

Harry made a neutral noise. He'd taken to doing that in lieu of talking. Hermione and Remus Lupin always pressed him to speak, but it usually worked on Ron.

It did, and Ron went on, "On the other hand, he and Mum were playing tennis all spring with that bloody jumper, but he hasn't sent it back again. Could be he just didn't have time and left it at his flat, but...never know, I suppose."

"Mm-hmm," Harry replied. This time, Ron seemed to be waiting for a longer answer. "Erm...how's your mum?"

Ron sighed loudly into the receiver. "She's a wreck. She wrote Percy at work, begging him to come here with us, but he wrote back that it wasn't a good idea. At least he's answering now, I guess."

"Uh-huh."

"Er...listen, Harry, you know, Hermione says she thinks you--what?" Harry heard another voice on the other end. No, several voices. All talking at once. Then Ron's voice came back, and he sounded breathless. "Harry, the Or--everyone's back, and Remus has to talk to you right now."

There was a shuffle, then Lupin's anxious voice came on. "Harry?"

"I'm here," Harry said, sensing that whatever the news, it wasn't good.

"Harry, Voldemort is attacking Azkaban, trying to spring his Death Eaters. Professor Dumbledore is on his way there now, but he said to tell you to be ready: it's begun."

"I understand," said Harry, feeling emotions he'd thought were gone creeping back into him, with alarm at the forefront.

"He wants you to stay in your home, and tell your relatives to do the same. We're going to increase your guard, but you're safest within the wards."

"All right--" Harry glanced automatically at the Dursleys in the living room and froze: Dudley was in the foyer, with Aunt Petunia nagging him to take his galoshes. "Oh no. Dudley's about to leave."

"Your cousin? Harry, stop him, he'll be in grave danger!"

"Don't hang up the phone; I may need you," Harry said gravely. "I doubt they'll take my word alone."

"I'll wait. Hurry!"

Harry set the phone down and ran into the hall. "Dudley! Aunt Petunia, wait!" His aunt and cousin hesitated in the doorway. "You can't go out!"

Dudley folded his arms. "You can't tell me what to do, Potter!"

"No, it's not that," Harry said desperately, hearing Uncle Vernon coming to see what was happening. "Aunt Petunia, something's happened!"

"What the devil are you on about, boy?" Uncle Vernon demanded, appearing behind him.

Harry struggled to explain, but kept his eyes on Aunt Petunia. She at least would understand what he was talking about, even if she disliked it. "Voldemort is attacking the wizard prison. All the dementors left, and there's not enough guards to keep his followers locked up. He's getting them out now."

To his relief, Aunt Petunia went pale and grabbed Dudley's shoulders. "You're saying that next, he'll come...here?"

Harry nodded. "Professor Dumbledore thinks so."

"What are you talking about?" Dudley whined. "I'm going to be late!"

"No, Bopkins, you can't go. I'm so sorry," Aunt Petunia's grip on her son tightened.

"What?! You're listening to him?!" Dudley bellowed.

"Dudley's right, Petunia, since when does this ungrateful freak tell us what to do--"

"--Have you forgotten what happened last summer?!" Aunt Petunia suddenly shouted at her husband. Harry didn't know who was more surprised: Uncle Vernon, Dudley, or himself. All three of them gaped. Then Aunt Petunia's head whipped back to face Harry. "How do you know we're all safe here?"

"Wards," Harry explained. "Magic protections. Around the house. And the charm--you know which," he said carefully. Aunt Petunia nodded gravely. "As long as we stay inside, Voldemort's lot can't get to us."

"And those dementy-things, from last year? They can't get in either?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"I...I don't think so," Harry said slowly. Would the wards and spells stop dementors?

"You think?!" Uncle Vernon shouted, just as Dudley yelled, "He's barking! I'm going to Gordon's!"

"No!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, grabbing for Dudley as he opened the door. "Dudders, wait, it's not safe! Why don't we call Gordon and invite him over here tonight?"

Uncle Vernon was still demanding more explanations when the telltale CRACK of an apparating wizard echoed down the street. Dudley and Aunt Petunia froze on the front walk. Harry whipped out his wand. "What was that?" hissed Uncle Vernon.

"Don't know," Harry muttered. "A wizard's here."

"One of Lord Whatsits?"

"Ssh!" Harry hissed. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were still motionless on the terrace.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

"I don't like this," Uncle Vernon growled but his voice was quavering.

"That makes two of us," Harry replied, his heart now doing back flips in his chest.

Windows and doors were opening all along the street. "What the blazes is that noise?!" the next door neighbor yelled.

"I--aah--" Harry's mind raced.

"Bank robbers!" Uncle Vernon suddenly shouted, waving his arms at the neighbors frantically. "Fugitive armed bank robbers are headed into the area! Police just reported it! Lock your doors!"

With shouts and curses, doors and windows slammed shut up and down Privet Drive. "Dudley, Aunt Petunia, please come back in," Harry said nervously. "It's not sa--"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Time seemed to slow down. A flash of green light erupted from behind a hedge down the street, acing straight toward them. Harry yelled, "Look out!" as Dudley and Aunt Petunia screamed simultaneously and Uncle Vernon tried to shove past him to reach them. Harry aimed his wand and shouted, "Protego!" even though he knew it wouldn't block a Killing Curse.

The deadly green light flew across the street through the air over the edge of the Dursley's green lawn--and dissipated against an invisible barrier.

"Get in! Quick!" Harry cried, leaping off the steps and bodily shoving his cousin and aunt back at the door. Then a chorus of yells through the street made him spin around, wand in front of him, in time to see a dozen black-robed, masked wizards charging toward the house from every direction.

To Be Continued...

Chapter Two: Disaster on Privet Drive

As Uncle Vernon hustled the shrieking Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the house behind him, Harry raced himself for an onslaught of curses. If the wards didn't hold, he knew he wouldn't last long alone against this many Death Eaters. "Impedimenta!" His own jinx flew across the garden and into the street, knocking down one Death Eater. "Stupefy!" Another one dropped.

"Uncle Vernon! Professor Lupin's on the telephone! Tell him what's happening! He'll bring help!" Harry shouted over his shoulder, hoping Remus hadn't hung up--and that Uncle Vernon wouldn't be too panicked or stubborn to ask for wizards' aid. The door slammed shut behind Harry, and he yelled, "Expelliarmus!" The Death Eaters ducked. "Stupefy!"

Another dropped, but the rest kept coming, and now Harry could hear more cracks down the street and see more dark robes charging him, bellowing spells to bring down whatever was protecting the house. I'm about to die...

With a collective yell, the Death Eaters reached the edge of the Dursleys' garden, but then seemed to stop, as Harry heard a noise like a stretching piece of rubber. He heard them grunting and straining, and then there was a brilliant flash of light, and black robed figures were flung out onto the street and into other gardens. Harry gasped with relief. They couldn't get to him. The wards had held.

All at once, there was another CRACK, and a wizard appeared inside the wards. Harry let out a yell of alarm and heard Aunt Petunia scream from the window. "Close it!" he shouted, raising his wand. "Stupef--"

"No! Harry!" It was a familiar voice.

Harry froze, his heart in his throat. "Remus?" he gasped as the other wizard's face finally registered.

Remus Lupin leapt up the steps, ignoring the removal spells and jinxes still being thrown harmlessly against the invisible shield around Number Four, Privet Drive. "Harry, thank heavens you're all safe." He yanked a box out of his robe. "Floo powder. The Aurors have sealed off the network so only residents of this house can get through. If the protections fail, get your relatives to Dumbledore's office. You'll be safe at Hogwarts if the wards go down. Help is on the way."

In the street, there were more cracks, and the Death Eaters were forced to turn their attentions from Harry's house to the brightly-robed Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix now racing to meet them. Within seconds, Privet Drive was filled with screams and shouts, fighting robed wizards, and streaks of colored light.

Behind Harry, the door opened, and Uncle Vernon stepped out, staring from Harry to Remus to the chaos on his street. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were wide-eyed in the doorway. Uncle Vernon looked at Harry again. "You...you..."

Harry's heart sank, and he dropped his head. Then Remus put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. "I'm very glad to see your family is unhurt, Mr. Dursley. As long as you stay on your property, we believe you'll be safe from that." He jerked his head at the fighting wizards jumping through hedges and setting cars on fire with their hexes. "I'm very sorry about...all this. We had hoped it would never go this far, and I can assure you Harry didn't want it either."

Daring a glance at his uncle's face, Harry was startled to see a flicker of what might have been sympathy. "This lot's all after you then?" Harry nodded. "What for?"

"It's a rather long story," said Remus, with his hand still on Harry's shoulder.

Behind them, two other Aurors burst onto the garden. "Lupin! Cut the pleasantries; we need you! Potter, get your people inside!" bellowed Mad-Eye Moody, turning around and shooting hexes from within the safety of the wards.

"Right you are, Moody! Go, Harry. Mr. Dursley, keep your family inside, I must...deal with this." Giving Harry's shoulder a little squeeze, Lupin turned and headed for the edge of the garden where the other Aurors were following Moody's example and taking shelter behind the shield.

"Remus!" Harry suddenly called. The last living Marauder paused and looked back. Harry gulped and said in a weak voice, "Be careful." Remus smiled and gave Harry a thumbs-up before jogging to join Tonks on the driveway.

"Come on, get in," said Uncle Vernon from the doorway. Harry knew bitterly that he would be more of a hindrance than a help if he joined the fight; the Aurors were too set on protecting him. Turning slowly, he walked into his mother's sister's house and shut the door behind him.

"What's happening?" Aunt Petunia demanded as Harry went quietly to the living room window. "What are all of...those people doing out there?"

"Voldemort sent them," Harry replied, rolling his wand in his fingertips. Even if he couldn't do anything, he felt better with it in his hand. "The ones in red are Aurors. They're here to stop him."

"Why does this Lord Voldymore want you?" Dudley asked, coming to peer out the window next to Harry.

Aunt Petunia gave Harry a meaningful look, while saying to Dudley, "It's a long story, dear." As she clutched Uncle Vernon's hand, Harry wondered just how much she had known about the first war before Dumbledore had sent Harry to her. He thought of the Howler the previous summer, and wondered how much she might really know about the second one. Turning back to the window, he saw that most of the Aurors were behind the shield now, and Tonks and Remus were dragging one limp form behind the others. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt. They huddled over the man for a moment, then slowly rose, their solemn faces confirming Harry's fear, and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"What is it?" asked Aunt Petunia, hurrying to Dudley's side to look.

"That man," said Dudley, pointing at Kingsley. "Is he dead?"

"Yes," said Harry numbly. Aunt Petunia gasped, clutching Dudley again.

Uncle Vernon joined them. "How much longer is this going to go on?" he asked dully over the muffled racket from outside.

"I don't know," Harry murmured. Kingsley...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! It's not fair! How many more good people would die trying to protect him?

"What happens if those men in black get into the garden?" Aunt Petunia demanded, her voice shrill with fear.

Harry turned to the Dursleys and held up the box Remus had given him. "Floo powder. Remember how the Weasleys came through the fireplace two years ago? If anything happens, that's how we'll get out."

"And where does the...fireplace take us?" Dudley asked, eyeing it doubtfully.

"Hogwarts," said Harry. "My school. It's the safest place in the wizarding world."

"What?!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "They're sending us to hide out with that place with your lot?"

"Would you rather try your luck with that lot?" Harry shot back, jumping up and gesturing at the battle raging outside. Uncle Vernon gulped, and Aunt Petunia looked ready to cry. Harry took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry," he said curtly. "Remus was right; I never wanted any of this. You have no idea what these past few years have been like! I want it all to go away too, but it won't, and you lot can't stick your heads in the sand any longer."

"But we've got nothing to do with any of this!" Uncle Vernon cried, grabbing the sides of his head.

There was a burst of mirthless, bitter laughter that Harry suddenly realized was coming from him. It was a strange sound in his own ears. "Believe me," he said, turning away from the startled Dursleys to watch the battle again. "They don't care. Not one bit."

"If..." Aunt Petunia gulped. "If they get through...and come after you...what will happen to us?"

Harry kept his eyes on the battle for a few moments. The Aurors were now all behind the barrier and hexing the Death Eaters at will, as Voldemort's followers renewed their efforts to shatter the wards. Dumbledore had said nothing could harm Harry while sheltered by his mother's blood, but...he turned and looked at the Dursleys. Swallowing hard, he told them quietly, "The year before last, when I saw Voldemort come back, there was another student with me. Cedric," he added, glaring at Dudley. "He shouldn't have been there; it was an accident. When Voldemort saw Cedric he ordered his servant to 'kill the spare.' And he did," he went on, biting off the words furiously. "Cedric had even less to do with it than you do. He just happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time."

"So," said Uncle Vernon, "as far as Lord Voldything's concerned, we're..."

"Spares," Harry finished bitterly. There was no point in trying to hide it. Dumbledore had tried to do that for Harry, keep the scary parts of the truth secret, and look what had happened.

"Mum..." said Dudley. "I'm hungry."

If Harry hadn't been so tense, he might have laughed. Aunt Petunia replied, "Well, we don't know how long we'll be trapped in here. Go on to the kitchen. Vernon, why don't you go too. I'll stay here."

As Harry's uncle and cousin shuffled off, Aunt Petunia came over to stand next to Harry at the window. Privet Drive was in ruins. There was smoke and fire and debris everywhere; Harry could see several houses burning, but couldn't guess whether the occupants had escaped. They would not have known what was happening. A shudder escaped him. Aunt Petunia asked, "Why did Lord Voldemort kill my sister? Was she a 'spare' too?"

Harry's throat felt painfully tight. He nodded. "He was after me. She wouldn't step aside, so he..."

Aunt Petunia made an odd noise. He kept his eyes on the battle. After a moment, she asked again, "Why? Why is he so set on you?"

Harry closed his eyes and let his head rest against the window glass. It felt nice and cool against his burning, itching scar. "Because of...information. I'm the only one who can stop him."

There was a hiss as Aunt Petunia sucked in her breath between her teeth. "Stop him? You mean..."

"Yes," Harry said, keeping his eyes closed. He did not elaborate. Aunt Petunia's silence told him he did not need to.

All at once, the window glass against his forehead got warm, his scar flared painfully, and the Aurors' shouts outside took on frenzied tones. Harry jerked his head up and felt his heart freeze: a larger, dark-robed figure was moving slowly through the ruined street. As he wove through the greatly-diminished troop of Death Eaters, Harry could see the glowing red eyes, focused directly on him. "Oh no--"

Aunt Petunia yelped as he jumped to his feet. "Who--what's that?!" she shrieked.

"Voldemort. It's him," Harry said, hearing his own voice shake. Remus and Tonks and Moody and the Aurors--Voldemort would kill them all to get to Harry. Dumbledore! Where's Dumbledore?!

"Dudley! Vernon!" Aunt Petunia cried, and they came barreling back into the living room.

"What's that?!" Dudley whimpered, rushing to his mother as he spotted the red-eyed creature coming closer and closer to Number Four, Privet Drive.

"It's Voldemort," Harry said, clutching his wand. He felt pulled in three directions: part of him wanted to Floo away with the Dursleys to Hogwarts, part of him wanted race out the door and join the battle, and part of him wished, pleaded with himself to wake up! Let it all be a dream. But it wasn't; his racing heart and throbbing scar told him that. The Dursleys were all clinging to each other in terror, and Harry wished he had someone to hold onto just then. He remembered the way it had felt being held by Mrs. Weasley, his godfather's brief, one-armed hugs, Hermione's wild embraces whenever something happened that really excited her, Oliver Wood and the team after they won the Quidditch Cup--he'd take any one of them. Just a friendly pair of arms right at this second to wrap around him and tell him everything would be all right, even if that wasn't true...Sirius! Sirius, why did you have to die! I need you!

"That's what's after you?!" cried Uncle Vernon. "That...monster?!"

"That's Lord Voldemort," Harry confirmed, as the Aurors began to back up. Remus spun around, saw Harry at the window, and began to shout frantically. His voice was lost in the crashes and screams, but Harry knew what he wanted. "I think it's time to go." He headed for the fireplace.

"But you said they couldn't come in here!" exclaimed Dudley, trailing after him.

"No sense taking chances," Harry muttered. "Reducto!" The fireplace blasted open.

Suddenly, yellow light flashed through the whole house, and there was a sound like an explosion. Harry felt a ripple of energy, like an electric shock through his skin. "Harry!" Aunt Petunia screamed.

He pushed past Dudley and hurtled back to the window. What he saw made him gasp, "No!"

Aurors had been flung like rag dolls in every direction. From the looks of them, so had the Death Eaters. The Dursleys' garden was smoldering, and their car was on fire. It seemed the only thing still standing was Voldemort, right at the edge of the street. As Harry and the Dursleys watched, the dark wizard stepped up over the curb...and into the yard.

"How'd he do that?!" Aunt Petunia shrieked as Voldemort moved slowly, almost lazily, across the scorched grass.

"Blood," Harry whispered. At their confused noises, he turned to Aunt Petunia and blurted, "He's got my blood!" She covered her mouth, understanding what he meant.

Uncle Vernon didn't. "What do you--"

"GO!" Harry yelled, shoving them toward the fireplace. "We have to go!"

He opened the box of powder and faltered; the fireplace was not big enough for all four of them. Again, Aunt Petunia caught on. "Dudley, you go first! Quick now! Harry, get him out of here!"

"I'm not like him!" Dudley protested. "I don't know how to travel in a fireplace!"

Harry didn't think a Muggle could operate the Floo network, so that left only one choice. "I'll be right back," he told his aunt and uncle, and dragged his terrified cousin into the fireplace. "Just hold still! He threw down a handful of Floo powder and covered Dudley's mouth to keep him from screaming. "Professor Dumbledore's office!" They spun away.

***

Harry and Dudley tumbled out of the fire into the familiar Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, startling several portraits. Dudley yelped, and Harry shoved him out. "Stay here and don't touch anything! I'll be back! Number Four, Privet Drive!"

***

He stumbled back into the living room to have a screaming Aunt Petunia thrust into his arms by Uncle Vernon. "Take your aunt! Go!"

"No! Vernon, no!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

"Come on!" Harry yelled, yanking her back. Through the window, he could see Voldemort had reached the door. Throwing down another handful of powder, he shouted for Dumbledore's office, but the green flames didn't spin them away before he saw Uncle Vernon standing, frozen with fear, as the front door exploded in.

***

They fell back into Dumbledore's office, and Aunt Petunia ran to Dudley, sobbing, "Get Vernon! Get Vernon!"

"I'll get him! Hold on! Four, Privet Drive!" Harry cried, and the flames carried him back.

***

He landed in destruction. There was no light except for the flames outside, there was dust and smoke everywhere, and furniture was toppled. Harry coughed and shouted, "Uncle Vernon! UNCLE VERNON!"

Silence except for the crackle of flames and shouts outside. Harry saw light flickering from more than the windows: the Dursleys' house was on fire. "UNCLE VERNON!"

He stumbled over rubble, coughing in the smoke, until he saw a heavyset figure lying in the kitchen doorway, covered with dust. "Uncle Vernon!" Harry rushed over and fell to his uncle's side, shaking him. "Get up! We have to go, come on! Aunt Petunia's waiting!"

Vernon Dursley did not answer. He lay still, staring at the ceiling with an expression of utter terror upon his face. Harry shook him weakly as a very cold, heavy feeling began to rise up from his stomach into his chest, up into his throat. "Uncle Vernon?" he whispered, fumbling for a pulse.

Nothing. Nothing at all. And the wrist in Harry's hand was growing cold.

Another spare.

"No...oh no. Uncle Vernon? Uncle Vernon...you can't...what'll I tell them...no..." Harry's breath was coming faster and faster; what was he going to do? Uncle Vernon's wife and son were at Hogwarts, waiting for Harry to bring him to safety--he was just a Muggle, he had nothing to do with this! He couldn't protect his family from someone like Voldemort, Harry needed to... "I'm sorry!" he wailed as cold despair erupted inside him. Uncle Vernon had never hugged Harry or been friendly to him in his life, but now Harry sank down and buried his face in his uncle's chest, rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry! I tried! I'm so sorry!"

He couldn't think. All he was aware of was the body of his uncle next to him, and the bitter guilt that yet another person was dead for coming between Harry and Lord Voldemort.

"Poor boy..." came a snake-like hiss from behind him.

Harry shot to his feet, bringing his wand to bear. "Voldemort, you bastard! He had nothing to do with this! Why kill him?!"

A horrible, cackling laugh rose above the voices without, and the flames within. "You ought to know by now, Harry Potter. I enjoy it!"

With an inarticulate howl of rage, Harry aimed his wand straight at Voldemort's chest. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The green light flew at Voldemort and sent the dark wizard to his knees. Harry gasped in astonishment. He'd done it. He'd struck the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse. And I meant it...to kill...what am I?

He waited for the hooded figure to finally fall, but it did not. The hood lifted, and red eyes burning dark and furious met his. Harry put a hand to his throbbing scar. "Well done, Harry. For a first attempt, that was most impressive. Most impressive indeed." Voldemort raised his own wand.

Harry readied his wand. "Maybe it just needs practice," he said coldly. "But now we'll just deadlock again if we hex each other at the same time."

He really should have kept his mouth shut. Voldemort's thin lips curved into a hideous smile. "Quite right, Harryyyy..." the words trailed off into a long hiss that suddenly changed tone, the pitch going up and down in a strange rhythm.

Harry stared, confused, until a wave of dizziness made his knees weak, and with a surge of panic, he realized what Voldemort was doing. He tried to shout another curse, to raise his wand, but he couldn't. With a weak gasp, he staggered backward and turned for the ruined front door, fighting his unsteady limbs and the quiet-yet-loud sound of the rhythmic hissing in his ears. He had to get to the Aurors...he could hear a new voice--Dumbledore! Get to Dumbledore!

That hissing was trying to drag his attention away from everything...make him forget what he was doing...ten feet to the door...five...three--he lurched toward the noise outside...two ice cold arms robed in black slipped around his chest, pinning his own arms to his side and pulling him back "N-no..."

Voldemort's face was right next to his, his breath cold and dry as he kept hissing the eerie incantation or whatever it was into Harry's ear. It was as though a warm, heavy fog was settling over Harry's mind, making everything slow down. His body sagged against Voldemort's iron grasp, his head drooped forward, and his wand slipped through his fingers to fall to the floor. The hissing spell was going to put him right to sleep--it stopped. But Harry's strength didn't return; he just hung helpless in Voldemort's grasp, hearing the crackle of flames in the house growing louder, and the shouts of the battle outside. Dumbledore's voice rang above the others, shouting a Patronus charm. Dementors must have come.

With another hissing cackle, Voldemort now headed for the door, half-dragging, half-leading Harry along. His legs seemed to be stepping forward of their own accord, though they buckled often. Harry had never felt more helpless--or useless--in his life. Then he was dragged out into the garden to the cries of horror from members of the Order, with Voldemort's wand pointed at his throat.

"Well, Dumbledore," hissed Voldemort. "Not quite so powerful now, are we?"

The battle had gone silent. With great effort, Harry managed to lift his head enough to look. The view was bleary, but he could see bodies sprawled on the ground, some in black, some in red, Death Eaters now running to flank Voldemort, and the remaining Aurors watching him with expressions of panic. All except Dumbledore; in his eyes was an emotion that Harry could only identify as grief.

"Come now, Dumbledore. Why don't you strike?" Voldemort laughed. "My wand is not even aimed at you. You could easily take me before I had a chance to raise my wand after killing the boy." Dumbledore's expression did not change, and Voldemort laughed again. "So unable to sacrifice your precious Boy-Who-Lived. You could kill me now, and you know it, but not before I kill him."

"Harry!" cried a voice, and Harry was dimly aware of a dark figure struggling against two red robes. "Harry!"

"Remus, no!"

"Let go! Harry!" Remus was beyond all sense, fighting with all his strength to come to Harry's aid. For some reason, Harry thought of that night in the Department of Mysteries.

"Remus, stay where you are," said Dumbledore, not taking his eyes off Harry. "Very well, Tom, you have my attention. Name your terms."

Voldemort cackled. "Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me the prophecy."

Dumbledore shrugged. "As you wish. You may give Harry to me, and I will tell you."

Voldemort laughed louder. The Aurors winced. "You are an amazement, Dumbledore, even now, you dissemble. With the boy in my power, do you truly think I would release him for anything? Morsmorde!"

Harry was jerked violently as Voldemort suddenly moved. A Death Eater shouted a spell behind them, and Harry could hear the cracks of wizards apparating away. Voldemort's laughter filled his ears, and the last thing he saw before the world dissolved was Number Four, Privet Drive engulfed in flames, with the Dark Mark glowing green and mocking overhead.

To Be Continued...