Evanesco

Evanesco

Prologue

AZKABAN NO LONGER SECURE

A recent visit to the widely-renowned prison Azkaban has revealed that several top security prisoners have escaped from the island. Some of these prisoners, including Mr. Antonin Dolohov, were among those who escaped during the mass breakout in January this year, and were recaptured after the raid of the department of mysteries last month.

Other fugitives include Mr. Lucius Malfoy, former Ministry Employee, Mr. Jonathan Avery and Mr. Theodore Nott (snr). The public is warned that all the escapees (see full list on page 2) are highly dangerous and all sightings should be reported to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately.

The Dementors, the prison guards of Azkaban, have been questioned and appear to have no idea as to how these men made their escape, although Aurors who investigated the scene once the break out was discovered reported traces of red smoke in a thin layer covering the ground floor.

'They can't be trusted,' remarked an Auror on the scene, who preferred to remain anonymous. 'Foul things, Dementors. They'll support whoever offers them the most. Dumbledore's been saying it for years - they'll join Voldemort as soon as it's convenient for [them]. I blame the Ministry - they should have been watched much more closely. Constant vigilance!'

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was unavailable for comment, but Minister Cornelius Fudge had this to say: "Azkaban is and always has been the strongest and safest institution we can provide to contain villains of this magnitude. But despite the reassurances of the Minister, there have been three breakouts from the island prison over the last three years, the first being the escape of the infamous Sirius Black (deceased). Dumbledore, who with the help of Harry Potter himself, revealed the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named last month, has announced publicly that of all the Dark Lord's alleged followers, Sirius Black was innocent of all charges upon which he was convicted without trial, and was trying to protect 15-year-old Harry Potter when he was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, another January escapee, in the Department of Mysteries. 'Lestrange, on the other hand,' the aged wizard continued, 'is, sadly, completely insane and quite dangerous. Even in her current state of mental health, it is likely that she could become [You-Know-Who]'s right hand.'

It is unsure as to which of the Dark Lord's followers was his previous right hand, but of the two candidates, Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew, one has not been seen for over a year. Pettigrew, a former close friend of Black, is, according to Dumbledore, 'the man who led Sirius to his fate'. (Full details, page 8). He was sighted once more after 12 years of charading as a rat, by Black, Remus Lupin, a close friend, Harry Potter and two of his school mates. One of these, Ron Weasley, says: 'he's short, and very thin but kind of flabby, and he's got a silver hand. He betrayed Sirius and he was my rat for three years.' Weasley (15), goes on to tell of Pettigrew's part in the rebirth of Lord Voldemort (full story, see Issue #65321) 'He took blood from Harry and chopped off his own hand,' says Weasley. 'And the most horrible thing is, he still owes Harry a wizard's debt.'

Dumbledore and Ministry Authorities have forbidden reporters to approach Potter.

Lucius Malfoy, a once highly respected Ministry official and St. Mungo's donator for many years, has been unveiled as one of the most prominent of The Dark Lord's supporters. But, after only a month in Azkaban, he is once more on the loose and no doubt struggling to maintain his old position. Nott and Avery, both once respected followers, are no doubt in the same dilemma.

'A struggle for power is the most dangerous thing there is,' said Arthur Weasley, political liaison for Albus Dumbledore. 'And with Azkaban no longer safe and all the Death Eaters wanting to gain favour in You-Know-Who's eyes - there's just no telling what they might do'.

- Daily Prophet, Issue #65340, July 5^th 1996.

------

This is the world. Everyday life continues. Men and women go to work, children go to school, and parents look after their children. Penniless people beg for food, African women travel miles to gather water from a well. Businessmen in big cities lie and cheat and roll in money. This is the world.

The other world is simply waiting.

Owls are flying from England to every single corner of the world. Scientists cannot find a reason for this strange activity. On the edge of London, underneath a telephone box on the side of the street, people bustle around trying to keep order while informing the remainder of the world of the impending danger.

Miles away from the telephone box in opposite directions; two boys are staring at their bedroom ceilings.

~

Harry Potter lay on his bed amid a mound of chaos. His room had never been so messy. In the absence of all his magical or 'unnatural' items, Aunt Petunia had come in during the summer and done a brisk tidy-up - obviously unable to stand the thought of a dirty room anywhere in her house.

Harry had managed to mess it up again quite quickly, trying to maintain some sense of self in the place. He had to admit it was nice not to walk over a carpet infested with dust and crushed owl treats, and to work at a desk that wasn't so dirty it smeared the parchment he wrote on while at Privet Drive, but that didn't stop him piling clothes, books and various potions apparatus all over the floor, draped over the back of his chair and in heaps on the shelves.

It made him feel safe, for some reason. Hedwig, his owl, often made it quite clear that she did not approve of the pig-sty they were living in, and went out flying frequently, stopping only to eat or pick up letters. Privately, Harry thought there might be something else warranting this behaviour - perhaps Hedwig had made a new friend last year at Hogwarts and was pining - but his faithful owl had never failed him before and he wasn't going to bother her unless she, in her unique way, asked him for his help.

The summer had been completely uneventful so far. His aunt and uncle had almost completely ignored him for the last few weeks, except to occasionally ask him, gruffly, whether he wanted anything. The small 'talk' Moody, Tonks and Lupin had given Uncle Vernon at the train station seemed to have had a numbing effect on them. Harry had spent all his free time in his room reading. By now he'd read and reread every single one of his school books through all of his five years at Hogwarts and yet could hardly remember anything from them. Concentration eluded him at every turn, even when he was trying to mentally practice the spells in his DADA books. Most of those spells would do him absolutely no good in a duel to the death, anyway.

The article a couple of days ago had not added to his good feeling. He supposed it didn't make too much difference - Voldemort would either have broken them out anyway or gathered new followers. But Lucius Malfoy was dangerous, and apparently, so were Nott and Avery. Ron's comments about Wormtail had made him smile a bit, though he wondered how the Daily Prophet had got anywhere near his friend without Molly Weasley beating them off with a frying pan.

There was no one to talk to - in person, anyway. This might not have bothered him if it weren't for the fact that he was practically forbidden to leave the house, and the only room in this house he remotely liked was his own room. And in there, the only one to talk to was Hedwig. His owl was a great listener, when she wanted to be, but wasn't excellent at talking back. He knew for a fact that there was at least one Auror outside the house at all times, but none of them ever made any attempt at conversation. He'd even tried calling out of the window, quietly so that the neighbours wouldn't notice. But aside from the occasionally affirmative rustle of bushes, no one even seemed willing to say hello.

He'd written plenty of letters, of course. The last thing he needed was his self-appointed protectors coming over to curse the Dursleys into smithereens, though the thought itself was sort of funny. The letters were beginning to grate on his nerves, however. While during the previous summer he'd had little or no correspondence with his friends in the wizarding world, this year he got daily owls - sometimes carrying information but usually just asking stupid questions.

Are you ok, Harry? Mum's really worried about you; do you think Dumbledore will let you stay with us anytime soon? Are you really bored, Harry?

No, he was not okay. No, there was no chance that Dumbledore would allow him to visit Grimmauld Place this summer. And no, he was not bored. How could he be? Every time his mind went black from lack of things to think about, in floated Sirius and Sirius' death. No one else could possibly understand how that felt. It didn't even occur to him that some of his friends may very well have suffered similar losses, it didn't matter. His godfather had died smiling and laughing, and Harry had seen it. Been unable to stop it.

It made him feel ill. Time and time again he'd told himself to get a grip, but the more he tried to erase the feelings from his mind, the further they came. He found himself continually wishing that he'd tried harder at Occlumency. And that was when he wasn't worrying about exam results, or how to survive the summer with only his relatives for company, or the prophecy that foretold that if he, Harry, did not kill the Dark Lord Voldemort then the Dark Lord would kill him in turn.

He supposed he might not have been so nervous about receiving the results of his OWLs had not Dudley not failed his GSCEs spectacularly earlier in the year. After his cousins' results had landed on the doorstep one morning, Harry had found it safer to stay in his room while Uncle Vernon raged for hours about the terrible schooling systems and corrupt examiners, and how the country was going to the dogs and it was time they got some scandal -free people in government. Harry guessed that Vernon was still fuming over the slip Harry had made last summer about the Ministry of Magic.

Aunt Petunia kept sobbing over how Dudley's career was ruined. Dudley himself seemed quite indifferent to his inevitable academic doom.

Harry was quite sure that the Dursleys would not care in the slightest whether or not he had scraped an A in Potions, but Professor Snape most definitely would, and it looked very much like his chosen career as an Auror was going down the drain.

Harry wasn't even all that sure he wanted to be an Auror anymore. Every time he thought about trying to kill the most powerful Dark wizard alive he felt something heavy drop into his stomach, but he had to do it and even if by some miracle he actually managed it, he was sure that he wouldn't want to do anymore of that sort of thing afterwards.

He'd enjoyed the DA, up to a point. Helping people defend themselves had felt sort of good. Could he do that for a living? Harry imagined himself teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts and couldn't suppress a slight chuckle. He'd be better than at least three of the Defence teachers they'd had so far. But he'd need top marks in Defence, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Charms, and (most probably) Potions to get a placement at any magical school. And he'd have to live that long, first.

Think positive, Hermione would say. But it was hard work.

~

Neville Longbottom was also staring at his bedroom ceiling. He was lying on the floor, for no reason he could explain to himself, breathing in the musky scent of the carpet and fiddling with the bottom of the thick blue curtains with one hand.

His Gran had not been angry with him for breaking his father's wand. On the contrary, she had told him in her stiff, uptight way that she was proud of him for helping to bring the Ministry around to recognising the return of You-Know-Who. A week afterwards she'd taken a nasty fall down the stairs and been whisked off to St. Mungo's.

Neville's uncle Algie had come to the house to look after him. Neville didn't like Uncle Algie. He was fat and he smelled and he shouted. He made messes in the kitchen which Neville then had to clean up. He slept most of the day and left hair in the bathroom sink. But he didn't nag Neville about his marks or lecture him on how great his parents were compared to him, or routinely check his bedroom for specks of dust or dirty clothes on the floor.

It was... kind of a relief not to have his Gran around, although of course they had to take a train into town to visit her every other day. Each time she asked him about his OWL results, and each time he told her they hadn't come yet. He knew they wouldn't be good enough to get him any of the careers she wanted for him. But all he needed was a passing grade in Herbology and Potions to become an initiate at St. Mungo's.

And he knew he didn't stand a chance.

Potions was easily his worst subject. He'd never get more than two out of ten for a piece of work and that was only when he spent all night writing 15 inch essays and evaluations. He often wondered why he bothered - Snape would mark him down whatever he did. But then he would answer his own question with: because I'm terrified of what he'll do to me if I don't hand anything in.

Often he wished he wasn't such a coward. True, he'd gone to the Department of Mysteries with Harry, but really it was only out of guilt that everyone else was prepared to go and he wasn't.

He rolled over and pulled his potions text book towards him. He'd been attempting to memorise the rules for stirring and crushing - something that would save him hundreds of sickles on cauldrons if he managed it, but he didn't seem to be able to focus.

A strange sickly smell that made him think of strawberry jam reached his nostrils. Curious, he pushed the book aside and went to his bedroom door. "Uncle Algie? What are you doing?"

No one answered. The smell was much stronger on the landing - it made him feel dizzy and sick, much like the fumes from Professor Trelawney's tower room. Neville was more than just a little worried now. Covering his mouth and nose, he started to descend the stairs. He had to stop to regain his balance several times as the smell was now intoxicating and was making his legs feel heavy and useless.

The ground floor had looked slightly misty from the top of the stairs, but when he reached the last step he found himself enveloped in a thick, candyfloss-blue fog.

"Uncle?" he called again, inhaling a mouthful of the foggy stuff as he did so. He tried to cry out through his coughs, or at least reach for his wand, but his muscles seemed useless and his throat too constricted. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was a dark figure coming towards him through the fog.

~

Chapter 1

In Which Harry Is Careless and Death Eaters Demolish a Primary School

It was well past midnight when Harry decided it was probably time to go to sleep. He'd spent the last few hours attempting to practice Occlumency, with a certain emphasis on the word 'attempting'. He had been working on the theory that clearing his mind would either help to take his mind off the horrible pit of unfairness that was his life, or give him some answers to the constant questions that plagued his thoughts and invaded his dreams. Unfortunately all it did was give him headaches, a strong sense of annoyance - and occasionally nightmares. It was hard to concentrate anyway as a storm had started thundering its way across Little Whinging, wind whistling shrilly through the air and rain thudding on the roof.

Tap.

Yawning, Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table where he'd put them in case he fell asleep during his practise, which happened quite frequently.

Tap.

He switched on the lamp so he could see to get changed, stretched, and made his way over to the chest of drawers for some clean pyjamas.

Tap.

He heard it that time, over the constant roar of the storm, but he had his huge jumper halfway over his head. "It's open, Hedwig," he said through the thick wool. But the tapping at the window was not his owl. When Harry won the fight with Dudley's old clothing and glanced outside, there was nothing there. Taking a cautious step forward, Harry picked up his wand from the desk, never taking his eyes off the window.

Tap!

Harry jumped as another pebble rapped hard against the glass and fell back. Who on earth...? It came to him as suddenly as the stone had hit the pane. One of the Aurors outside wanted to talk to him. "Damnit," he muttered, pulling the jumper back on and racing to open the window to its full extent, letting in a blast of cold air and splattering his clothes with raindrops.

At first glance, it was so dark outside and so obscured by the sheets of rain that he could see nothing save the houses illuminated by faint light from their windows. The garden was pitch black and the thunder intruded on all his senses. "Hello?" Harry called, as loud as he dared without waking the Dursleys. "Anyone there?"

Silence. Then, as Harry was starting to contemplate going down there and looking for the bodies of dead sparrows that might have crashed against the window in the dark, he heard a small voice from below. "Harry?"

"Yes?" he called, leaning out of the window as far as he could without falling over the sill, his hair dripping water into his eyes. "Tonks? Professor Lupin?"

Then the moon came out from behind a storm cloud. The light spread over the fence and bushes, to reveal...

"Neville? What on earth are you doing here?" The boy was soaked through to the skin and shivering in jeans and a thin shirt. He didn't have any luggage or belongings of any sort with him, and he had his arms wrapped protectively around his chest, flinching against the downpour.

"Harry!" he called up in a strange, desperate voice. "Please..."

Harry didn't stop to think. Tugging a cloak from where it was sticking out of his trunk, he threw it around his shoulders and dashed out onto the landing and down the stairs, no longer caring how much noise he was making. He fumbled with the keys in the front door, trying to work out which of the five fit which lock. It was while he was fuming over the Dursleys' considerable paranoia problem when he realised how careless he was being. This foolhardiness was what had got Sirius killed.

He stopped fumbling with the keys. He took a step back. What was Neville Longbottom doing in his back garden? It was of course, very possible that it was the real Neville and he had simply flown by broomstick to Privet Drive, after looking up Harry's address in the yellow pages and making the decision not to wear hardly any clothes... or not. For one thing, he hadn't been holding a broomstick.

Harry leaned against the door, a faint smile on his face. The very idea of it was ridiculous. Whoever was masquerading as Neville had obviously forgotten to add some necessary details. But now what was he supposed to do? Leave the fake Neville outside to get wet? It certainly seemed like a good idea, but then the impostor might decide to do something a little more drastic, like blow up the house.

Suddenly the details of Dumbledore's little speech about Harry's mother's protection seemed a little hazy in his mind. How did it work again? Was it only Voldemort that it stopped from getting in or was it all Death Eaters? Anyone with the Dark Mark? Anyone even remotely dark? No, that was rubbish, Lupin had got in last year and Dobby wasn't exactly the angel Gabriel. He was pretty sure it was only Voldemort that couldn't touch him here, but what if 'Neville' was really Voldemort? Harry had had his fair share of experiences with Polyjuice Potion, and there had to be dark spells that could cause one to take the appearance of another. Or a glamour spell, or something?

Harry suddenly wished he'd payed more attention in third year Charms and Transfiguration when they'd done appearance spells. Once he'd found out there was no way he could permanently erase his scar or flatten his hair by magic, he'd tuned out and spent the rest of the topic drawing pictures of Malfoy being eaten by a Hippogriff.

Right, he had to focus. Did he go out there and attack? Concentration kept slipping away, just like when he'd been trying to practice Occlumency earlier - why Neville? If they wanted him to act really reckless then why wasn't it Hermione shivering in the rain? The thought made his blood boil, but less than he thought it might have. He had to face the impostor and fight him. He had to find out who was trying to kill him this time.

His head full of fuzz; he took up the keys again and opened the door, stepping out into the torrent of pouring rain. As soon as he lifted his face into the storm, everything was suddenly much clearer.

Wait - what on earth was he doing outside? He couldn't remember making a conscious decision to open the door - it was almost as if he'd been under a compulsion spell...

Harry turned quickly to look back inside the house - half expecting to see a smug-looking Death Eater holding a wand. Instead the hall looked perfectly normal... except... it seemed to be tinged with a subtle shade of red. When he looked down the air near the floor was darker red and seemed to be moving. Red smoke?

"What the-"

A huge roll of thunder brought Harry back to the matter at hand. He didn't dare go back into the house, he had no way of telling what that red stuff was or what it would do to him. So where to go now? His eyes fell onto the gate that led to the back garden. "Only one way to go," he whispered through the rain, pulling the hood of his cloak over his soaking wet hair.

The boy was standing in exactly the same place he had before, in the centre of the garden in front of the petunia beds. He was no longer shivering. Instead he stood perfectly still amidst the pouring rain, staring up at the window. He didn't even seem to notice Harry when he crept around the gate and appraised the situation. Harry took a step closer. Still the figure did not react. Harry's eyebrows knitted under the hood. Something was very, very wrong here. Taking his chances, he crept around the impostor's back without him moving a muscle, then grabbed the larger boy and twisted his arms behind his back. "Who are you?" he yelled over the storm.

~

Neville's mind was a blissful blank. It was a relief not to have to worry or think. He didn't feel the rain drumming in his ears, nor the harshness of the cold or the wet grass soaking into his shoes. He was in a place of calm and peace. The people who had given him such a good feeling had taken it away for a few seconds when Harry had come to the window. Was it Harry? He was no longer sure, though it wasn't as though it mattered. For those few seconds, the cold, the pain and the sheer panic had come flooding back and he hadn't been able to do much more than beg Harry to bring it back. But Harry had left and the blissful warmth had returned.

Through the calm, he hardly felt Harry's hands tighten on his own arms and pull them up behind him. Neville heard his friend yell, as though from far away, "Who are you?"

"Answer him," said the voice inside his head. "Act normally." And, as Bartemius Crouch had done so many months before, Neville answered. It couldn't be that hard, after all.

"It's me, Harry. It's Neville."

Harry laughed. "You really expect me to believe that, don't you?

"Keep him talking. Act normally," said the voice.

"It's me, Harry," said Neville, unable to think of anything else through the stupor.

"Damn," said the voice, "I should have known I'd have to be more specific." Neville simply stared blankly into space.

"What now?" Harry growled, as though holding Neville's unresponsive arms in a lock was somehow very hard work. "Do we fight?"

"Tell him you don't want to fight," said the voice.

"I don't want to fight," Neville said.

"Good boy."

"So what do you want? Who are you? Who sent you?" Harry fired the questions, but Neville did not have the answers.

"Ask him to help you," the voice muttered.

"Help me," Neville said obediently.

"What?" Even this close, Harry had to yell to be heard over the pounding rain and booming thunder.

"Help me!" Neville yelled.

"Good," said the voice. "Now, fight him off and get him unconscious. He's smaller than you are."

Neville's arm was halfway out of Harry's grip before another voice entered his head - his own. What? Fight Harry? That was ridiculous. Harry was a hero, the saviour of the wizarding world. What chance did Neville stand against him?

"FIGHT HIM!"

Neville ripped his arms out of Harry's grasp and one fist swung around to knock him back. STOP! His inner voice yelled at him.

~

Harry didn't have time to realise what was happening before he was on the ground. 'Neville' was standing over him, but not making any further movements. With his face up and unprotected by his hood, the rain smeared Harry's glasses and obscured his vision. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and could just make out Neville through the blur. He was unmoving, but tense, as though struggling with some inner decision.

"Harry-" Neville said through gritted teeth, hardly audible over another roll of thunder. "Listen - it's me - it's a trick - you've got to..." Harry's elbows were thoroughly encased in mud but somehow he managed to scramble backwards. "Harry please... it's me, I swear - they're coming - don't let them..."

Something red and bright came shooting out of the bushes and crashed into Neville's chest. He screamed and fell over. Someone from behind him swore loudly. "GET HIM!" was the next exclamation. Harry couldn't move. He was staring at Neville's body in the mud. Sirius...

"GET THE BOY!!" The words seemed to spur him into action. Getting to his feet and shedding the cloak, he vaulted over the wood fence and sprinted up the street. Over the rain he could hear footsteps behind him, but didn't dare look behind him. He wouldn't be able to see anything anyway... Through the panic he could help but think... where's my Auror? They're supposed to stop things like this from happening...

His old primary school was just up the road, and he knew all the places to hide up there. No one would be inside in the middle of the night, so he wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting hurt.

Getting hurt.... Neville! Harry cursed himself for a million different kinds of stupidity. Even while ducking through the missing plank in the school fence his feet wanted to turn back. But that was stupid - whoever was chasing him was close on his heels and would stop any attempt to double back.

The fence seemed to be slowing them down - his pursuers were apparently too big to fit through the gap.

"DAMN!" he heard one of them yell in a gruff voice.

"Shut up, Crabbe!" yelled another at the top of his voice. This confirmed it - Death Eaters. Harry stifled a laugh at the mental image of Crabbe Senior trying to fit through the gap that Harry had only just managed to squeeze past. He was halfway around the school building when he heard panting from close behind him. One of them had gotten through, and he was sure the others would be in the process of demolishing the fence even as he ran.

At the halfway point, Harry spotted an open window and made for it. All he needed was enough time to turn, gain his balance and draw his wand - and he couldn't do that in mid-run. As soon as he reached it, Harry realised the window wasn't that open. It was latched from the inside. Gritting his teeth he pushed his arm through the gap and fumbled with the catch. He was in a niche behind an out-jutting wall, so with any luck the Death Eater chasing him would simply run right by him before he could realise he had lost his prey. The lock snapped upwards, grazing his fingers, just as a short man in black robes hurtled past.

Harry took his chances and threw himself backwards with the inward swing of the window-frame, knocking several clay models off the sill as he fell. They smashed underneath him and the window slammed shut - Harry got to his feet and turned to see his pursuer behind the glass. What he saw made his blood freeze.

He was face to face with Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion as Malfoy smirked and slowly raised his wand. Harry realised what he was going to do seconds too late. Malfoy took a small step back and yelled; "REDUCTO!"

Harry dove to the side as the window exploded his face. He covered his eyes with his arm, but felt shards of glass pierce his chin and torso. He lay still on a pile of glass and clay as Malfoy, chuckling cruelly, clambered through the shattered remains of the window. He felt as much as heard Malfoy's shoes crunching through the debris to rest near his head, and knew his wand would be pointed straight at his unprotected back. "Not so smart now, Potter," he heard Malfoy mutter.

"Draco?" someone called from outside.

"I've got him father!" Malfoy called back, turning ever so slightly. It was a mistake. Harry swept his arm behind Malfoy's legs and pulled them towards them. Malfoy toppled with an angry yell and Harry sped through the unlocked classroom door into the corridor. The stairs weren't far away, and there was a window in the bathroom on the second floor that allowed you to get onto the roof.

"POTTER!" Malfoy yelled from behind him. Harry was bleeding from a dozen different places and one of the lenses in his glasses was cracked and made the badly painted drawings on the walls look distorted. He'd only just jumped the turn in the stairs before a curse hit the wall where he'd been seconds before and smashed a hole in it the size of his head. He swore and took the stairs three at a time. Somewhere an alarm bell was ringing, which probably meant the police would be here pretty soon, though Harry doubted there was much they could do.

"GET BACK HERE, POTTER!"

Harry's face grew red with anger as his blood surged. Malfoy had some nerve. Harry had always known that Malfoy was destined to be a Death Eater like his father, but hadn't thought it would be this soon. Of course he'd been the only one small enough to get through the gap in the fence. He could have been out of here by now if it hadn't been for Malfoy.

Damn the stupid bathroom window.

Harry banged on the doors all the way down the corridor until he found one that was unlocked and ducked inside. Malfoy must have seen him come in here, but it hardly mattered. Harry drew his wand and hid behind the back of the door until Malfoy rushed in, wand drawn.

"Don't move," Harry ordered him, and Malfoy froze.

"Don't be a child, Potter. There are too many of us."

"Right now, I only see one, Malfoy."

The movement was so quick that Harry wasn't entirely sure that he'd seen it. Malfoy's wand flicked backwards past his shoulder and sent a beam of yellow light hurtling towards Harry's chest. He dodged it - just - and swished his wand twice at Malfoy. "Ossifrango!"

Malfoy screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at his arm. Harry stared. He hadn't expected him to scream like that - Harry hadn't, the first time he'd broken a bone. And Malfoy had deserved it... Harry looked at his wand, dumbly. He was going to get charged with underage wizardry, again - they'd expel him for sure, this time...

"Up here!" The shout from below jolted his dozing brain into action once more. The Death Eaters were on the stairs and Malfoy's screaming was sure to direct them to the right room. The window was two floors off the ground and there were no - wait, there was an adjoining classroom in the direction of the stairs, behind the huge poster of the world. Ripping it down with his fingers, Harry tried to shut out the footsteps...

The door banged open and Harry stumbled into his Year 6 classroom. It looked so familiar and yet so different, but he didn't have time to admire the changes. The Death Eaters were right behind him in the room he had just left, but the corridor door let him double around them and back to the stairs again.

This could go on forever, he couldn't help thinking. I've got to take them all out, somehow. Then go back and get Neville and get the hell out of Surrey.

Another crater smashed into the wall behind him to match the one left on the stairs. It was hard to run in a straight line when the crack in his glasses was showing him two corridors when there should only have been one. The front door of the school was sure to be locked, as well as all the side doors.

I've got to get OUT - I've got to get out...

"Stupefy!" someone screeched from behind him. "Impedimenta! Stupefy!"

Well, there's one thing, Harry thought. They certainly want me alive. But for how long, he could not guess. Suddenly it came to him. The PE Hall had an equipment room with a sliding door that led onto the sports field, and that was only latched. He made a sharp turn to the left, causing one of the Death Eaters (Harry was almost certain it was Gregory Goyle's father) to swear loudly and crash into a lego trolley left outside one of the classrooms.

He hurtled through the doors to the hall and ducked behind a punching bag that burst in an explosion of sand as the next curse hit it. Then he made one final sprint to the equipment room door, dashed inside, slammed the door and clicked the catch. Unless one of them thought to blast it open, that would hold them for a while.

The sliding door was large, square and made of corrugated iron. It slid upwards instead of side to side, and Harry had to kneel on the floor to feel for the catch in the dark. He was sure that light would not have helped him very much anyway - Sellotape was not going to fix his glasses this time. The door was very heavy, fastened to the concrete with a metal pin that had to be twisted and tugged the right way. In his panic, Harry seemed to be tugging it the wrong way every time.

"You can't run from in there, Potter!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice from outside.

They seemed to have stopped trying - the sign on the door only said 'Equipment' and they didn't know about the door. "Let's blast it!" yelled Crabbe or Goyle.

"Don't be an idiot!" yelled another. "There can't be enough space in there to turn around, you'll kill him!" So they did want him alive. Apparently they were either going to pick the catch or starve him out.

The latch came loose with a crunching sound that told Harry it had not been opened in a while and had rusted.

"What was that?"

"I say we blast it open!"

Harry tugged the pin out and threw it aside. He shoved his bleeding fingers into the gap under the door and hauled it upwards, giving him just enough space to crawl out into the beautifully fresh night air. It had stopped raining. He lay on the ground for a few seconds to catch his breath, cradling his bruised knuckles and ripped nails against his chest.

"Hello, Potter."

His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He looked up. It was still dark and his vision was distorted and blurred, but there was no mistaking the Death Eater standing over him with a wand pointed directly at his chest. It was Peter Pettigrew.

"Stupefy!"

~