Stop All the Clocks

'I'm going out!' Harry shouted angrily. 'You can't stop me!'

He paused on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, waiting for an answer, but none came. As if they care. He shut the door hard, not quite slamming it, and stormed down the garden path, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunching his thin shoulders against the unexpected wind.

He headed moodily for the park and flung himself onto a swing, pushing himself backwards and forwards aimlessly with one foot.

It's not fair. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his birthday present from the Dursleys - a used bus ticket - and threw it down on the ground.

It's not fair. My sixteenth birthday and I had to spend it here. With them. Sirius would've - Sirius -

Harry grasped the chains of the swing with both hands and pushed himself off. He began to swing, forcing himself to concentrate on the actions, determined not to cry.

Curl. Stretch. And again. Curl. Stretch. And again. Curl... He was rising higher and higher now, as the swing responded. Ahead of him, he could see the trees that bordered the park and, beyond them, the never-ending rows of identical houses that made up Little Whinging. Higher and higher... almost like flying. The closest I'll get to flying. His Firebolt was locked in his trunk, in the smallest bedroom of number four, to stop Dudley finding it and smashing it.

If he touches my Firebolt, I'll kill him, Harry thought. Sirius gave it to me.

Oh, Sirius...

There was a jarring sound as the chains went slack in his hands.

It was dark when Harry finally made his way back to number four. He walked slowly up the path to the front door, dragging his feet. He noticed a tiny patch of mud on the path and frowned slightly. Not like Aunt Petunia to leave that there. He stepped up to the door and fished in his pocket for his key, wondering briefly if Hedwig was back yet with a reply to the letter he had written to Ron two days ago.

The door swung open.

Harry wandered into the hall, shutting the front door behind him. The house seemed unnaturally silent. They've gone out. Good. He headed for the stairs and his room, glancing into the lounge as he passed. Uncle Vernon was sprawled on the sofa. The TV remote control lay on the floor, where it had slipped from his fingers.

Asleep. Fat git. Harry ducked his head back out of the lounge - then looked back in again, staring at Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon didn't look asleep. Harry tapped him nervously on the shoulder. 'Uncle Vernon?' he whispered - and Uncle Vernon's body sagged under his touch and slipped onto the floor.

From this close, Harry could see the terror on his uncle's face. There were no marks on the body, no obvious cause of death. But Harry knew how his uncle had died. Avada Kedavra. The killing curse.

Moving very quickly and quietly now, Harry tiptoed back into the hall and then into the dining room. He was about to leave this room, thinking it was empty, when he spotted a large foot sticking out from beneath the dining table. He lifted the tablecloth and looked underneath, although he already knew what he was going to see.

His cousin lay on his back, his new PlayStation clutched protectively to his chest. He must've hidden in here, Harry thought. Didn't do him much good. He stood for a second listening carefully, but the house remained silent. After a moment, Harry left the dining room and walked unwillingly towards the kitchen.

Maybe they didn't find her. Maybe she hid. Maybe she went out. Knowing it was useless.

He went into the kitchen.

This was worse. Much worse. His aunt lay crumpled against the far wall like a broken doll. Whoever had killed Petunia hadn't bothered with the killing curse. His aunt's features were distorted with pain and her limbs were twisted beneath her. There were splashes of blood on the wall and on the gleaming floor.

Harry knelt beside his aunt's body and gently closed the agonised eyes.

There was the faintest of noises from somewhere in the house. Harry stiffened.

Shit. And I'm just standing here. In Muggle clothes. Which means I haven't got my -

Wand! Harry raced up the stairs and into his bedroom. He knelt by his trunk, fumbling at the locks. He flung the trunk open - and stared. There were his robes, neatly folded, on top of his books and his Firebolt. But his wand, which should have been lying on top of the pile, was missing.

A voice from the door said, 'It's all right, Harry. I've got it.'

Harry spun round. 'Professor Lupin!'

His former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was leaning against the doorjamb, holding Harry's wand and his own in his left hand. Harry thought he looked even more tired and drawn than usual, if that were possible. Like Harry, he was dressed in Muggle clothing: a long, frayed coat covered a pair of patched jeans and a faded T-shirt.

'Professor Lupin,' Harry said again, in relief. 'They're here. Aunt Petunia... Dudley.' He stopped, unable to find the words. Lupin nodded. 'I know.'

Harry tried again. 'Dumbledore!' He started across the room towards Hedwig's cage, forgetting for a moment that his owl was not there. Lupin raised his hand and Harry stopped, looking at the man uncertainly.

'Why do you think I'm here?' said Lupin, quietly. 'Oh, Harry...' He opened his arms. Harry hesitated, then ran into them. Lupin held him tightly for a long moment and then stepped back, holding Harry by the shoulders and looking down at him.

'You look so much like your father,' he said softly. For a moment his gaze seemed to drift far away, and Harry was stunned by the sudden pain in his eyes. Then Lupin seemed to become aware of his surroundings again and released him gently.

'We haven't much time, Harry. You're no longer safe here.'

'How did it happen?' asked Harry, urgently. 'I thought - Dumbledore said -' He tried to clear his mind, to think back to what Dumbledore had told him on that dreadful morning in the Headmaster's Office.

'Dumbledore said -' The Headmaster's voice came back clearly. While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort.

Harry looked at Lupin. 'This shouldn't be happening,' he said, fiercely. 'Dumbledore said that as long as I could call this place - home - I was safe here.'

Lupin nodded. 'I know. But it hasn't been home for a long time now, has it, Harry?'

Harry shook his head. All I had. But not a home. He looked up again at Lupin. 'No,' he said.

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of Lupin. He straightened, dragging his right hand slowly through his untidy hair. 'Harry, we need to go.'

'Wait.' Something was very wrong. Harry stared at the floor, trying to work it out. 'I don't understand,' he said slowly. Dumbledore's words sounded in his ears again. Whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. 'How could the Death Eaters get in?'

'They couldn't.'

'But -'

'Death Eaters didn't kill the Dursleys, Harry.'

Harry froze. He dragged his eyes up from the floor, scanning the face of his godfather's best friend for answers he didn't want to find. Lupin met his gaze and nodded.

'I did,' he said, and then, very softly, 'Stupefy.'

The noise was wrong... the noise was wrong... Harry twisted, and banged his arm into something hard. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back on a wooden floor, in a room he didn't recognise. A few yards away, Lupin sat on the arm of a chair, his wand balanced idly on his knee. He was watching Harry. There was no sign of Harry's wand.

'The noise was wrong,' said Harry finally, sitting up. Lupin raised an eyebrow.

'The noise?'

'When I was in the -' Harry swallowed. 'In the kitchen. I heard a noise. I thought it must be you Apparating in.' But Apparition makes a popping sound. This was different. 'You were already there.'

'I was.'

If Dumbledore had sent him, he would have waited for me in the hall. Stopped me -

'You wanted me to find them.'

'I did.'

'Why?'

Lupin stared at Harry with empty eyes. 'So you would know they were dead.'

Harry lunged forward. Lupin's wand came up. 'Crucio.'

It hurt, but it was nothing Harry hadn't experienced before. In fact, it didn't seem as bad as the last time, in the graveyard, when Voldemort himself had cast the Unforgivable curse on him.

After a few moments, he realised that it wasn't as bad as the last time. The pain faded and he opened his eyes, realising for the first time that he had closed them. He was on his back again. Every nerve ending in his body sang, yet Harry knew he hadn't felt this alive in ages. Since Sirius died.

'Is that the best you can do?' He bared his teeth at Lupin in a grin. 'You have to really mean it. If you want it to hurt.'

Lupin's voice was calm. 'I don't really want to hurt you, Harry.'

'Yeah.' Yeah, right. Terrific. You've just killed the only family I had left. You've taken my wand. You've used the Cruciatus curse on me. But you don't really want to hurt me.

'You have a good way of showing it,' he said.

The old-fashioned clock on the mantelpiece ticked out the seconds. Half-past eleven. How long had he been missing? Lupin's eyes followed Harry's to the clock, but he made no comment.

'I don't understand any of this.' Harry spoke slowly, but he was thinking quickly. Somebody will have got to the house by now... somebody will know.

They'll come looking for me.

Where am I?

He let his gaze wander round the room, trying to take in the details. Wooden floor, no rugs. Fireplace, no fire. Floo Powder? No jar on the mantelpiece. One door, on the right hand wall, one window behind him - large, from the size of the curtains drawn across it, but useless. Too far away.

Where am I?

He was certain he had never been in this house before.

Where am I?

'If you're expecting Dumbledore to rescue you -' said Lupin, casually, '- don't. He knows you're with me.' Harry looked up. 'I told him I'd be taking you out for a birthday treat and we might be back very late. As far as he's concerned, you've been safe with me all evening.'

Terrific, Harry thought. This just gets better and better.

Lupin was speaking again, staring as Harry as if it was important that Harry should understand what he was going to say. 'Harry, Sirius died because he went to rescue you -'

'I know!' Harry interrupted, suddenly angry. 'It's my fault! I KNOW it's my fault. Do you think there's been a single minute since he - since then - that I've forgotten that?' Don't you think I'd do anything -

'It's not your fault,' Lupin said simply. Harry stared at him.

'It's not your fault,' Lupin repeated. 'None of this has ever been your fault, Harry. You just inherited the mess. If it has ever been anybody's fault, it was ours... Moony, Wormtail, Prongs. Padfoot.' A shadow passed over Lupin's face and for a moment he fell silent. Harry, very white, waited for him to continue.

'I'll try to explain. You have a right to hear it all.' Lupin raised his head again. 'Try to imagine what things were like sixteen years ago. Voldemort on the ascendance... Death Eaters growing in number... new atrocities every day. Every night you went to sleep and you wondered which of your friends would be murdered that night. Or would they come for you instead? People were scared, Harry. All the time. Whole families were disappearing.'

'The Aurors -'

'Were dying,' Lupin said bluntly. 'There weren't enough of them and they weren't good enough. Not against Voldemort. Nobody was. It was pointless to hope, because there wasn't any hope. All you could do was wait. And fight - or hide.

'Your father was a fighter. James was one of the best wizards I've ever seen. But there was Lily to consider, and then Dumbledore turned up one night and said that Voldemort was after you -

'They went to ground in Godric's Hollow. Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm. James wanted Sirius to be their Secret-Keeper, but at the last minute -'

'Sirius swapped with Wormtail and Wormtail told Voldemort,' Harry interrupted flatly, as if this were a child's fairy story he was telling, instead of a set of events that had shaped his waking life and haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember. 'I know all this. So what?'

Lupin looked curiously at him for a moment, but Harry refused to meet his gaze, knowing that the emotion he had kept from his voice would be obvious in his eyes, and unwilling to reveal it to the other man. After a pause, Lupin resumed his tale, his voice now as flat and emotionless as Harry's had been.

'Sirius swapped with Wormtail and Wormtail told Voldemort. As you say. Voldemort went looking for your parents and this time he found them. He killed your father with the killing curse. Your mother begged and pleaded with him not to kill you -' Harry stared at the floor - 'and when she wouldn't move out of his way, he killed her too.

'Then he tried to kill you. And failed. End of Part One.'

And they all lived happily ever after, thought Harry, stonily. But Lupin was speaking again.

'Didn't you ever wonder - didn't it ever occur to you to ask - how a treacherous coward like Peter ever became Secret-Keeper in the first place?'

Harry shrugged. 'He swapped with Sirius.' But Lupin shook his head.

'Not good enough. Why did they swap? Think, Harry. Peter was a good wizard - in some ways a very good one - but he was never going to be great. And he wasn't brave. Without Sirius' exchange, Voldemort would never have got his hands on James and Lily.'

There was an urgency in the hoarse voice that Harry had not heard before. 'Think, Harry. You saw Peter for yourself, that night in the Shrieking Shack. Do you think for one moment that he was capable of standing up to Voldemort?'

Harry shook his head slowly. The Wormtail he had seen, squealing and whimpering on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, was not a man who would willingly undergo torture and death to protect his friends.

'Your parents knew it, too.'

'So why -'

'Sirius suggested the exchange to buy time for James and Lily.' Now it was Lupin who was shaking his head. 'The stupidest, bravest thing I ever saw ... he knew Voldemort would ignore Peter and go after him. He gambled that he could hold out long enough for your parents to get away before Voldemort found out he didn't know anything and went after Peter - or me. It was - typical - of Sirius.' He closed his eyes for a moment. The knuckles on his wand hand were white.

Lupin continued. 'When Sirius suggested the exchange, Peter didn't know what to do. This was his chance to make something of himself, to prove once and for all that he was as good as the rest of us. He never quite believed it, you see... Part of him wanted desperately to be the Secret-Keeper. He was flattered and terrified, all at the same time.

'So he came looking for advice. He came to me.'

Harry stared.

'And I - I couldn't believe my luck. Everything seemed suddenly to be working out.' Lupin smiled grimly. 'I reassured Peter, told him to accept the offer. Then I contacted Voldemort.'

'You?' For a moment, Harry struggled to understand what he had just heard. There was a roaring in his ears and he felt as if he might be sick. Fragments of a conversation he'd heard once in the Shrieking Shack were buzzing frantically in his head and he fought to subdue them and turn them into sense.

'Remus! You don't believe this... Wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?'

'Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter.'

Not if he thought I was the spy. Harry stared at Lupin, shaking his head. 'Sirius was right,' he whispered. 'It was you all along.' He felt suddenly cold. His throat seemed tight and he struggled to breathe. He was going to faint...

'Harry. Harry. Are you all right?'

Stupid question. 'No. No, I'm not all right.'

'Wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan? Wouldn't Sirius have told you...?'

'Wormtail said -' picking his words carefully, 'he said, wouldn't Sirius have told you? He didn't know you knew.'

'He didn't remember.' Lupin shrugged. 'A Memory Charm. I'd had a lot of practice. And Peter - trusted - me, which made it easier. It took him by surprise. Don't misunderstand me, Harry. Peter really did betray your parents, and he did it of his own free will. I just helped to set it up.'

'Why? What had my Dad ever done to you?'

'Nothing, Harry.' Lupin made a sudden, tiny gesture towards Harry, then controlled himself. 'James was one of the best and closest friends I ever had. He remains one of the best and closest friends I will ever have. Nothing can change that.'

'Yeah.' Harry's throat was dry as he searched for words. 'Yeah. He was one of your best and closest friends, so you sold him to Voldemort. And my Mum. I don't understand,' he burst out, finally unable to control himself, 'how you could do such a thing?'

'Because, if I didn't, Voldemort said he would kill Sirius.'

Quarter to twelve. It seemed impossible that so little time had passed. For one lunatic moment, Harry wondered if the world had stopped turning; if time itself had paused and everything was on hold, waiting until he and Lupin could finish their surreal conversation. But the clock kept on ticking and Lupin was speaking again.

'I came home from work one evening and found six Death Eaters in the house. I'd put wards up - I was working for the Order at the time - but it didn't do any good. They stunned me. When I came round, Voldemort was standing in front of me.' He smiled bleakly, remembering. 'I'd never been so frightened in all my life. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out for long against him. No one did. But he didn't bother with curses, or potions - or any of the things he could have used. He just made me an offer.'

'Go on.' Harry couldn't believe how normal his voice sounded.

'He wanted your parents. I didn't understand why at the time. He made it very simple. I was to find a way to hand James and Lily over to him. If I didn't help him, or if I ran away, or killed myself, he would have Sirius killed.'

'You knew he was going to kill my Mum and Dad.' It was not a question.

'Yes. I'm sorry, Harry. Sorry for the way it turned out, and sorry for James and Lily. I'm not sorry for what I did.'

Would you make the same choice again? Harry found he didn't want to know the answer to that. Instead he asked, 'What happened then?' wanting and not wanting the other man to continue, fascinated in spite of himself.

Lupin shrugged. 'I knew Sirius had volunteered to be the Secret-Keeper. I couldn't let that happen, so I tried to persuade James to use me instead. I tried too hard. Sirius guessed something was wrong. He exchanged places with the one person none of us had ever really considered.'

'Wormtail,' Harry whispered. Lupin nodded.

'Peter. That made it easy. All Voldemort had to do was offer him power. Peter was the only one of us who could be bought... he always wanted to be more than he was.'

Harry sat very still on the cold floor, staring at his blurred reflection in the polished wood and thinking about what he had just heard. Finally, he looked up again at Lupin.

'Did it take you long to - to decide?' he asked, searching Lupin's face for the answer. Instead, Lupin met Harry's question with a question.

'Who would you say is your best friend? Hermione? Ron?'

Harry blinked.

'Now imagine you have to choose between them.' Lupin's smile was tight. 'Because you could save one of them, and only one. The other dies. Choose, Harry. Who would it be?'

Hermione. Images surged into Harry's mind. Hermione, helping Neville find his toad on the way to Hogwarts... in tears after Charms... clutching a mirror as she lay petrified on a hospital bed... Hermione and himself, gazing upwards as Sirius and Buckbeak flew off into the night. He felt suddenly fiercely protective and grateful towards her. Life without Hermione would be unimaginable.

Which leaves Ron. And again the memories came flooding. Ron, looking eagerly at him on the Hogwarts express... sacrificing himself in a chess game so Harry could go on... sitting next to him on Christmas Day, admiring a brand new Firebolt... grinning at him anxiously, a Prefect's Badge in his hand... Ron standing before him, angry and inarticulate in too-short pyjamas. It was impossible. There were too many memories, too many shared moments - too many feelings.

Harry shook his head. 'I can't do it.'

Lupin nodded in acknowledgement. 'It was a little easier for me. James was a good friend but I would have done anything to protect Sirius. I'm sorry, Harry. And then he and Peter swapped and I - I lost Sirius anyway. For twelve years. And then, suddenly - wonderfully - he was back.'

Lupin's face was alive with emotion. 'I couldn't believe it,' he whispered. 'Twelve years in Azkaban, but at least I knew he was alive. And then he was back and I was talking to him again, laughing with him, looking after him... It was like being given a second chance. Can you imagine how that feels? Someone you thought you'd lost -'

'Like my parents, you mean?' Harry interrupted brutally. Lupin flinched.

'I'm not defending it, Harry. There is no defence.'

'It was all for nothing, though, wasn't it?' Harry spoke savagely, trying to provoke a response from the other man. 'Because Sirius is dead. You let my parents die for nothing.' He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded, shocked at the cold and controlled rage he felt. We could be discussing tactics for a Quidditch match, he thought. Instead, I'm sitting on a floor in a stranger's house, talking to the man who killed my parents. Right now, I want to kill him. Aloud, he said, 'Sirius would've been proud of you.'

Lupin was pale. 'He would never have forgiven me,' he said quietly. 'At least he didn't have to find out how I'd betrayed him. But you're right. In the end, it was pointless. It always was. It always will be. And so many people had to die before I could realise that. It's got to end, Harry. I'm going to end it.'

Harry shifted uncomfortably. 'What do you mean?'

'I'm going to hand you over to Voldemort.'

For a moment, Harry quite literally didn't believe his ears. 'You're mad,' he said desperately. 'You can't mean that.'

'I don't think I've ever been this sane in my life,' Lupin responded. 'Think about it, Harry. We can't win. If it hadn't been for a lucky chance fifteen years ago, you wouldn't even be alive today. Your aunt's protection has kept you alive since then - but we've been living on borrowed time. People have died who - ought not to have died.' Lupin's voice was thick and he spoke slowly as if struggling to find the right words. 'Can you honestly say you've never blamed yourself for Cedric Diggory's death?'

Harry started. 'That's not fair -'

'Isn't it? You know better, Harry. Cedric died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sirius died because he came to rescue you. Oh, I don't blame you for that -' Lupin said quickly, seeing Harry's face, '- but that's the effect you have on people. The Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter. Arthur Weasley nearly died at Christmas, protecting a prophecy because it had your name on it. Who's next, Harry?'

Harry was shaking his head. 'I didn't ask for this -'

'No. But it's going to happen.'

'No! The prophecy said -' Harry stopped. How much did Lupin know?

'The prophecy said that you will either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. That's right, isn't it?' Harry nodded mutely, knowing what was coming.

'Do you think you're a killer, Harry?' Lupin asked, very softly. 'Because I don't.'

Harry said nothing. The fury of only a few moments ago had vanished and he felt miserable and sick. I can't imagine killing anyone, he thought. Not even Voldemort. I want him dead. I wish he'd never existed. But I'm not sure I can become a murderer.

'And if you aren't -' Lupin pressed home his advantage, 'then the last fifteen years have been completely futile. Cedric. Sirius. If your aunt hadn't taken you in, they would both be alive today.'

'I can do it!' Harry said desperately, knowing how unconvincing he sounded. 'I just need more time.' But Lupin was shaking his head.

'No,' he said, more sharply than Harry had ever heard him before. 'Let's get it over with, Harry. Put an end to the loss and the killing and the - the false hope that somehow it's all going to be all right and we're going to come through this. Because we're not. I thought that once.' His features twisted painfully. 'I was wrong.'

'He will kill you, you know. Voldemort.' Even now, Harry found the thought unbearable.

Lupin laughed - a short, bitter laugh. 'Maybe he will. There's nobody waiting up for me at home. Werewolves don't make many friends, Harry.' He glanced at the clock again.

Shit. We've both been playing for time. Aloud, Harry said, 'He's coming here, isn't he?' Lupin nodded. 'When?'

'Less than an hour. Not long.' Lupin looked back at Harry and his features softened again. 'I'm sorry, Harry.'

I wish he'd stop saying that, Harry thought.

Harry looked around the unfamiliar room, searching frantically for inspiration, then down at his empty hands. If I had a wand... He looked at the clock and then let his eyes fall on Lupin, trying not to make it obvious that he was judging the distance between them... and then he tensed. A few soot particles had fallen down the chimney into the empty grate behind Lupin.

'How did you know about the prophecy?' he asked. Change the subject. Keep him talking.

'Dumbledore.'

'Right.' It's just me he never talks to then. Fine.

Harry shifted slightly on the wooden floor, deliberately stretching his legs. Keep him looking at me. Lupin's hand tightened slightly on his wand and he, too, tensed, leaning slightly forward on the arm of the big chair.

'Aunt Petunia,' Harry said, relaxing his body and watching Lupin do the same. Some more soot fell soundlessly into the fireplace. 'Why did you have to -' He had difficulty forcing the words past the enormous lump that rose suddenly in his throat. 'Why did you have to hurt her?'

Lupin shrugged, a tiny, quickly aborted gesture. Watching him closely, Harry realised suddenly how much older his former teacher looked, as if years had passed, rather than weeks, since their last meeting.

'I blamed her for what happened to Sirius,' Lupin said at last. Harry started, unable to keep his surprise from his face. Of all the answers Lupin could possibly have given, this was not one Harry had expected.

'Aunt Petunia?'

Lupin grimaced. 'I know. But if she hadn't looked after you, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be alive. No-one would have gone to the Department of Mysteries -'

But Harry wasn't concentrating on Lupin any more. Behind Lupin, a bedraggled and very dirty owl was emerging from the chimney, a letter tied to one foot. Hedwig. Harry could have laughed out loud at the timing. Cheers, Ron, he thought. Better late than never.

There was a soft bump and a flutter of feathers and soot as the owl landed in the grate. Lupin half-turned towards the fireplace, momentarily distracted. In that instant, Harry rolled to his right, then dived forwards, coming quickly to his feet.

'Stupefy!' A jet of red light hit the spot where he had been a second ago. Harry ran. He tore out of the room into a hallway, glanced left and right, and fled up a set of stairs. Behind him he heard Lupin swearing and the beating of wings.

Harry glanced around the darkened landing. Moving as noiselessly as possible, he tiptoed his way to the nearest door and tried the handle. It was locked.

Now what? He was convinced that the pounding of his heart could be heard all over the house. He tried the next door. Locked.

Downstairs, a blinding green flash came from the room he had just fled, followed by a sudden high screech and a thump. Harry bit his lip. This wasn't the time to cry.

I need my wand. Without it, Harry knew he was useless. The odds against his survival were stacked so high that he might as well stop wasting time and go back downstairs to wait passively for Voldemort. But there had been times in the past when he had managed magic without a wand...

Harry closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration. Accio wand, he whispered. Accio wand. ACCIO WAND. Nothing. Had Lupin even brought the wand with him?

The sound of feet in the hall downstairs.

Accio wand. ACCIO WAND!

He stretched his fingers in anticipation, trying to convince himself that his wand was nearby, that he was reaching for it... and suddenly, miraculously, there was something in his hand. Harry opened his eyes and looked at his wand, then turned and pointed it at the door in front of him.

'Alohomora,' he said softly. Nothing. I'm getting a bit tired of magically sealed doors, he thought bitterly. It flashed through his mind that there might be no way out of the house, that all the doors and windows might be similarly sealed, but he suppressed the thought quickly.

Footsteps receding from him downstairs, towards the back of the house. Harry edged towards the stairs again and peered down. The hall was empty. He stepped gingerly onto the top stair.

Lupin's voice floated up the stairwell towards him. 'Harry? Harry, don't do this. This is pointless.' The footsteps were coming towards him now. Harry tensed and gripped his wand.

Through the banisters, Lupin's head came into view. Now or never...

'Expelliarmus!' Harry shouted.

'Protego!' The disarming spell bounced harmlessly off Lupin's Shield Charm. 'Stupefy!'

Harry dived backwards and, once again, the blast of red light missed him by inches. He retreated behind the banisters at the top of the stairs and back along the landing. Lupin was already moving, coming around the banisters at the bottom and pausing, almost out of sight, at the foot of the stairs. Harry tried again.

'Wingardium Leviosa!' A table in the hall rose into the air and launched itself at Lupin, who blew it into pieces with an effortless 'Reducto!'

'Petrificus Tot -'

'- Protego.'

Another effortless block. Lupin's reactions were superbly fast. Harry was beginning to realise he was seriously outclassed. He racked his brains for something else he could use. Surely one of the hexes he'd learned for the Triwizard Tournament could get past a simple Shield Charm?

Silence. Harry lay on the landing carpet, listening desperately. Was that a movement at the foot of the stairs? He snapped his wand up. 'Tarantallegra.' No sound of dancing feet from the hall. Missed. Lupin spoke again, quietly and calmly.

'Imperio.'

And the tension drained out of Harry. It was a wonderful feeling. He felt as if he were floating, although a small part of him was vaguely aware that it wasn't possible to float while lying on a carpet. Unless it's a flying carpet, he thought, trying not to giggle.

Lupin's voice echoed inside his head. Put the wand down, Harry. Harry looked in surprise at the wand, clutched tightly in his right hand. What did he want that for?

Put the wand down...

What a good idea. His hand relaxed, the fingers opening. The wand rested on his open palm.

Why, though?

Why put down the wand? I don't want to.

I shan't...

I won't.

Harry's head cleared suddenly, as if someone had forced it into a bucket of cold water. He opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - and looked up. Lupin was close beside him, kneeling, his wand pointed directly at Harry. Affection and regret were mingled in his eyes.

'Crucio.'

This time, it did hurt. Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to curl into a ball or to arch his back and stretch himself out on the carpet - anything, to stop the pain. Tears streamed down his face and he bit his lip to stop himself screaming.

After an eternity, the pain seemed to lessen slightly. Harry looked at Lupin again, his breath coming in great gulps. His tears were hot and cold at the same time as they ran down his cheeks, and he was trembling. As he fought to control himself, Lupin met his eyes and Harry dropped his gaze to the floor.

'We can do it this way.' Lupin's voice was gentle. 'I can keep you under the Cruciatus curse until Voldemort gets here. Or you can put down your wand. Which is it, Harry?'

Harry stared at the carpet. If I put my wand down, it's over, he thought dully, and then: It's over, anyway. I can't go through that again.

He nodded wearily and brought his left hand up, slowly and carefully, to wipe the tears from his eyes. The wand pointed at his chest did not waver. His right hand, hidden behind his back, gripped his wand.

Here we go. Make it quick. Harry had no illusions about Voldemort. The Dark Lord enjoyed suffering too much to kill him quickly. But maybe he could provoke Lupin -

He brought his wand round quickly. 'Expelliarmus!' Even as he said it, he knew it wouldn't work. Lupin's reflexes were too good. The Shield Charm came up immediately, but for an instant Lupin's wand dipped. And in that instant, fresh tears streaming down his face, Harry saw his only chance and took it.

'Avada Kedavra.'

Green light burst from his wand and he felt the familiar rushing sensation, vast and slow. Harry flinched and turned away, covering his face. When he looked again, the light was gone from Lupin's eyes.

The strange house was silent. Harry let Lupin's body slip gently to the ground and stood up. He walked slowly downstairs and back into the sitting room he had fled only moments before. Hedwig's body lay on the ground by Lupin's chair, a discord of feathers against the wooden floor. Harry picked her up and held her tightly.

He stood for a moment, gently stroking Hedwig. He was vaguely conscious of the need to hurry out of the house and away, but it was difficult to think clearly, to find the energy to move. Finally, as if waking from a dream, he shook his head to clear it and left the sitting room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The back door was locked and sealed. Harry blasted it apart with a passionless Reducto before walking through the hole, still clutching his owl. Once outside, he looked around without interest.

Light from the kitchen window illuminated a badly neglected back garden. Harry saw the gleam of an iron gate in the hedge opposite him and headed directly towards it, stumbling through an overgrown herb bed. The heady fragrance of lavender rose into the night. Finally he reached the gate and passed through it into a deserted lane, where he stood for a moment, blinking.

He had no idea where he was. Briefly he considered finding someone and asking for help, but dismissed the idea immediately. There was no time to waste.

How the hell do I get out of here? he thought. I don't even know where 'here' is. Except -

Suddenly remembering a different evening, a different street - a different world - Harry flung out his hand -

With an ear-splitting BANG, a purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of him.

Epilogue: Dog Days

The sticky heat has been unbearable all day and there is a tension in the evening air. As if a storm is coming, thinks the old man as he walks across the park. He has seen many summers like this before, but somehow this one is different. The tension is different. When this storm comes it will be like no other.

As the old man nears the vandalised playground, he hears a creaking sound. Someone is on the swings. He hesitates, wondering whether he has been foolish to cross the park, alone, on this summer evening. There has been trouble in the park before, and the old man has suffered his share of abuse from teenage gangs. But even this seems to have stopped in recent days. The old man walks on.

He continues along the path, through the fringe of trees that hides the playground from the rest of the park. Without appearing to, he glances at the swings and relaxes. There are no gangs here tonight.

A boy is swinging on the swings. He is thin and seems too small for the clothes he is wearing. The old man notices disapprovingly that the boy's trainers are grey with dirt. On the ground beside the swings is a large white bird.

As the old man draws nearer he sees that the bird is a snowy owl and that it is dead. Tears are coursing unchecked down the boy's cheeks as he swings. The old man does not recognise the boy, and there is nothing he can say, anyway, so he walks quietly on.

These are the first days of August, stagnant and sultry; the days when Sirius, once the brightest star in the northern sky, is lost from view, obscured by the Sun during the day and by the spinning Earth at night. These are the dog days.

The storm is coming.