Loose Screws

Oh, Christ. The IMM is going to kill me if this gets out.

Cornelius Fudge paced around in his office at home, his breath quick and harsh, thinking of some way in hell to keep this from leaking to the public. It was unbelievable, absolutely horrid. Voldemort was back.

No, he's not! The boy was just seeing things! That's what I'll tell them!...

But what if things started happening? Unexplainable things? Then they'll know, and he'd be accused of lying to the International Ministry of Magic. Things have already happened, like the murder of Crouch, Sr. He couldn't just cover up something like that! It was too risky! He'd be chucked right out of office!

Oh, God. What if they replaced me with Arthur Weasley? The loon obsessed with Muggles? Or worse yet, Albus Dumbledore...no, no, I can't let this out.

Then again there were the alleged Death Eaters working for the Ministry of Magic in London.

But they've all been cleared! The IMM will have nothing on me.

"Dear," called his wife from the kitchen downstairs. "You're coming down for dinner, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mary," he called back vaguely. Finally, he sat down and looked on his desk at some recent letters that had been sent to him. They'd been sorted into two piles. Fudge was paying more mind to the stack of suggestions, compliments, and complaints to his left; rather than the eyewitness accounts to his right of Voldemort and gathering Death Eaters. Without another thought, he picked up the right pile and thrust it into the small fireplace. He watched as the folded pieces of parchment burned and glowed.

No. Nothing to worry about. Voldemort hasn't returned.

* * *

The same day that Harry had moved his belongings up to his room upon arriving at number 4 Privet Drive, he began a habit that would be with him for the rest of his life. After he let Hedwig out of her cage for a night of hunting prey, he sat in front of his window and peered out. Nothing more. He looked around, as if expecting something to happen, as if trying to fill the void that had been created the moment he'd left King's Cross Station. Was it denial? Maybe. But if so, this denial sometimes made him feel as though he had some kind of purpose in the world. Or maybe it was because he’d came back from yet another passing ordeal alive and, for the most part, well.; perhaps things would be okay.

He looked outside at the night sky, taking in the manicured lawns and flower beds, the screeching of the crickets below, the stars in the black sky. For several moments, he just stared. For the first time in his life, he began to notice these things that had meant next to nothing to him. He was somehow content with how peaceful the world appeared right now at night, even if it was anything but. He never wanted to take these times for granted again.

Staring out the window was a continuous activity for Harry throughout those first few weeks since he arrived home. Frequently, he'd take a break from his homework to look out at the rain and the sunshine, the gray sky and the blue sky, the moon at night, the dimly lit days. He would think the same thing every time he looked out of his window. It's a great day.

But on one particular evening, something extremely strange had happened.

It was around the first week of July, and he had just let out Hedwig. He looked into the night sky. The moon was hidden from view and illuminated the clouds that covered it. Several minutes passed. He then stared towards the trees as the wind shook them, Mrs. Figg standing on the corner, and the owl in the distance -- wait a minute, that couldn't be right...

Harry looked again. The old woman was gone. He leaned out of the window a little ways. No Mrs. Figg. Thoroughly confused, he glanced back at the owl. Harry felt a familiar twinge of hopefulness that it might be an invitation from Ron.

But as the owl soared closer, he realized that it was only Hedwig. She landed softly on the window seal, and Harry glanced at her legs just to be sure she wasn't carrying any letters on her. He found nothing. Sighing heavily, he gently petted her soft, white plumage. And then, he heard rustling in the distance. He looked up and gasped at what he saw.

The sky was not only cluttered with clouds. It was also cluttered with owls.

Harry instinctively back away from the window as if the swarm would fill into the room. But he was only further shocked at how orderly the owls were. Each owl - each one with at least one letter - came in one at a time to dispatch their letter before returning to their supposed owners. As if it were all rehearsed.

Letters from people who he only knew by name, people he'd never even heard of. All of them were showing support for Harry in the fight against Voldemort.

There was one from a girl named Susan Bones, a 5th year Hufflepuff. Her grandparents had been murdered by Voldemort. There was one from Neville Longbottom, who shared Harry's dormitory at Hogwarts. As Harry had already known, his parents had been tortured and sent to St. Mungo's by a group of Death Eaters. Harry had met one of those Death Eaters involved the previous year.

Linda Macnair, distant daughter of a Death Eater. Remus Lupin, whose best friends - Harry's parents - had been murdered by Voldemort. Oliver Wood, who really didn't have anything to do with Voldemort; he was just writing to say he was willing to fight him alongside Harry. The owls grew more numerous, and the list went on. Did Mrs. Figg have something to do with this? He could've sworn Dumbledore had mentioned her once or twice not long ago.

After all the owls had departed, Harry's desk was practically drowned with parchment. He felt a warm rush inside him as he continued to read the letters. And he stayed up for a long time that night, reading each and every one that he could until his eyes grew too heavy. But by the time he'd turned off his light and placed his glasses on his nightstand, he knew it had been worth it.

No, there weren't many things to be taken for granted anymore.

* * *

The morning was dark after the thunderstorm that took place the day before. In the equally dark tavern, the Leaky Cauldron, was a middle-aged barmaid behind the counter, with the company of a few customers. She polished the countertop, conversing with one of the customers.

"Does your wife know you've started drinking again, Tom?" mused the barmaid. A man, who looked about in his early 30's, spoke up.

"There's a lot of things my wife doesn't know, Rosie. Or so she says," the drunk Tom said, his voice full of sarcasm.

"Mad at you again, is she?" said the young woman sitting nearby.

Short pause. "Yes, she is, Patsy. So shoot me." Rosie chortled.

"Polly," the young woman corrected.

"Polly, right, of course..." Tom muttered under his breath.

"So what did you do?" Rosie asked.

With only the provided light of a nearby candle, an elderly man sitting at the bar read the ‘Daily Prophet’, eyebrows raising at the headline and the picture of the debris-littered street. "Hey Rosie," he said in a gruff tone before Tom could answer, "come over here a moment. Have you seen today's paper?" The barmaid went up to him. "No. Why? What does it say?" Slowly, he read the headline aloud: "Local Town's Population Plummets To Zero."

Rosie paused and stared at him. He had caught the attention of the other two as well. "What does that mean?" Rosie asked nervously. The old man winced, skimming the article. "Exactly what it sounds like."

"Can I see that?" Rosie asked, and the man handed her the paper. She cleared her throat and read it aloud.

"'Yesterday, everything was normal,' says Dana Wise, 26. 'I was just visiting my sister's house for her baby shower, and everything was fine. Nothing seemed out of place or anything.' Dana's eyes then begin to brim with tears. 'And I came back to give her the gift that I forgot yesterday. Her house and the surrounding houses were in ruins. She wasn't there. Neither were the neighbors. I looked around the city a little. No one.'

"Dana Wise speaks of the small town of Rourke's Haven. On Monday morning, Dana arrived there, finding the city empty with an eerie silence. She contacted the nearest authorities. Ministry officials thoroughly searched the town, finding several bodies, though the majority of the population was simply missing, and no one was found alive. Wands lay scattered along the sidewalks and streets with the burnt rubble, many of them broken. Almost each door was blown from its hinges. They questioned Dana, who was staying in a hotel less than 10 kilometers away. 'I didn't hear anything, see anything, or know anything,' she tells them. 'She didn't even call the hotel.'

"A young wizard who lived in the town and was working a night-shift nearby claims to have witnessed a few people running from the town. Some moments later, he said he saw a 'tall, thin man with a short companion, and there were others who followed right behind him, hooded. It was too dark to actually see their faces. I was going to visit my girlfriend after work, and I found her house...gone. Completely gone. Like a big tornado had just come through. I didn't find her though, not even the dog. I went back to my flat; it's not there anymore.'

"Officials then looked more to the bodies. Only 6 out of the 31 people they found were identified as wizards. They suspect that the town was struck by Voldemort -" Rosie paused to cringe - "better known as 'You-Know-Who'. 'You-Know-Who', who steadily gained his reputation as a dark wizard during the seventies, is rumoured to have regained his strength and power recently, just as mysteriously as he had lost it. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, however, is saying 'there is no hard evidence of such a thing. It's all nonsense, if you ask me.'

"Approximately 250 people are missing. Despite their strong belief that 'You-Know-Who' has not returned, the Ministry of Magic asks all wizarding families and magical communities to be on high alert."

By the time she had finished, she was hoarse. The other people at the bar were staring directly at her, faces frozen in horror.

"Y-you can't believe everything you read, right?" said Polly. She was shaking slightly. Rosie ignored her and glanced over at the old man.

"So, Rohan," keeping her voice barely above a whisper, "Does this mean...You-Know-Who could be...rising again?"

The old man looked back at her. A grim expression covered his face. "Doesn't look good. Better start praying, Rosie." With that, he placed his money on the counter and walked out into the bitter wind.

Chapter One

The Child Star Blues

The last day of July was quite a lovely one. Outside, the smell of honeysuckle wafted in the summer breeze. The birds chirped cheerfully, splashing in the puddles from yesterday's rain. And at number four, Privet Drive, Harry was upstairs in bed, sighing as he felt the warm rays of sun on his cheek. He didn't feel like getting up that morning but instead he wanted to savor the moment --

"HARRY!" his aunt yelled through the door on which she pounded loudly. "Get up! You've got chores to do!"

Harry sighed again, this time unhappily. Yawning, he reached for his glasses on the nightstand. His aunt knocked again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming..." he retorted. He slowly rose from his bed, pulling on the clothes nearest to him. They never fit of course; they were always hand-me-downs from his cousin, Dudley, who was roughly the size of a baby whale. Heaven forbid that his "family" ever bought new clothes for him. They considered him a freak of nature because he had magic in his blood, and they would settle for nothing less than normal.

In a sense, Harry wasn't actually meant to live with his estranged family, the Dursleys. He didn't want anything to do with them, and vice-versa. But it had happened, and he had been with them for the past 14 years because of an unfortunate, a very tragic, ordeal. When he was only a year old, a dark lord named Voldemort had attacked his family. He managed to murder his father and then his mother, who both died trying to protect their only son. Harry mysteriously managed to escape with a mild scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. However, the curse was said to have rebounded onto Voldemort, making him something barely alive.

It wasn’t until Harry's 11th birthday, after 10 long years of mistreatment, that it was all revealed to him. He was sent a letter, which said he was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And it wasn’t until he attended this school that he found his first best friends: Rubeus Hagrid, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. And though it had only been 5 years since, he had already had three encounters with Voldemort himself, and in the last one, he had returned to power.

Harry was now very much in danger for his life: he knew it, his friends knew it. Even the Dursleys knew it, after a letter from the Hogwarts headmaster. Well, not like they cared or anything. Harry was almost sure nothing would make the Dursleys happier than for him to get zapped off the face of the earth.

Not bothering to comb his tameless hair, Harry shivered involuntarily at his thoughts and trudged downstairs. The smell of bacon was strong in the air. The first thing he saw was his aunt standing at the stove, making Dudley’s breakfast like she did everyday. When he entered the kitchen, he could see her wince slightly. And like always, she never greeted him with a "good morning" or a simple "hello". Instead, she greeted him with, "I've some laundry for you to do," pointing at the utility room. As he walked away, he heard her threaten him from the kitchen: "And don’t you dare shrink the clothes on purpose like last time, either!" Harry smiled to himself. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but he had to admit it was pretty funny to watch Dudley struggling into his Smelting’s uniform.

He set the washer and put in the detergent as the machine began to fill with water. After he placed the clothes inside, he closed it and climbed back up the stairs, deciding that he wasn't really hungry. Besides, he was still tired. Last night was the first time he had really slept since the summer had began, being worried about his life and all. On the contrary, he had to admit that he was somewhat lucky: so far, the usual nightmares hadn't started yet.

Upon entering his room, he sank lazily into his bed. He lied there, idly staring at the ceiling. Subconsciously, he heard Dudley's and Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps in the hallway, Petunia gossiping about the neighbors, and a door shutting as Uncle Vernon went off to his job at the drill company. Harry began to doze off just as a small owl flew in through the window. The tiny creature, which Harry recognized as Ron's owl, hyperly zoomed around the room with a letter tied to his leg. Harry snapped awake, reaching out and snatching the owl in his right hand. Carefully, he removed the letter and opened it. It read:

To Whom It May Concern:

I reckon you know who this is. Mum and Dad told me not to use your real name in case this got into the "wrong hands"… Anyway, we've got a plan to get you out of there. Dumbledore said it was okay for you to spend the summer with us, as long as we picked a different location. We can come get you by a day or two after your birthday, but of course, we’re not going to my house this summer. Instead, we’ll be staying at our other best friend’s house. My sister is coming with us too (wink, wink). Well, you should probably get packing now.

Happy Birthday,

Me

PS: Can I write to you like this all the time?

Harry grinned as he finished reading the letter. He picked himself up from the bed again and fished in his trunk for a piece of parchment. Also finding his quills and ink, he simply responded:

No. No you can’t. And sure, I’ll go to our ‘other best friend’s’ house. Come get me soon.

Sincerely,

Me

Harry folded it up and tied it around Pig’s leg, sending him back through the window, and collapsed on his bed yet again with a smile on his face.

He woke up a short while later to finish the laundry and sneak some food out of the kitchen while Aunt Petunia was weeding the yard. He returned upstairs to find more owls: some with letters, some with presents.

Hagrid, the keeper of keys at Hogwarts, sent Harry a chocolate cake. He opened it to see the somewhat smeared frosting that spelled, "Happy 15th Birthday, Harry!" Next he opened one of the letters, recognizing Hermione’s neat handwriting.

Dear Harry,

First off, Happy Birthday! I’m sure Ron’s already told you that we plan to spend the summer at my house. It was my idea to stay here, in case you’re wondering. I just thought it’d be safer than where you can easily be found. Well, I hope you’re okay at the moment. Please remember to tell me about it if your scar starts hurting or if the dreams start again. You really scared us with that in the past.

"Well, I did ask my parents if I could go to Viktor’s in Bulgaria. Obviously, they said ‘no’. That’s why I decided to invite you lot over. Ginny’s coming, too. We decided to leave Fred and George where they are; we’ll invite them as soon as I want my house blown up. Anyway, I’ll see you soon!

Love,

Hermione

P.S.

I think they wouldn’t let me go because of the ‘incident’ with my teeth."

Harry chuckled as he remembered how she’d had her teeth shrunk with magic while her parents, both dentists, wanted her to have braces. And he also thought about how jealous Ron got when Viktor Krum, the seeker for Bulgaria’s Quidditch team, had asked her to the Yule Ball last year.

Harry placed her letter on the nightstand and went on to his next gift that almost fit in the palm of his hand. Unwrapping it, he found what looked like a small, circular mirror. Puzzled, he looked it over. There must be some kind of catch, he thought to himself. Or it could’ve been a joke from Ron or perhaps an insult from his archenemy, Draco Malfoy. Whatever it was, he found a folded note taped to the back of it. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the parchment and read:

Dear Harry,

I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this device, but it’s called a foe glass. What it does is it detects…well, foes. Lupin found the pocket size for me so that you can take it wherever you go. I just thought you could use it. I actually fixed it to serve a dual purpose. You'll find out what else it does later.

Well, I left Lupin's yesterday morning. Me and Buckbeak are doing fine, but I had to keep this short because I've got this weird feeling that we’re being followed. How’s your scar? No weird stuff happening, right? Also, I’d hate to trouble you, but if you could keep us updated with any important news, that’d be a big help. Please write back soon.

Sirius

Sirius Black was Harry’s godfather and the best friend of Harry’s father, James. Falsely accused of selling his parents out to Voldemort and the murder of Peter Pettigrew, he was placed in a high-security prison for wizards called Azkaban. He had escaped about two years ago, in search of Peter, or the ‘friend’ who framed him, and had been on the run ever since.

He placed the mirror and note on the nightstand with Hermione’s letter. He then jumped at a sudden noise from the hallway. Thinking he heard Dudley’s footsteps approaching from outside, he scrambled to hide his cake, presents and letters under the loose floorboard. Just as Harry had predicted, Dudley had been in the hall and was currently squeezing himself through the doorway. For a moment, he simply stared at Harry.

"Where is it?" he demanded. What he was demanding exactly was news to Harry.

"Where’s what?"

"The cake."

Harry’s eyebrows rose. "What cake?"

"The birthday cake. Where’d you hide it?"

"How do you know I have a cake?" Harry said in disbelief. He was beginning to believe that his cousin had smelled the cake from his room. Harry couldn’t even smell it from underneath the floorboards.

"I saw the owls bring it in. Now where is it?"

"An owl brought a birthday cake through my window?" said Harry, trying to deceive Dudley. "I swear, you’re getting stranger and stranger everyday, Dudley."

"I know what I saw," he said a bit uncertainly.

"That’s what you think you saw. It doesn’t exactly surprise me that you thought a cake came in through my window..." Harry said coldly. "And I’d sure hate to tell Uncle Vernon that you’ve started hallucinating."

Dudley stared at him hard for a moment before stating, "You win this round, Potter," and turning to leave.

As the sky darkened that evening, Harry sat on his bed, eating his cake with the silverware he had sneaked upstairs. After letting his snowy owl, Hedwig, free into the night air, he looked up at the stars and thought. About nothing in particular; he was just...thinking.

He began to wonder about the future. Voldemort was back to power now. He had been for at least a month now. He could be out there anywhere, creating new plots and twisted ways to once again force Harry under his thumb. He remembered the last time he saw him and the horrible events that took place. Not only had he returned to life, but a murder had taken place. And in essence, if it hadn’t been for Harry, it would not have happened. Cedric Diggory was a student of Hogwarts, though not one Harry was particularly fond of before. But after the murder, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even if he didn’t kill him, he thought it was at least partially his fault that Cedric was there in the first place.

His thoughts suddenly switched from Cedric to Cedric’s former girlfriend. Her name was Cho Chang, and she also happened to be the girl who Harry had fancied since his third year at Hogwarts. He wondered how she was taking things. She certainly didn’t look well the last time he saw her, when her face appeared tear-stained. She was another person he felt guilty about. If it hadn’t been for him, he could’ve saved a lot of people from a lot of pain. Yet no one blamed him. No one blamed the famous Harry Potter and his unbelievable luck.

His self-esteem now lowering by the second, Harry decided that he’d had enough cake, put on his pajamas, and uneasily drifted off to sleep.