Burn

Chapter 2 - Hanging by a moment

'Wake up bent and broken

Just to see that fate has spoken

And I call out for change

For every moment that remains'

-The Calling 'Believing'

***

Voldemort passed his wand over Narcissa's motionless body while intoning, 'Imitari! Unus mensa, unus memoria. IMITARI!' and straddled her once more. Laying his wand down next to her, he spread his arms wide and rested his head back on an invisible pillow. Feeling as if he was burning from the inside out, he gritted his teeth from the pain, fingers curling in, nails biting into the palms of his hand. Under him, Narcissa abruptly became taut like a guitar string and then began to convulse wildly, held down by her restraints and his heavy weight on top of her. All around him, his Death Eaters took up the chant again... except for Lucius.

Voldemort could feel the elder Malfoy's gaze burning a hole into his chest, at the same point that a lone teardrop of blood appeared and snaked down his naked form to splash on Narcissa's shuddering abdomen. The burning subsided and Voldemort snapped his head back into its natural position, caught Lucius' gaze and held it. With a quick gesture from his lowering arms he dismissed the other Death Eaters and one by one they filed from the room, no doubt returning to the apparition foyer so that they may Apparate home.

Still holding Voldemort's gaze as the Dark Lord dismounted from the stone table, Lucius snapped his fingers. Immediately, two house elves appeared in front of him.

'Yes, Master Malfoy?' they squeaked in their high voices, kneeling at his feet.

'Take Mistress Malfoy to her room, clean her up and bind her to the bed post with a silk scarf,' he ordered, eyes still boring into Voldemort's even as he stroked the soft bloodied flesh of Narcissa's inner wrist.

'Go. Now!' Lucius barked.

'Yes, Master Malfoy,' they squeaked once more, scrambling to their feet and running to the table. They each held one of Narcissa's hands, and with a small 'pop,' they disappeared.

Lucius closed the gap between himself and Voldemort, bent his head and licked the drying blood away. Reaching down, the Dark Lord grasped Lucius' head in his hands and hauled him up unceremoniously. He plundered Lucius' mouth with reckless desire, while pushing his open robe from the pale shoulders to flutter forgotten to the floor.

'Tell me Lucius, is Draco ready?' he asked between kisses, somehow managing to keep the breathlessness he felt out of his voice. He manoeuvred Lucius into a much more appropriate position for what he had in mind.

'Not yet, Master. I fear that school has had adverse effects,' Lucius replied, panting. He was now writhing beneath Voldemort, lying flat on his back on the stone table that Narcissa has previously occupied.

'I am displeased, Lucius. I should punish you. You promised the child to me by his 16th birthday. The birthday, may I remind you, that has just come and gone.' Voldemort bit down hard into Lucius' neck, his canines pricking the skin and bringing blood to the surface.

Lucius gasped against the momentary pain but then moaned as Voldemort licked the tender skin. 'He shall be ready soon, Master,' he promised.

'Will you let him take your place under me? Will he serve to please me as you do? Tell me, will he be my protégé?' Voldemort snaked a hand down to Lucius' opening and with no preparation whatsoever, pushed two fingers past the resistance.

'He will be whatever you wish him to be,' Lucius groaned, his voice breaking. His insides felt as if they were burning, as if Voldemort was trying to rip him in two with his fingers alone. Bringing his own useless hands up, he cradled the Dark Lord's head as he bit a path across his pale chest and moaned at the ceiling.

Head snapping up at the feel of fingers on his bald head, Voldemort narrowed his eyes and removed his fingers from their current position. Slithering up the supine body beneath him, without warning, he slipped into the recently vacated orifice and hissed, 'Remember your place Lucius, you are not to touch me.'

Incoherent now, Lucius could do no more than nod in agreement as the Dark Lord had his way with him.

***

Draco was now shivering uncontrollably, numb fingers gripping his broom handle, more because they had frozen in position than a need to actively hold on. His cheeks stung from the harsh treatment they had received. After leaving the Manor, Draco had flown at break-neck speed towards Hogsmeade, the small non-Muggle town close to Hogwarts. Despite it being August, the night air was cold against his skin as he cut through it at such high velocity.

Absently admiring the pattern of gnats flying along beside him as if they were his guardians, Draco was relieved to see the tiny pinpricks of light in the distance, signalling that he was close to his destination. 'You can go now,' he informed his companions, as if this were a normal occurrence. Draco rather suspected the nights' activities had seeped into his brain, affecting his mental status. Shaking his head to clear the confusing thoughts, he concentrated only on staying upright on his broom long enough to get to Hogwarts. Hogsmeade was closer now; he could make out the spire of the abandoned church at the top of Malady Patch and the lanterns that lined the cobble-stoned streets. Beyond this he could make out the shimmering form of Hogwarts' impressive structure against the dawn-filled sky. Many of the turrets and spires had no lights burning within them; as school was not in session, those areas of the castle were not in use. As he flew on, Draco fancied he could see a single bright light at the top of what he suspected was the North Tower, where Dumbledore's office resided.

Either that or he was hallucinating.

He hoped not.

Slipping slightly, Draco quickly righted himself. He had never flown so long or so hard before and he was beginning to feel the effects. His storm-grey eyes were stinging, as he didn't have his Quidditch goggles on. His hood had long since fallen back from his head, so his ears were burning from the cold while his silver-blond locks whipped along behind him in the wind. His thighs were clenched hard around the broom and were now cramping. His hands, clad only in fingerless gloves, felt like blocks of ice, cramps having come and gone while he had been flying over Manchester. His belly rumbled, desperate for sustenance and his mouth was parched.

'Come on, just a little further, you can do it Malfoy, come ON!' he chanted softly under his breath, encouraging himself through the last leg of his journey. Draco felt like crying with relief as he soared over the lake and entered Hogwarts' grounds. Negotiating his way past the Whomping Willow, Draco flew straight up to the front door. Misjudging the distance slightly, as he was too busy looking back at the Willow and giving it a smirk at having avoided its grasp so effectively, he flew into the door as oppose to up to it. Banging his head sharply on the brass knocker, Draco winced in pain and then slipped from his broom, unconscious. Fortunately for him, he didn't have far to fall, landing on the front steps of the school in an inelegant heap of robes, limbs and broomstick.

***

Harry awoke with a blinding headache, his scar prickling somewhat uncomfortably. His legs were curled underneath him on the window seat and his arms folded on the windowsill to pillow his head. Trapped underneath him on the windowsill was the open book he had been reading the previous night and one of the arms of his glasses. The rest of his glasses were dangling precariously out of the open window. Not realising this, Harry sat up and yawned, stretching his arms. The glasses lost their tenuous grip and slipped, destined for a head-on-collision with the patio directly below Harry's window. Harry stuck his head out of the window and looked after the descending object with dismay; he had no spare pair and was unable to correct his vision with magic until he returned to school. Wincing as he heard the glass break upon impact, Harry sighed in defeat.

Brilliant start to the day, Potter, he congratulated himself. Picking up the still-burning candle next to him, Harry concentrated on the flame; if he looked hard enough he could see images in the bright blue centre. He noticed that his headache and the pain in his scar were getting worse the more he concentrated. Why? With narrowed eyes he remembered the events of last night. Reading book, talking with James, pain in head, in scar... moaning, chanting, burning, unbearable pain, passing out...

Harry contemplated telling someone, but then decided against it. He could see it now:

Dear Harry,

I hope you're all right! That doesn't sound so good. Hang on in there and I'll check my books and get back to you when I can. Telling Dumbledore might be an idea - he might have some answers.

Hermione

Dear Harry

Blimey mate, there's something wrong there. You think You-Know-Who's up to something? We haven't had any news... maybe you should tell Dumbledore?

Ron

Harry,

I'm looking into this as I write. Have you told Dumbledore yet? In the meantime, stay where you are, someone will come get you soon.

Remus

Harry snorted. Fat lot of good they'd be to him and he wasn't up to owling Dumbledore, he still wasn't in the best of moods with the elder wizard. Why Dumbledore had kept such an important prophecy concerning him quiet, he still didn't understand. Dumbledore knew of the visions he was having, he knew what Harry was seeing yet he didn't deem fit to tell him until after Harry had made the biggest mistake of his life, the one that got Sirius killed. In his heart, Harry blamed himself for his Godfather's death. In his head however, he blamed Dumbledore as well.

Pushing these unseemly thoughts aside, Harry blew out the candle, picked up the book and gently unfolded himself from the window seat. He winced as he moved and allowed a few moments for his cramping legs to adjust. Squinting myopically, he stumbled over to his bed, placed the candle and book on his nightstand, made his bed to the best of his ability and grabbed his towel and fresh boxers as he headed to the bathroom. After three attempts at the door handle (for some reason, he could see four of them) Harry entered the bathroom and cleaned himself up. Looking in the mirror, he was greeted by a blurred vision of a long face, slightly pinched from worry, a head of unruly black hair and deep emerald eyes that seemed to be the key to his soul. His scar, the intriguing lightening bolt just above his right eyebrow, was livid red and appeared to be visibly pulsing. Contemplating this view for a moment, Harry focussed on the day's growth covering his lower face. Not wanting to risk cutting his jugular, Harry decided against shaving, something he had started to do regularly over the last few weeks. He left the bathroom stroking his stubble-roughened face, wondering whether it made him look more rugged and manly.

Arriving back in his bedroom clad only in boxers, Harry was greeted by his owl Hedwig, who had returned from her nightly flight. She softly hooted at his entrance as she lapped at her water. There was also what seemed to be a feather ball to Harry's shortsighted eyes in the middle of his bed. Closer examination revealed the feather ball to be Errol, the Weasley family owl. Removing the letter attached to Errol's feet, he carried the wheezing owl to Hedwig's cage and laid him gently down, wetting his beak with some water from Hedwig's bowl. As always, Hedwig hooted indignantly at him for the intrusion.

'Oh don't be like that Hedwig, he's tired. Merlin knows where he's flown from, but somehow I doubt he came from The Burrow,' Harry said bitterly. He was under no illusions; the Weasleys were probably all at Grimmauld Place, sleeping in his rooms, eating in his kitchen, playing in his back garden. He noticed Hedwig was also carrying a letter strapped to her feet. Removing that also, recognising it to be his Hogwarts equipment list for the coming year, he turned to his makeshift desk and placed both letters next to the remains of his glasses that Hedwig must have scooped up from the patio. A quick visit to his trunk (he had not unpacked in the hopes of a quick getaway from Privet Drive) revealed a pair of faded denim jeans and a torn Union Jack t-shirt, both hand-me-downs from Dudley. Pulling them on, he ran his fingers through his hair (why bother with a comb?), pocketed his wand from the nightstand and sat down to read his letters before breakfast. Opening the letter from the Weasleys first, he brought the parchment up close to his eyes and read:

Dear Harry,

Sorry it has taken so long to get the all clear to come and fetch you. We've finally got permission so Arthur, Kingsley, Tonks, Remus and Moody will Apparate into the front room of 4 Privet Drive at about 1pm today. Make sure the room is clear and be ready with your trunk.

See you soon Harry.

Molly Weasley

Finally. Harry had waited so long for the arrival of this letter that he was numb to the news. No feelings of relief assailed him, no frantic need to make sure he had everything. Calmly laying the parchment to one side, he picked up the heavy envelope sealed with the Hogwarts stamp. Breaking the wax seal, Harry withdrew three parchments.

Dear Mr Potter,

The new school year is scheduled to begin on Monday the second of September. The Hogwarts Express will depart from Platform nine and three quarters, Kings Cross Station, London at precisely eleven o'clock that morning. Classes will begin on Wednesday the fifth of September. Please find enclosed the booklist for the upcoming school year and the standard Hogsmeade permission slip for your guardians to sign.

We look forward to seeing you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall.

Deputy Headmistress.

Pulling the booklist to the front of the parchments in his hand, Harry absently noted that he needed Incantations by Royce Bogtrotter, Magical Maladies by Dr Igor Stonewall, Advanced Transfiguration by Melinda Whizzpot, Mastering The Dark Arts: A Practical Guide by Romulus Quiffle and Magical Alchemy by Cobalt Ice. He had shocked even himself when his OWL results had come through in late July; somehow he had managed to achieve four O's, two E's, two A's and one P, with one of the O's being Potions. The P was for History of Magic. Harry considered himself fortunate that he hadn't received a T after having left out so many questions and then collapsing after a false vision had assailed him.

For his NEWTs, Harry was taking the subjects McGonagall had suggested in careers advice last year: Advanced Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Advanced Transfigurations, as well as the new subject Magical Healing. Absently, he wondered what Ron and Hermione had decided to do, hoping that he would at least have Hermione's company for Advanced Potions, as he doubted he'd make it through the next two years in Snape's class alone.

Dropping the booklist and letter on top of Mrs Weasley's parchment, Harry placed the Hogsmeade permission slip on his bed and went about gathering up his stuff, dumping it with the rest in his open trunk. A quick hunt under the bed revealed his broomstick servicing kit - where he had kicked it one evening and hadn't bothered to retrieve it - and a pair of missing socks. Adding these to the mess in his trunk, Harry glanced around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Satisfied, he closed the lid and lovingly placed his Firebolt on top, as if it was his last tangible link with Sirius. He left Hedwig's cage open for the time being - he didn't think his owl would take too kindly at being imprisoned alongside Errol so early. There was still a good three hours before his entourage were due to arrive anyway.

Picking up the Hogsmeade slip, Harry left his room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, going slowly as everything was a giant technicolour blur without his glasses to aid him. Making doubly sure his wand was covered he entered the kitchen to find Aunt Petunia slicing thick chunks of banana into porridge - apparently the best start of the day for a Junior Heavyweight Champion and therefore the best start of the day for all the occupants at number four Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon was sitting at his usual spot at the head of the table reading The Sunday Times and Dudley was sitting in his usual spot devouring the entertainment guide that came as a supplement in the weekend paper. No doubt, he was planning his week around the TV schedule. No one acknowledged Harry's entrance and Harry did not draw attention to himself. There was no need to start things on the wrong foot when he needed his uncle to sign his permission slip after all.

Silently, Harry made his way over to the cabinet where the cereal bowls were kept and withdrew four from within. Picking up some spoons from the cutlery draw, he placed the bowls on each placemat at the table, ready for Aunt Petunia to dish out the porridge. Sliding into his seat quietly, Harry decided to wait for the opportune moment to bring up the arrival of his guests later on today.

Said moment arrived only minutes later.

'So boy, how much longer are we to be inflicted with your presence? You're usually long gone by this point.' Uncle Vernon remarked as he folded his paper and placed it to one side once Aunt Petunia had served his porridge. 'Your friends don't want to know you anymore? Can't say I blame them really,' he added snidely.

Dudley snickered into his porridge. Harry glowered at his cousin but otherwise ignored him in favour of choosing the correct words with which to reply to Uncle Vernon.

'My friends, from the train station? The ones that you met? They're coming to collect me today, Uncle Vernon.' Harry stressed the word 'friends'.

Vernon spluttered into a spoonful of porridge, sending droplets sailing over the table, some catching Harry in the face. 'Today? And you only saw fit to tell us this now?'

'I only found out myself this morning. They'll be Apparating into the living room at one o'clock,' Harry informed him, wiping the porridge from his cheek.

'They'll be what?'

'Apparating. It's like in Star Trek - Beam me up Scotty - you disappear in one place and appear at your destination almost instantaneously. Anyway, they'll be here at one, so I need you to sign this permission slip before they arrive.' Harry finished his sentence hurriedly, hoping Uncle Vernon wouldn't blow up at the thought of Apparating wizards. He pushed the slip he had been holding all this time towards his uncle.

Vernon goggled at his nephew. 'You can do such a thing? I hope you haven't been doing it in this house! There will be none of your nonsense here, nor will there be any of your kind here either!' Uncle Vernon's face was as red as a tomato.

'Hush Vernon! The windows are open,' shrieked Aunt Petunia. Vernon ignored her.

Harry didn't want to get into the particulars of Apparating as that would mean admitting he couldn't do it yet. He didn't want to admit it for two reasons: one, the look on Uncle Vernon's face as he imagined the horror of his nephew appearing out of thin air before him and two, he had no doubt that Uncle Vernon would twist his inability to Apparate into a short-coming. Harry pondered his situation for a moment and then he sighed theatrically.

'I can stop them from coming, if you want, but it means I won't be able to leave and I'll be stuck here all year.' He figured that threat ought to change Uncle Vernon's tune pretty quickly.

'Oh, er, all right then. One o'clock you say? We'll be out, er, doing the weekly shop at that time. We'll be so sorry to miss them, won't we Petunia?' Harry's aunt nodded so fervently that he thought her bony neck would snap if she kept it up any longer. 'Another time eh?' Uncle Vernon continued, chuckling nervously. He still recalled Moody's warning.

Harry smiled knowingly - grocery shopping day in the Dursley household was Friday, not Sunday. Pushing the permission slip towards Vernon once more, he said 'and you'll sign my slip before you go, yes? I'd hate to think how upset they'd be if they found out you hadn't granted me permission to go to Hogsmeade.' Harry knew he was pressing his luck, but from the way Uncle Vernon was fidgeting, he figured he hadn't crossed the line yet.

'Yes! Yes of course I will!' Quickly, Vernon dug a pen out of his shirt pocket and looped his signature across the bottom of the parchment, thrusting it back at Harry.

Perfect, thought Harry, pleased with himself for playing Uncle Vernon like a finely tuned instrument. Standing up and leaving his cold, congealing porridge untouched, he announced: 'Well, I'll be taking my leave of you all then. I would say it's been a pleasure... but it hasn't. Goodbye.' Sharply exiting the kitchen before Uncle Vernon got it into his head to revoke his Hogsmeade privileges for his rudeness, Harry snickered all the way up the stairs. Unfortunately, that meant he was less cautious as to where he placed his feet and he stumbled up the last few steps, banging his shins along the way. At least I didn't ruin my grand exit! Harry thought ruefully, nursing his bruised legs.

With nothing to do for the next two and a half hours, Harry lay on his bed with James and the Giant Peach, picking up from where he had left off the night before.

They never called him [James] by his real name, but always referred to him as 'you disgusting little beast' or 'you filthy nuisance' or 'you miserable creature', and they certainly never gave him any toys to play with or any picture books to look at. His room was as bare as a prison cell.

'Yeah, I got the names too. And the lack of toys - well, functioning ones anyway. But at least you got a room, until my Hogwarts letter I had the cupboard under the stairs.' Harry was developing a strange bond with James, empathising with him, seeing as he was in a similar position himself.

They lived - Aunt Sponge, Aunt Spiker, and now James as well - in a queer ramshackle house on the top of a hill in the South of England.

'Oooh cool house. 'Queer ramshackle.' Better than boring and common any day. I bet there's loads of hidden rooms.'

The hill was so high that from almost anywhere in the garden James could look down and see miles and miles across a marvellous landscape of woods and fields;-

'Cool! I get to see-,' Harry gestured to his window, '-Suburbia.'

-and on a very clear day, if he looked in the right direction, he could see a tiny grey dot far away on the horizon, which was the house that he used to live in with his beloved mother and father. And just beyond that, he could see the ocean itself - a long thin streak of blackish-blue, like a line of ink, beneath the rim of the sky.

'You sure, James? That the small grey dot is definitely your old house? Odds are very little, after all your house can't have been the only one on the ocean front...'

But James was never allowed to go down off the top of the hill.

'Bummer.'

Neither Aunt Sponge or Aunt Spiker could ever be bothered to take him out herself, not even for a small walk or a picnic, and he certainly wasn't permitted to go alone.

'Bites, don't it? We're like caged pets. Maybe we should write to the society against animal cruelty...' Harry mused.

'The nasty beast will only get into mischief if he goes out of the garden,' Aunt Spiker had said. And terrible punishments were promised him, such as being locked up in the cellar with the rats for a week, if he even as much dared to climb over the fence.

'Mustn't let Uncle Vernon get this book,' Harry said with a yawn. His lack of sleep was catching up to him. 'He'd have a rat-infested cellar purpose-built just to put me in it.'

The garden, which covered the whole of the top of the hill -

Harry could read no more, as he had fallen sound asleep, the book falling from his limp fingers to rest on his chest.

***

Two hours later, Harry was awoken by the sound of the front door slamming, indicating the Dursley's hasty departure before Harry's guards arrived. He heard the car start and pull out of the driveway, signalling the all clear. Stretching hugely, Harry picked the book up from where it had fallen and placed it on his nightstand once more. A quick squint at the alarm clock on it informed Harry that he had five minutes before the troupe arrived. Rising from the bed, Harry smoothed his hands over his rumpled clothes and contemplated hauling his trunk downstairs. Deciding against it without his glasses, he called softly to Hedwig to get back in her cage so he could close the door. Picking up his Firebolt and the birdcage, Harry made his way slowly downstairs once more. After grabbing a quick drink from the fridge, Harry sat down on the sofa in the front room to wait.

A few minutes later, with a quick succession of *pop*'s, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks and Arthur Weasley appeared in front of him.

'Howzer Harry!' greeted Tonks. Harry arched one eyebrow, or at least tried to. Her hair was shocking pink, arranged in lethal looking spikes all over her head. The others gave her a wide berth so as not to be fatally stabbed by them.

'Ooh a tele-fission!' remarked Mr Weasley, by way of a greeting. He had Apparated facing the opposite direction to everyone else and so had been greeted by the front window and television set. 'Brilliant! Oh, hello there Harry, been waiting long?'

'Hello, all. Glad to see you've remembered to collect me at last.' Harry greeted them sarcastically. He wasn't going to make this easy on them. 'Where's Kingsley?'

Remus arched an eyebrow, a better attempt than Harry's. 'Hello to you too Harry. Kingsley got an urgent owl calling him back to the Ministry. Isn't the sarcasm a bit unfair? We've been trying-'

'No, no, the boy's got every right to be annoyed, Remus. We did say we'd try and get him away as soon as possible,' interjected Moody, his glass eye rotating madly in its socket.

At Moody's words the fight left Harry temporarily. Deciding to take up the issue at a much more convenient time, he got up from the sofa and turned to go upstairs. 'I need some help with my trunk.'

'I'll help!' volunteered Tonks, following him from the room. 'Nice to see some things don't change. These Muggles still as clean as ever, I see? Oh hey! They've redecorated! I must say, the landing looks much better now, much more light -' Tonks continued her conversation with herself, not realising that Harry wasn't interested in the slightest.

'- your room got a new lick of paint as well? Yeah, blue looks plenty better than that ghastly green you had before -' she stopped her monologue long enough to ask Harry if he had everything. Glancing quickly around his room, Harry retrieved his book from the nightstand and stuffed it into his back pocket, grabbed his letters from the desk and put them in the other pocket alongside his wand. Lastly, he picked up the pieces of his glasses and stared at them, wondering what he should do.

'- Was the whole house re-done? The floor looks nice and shiny too - what 'ya got there Harry? Oh they're a gonner, let me just correct your vision then, eh? Visus correcto! But I say Harry, you have the best view from your window -'

'Thanks,' muttered Harry as he blinked a few times to adjust to being able to see again. He didn't want to get rid of his glasses, his face felt somewhat naked without them, but he really didn't have much of a choice. Absently, he wondered if Tonks had heard him as she rhapsodised about anything and everything under the sun.

'- sycamore trees are my absolute favourite. Is that your trunk? Locomoter trunk! I love those little white flowers in your garden as well; they have the nicest smell. I should ask Molly if she knows a way to bottle it into perfume -' Tonks continued as she led his trunk down the stairs, her wand held out and guiding it along its way. Harry had the oddest sense of déjà vu... until he remembered this exact scene had also occurred last summer also. Following silently behind the still chatting Tonks, they returned to the living room where the others were patiently waiting.

'I see you still wish to loose a buttock Harry. For Merlin's sake invest in a holster!' chastised Moody as he noted Harry's wand in his back jeans pocket. 'Got everything?' Harry nodded. 'Right, this is going to be tricky. We can't risk Floo or Portkey and we certainly can't fly without the cover of darkness so we're going to have to try a double Apparition. You ever done one of them before Harry?' Harry shook his head. 'Shouldn't be too difficult. Remus and Arthur will go ahead with your things and send us the all clear and then Tonks and I will Apparate at the exact same moment while holding you. Hopefully we'll arrive all together at our destination.'

'Piece of cake then,' remarked Harry dryly. He could just imagine Tonks or Moody getting the timing wrong and splinchingim in the process. Pushing that all-too-easy image aside, Harry asked, 'What's the signal?'

Moody withdrew a small white crystal from his pocket. 'If it's safe, then Remus, who also has one of these crystals...' (Remus held his up between thumb and forefinger) '...will tap twice against the stone. My crystal will respond by turning green. If it isn't safe then it'll either stay white until Remus taps it twice or, if he can, he'll tap it once and it'll turn red. Got it?' Harry nodded. 'Right. Ready?' Moody asked the congregation in general as he turned to look at his fellow travellers.

'Arthur! Tonks!' Moody barked. While he had been explaining to Harry how the signalling crystals worked, Mr Weasley had crouched down on his hands and knees and was peering with great interest behind the TV and video while fingering the joining cables muttering to himself. Tonks was busy sniffing the flowers in the crystal vase on the windowsill. She jumped in the air when Moody called, causing the vase to slip between her fingers and hit the floor with a resounding crash, the vase splintering into tiny pieces on the wood laminate, water seeping between the cracks.

'Oh no! Moody! Why'd ya do that for?' Tonks exclaimed. 'Jeez! You know how jumpy I can get! Reparo!' The vase flew back together and resumed its rightful place on the windowsill. 'Dispellis aqua!' The spilt water disappeared. 'Floreal!' The flowers zoomed back into the vase, which was now beginning to re-fill with water.

Harry looked at Remus in amusement and they both had to stifle a laugh at the guilty look on Mr Weasley's face and the annoyed look on Tonks'. Moody merely rolled his eyes (both of them) and sent the transgressors a look that clearly said well get on with it then!

'Right, well, er, that's my cue. Harry, see you shortly.' Mr Weasley picked up one handle of Harry's trunk and Disapparated.

Remus pocketed his crystal and grasped Harry's Firebolt and Hedwig's cage. 'See you on the other side!' he said and also Disapparated.

Moody and Tonks came to stand on either side of Harry, each resting one hand on his shoulder. They all stared at the crystal, waiting the few tense seconds for the crystal to turn from white to green.

'There's the signal,' confirmed Moody. 'OK Tonks, on my count. Three...two...one -'

Harry felt a slight tugging at his body; something akin to the feel of portkey travel... and then it was all over. He was standing in an alleyway, Moody's and Tonks' hands still on his shoulders. He let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Looking around, he wondered exactly where they had brought him. At the mouth of the alleyway he could see Mr Weasley and Remus standing with his stuff, obviously trying to distract anyone from entering the narrow lane.

'Right, Harry, I'm going to have to cast the Disillusionment Charm on you again, there's a short walk from where we are - Mordone Way - to Grimmauld Place. Wouldn't want you to be sighted now would we?' Moody pulled out his wand and tapped Harry on the head. Once again, the feeling of cold, raw egg sliding down his back caused Harry to shiver. Tonks nodded shortly at his appearance and began walking towards the two wizards at the top of the alley, Harry and Moody a short distance behind. By unspoken agreement the four Order members surrounded Harry from all sides as they emerged into the daylight. Walking briskly, the Order members carried out hushed conversation between themselves, but Harry was silent. They made their way up the small side street and turned left into Grimmauld Place, Remus and Moody carrying Harry's trunk, Mr Weasley carrying the birdcage and Firebolt. Concentrating on the thought the Order of the Phoenix can be found at 12 Grimmauld Place Harry noted the appearance of Siri- his house between numbers eleven and thirteen. Walking up to the front door, Moody repeated the unlocking sequence he had performed last year, though Harry didn't see the point. Mrs Black was probably awake anyway, judging by the cacophony of muted sound that could be heard through the thick oak door.

Ushered in quickly, Harry was greeted by a huge banner proclaiming Welcome Home Harry! and what seemed like a dozen or so Weasleys and Order members alongside Hermione, all waving at him from various corners of the hallway. Tapping his wand to Harry's head once more, Moody lifted the Disillusionment charm, leaving Harry with the feeling of being soaked with hot water, while Remus spelled Harry's belongings to his room. The four guards then joined the rest of the gathering before him.

'Hiya Harry!' greeted Ron, while Hermione ran up to him to envelop him in a crushing hug. Hugging her back briefly, Harry stepped away quickly and critically eyeballed the scene before him.

'Oh how very quaint.'

***

Draco groaned, a hand automatically reaching up into his fine hair to clutch at his head. Noting the rather impressive bump that had developed there, he searched his memory for the offending incident.

Nothing came to mind.

Come to think of it, why was his bed so hard? He had a waterbed, complete with phoenix-down duvet and pillows. The bed he was lying on was definitely not a waterbed complete with phoenix-down duvet and pillows. And he was wearing cotton? Why was he wearing cotton? Absently scratching his stomach where the offending material resided, Draco cracked one eye open.

Merlin's balls! What was he doing in the Hogwarts Infirmary? I must have died and got sent directly to hell. Wait, it appeared to be empty - no simpering Slytherins checking to see if he was all right (he still couldn't recall why he was here), no scheming Gryffindors trying to make him feel worse than he already was. Great, they didn't know what to do with me; I got landed in Purgatory instead.

Cracking the other eye open, Draco found to his intense displeasure that the Infirmary was not empty: the Headmaster was sitting in a comfy chintz chair just off to his right, absently flicking through an upside-down copy of the Daily Prophet. Nope, I am in hell, in fact, it's my own personal hell. No doubt Harry freaking Potter will come bounding round the corner any moment now.

'Ah, Mister Malfoy, you're awake.' Dumbledore remarked, peering over the newspaper in his hands.

'So it would seem,' croaked Draco. 'What am I doing here?' His voice felt rough and disused. He tried to sit up but Dumbledore put paid to that idea.

'No, no dear boy, Madam Pomfrey'll have my head if she comes back to see you sitting up. Here, drink this.' Dumbledore handed him a steaming goblet. Eyeing it suspiciously, Draco took a cautious sniff at its contents. Dumbledore chuckled. 'There is nothing untoward I assure you, merely a potion to increase your strength, since you have been unconscious for the last three days. It was prepared by Professor Snape himself.'

'Snape? He's here?' Draco was still unsure.

'Why yes, I believe he's on his way to see you as we speak.' Behind his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore's eyes gave a knowing twinkle. The door to the infirmary opened, admitting the man himself. 'Ah yes, as I was saying. Welcome Severus, our guest has awoken. I'll take my leave of you now Mister Malfoy, I shall be back to check on you soon.' With that, Dumbledore exited the room, purple star-covered robes flowing out behind him.

'Headmaster.' Snape came to a halt at the foot of Draco's bed and nodded at Dumbledore as he passed. 'Well Mister Malfoy?' He said by way of greeting.

'Well what?' Draco glared at his Head of House over the rim of his goblet.

'Well, why did you feel the need to fly all the way to school in the middle of the night one week before school is due to start again? Arrive early to give the elves your own personal brand of hell, perhaps?' Snape drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. As usual, he was bedecked in black, his hair hanging greasily at the sides of his face.

Draco was baffled. 'What are you talking about? I didn't fly here, what a preposterous idea! You snatched me while I was sleeping!'

Snape let out a short bark of laughter. 'Really. And pray tell, why I would wish to do such a thing, hmm?'

'How am I meant to know! The last thing I remember was getting ready for bed after that dinner party of Father's, I was required to attend, all of his... er... associates were there -' Draco scrunched up his nose in memory. 'Come to think of it, you weren't there. Why weren't you there?' Draco turned an accusing eye on Snape. 'Off planning my kidnap I suspect?'

'I was not there, Mister Malfoy, as I was not invited! I had no idea your father had a soiree planned three nights ago. In fact, I was under the distinct impression your father was in Azkaban!' Snape was getting quite annoyed.

Draco coloured at Snape's words. 'Er... well, yeah... wait, three nights past? No, it was last night...' Draco trailed off. 'How long have I been here?'

'Well, we found you on the front steps early on Sunday morning. As it's now Tuesday, I repeat, you have been here for three days. What we don't know is why.'

'Front steps? Sunday morning?'

'Is there an echo in here Mister Malfoy? Yes, you were unconscious, wrapped in your travelling cloak. Your trunk was shrunk in one pocket and your broom underneath you. We could only assume you had decided to arrive back at school a week early.' Snape began to suspect other forces were at work here; Draco genuinely seemed not to know why he was here.

'But why?' A confused look crossed Draco's face.

'That's what we hoped you might tell us.' Snape said in a much gentler tone than he had been using.

'I don't know!' Draco's voice became rather shrill. Why couldn't he remember? The more he thought about it, the more he sensed something missing... something he couldn't quite put his finger on... 'There's something...,' he began.

'Yes?' prompted Snape.

'Morgana's tits, I can't remember! There's something there, it feels like I should know something, something important but I can't quite work out what...' Draco had quite forgotten the presence of his professor as he concentrated hard.

Snape narrowed his eyes. 'Concerning your Father?'

'Yes! Maybe... and something else... oh it's useless, I have no idea! What's happening to me? What have you done? It was that potion wasn't it!' Draco became quite hysterical.

'Mister Malfoy, for the love of Merlin think! Why would I sabotage your potion?' Snape felt like they had arrived back at square one.

Draco pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Taking a few deep, calming breaths he spoke again, this time with a much more controlled tone. 'Professor, please. I don't recall anything from about midnight on Saturday night, when I was safe in my own home getting ready for bed. Now, I have woken up in the Hogwarts Infirmary no less, with nothing but your word that I flew here overnight of my own accord three days ago and have been unconscious ever since. Do excuse me if I question this situation somewhat.'

Snape smirked. Now there was the Draco Malfoy they all knew and ...well, knew.

The door to the Infirmary opened once more, admitting Madam Pomfrey with Dumbledore in tow. Looking sharply from Snape standing with his arms crossed at the foot of Draco's bed smirking, to Draco lying with his hands pressed to his eyes, Madam Pomfrey clucked in annoyance. 'Professor Snape, please do not distress poor Mister Malfoy, he knocked his head very badly. Mister Malfoy, have you had your chocolate yet?'

Draco lowered his hands and muttered in the negative.

'No? But you must! Here, have this.' Madam Pomfrey crossed to his bedside, shoved two slabs of chocolate in his hands and another in his mouth. Choking slightly, Draco spat the offending confectionary out into his already chocolate-full hands and glared at the matron. 'No use giving me that look boy, you need your chocolate and your bed rest. Goodness knows how long you had been lying on those steps before we found you! Now eat up!' she admonished him.

'Now now, Poppy. Mister Malfoy will eat the chocolate in his own time-,' began Dumbledore.

'Draco,' muttered Draco.

'Sorry?'

'Call me Draco, Sir. 'Mister Malfoy' sounds too much like my Father,' Draco requested, raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's.

'Very well. Draco, we have yet to inform your Mother of your presence here. We wanted to ask you why you had decided to come first, just in case. Is there any reason why we shouldn't inform her?' Dumbledore queried, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes absent for once.

Draco thought about the question. If he said yes then he'd be stuck here. If he said no then he'd be sent home, back to his Father. Draco opted for the lesser of the two evils. 'All in all, I have no recollection of my journey here. In fact, I recall nothing from Saturday night. I do feel as if I'm missing something of great importance, involving yourself maybe...'

'Yes?'

'...But I can't recall what.' The adults exchanged a look.

'Professor Dumbledore, a word?' Snape asked. He drew Dumbledore to one side and proceeded to tell him in hushed tones the conversation that had just passed between Draco and himself. Dumbledore ushered Madam Pomfrey over and they continued to whisper between themselves. Draco broke out in a nervous sweat. That can't be good.

'You are sure you cannot recall anything that happened between your going to sleep on Saturday night and your waking here this morning?' Dumbledore asked, a few minutes later.

'Yes! How many times must I go over this?' Draco burst.

'Mister Malfoy!' Madam Pomfrey said sharply.

'Sorry' muttered Draco. He was silent for a few moments and then: 'Maybe an Obliviate has been cast on me?'

'No. For one, you can't recall anything from going to sleep then and waking up now. In that case, Obliviate would have had to be cast after you reached the school and I can assure you no one here has done such a thing. Also, there is nothing magically wrong with you. We checked for hexes and charms of such sort upon your arrival.' Snape squashed the rising hope.

'Then what is wrong with me?'

There were a few moments of tense silence.

'We believe you are suffering from shock-induced amnesia.'

***