Disappear

The swirling came to a stop and Harry's feet faltered, but the two Deatheaters' tight grips on his arms kept him from tripping over. He looked around, panicked. They were in a dark corridor, torches burning at the walls. It was very similar to the dark room Harry had been in as Voldemort, in numerous visions.

Voldemort had found him. He was being taken to some secret lair. He didn't see how he was ever going to get out of this.

"Listen, Malfoy," said Harry desperately. "You don't want to do this. Think about it. If-if you let me go, I'll make sure no-one finds out that you're a Deatheater. You-you could just go back to Hogwarts."

Malfoy kept on walking, dragging Harry along, but gave him a very funny look. "Are you alright Harry?" he said, his voice almost sounding concerned.

"What? No-no! Of course I'm not all right! I'm being taken to see Voldemort and he's probably going to kill me and …" Harry's voice trailed off and he stopped still. His scar was beginning to burn. The Deatheater on his other side tugged his arm impatiently.

Harry took a deep shuddering breath. "Is that-is Voldemort here?"

"Yeah," Malfoy said offhandedly. "He wants to see you. Wants to see how you survived."

In a panic Harry grabbed hold of Malfoy's arm, shaking the other Deatheater's hand off. "Malfoy. I know you don't like me very much," he said, tripping over his words in his haste, "but please, please don't send me in there. You don't know what he'll do to me. Malfoy, please! He'll - he'll kill me! I know he will!"

Looking very worried now, Malfoy grabbed hold of Harry again and started walking him down the dark corridor again. "You shouldn't be worried," said Malfoy, trying to calm Harry, who was dragging his feet. "The Dark Lord isn't angry at you for disappearing, he's just pleased that you're back."

"No-no," said Harry desperately, his scar burning more with every step. He tried to fight off Malfoy and the other Deatheater, but they just held all the more tighter. Harry's scar started to burn all the more, and Harry was starting to feel a glimmer of anticipation, but whether from Voldemort or himself he didn't know.

He was getting closer. He knew it. He was getting closer to that dark room from his visions and Voldemort would be there. Voldemort would be there, and there would be no escape. There would be no one to help him this time.

I'm not ready! He thought with dread. I haven't been trained - I can't face him now. He'll kill me!

"Malfoy! Malfoy!" he yelled, trying to break free of the Deatheater's grip. "Please don't do this Malfoy," he begged, near to tears, partly from his scar and partly from pure fear. "Let me go! Please!"

"Harry!" Malfoy hissed in his ear. "Shut up, will you! The other Deatheaters are getting suspicious."

"Let me go!"

Harry made one final effort to free himself when he was suddenly shoved into a tiny room on his left. It was pitch black apart from a tiny candle attached to a bracket on the wall. He glanced behind him and the door slammed shut. His scar felt like it was on fire and he was drenched in sweat and shaking. There was sudden movement from the darkness in front of him and Harry jumped.

"Who-who's th-there?" he said, his voice shaking so much it was hard to get the words out.

"No one you need be worried about," came the reply.

Harry's shaking increased tenfold. Despite the voice's assurances he felt there was something to be worried about. The burning in his scar was increasing; it felt like poison was running through his head. He had a bad feeling about this.

When the figure stepping into the puddle of light created by the one candle Harry reacted so fast he didn't even realise what had happened. He scuttled backwards and slammed into the wall behind him. It was Voldemort.

"Now Harry," Voldemort said. "There's no need to be frightened … yet. My spies at the Ministry informed me that you had been captured. And I was wondering … how did you manage to escape the fire … did you make some sort of deal with the Ministry of Magic?"

"I-I haven't done anything."

"Did the Ministry do something to you?" Voldemort stepped forward and Harry edged further into the wall, his legs scraping uselessly against the ground in an effort to keep away from Voldemort. Harry shook his head.

"Don't lie to me Harry," said Voldemort menacingly. He stepped closer again and crouched down on the floor so that he was eye to eye with Harry. "I can see you've been injured … this scar on your forehead, for example," and one of his bony fingers reached out and touched Harry on his scar.

That was too much for Harry. His scar burst with pain and he screamed. Shocked, Voldemort jumped back but quickly regained control. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and started to shake him.

Harry tried desperately to push Voldemort away from him. He felt like he was going to die, being so close to the source of his pain. The hands let go of him and he was pushed onto the ground, but he couldn't stop screaming. He could feel Voldemort's anger flowing across him like heat.

Angrily, Voldemort strode over to the door and flung it open. "Draco!" he yelled.

Malfoy came running in a second later. "My lord?" he inquired, swiftly falling to one knee, glancing uneasily at Harry, who was writhing and screaming on the floor.

"The Ministry has obviously put Harry under some curse," said Voldemort angrily. "I cannot go near him without causing him pain. Find out what is wrong with him."

Voldemort stepped back a couple of metres until Harry stopped screaming. He struggled to control his breathing. It hurt so much, being this close to Voldemort, but he was far enough away, for Harry to stop himself screaming.

"Harry?"

It was Malfoy. He squatted down next to Harry and awkwardly brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead. An involuntary spasm went through Harry. No one except Voldemort had ever touched his scar before.

"Does it hurt when the Dark Lord is near you?" said Malfoy, and he grabbed Harry around his arms and pulled him up.

Harry nodded. He could barely stand and had to lean on Malfoy for support.

"Where does it hurt?"

Harry couldn't answer. He just put a shaking hand to his scar and rubbed it, trying to stop the pain. Voldemort made the connection quicker than Malfoy.

"Is it that scar on your forehead?" he said urgently and stepped forward.

The pain hit Harry before he could react. He screamed and pushed himself away from Malfoy. Luckily, the pain didn't last long until it had stopped. Obviously Voldemort had stepped away. Harry tried to pull himself to his feet but found his arms were too weak. Funny choking sounds were coming from his mouth. It took Harry a while to realise that he was sobbing.

"Take Harry to a secure room," Voldemort was saying. "I will contact my Ministry spies to find out what curse they have put him under."

The next second Harry was lifted off the ground with a charm, his feet dangling above the floor and levitated out of the room. Red dots were swirling in front of his eyes and Harry could barely register what was happening.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on a very comfortable double bed.

Harry blinked once or twice, staring at the ceiling. This was strange. Had he died and gone to heaven?

He sat up quickly and looked around him in astonishment. He was in a huge ornately decorated room. The walls were painted a deep blue and the furniture, including the double bed he was lying on, all seemed to be rimmed with gold.

Well. This wasn't what Harry had expected. He got up and walked over to one of the doors and opened it. There appeared to be a bathroom through there, also ornately decorated with gold rimming. Warily, Harry looked around the rest of the room. His eyes lit upon a wardrobe and he hurriedly opened it. Most of the robes in there were black and Harry put one over his Muggle clothes gratefully. He also selected a white Deatheater mask. There. He was perfectly camouflaged.

He stared at himself in the mirror, feeling very strange to be dressed as a Deatheater and walked over to the other door, an iron one which looked very much locked.

Harry tried to open it anyway, but it didn't move. Feeling panicked at the thought of being trapped in this strange room he slammed his fists against the door, alternately pulling and pushing at the door handle. Fear was rising up in him. Was this some sort of game of Voldemort's? Keeping him in here until he went insane?

As Harry's panic reached fever pitch the door suddenly gave a click and swung smoothly open. He stared at it in astonishment. Had he done that? Harry didn't bother to figure it out though, just grateful to be free.

He stepped out into the dark passageway and found he couldn't see for a second, having become used to the brightness in the room. Carefully, Harry shut the door to his room and started down the left, narrowing his eyes to see better.

He didn't really have a clue where he was going and he was starting to feel worried. None of the Deatheaters he had passed had noticed anything but hardly any of them were wearing masks, and it would be only so long until someone noticed he was missing.

Follow a wall, he thought. When you're lost you should always follow a wall.

He turned left and started to follow a wall and whether from luck, or the wall idea he soon reached a large room containing a fireplace. He glanced at it quickly and saw to his relief that there was floo powder above it.

He crossed the room quickly and grabbed some floo powder. The fire flared up automatically and Harry threw the floo powder in. He was just about jump in the fire when a sharp voice stopped him.

"What are you doing?"

Harry spun around quickly. Malfoy was standing there, staring in puzzlement at him.

"What are you doing?" he said again. "No one's allowed to leave until the next morning except the Ministry spies, and I know for a fact that they've all gone."

Harry's mind raced. "Er-I've been appointed a secret mission by Vol-the Dark Lord just now," he said, cringing inside his mask. Couldn't he have thought of anything better than that?

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I haven't heard anything about that."

"That's because it's a secret mission," Harry offered.

"The Dark Lord does not - wait, is that you, Harry?" Malfoy said, staring intently at Harry.

"No," said Harry quickly. "I'm just a normal Deatheater … er, kill all Mudbloods and all that."

Malfoy laughed. "You can't fool me Harry, I recognise your voice. Come on. I've got to take you back to your room. The Dark Lord said you're not allowed to leave," and he gestured for Harry to follow him.

Harry stared at Malfoy in amazement (Did he actually think that would work?), before instinct kicked in and he ran at Malfoy, punching him and throwing him to the ground.

"What the-?"

Harry ignored Malfoy's exclamation and concentrated on trying to grab his wand. Malfoy fought back, trying to kick Harry away.

"Get off Harry! What do you think you're doing?"

Feeling he wasn't going to be able to get Malfoy's wand, Harry punched him squarely in the nose and ran over to the fireplace. He jumped in and yelled "The Leaky Cauldron!" before the room swirled away.

*

Harry Potter Lives!

Emmeline Vance scanned the article in distaste. The bumbling Minister messing up things as usual, letting Harry Potter escape. She was slightly worried about the claims that he was insane though. He had been very difficult to fight against before the fire, but if he was insane they wouldn't be able to predict what he would do.

She sighed. Lily and James would be really hurt by this news. They had planned to let Potter join the Order of the Phoenix when he was older and his betrayal had affected them greatly. It would be even worse for them if Potter really was insane.

The fire in the corner flared briefly and Emmeline glanced over in disinterest. What she wasn't prepared for; was a Deatheater stepping out of the flames. Actually, tripped and fell would be the correct term.

The young man got to his feet and everyone in the pub froze when they saw his white mask. Don't do anything, Emmeline said to herself. Don't do anything unless he attacks.

The Deatheater didn't seem like he was going to attack anyone though. He looked around, obviously surprised at the looks he was getting before saying, "Oh right, the mask," and pulled it off.

Emmeline found herself staring at the smiling face of Harry Potter.

"Don't worry," he said, still grinning at the silent pub. "I'm not really a Deatheater."

These strange words galvanised Emmeline into action. She jumped up and fired a stunning curse at a surprised Harry Potter, who dodged quickly under a table. Emmeline approached the table warily; not knowing what Potter was capable of. But before she could reach him she was distracted by the fire flaring and another man stepping out.

Draco Malfoy, suspected Deatheater.

Malfoy didn't seem particularly concerned with anyone else in the pub so Emmeline Vance's fears of a Deatheater raid were quashed instantly. His pale eyes scanned the room quickly before seeing Potter hiding behind the table.

"Harry!" he yelled.

Potter glanced up, saw Malfoy and jumped up and ran. Malfoy fired a stunning curse and Potter dodged it and ran out of the door leading to Muggle London.

And just as suddenly as they had arrived, the two teenagers were gone.

Emmeline considered chasing after them but knew she wouldn't get very far. She sank into her chair. The rest of the pub broke out into excited whispers. That, Emmeline decided, was the strangest thing she'd every seen. It was quite obvious that Potter was mad just from the sight of him grinning. Dumbledore would have to be told. As would the Order. This was bad. They didn't just have Potter on the loose, but an insane Potter. One who smiled.

*

Harry sprinted down the Muggle pavement. He figured Muggle London was safer, since every witch and wizard seemed to want him dead.

He could hear Malfoy behind him. Harry was a fast runner, but it sounded as though Malfoy was just as fast. His Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he swerved to the left, avoiding the ray of red light.

"Get lost Malfoy!" he yelled over his shoulder and he ran across the busy road, ignoring the hoots from the angry drivers. Malfoy should have more difficulty getting across, since he's probably never seen a car before, he thought.

He had to find somewhere to hide. He couldn't run for much longer. His first thought was the Ministry, but he quickly scratched that idea. They were the ones who had put him in a cell in the first place. He would have gone to Hogwarts, but he didn't know if the train went there any time other than the start of school. And he couldn't call the Knight Bus without his wand. He was going to have to think of a plan soon though.

A curse suddenly hit Harry and he tripped, tumbling over and over. A bloody trip jinx, he thought in annoyance. Figures I'd have to be caught by that one again. Harry rolled over once more until he came to a stop flat on his stomach, momentarily dazed. He lifted his head and looked ahead.

There was a hotdog stand further up the street. Harry squinted at it. A man there was chopping onions with a knife. Chopping. Knife.

Harry jumped up suddenly and put on an extra burst of speed and reached the stall. He grabbed the knife from the man who was too surprised to do anything and skidded around the next corner into a deserted alleyway. He leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath.

Malfoy skidded around the corner a second later, only to find himself confronted with the knife Harry had grabbed just before. Malfoy leaned back slightly to avoid impaling himself in the throat.

"Give me your wand," said Harry shakily.

Malfoy just stood there. "I'm not going to hurt you Harry," he said, holding up his hands. "What's the matter? Why did you run away?"

"Give me your wand Malfoy," Harry repeated. He moved the knife closer to Malfoy's throat.

Malfoy eyed the knife cautiously. He wasn't a coward, but what would be the point of resisting if he was dead? He handed his wand over.

Harry sighed in relief. "Sorry," he said and he fired a petrificus totalus curse at Malfoy, feeling the wand shudder a bit, and ran. He tore down the next small street and after checking to see if anyone was watching, held up his wand.

There was a bang and the triple-decker Knight Bus appeared in front of him. A gangly teenager jumped out and started reeling out the same speech Harry remembered from his third year.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation for the stranded-"

"I know," Harry interrupted, grinning. "Hi Stan."

Stan Shunpike goggled at him, his face turning pale under his pimples. Harry pushed past him and jumped onto the bus. Stan regained his senses and jumped on after him.

"You're wotzisname - Harry Potter!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "You remembered. Can you take me to Ottery St Catchpole?"

"Harry!"

Harry spun around quickly. Malfoy was tearing up the street after him. "I'd go if I were you," he said to the bus driver. "That's a Deatheater."

Ernie Prang turned pale and quickly shut the doors. There was another bang and Harry landed on the floor. Stan was staring at him. Harry smiled at him apologetically.

"I'm afraid I can't pay," he said. "The Ministry must have taken my money. I'll pay double the next time I'm on the Knight Bus."

Stan nodded his head very quickly. "We don't mind," he said hurriedly. "We're going to Ottery St wotzits anyway. Aren't we Ernie?"

"Ar," said Ernie.

Harry stood up and looked back at the bus. The passengers instantly seemed to huddle together, looking anywhere except at him. There were no double seats spare and Harry didn't want to sit on one of the higher levels. He'd just have to sit next to a stranger.

He scanned the seats and saw a brown-haired boy who looked about like he was about Harry's age. Grinning, Harry walked over and sat down next to the boy.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" he asked. The boy turned pale and shook his head. Harry got the feeling that the rest of the bus was listening to his conversation.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said and held out his hand before realising that that was the hand that still held the knife. Harry stared at it for moment and then said guiltily, "Ah, I'd forgotten about that," and dropped it on the floor in front of him. He held out his hand again and the boy shook it, letting go as quickly as possible.

Harry stared in front of him for a while but got bored quickly and said to the boy, "Do you go to Hogwarts?"

"Y-yes," stuttered the boy. "I'm in my fifth year."

"Really?" Harry said, feeling happier than he should've, just glad he could actually talk to someone properly. "I'm in sixth year. I don't really remember you though."

The boy didn't say anything and Harry sighed, leaning back in his seat a bit more. "It's been a really strange day today for me, you know."

The boy looked slightly interested and the woman opposite Harry fidgeted in her seat, as though trying to listen.

"Yeah, people have been acting really weird," said Harry getting more into his story. "Do you know that someone tried to curse me in the Leaky Cauldron? And then I've had loads of Ministry people saying I'm a Deatheater which is just-just crazy!"

"Ottery St Catchpole!"

Harry jumped up. "That's my stop," he said to the boy. "I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts," then he paused, looking a bit doubtful. "Well, that's if the Ministry stops trying to lock me up in Azkaban."

Harry stood up and got off the bus. It was strange that he was the first passenger to be let off, as he hadn't thought the Burrow was anywhere near London.

"Thanks!" he yelled, as the Knight Bus tore off.

He looked around him. Ottery St Catchpole was a mainly Muggle village, he remembered. He should be reasonably safe from any mad wizards or witches. As he tucked Malfoy's wand into his pocket, he realised that maybe people seemed scared of him on the bus because he still had that knife with him. Plus the fact that his Deatheater mask was hanging off his neck by a bit of string couldn't have helped either.

He tossed his mask into the nearest bush and started to walk up the village.