Harry Potter and the Silent Siege

Chapter 2

The Escape

The following morning, Constable Daniel Peters of the Metropolitan Police rubbed his eyes in weariness as he listened once more to the man's story. Last night, someone had evidently forgotten to tell the Fisher's dog that mating season had finished several months ago and that barking shrilly into the night was unlikely to attract the right kind of attention. Despite having three cups of coffee this morning, Peters wondered very much whether he could make it through the day. At times, he believed it was merely a case of mind over matter but, at other moments - such as when listening to this drunk vagrant who was now sitting on a bench near a busy platform at King's Cross Station - Peters felt a crippling fatigue descend over his body, starting from his head. Peters felt as though a blacksmith was ceaselessly pounding his skull with an anvil.

"Your name again, sir, please." Peters tried to stifle a yawn.

"I already told you once, guv'nor."

"Then perhaps you could tell me again for the record." Peters managed to look the vagrant in the eye, daring him to accuse Peters of not paying attention the first time.

"Barnaby. Thomas Barnaby."

"Your, er, occupation, Mr. Barnaby." Peters' eyes fell on the large plastic bag full of recyclable bottles that rested on the bench to Barnaby's right.

Barnaby moved closer to Peters so that Peters could feel a wave of noxious breath sweep over him, and said in a conspiratorial tone.

"I'm on the vanguard, guv'nor, the front lines."

"The front lines of what, sir?" Peters tried to remain as professional as possible.

"I'm protectin' us all, from them." Barnaby's eyes widened meaningfully.

"And who, sir, are they?"

Barnaby stared wide-eyed at Peters and pointed a dirt-stained finger at the sky. "Them, guv'nor. The aliens. Little-green men. They're coming, guv'nor, don't you mistake that; they're coming an' they're gonna take us all. There won' be a man, woman, or child what's safe in this country."

"I see, sir." Barnaby checked a box on his notebook. "Self-employed." He looked up. "And what, Mr. Barnaby, can I help you with today?"

Barnaby pointed a bony finger straight at Peters, causing the constable to take a step back in surprise. As he did so, he noticed that Barnaby was aiming ever so slightly to his left. He looked back. There were loads of people milling about, some rushing for trains, others looking around, lost, but nothing seemed to stand out in particular. In fact, it seemed that Barnaby was pointing straight at a solid wall between platforms nine and ten.

"I seen 'em," Barnaby went on. "A whole family, mother, father, two older lookin' sons what was with 'em, twins they looked like, but that's their cover, see? And another boy an' girl with 'em. Hair all flamin' red."

"Many of our citizens have red hair, Mr. Barnaby."

Barnaby gave a small sigh and regarded Peters as a teacher might a truculent pupil. "They're all dressed all funny like, like they dunno how to, which, o' course," Barnaby's eyes lit up with excitement. "They don', do they, 'cause they in't really people, at all, guv'nor, you follow me?"

Peters' eyes watered over as he tried once again to stifle a yawn.

"They're them," Barnaby said meaningfully, "pretendin' to be just like that."

"I'm not sure, sir, that I can do very much with a report about people with red hair dressed strangely. Not every - "

Barnaby moved his hand as if to touch Peters' forearm causing the constable to recoil.

"Listen, guv'nor, that's at all. They walked up to that there wall, with all their luggage trolleys an' all an' blow me down, they walked straight through an' vanished."

"I see, sir." Peters paused. "That wouldn't be an open bottle of liquor you have there, would it, sir?"

Barnaby looked down at a half-empty bottle of Scotch ill concealed in a paper bag.

Peters folded his arms. "I feel it my duty to warn you, Mr. Barnaby, that open bottles of liquor are not permitted inside King's Cross Station."

Barnaby wagged his finger emphatically once again. "Now listen here, guv'nor, my line o' work's not easy now, right, an' sometimes I need a little nip now and again to get me goin' in the mornin' but I seen what I seen."

Peters looked about to interrupt but Barnaby went on.

"That's not all. They're at the highest levels of gov'ment now. There's this funny chap what wears a bowler hat, with white hair and sideburns, what goes in an' talks to the PM 'imself at Downin' Street, just like them red heads, dressed not quite right, like he dunno how to do it. I got pictures an' all."

Peters felt his headache throbbing ever more urgently. This was going to be a very difficult morning, indeed.

***

On the other side of platform nine-and-three-quarters, the very same family of red heads was loading their luggage onto the Hogwarts Express. Ron Weasley was preparing for his sixth year at Hogwarts and his sister Ginny her fifth. Their older twin brothers, Fred and George, had just graduated from Hogwarts the previous year and much to the consternation of their mother, had spent most of the summer working to start up a joke shop in Diagon Alley, the wizarding shopping arcade in London.

Mrs. Weasley was fussing over the buttons on Ginny's cloak.

"Please stop fidgeting, Mum. People will see us. I'm fifteen years old."

Mrs. Weasley seemed oblivious to her daughter's growing embarrassment. "So you are. Just think, Arthur," she said to her husband, who was busy helping Ron load his trunk onto the train. "Our little girl, taking her O.W.Ls this year. I can still remember when - "

"Mum!" cried Ginny. "Please don't."

"Oh, go on, Mum," said George snickering. "It's been ages since you told the one about the time she made her pacifier Disapparate."

"Days at least," added Fred.

Mrs. Weasley looked irritably at her two twin sons. "One would think that you two would finally grow out of this habit of teasing your sister."

"But we never get to see her, anymore," Fred protested. "We have to make up for all the lost time, don't we, Ginny?"

Ginny did not condescend herself to respond.

"Seriously, Gin," said George. "What is it with the hair?" He traced his finger in the air to mimic the shape of her curls.

"I like it," replied Ginny, shooting a menacing look at her brother. "It's different. Just like Hogwarts without the two of you."

"The real question," said Fred, "is does Harry like it?"

Ginny ducked her head so that none of her brothers could see her blush but it was too late. Fred and George smiled at each other. Another victory had been scored.

"I think it's lovely," added Mrs. Weasley, glancing reprovingly at George. "And I don't care if Harry does like it."

Mr. Weasley tried to shoot a warning glance in his wife's direction but she ploughed on.

"He's such a poor, sweet, dear, lonely boy. And he would make such a wonderful addition to our family."

The last word had just emerged from Mrs. Weasley's mouth when she noticed that Ginny had turned the color of a blood orange and disappeared into the train.

"Oh, dear," she said, as Fred and George sniggered. "Perhaps I went a bit too far."

"It's OK, Mum." Ron planted a goodbye kiss on his mother's cheek. "Ginny knows that it's always been the role of mothers to humiliate their children in public. She won't take it personally."

Mrs. Weasley replied with an anxious look, and then held Ron by his arms. "You are the oldest now, Ron." She shot an angry glance at Fred and George. "Not that it will make much difference, of course. Please promise me that you'll take good care of your sister."

Ron nodded.

Just as Ron was about to board the train, he heard a scurry of footsteps approaching him from behind. The whole family turned around to see a girl of Ron's own age, of about medium-height with bushy brown hair that fell haphazardly around her face as she ran.

Ron's eyes lit up. "Hermione!"

Hermione smiled briefly and for a slight instant Ron felt something descend in his stomach. But Hermione's smile quickly faded and she adopted the reflective, quizzical expression that she used whenever she was trying to solve a problem, which was most often.

"Ron, thank goodness I found you. Oh, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she said, with a smile that was brief but genuine. "I can't see Harry anywhere. I thought he must have been with you."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Hermione. Perhaps he already boarded the train."

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. "But we arranged to meet him here on the platform."

Ron frowned, too, and also began to look anxious.

Mrs. Weasley put a reassuring arm on Hermione's shoulder and addressed both her and Ron. "Now don't you worry, dears, I expect the Ministry has made other arrangements."

"But, Mum," said Ron. "Don't you think he would have told us?"

"He may not have had time. Now, the best thing for the two of you to do is to get on board the train. It will be leaving soon. There's nothing any of us can do about it now."

Both Ron and Hermione nodded reluctantly and moved walked onto the train. A few moments later, their faces emerged from one of the compartment windows. Ginny was with them on the other side. She smiled and waved and tried to show them that everything was better. All three of them kept waving until the whistle sounded and train started on its way slowly out of sight.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and turned back to her husband.

"Only two more years now, Arthur. I'll miss coming here to see them off."

"You could always have another child," suggested George.

A look of momentary panic flickered across Mr. Weasley's face until he remembered whom he was talking to.

"Oh, I do hope Harry's all right, really," said Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley laid a reassuring arm around her back. "I shouldn't worry, dear. The Ministry will have everything planned." He turned to Fred and George. "Coming, lads?"

"Sorry, love to," replied George, "but business calls. Back to the shop. We can take the Knight tube from Platform 10 5/8."

"Oh, do be careful," cautioned Mrs. Weasley, "and don't eat any strange looking gruel. You can always Apparate back for supper."

"Right, Mum," said Fred. "Don't worry."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned back to the barrier as the twins left in the other direction.

***

"So you're gonna take me in, guv'nor, is that it, eh, eh?"

Peters rubbed his forehead, trying to massage the pain away. He looked around. A crowd was starting to gather. He stared at several onlookers and cleared his throat. That caused the majority to move away.

He turned to Barnaby. "That isn't really necessary, Mr. Barnaby, if you'd just - "

"Look, guv'nor." Barnaby poked his finger in the direction of Peters' stomach once again. "I'm gonna say this one last time. There - "

Barnaby stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes bulging. He tried to make a sound with his mouth but the throat got caught on his saliva. He pointed a shaky finger behind Peters. "Blimey! It's them! They - they - just bloody well - " Barnaby cowered down lower on the bench, his eyes never leaving the two red-headed aliens who had just emerged out of the wall where they had disappeared a half an hour earlier.

Peters turned around to see a middle-aged couple with red hair walking down the platform toward them. He tensed himself in case Barnaby tried anything. The couple stared at Barnaby in confusion.

"Is he all right?" asked the man.

Barnaby whimpered.

Peters turned around slightly, one eye still on Barnaby. "I'm very sorry, sir. This gentleman appears to be a bit disturbed at the moment. I'd just make your way along, sir, if I were you."

"I see," replied the man. "Yes - yes, we will."

Peters turned around to look at the man and suddenly did a double take.

There was something a bit odd about them. The man was wearing an inside-out bright orange sweater over a mustard yellow shirt with beige trousers that ended just above his ankles. The woman was wearing a long maroon evening dress and a bright pink sweater. He looked back down at Barnaby. Where did all of these people come from?

"A bit of a close call back there," Mrs. Weasley whispered to her husband. "They've put that new bench in there. We'll have to be more careful from now on."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "A good thing we were dressed in Muggle clothing." He turned around over his shoulder. The Muggle policeman and that odd man on the bench selling long-necked flowerpots were engrossed in agitated conversation again. Neither of them noticed the Weasleys turn the corner and vanish into thin air.

***

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley re-apparated in their living room.

"Perhaps I should check with the Ministry about Harry, just to be - " Mr. Weasley stopped dead in his tracks. Albus Dumbledore's likeness was already staring at him out of the fireplace.

Mrs. Weasley gave a small gasp and walked over to her husband.

"Albus?" said Mr. Weasley. "This is an unexpected surprise. I'm sorry we weren't here when you first called."

Dumbledore did not reply for a moment. His eyes were downcast. Mrs. Weasley had never thought of Dumbledore as being old, even though he had been headmaster since their own school days but he suddenly seemed to look ancient, as though he could hardly continue to go on much longer.

"Molly, Arthur," he finally said. "My friends."

Mrs. Weasley gasped. A tear slowly welled in Dumbledore's azure blue eye and fell slowly down his cheek. She had never seen him look so utterly defeated, not even when James and Lily had died.

"Albus?" Mr. Weasley repeated.

Dumbledore swallowed. "The Ministry went to Privet Drive this morning to collect Harry."

Mrs. Weasley suddenly felt a horrible sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Dumbledore continued. "The house was - has been destroyed," he finished slowly.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Ministry went to check with the Muggle police. They found his body. I'm so very, very sorry."

Mrs. Weasley let out a small cry and began to sob. She fell back against Mr. Weasley, who simply stood there with a stunned expression on his face.

"The children," Mrs. Weasley forced herself to look up between sobs. "They've already left - "

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Minerva will take Ron and Hermione aside when they arrive. She is the head of their house."

Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"Albus, surely, how could this have happened?" Mr. Weasley finally found his voice. He was protected. Isn't there any other possibility?"

Dumbledore looked up and for a moment Mr. Weasley thought he saw a flicker of hope the old man's sad eyes. "I'm not sure how this could have happened. The Ministry is investigating one or two possibilities but I'm afraid there is very little hope."

The three of them stood there for a moment before Dumbledore's face slowly faded. Mr. Weasley suddenly noticed how quiet the house was. There were none of the usual sounds of children playing or laughing that still filled the summer time air of the Burrow, only the low soft moans of Mrs. Weasley's quiet grief for the boy they had all come to love.

***

Later that day, Harry Potter woke to feel a rush of foul-smelling air spread over his face.

In the second before he opened his eyes, his mind struggled through a list of possibilities: He was passed out in the infirmary and Madame Pomfrey was attempting to feed him a dose of some noxious-smelling medicine; he had fainted during Care of Magical Creatures and Hagrid had tried to revive him with a dose of Flesh Eating Slug Repellant; Vincent Crabbe had broken into his dormitory and had decided to get a little affectionate....

But none of these proved correct. Harry opened his eyes and saw two enormous eyes and two oversized nostrils that belonged to a large, sharp nose.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

The owner of the eyes and nose reared back and regarded Harry with an almost menacing disapprobation.

Harry felt a warm nighttime breeze blow over his face. He wasn't in Privet Drive, nor was he in his dormitory at Hogwarts and he was slowly coming to the realization that, for reasons he could not immediately grasp, Buckbeak the Hippogriff was now eyeing him closely, his pride clearly wounded by Harry's unceremonious reaction to his friendly nudge.

"Harry!"

Another voice that Harry recognized. He forced himself to sit up and saw his godfather Sirius Black walking over to him. Sirius looked very much as Harry felt, like he had seen better days. His hair was mangy and disheveled with an increasing number of gray-colored flecks. He was unshaven, lacking the time or inclination to even enchant his stubble into submission. There was still a drawn, hardened look about his features, just as when Harry had first met him as a recently escaped convict from the wizard prison Azkaban. Sirius had been on the run for more than two years now and he had spent most of that time as a large, black dog. Only a few people knew of Sirius' innocence.

But now there a slight color in Sirius' pale cheeks and his voice sounded a note of relief. "Thank the goddess you're alright; with all the smoke, I was afraid..." His voice trailed off at the puzzled frown on Harry's face. "Don't worry about that now," he said. "We'll get you back to Hogwarts and proper medical attention as soon as - " Sirius stopped in mid-sentence, unsure of how best to finish. "Well... as soon as we can."

Harry watched as a look of frightened uncertainty flashed briefly across Sirius' face before he attempted to conceal it. They looked at each other for a moment before Sirius said:

"You must be thirsty." He reached over a grabbed a large bowl. "I'll fetch some water."

With Sirius gone, Harry took a first look at his surroundings. He was lying on a makeshift Muggle sleeping bag in the open night air. It was still warm, but much damper than his home in Privet Drive. A gentle fog was rolling in from the craggy mountains that encircled the small valley where Sirius had set up a camp. All around Harry on the ground were craggy boulders, imbedded in the Earth, and Sirius had laid Harry's sleeping bag in a diagonal position to avoid them. With the exception of a small patch of earth that had obviously been enchanted into soft bluegrass, the ground around Harry was completely covered in heather. He could just make out a faint light from a small house in the distance and another from appeared to be a small boat on a distant loch. A dying patch of light on the horizon marked the place where the sun was either about to rise or had just set. From the temperature and the direction of the breeze blowing through Harry's hair, he supposed it was just after sunset. Buckbeak was tied to a boulder next to Harry's sleeping bag, curiously pawing the heather with his right hoof, illuminated by the light of a small fire next to them. Ahead of him, Harry could see Sirius returning from a small pond with a bowl full of water.

"It's mountain spring water so I imagine it's quite safe," he said. "Still, just to be sure...."

He pointed his wand at the water.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry winced as a stream of blue light flashed from Sirius' wand and caused the water to bubble for a moment.

"There," said Sirius. "That should sterilize it." He handed the bowl to Harry.

Harry picked it up, the light from the fire casting his reflection onto the water, then immediately screamed and dropped the bowl onto the ground, causing the contents to spill all over the rocks.

The reflection that had looked back at him was Dudley Dursley's.

"I'm... I'm sorry," said Harry.

"It's all right," said Sirius. "I'll just fetch some more, not to worry."

Harry rubbed his suddenly bleach blond hair in confusion and Sirius returned with some more water, sterilized it again and gave it to Harry. It tasted surprisingly fresh and clean. Harry hadn't realized how thirsty he had been until he swallowed the contents in a few large gulps. He handed the bowl back to Sirius.

"Does that feel better?"

"I think so." Harry shook his head which was slowly beginning to clear.

Sirius lent over Harry. "Do you remember anything at all?" he asked gently.

Harry looked puzzled again. Memories began to stir on the edge of his consciousness. "I - I'm not sure." He kept his head down then suddenly looked up at Sirius. "Where are we? What happened? How long have I - "

"Steady on." Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're in a safe place." He looked around. "I hope. We're south of Hogwarts. You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-four hours!"

Sirius nodded. "As for what happened..." His voice trailed off.

And then it all came back to Harry. Sirius didn't say another word; he could read it in the expression on Harry's face. The shock, the surprise, the fear....

***

There were only two days left until Harry was to return to Hogwarts. It was the longest summer he could remember since he first received the news, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard, like his parents before him, and would be leaving his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and wretched cousin Dudley for the best part of each year. Every summer before this, Harry had managed to escape to his friend Ron's for the last few weeks of the year, but ever since Voldemort's return to power, Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been loath to allow him to leave either his school or his home with the Dursleys for longer than the time it took to travel by Hogwarts Express from Platform nine-and-three-quarters at King's Cross Station to school.

Dumbledore and Sirius both knew that Voldemort was desperate to kill Harry after Harry had thwarted him for so long. They had taken extra precautions: Sirius, still enchanted as a black dog, was never far from Number 4 Privet Drive. At the slightest sign of danger, Harry was to send a message with his owl, Hedwig, and Sirius would either reply or, if the danger was serious enough, come straight into the house - the Dursleys be damned. Then, on September 1, the first day of school, Dumbledore would arrange a car to collect Harry and take him straight to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express. Several Aurors close to Dumbledore would travel on the train with Harry, in case Voldemort made an attempt while he was in transit.

Sirius had taken it upon himself to add some extra precautions; Harry wasn't sure if even Dumbledore knew. It wasn't, Harry reflected uneasily, the kind of thing Albus Dumbledore would have thought of doing. Much as he did not like to admit it, there was still a dark edge to Sirius that came from having spent twelve years of his life in Azkaban prison and the last two years on the run from the Ministry of Magic, while all the time staying close enough to Harry to ensure his safety. There was a part of Sirius that had not hesitated to attack the Fat Lady when she had refused to admit him to Gryffindor Tower the night he had come to kill Peter Pettigrew in Harry and Ron's dormitory room. While he had been in Azkaban, Sirius had learned to survive whatever the cost, and he now approached the matter of Harry's safety in the same manner.

Early on in the summer, with ingredients and instructions provided him by Sirius, Harry had brewed the potion in a small jar he kept under the floorboards in his room. The potion was very complicated and Harry often had had to attend it at night while his relations were sleeping. Fortunately, the Dursleys were afraid to go too near Harry's room, as if they would vaporize on entering. Despite learning before Harry's second year that he wasn't allowed to do magic away from Hogwarts, they seemed to have become ever more paranoid that as Harry got older, he would find a way to do magic around the house without anyone knowing. Harry's Aunt Petunia would narrow her drawn eyelids in suspicion whenever Harry completed a chore faster than she expected. One day Dudley had even smelled the Polyjuice Potion before Harry could quickly close the floorboard when Dudley had decided to launch his massive frame down the staircase in the middle of the night, no doubt for an illicit snack. Dudley had opened the door to Harry's room without knocking but took great caution before stepping in.

"What's that smell?" he had wanted to know.

Harry had widened his eyes. "I'm brewing a potion, Dudley, for you."

Dudley's eyes had widened in fright. "A p-p-potion?"

"That's right," Harry had replied, speaking in what he had hoped sounded like the slow drawl of a lunatic. "Don't you want it? It will make you feel much better."

Dudley had shook his head decisively and crashed down the stairs in fright, waking his parents and earning a stiff rebuke for trying to sneak an ice cream bar back to his room.

But, Harry reflected, in fact, making a potion was exactly what Harry had been doing, and, even more to the point, Dudley was indeed its intended victim. Before Harry's fourth year, he had told Sirius about the diet Dudley's parents had forced him into when even they could not longer deny that his obesity had grown beyond being merely "large boned." The diet had now continued for two years, with very little effect, mostly due to the fact that Dudley was taking every opportunity to sneak in the occasional extra snack, mostly by way of his Aunt Marge, who had taken pity on the boy. This past summer, Aunt Marge had arrived one day while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were out and Harry was tending rose bushes in the back garden, and placed a large package of chocolate puddings at Dudley's disposal. Since it was Harry's job to clean the refrigerator, he also knew that Dudley had the habit of keeping several chocolate pudding containers hidden at the back of the refrigerator behind a large bottle of vegetable juice which he alone was supposed to be drinking. Harry also knew that, whenever he succeeded in frightening Dudley into thinking he was going to perform magic on him, Dudley would run as fast as his pig-like legs would carry him to the refrigerator to down another container.

Harry had let all of this slip in a letter to Sirius out of amusement more than anything else. But Sirius had taken the information as an opportunity. He told Harry to continue brewing the Polyjuice Potion and to take something off Dudley to complete the ingredients. This had not been difficult: after all, Aunt Petunia took great delight in finding any excuse to make Harry do the laundry for the entire house and it was not difficult to identify the owner of Dudley's oversized garments. He took several hairs off Dudley's sweater and added them to the potion. Then, on Sirius' instructions, he added several of his own to another jar.

Finally, a month into the summer, the ingredients were complete. Harry kept stirring the jars each day to make sure the glutinous mixture remained effective, and then prayed he would never have to use it.

As much as Harry had suffered nothing more than misery after fifteen years of his cousin's mistreatment, he was reluctant to see Dudley face Voldemort's wrath in a case of mistaken identity. Sirius had tried to reassure him: it was only as a last resort. If the Death Eaters came for Harry, they would take the wrong boy; after a time, they would realize Dudley was not the real Harry Potter, but Harry's Muggle cousin. Having no further interest in a Muggle, they would release him by which time the real Harry would be long gone. Harry wasn't really sure he believed this: it seemed more likely to him that the Death Eaters would just kill Dudley. Moreover, he wasn't sure that Sirius believed it either.

As he had every summer, Harry had been marking the days down on his calendar until there was only one left. Harry began to breathe easier. Voldemort had still been unable to break Dumbledore's magic: Harry was still safe, at least as long as he was either with the Dursleys or with Dumbledore at Hogwarts. There would be no need to use the Polyjuice Potion after all. But on the morning of August 31, Harry woke up and felt a twinge of pain from the scar on his forehead, the scar that Voldemort had given him the night he had killed Harry's parents. Harry knew from experience that his scar rarely hurt unless Voldemort was either nearby or planning something against him. Harry waited all morning, hoping the pain would go away. In one day, he reasoned, he would be safely back at Hogwarts.

But the pain just got worse. Finally, when Aunt Petunia told Harry to fetch his cousin for his lunch of boiled spinach greens, Harry slipped into his own room, wrote a quick message to Sirius and tied it to Hedwig's leg. Hedwig, sensing in her own way the urgency of the situation, quickly glided out of his window. Harry was surprised when, on returning to his room after visiting his cousin, Hedwig had already returned, squawking at her own cleverness. Harry passed her a brief snack and looked out of the window curiously, only to see Sirius, transfigured into a large black dog, already standing on the pavement outside Privet Drive with the note in his mouth. He had apparently been taking no chances.

The pain in Harry's scar increased slowly but steadily as the afternoon wore on. He felt it throbbing as he served a large supper of steak, peas, and mashed potatoes to his Uncle Vernon, and a much smaller plate of carrots and peas to a sulking Dudley.

"Bloody great dog hanging around the house again!" Vernon was complaining loudly. "If I've called the police once, I've called them a hundred times, but when they turn up, it's always gone!"

"Perhaps it just wants a home," Harry said, trying to sound innocent as he carefully poured a glass of red wine for his aunt.

But Uncle Vernon was not fooled. His beady eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry.

"Don't think, boy, that I don't know that your lot are mixed up somewhere in this."

Harry felt his face redden and tried to look away.

"And don't think," added Vernon, wielding a fork full of steak that Dudley eyed longingly, "that I don't know that you know exactly what that dog is doing here."

Harry only shrugged and went back to retrieve his own food, a portion of carrots and peas even smaller than Dudley's.

At that very moment, there was a loud scraping sound at the front door.

"THAT RUDDY DOG!" Vernon yelled.

Harry saw that his uncle wasn't to be fooled. But, all the same, Harry was standing on his feet and Vernon had increasing difficulty moving his massive frame up from his chair.

"Make it go away!" Vernon yelled to Harry.

But Harry intended to do no such thing. At once, he flew open the door and Sirius came bounding into the hallway. He barked loudly and pressed up against Harry. Then he ran past him and into the kitchen to face the Dursleys, his paws pressing against the kitchen table.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL --- AAAAAHHHH!!!"

Vernon's apoplectic screams died in his throat as Sirius transformed from a dog to a human being, looking as gaunt and haggard as one would expect for someone who had spent the past summer living out of various rubbish tips. Vernon also realized right away from the many newspaper clippings he had studiously examined that he was facing Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and a wanted criminal.

Petunia, her hair already in rollers, immediately grabbed Dudley. The two of them ran over the corner of the kitchen, staring Sirius up and down in fright. Petunia began to simper ineffectually and Dudley let out a low moaning sound while shaking visibly. He hadn't looked this disturbed since he had fallen into a cage at the zoo with a boa constrictor just before Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

Vernon, the man of the family, did not back down but instead fell to his knees on the floor in front of Sirius. On other occasions when members of the wizarding world had visited the Dursleys, Vernon had managed to overcome his initial fear and put up some type of - usually ineffective - resistance, but on this occasion, faced with a man he believed was a hardened and dangerous criminal, Vernon was totally overcome. His face had turned from scarlet to purple and he put his hands together as if praying to a malevolent deity.

"Please!" Vernon croaked, fear written all over his face. "We - we never meant the boy any harm! It - It was all for his own good! W - W - We knew the boy was famous! We didn't want it to get to his head, you see. P - Perhaps w- we were a little harsh, at times. You forgive us, d - don't you, son?" he looked imploringly at Harry.

Harry returned Vernon's pleas with an expression of total disgust that was matched only by the look of hardened loathing on Sirius' own face.

"Get up!" Sirius barked at Vernon, pointing a lanky index finger in his direction.

Vernon responded by breaking down into open sobs. "T - take me, t - t - take me, sir, take me, anywhere; it's all my fault. J - Just don't hurt my wife and my baby boy!"

If the circumstances were any different, Harry would have burst out laughing at the thought that any could describe Dudley as a baby, but now he realized that Sirius would not have come into the house, especially not the night before the Ministry was due to take Harry back to Hogwarts, unless he had known it was important.

Sirius sighed contemptuously at Vernon. "I am not here to harm you and your family." He tried to strike a friendly tone but he was unable to hide his growing impatience with and contempt of the groveling Vernon. "But you have to come with me now. You are not safe here. This house has been compromised - "

"T - that much is clear, sir," Vernon carried on, seeming to have heard only Sirius' last sentence. "I - I beg of you."

"We're wasting time!" Sirius shouted. He reached into the folds of his robe and produced an enormously large faded bowler hat, which he proceeded to unfold on the Dursleys' kitchen table.

"This," he had tried to explain, "is a portkey. We need to take it now to get away from here!" He took a step toward Vernon and held out his hand.

This was too much for the Dursleys. Vernon scrambled to his feet, bones cracking with the effort. He then shuffled to the rear of the kitchen and shepherded Petunia and Dudley into the adjacent dining room.

Sirius' lips tightened as he turned to Harry. "The potion," he said quietly. "Where is it? We need it now. And let out Hedwig, but don't take anything else - we need to leave right away! Voldemort, the Death Eaters...." Sirius' voice trailed off and Harry's heart sank at the defeated look that had crept into his eyes. "They've broken the old magic, Harry."

Harry didn't need to be told another word. He raced up the stairs to his room and opened Hedwig's cage. At first, she only sat there but then he waved at her with his arms.

"Fly! Go! We're being attacked! It's not safe!"

Hedwig stared at Harry for a moment before spreading her white wings and flying outside the window. In his heart, Harry wasn't sure whether he would see her again. Sirius had told him to take nothing but he had still found himself opening his closet and taking the one thing he valued the most, his Firebolt broomstick, with him. He next opened the floorboards near his bed, and carefully took out the two bottles of Polyjuice Potion, his and Dudley's, and made his way down the stairs, gripping the Firebolt with one elbow.

Harry had only just left his room when he felt a tremendous wave of heat come over him. His scar had suddenly exploded with violent pain and he had to restrain himself from falling and sending the contents of the Polyjuice Potion crashing to the floor. He looked at the walls of his room; was it his imagination or were they suddenly growing darker? The white didn't seem to be so white anymore and the walls seemed to bleed and almost bubble. First, Harry thought it was his own imagination but then a crack appeared in the wall behind his bed, causing his Gryffindor banner to fall onto the floor. A burning blackness suddenly seemed to emerge out along the cracks where the ceiling met the walls and smoke began to curl around the edges.

"Harry!" he could hear Sirius cry. "Quickly!"

Harry ran down the stairs. He felt the floorboards weak under his step. In the distance, he could hear the Dursleys sobbing with fright in the dining room. He turned back to see a jet blackness sweeping like a cancer all over the walls of the top floor. The corridor was now filled with smoke. It was as if the house was imploding in upon itself.

Harry managed to clamber into the kitchen. His scar throbbed and his lungs burned from the smoke, and he began to cough violently. Sirius was standing in the kitchen. He immediately took the bottles in his hand.

"Which one is his?" Sirius demanded.

Harry could no longer speak; in between a violent hacking cough, he managed to point at a jar with the letter D written in plastic marker.

Sirius did not hesitate. He opened the refrigerator door. "In here?" he asked Harry.

"Behind the - " Harry coughed, "vegetable juice. But do you really think - " Harry began to cough uncontrollably and his protests died.

Sirius immediately removed the vegetable juice and took out the remaining container of chocolate pudding. With a surprising nimbleness, he carefully pealed open the foil wrapping on the top of the container and poured the contents of the Polyjuice Potion inside, stirring the mixture with a nearby spoon.

"Let's hope he takes it," Sirius said. "Unfortunately, we can't wait here to find out. Drink yours."

Harry took the Polyjuice Potion from the table and downed it in one gulp. He felt like his insides were about to explode. His stomach, lungs, and head were on fire; he lost his balance and tumbled back onto the kitchen chair where, a mere ten minutes before, his Uncle Vernon had been looking forward to a dinner of steak and peas.

He was vaguely aware of Sirius running into the dining room, having an animated discussion with the Dursleys. It felt to Harry as if he was talking underwater.

"You have to come with us now," he heard Sirius say. "There isn't any time to discuss this."

"I - am - not - going - anywhere - with - you!" Vernon's booming voice sounded in reply. Harry heard him trying the handle of the back door, then yelping back with pain.

"It's - it's on fire!" Vernon cried in a mixture of pain and disbelief.

The kitchen where Harry was sitting was now filled with smoke coming from down the corridor. There was an enormous crashing sound as what had once been Harry's room came falling down into the front living room.

"Even if you could make it outside," Sirius was saying, "the Death Eaters are waiting there."

"The what?"

"And when they are finished burning down your house," Sirius continued, oblivious to Vernon's outburst. "They are going to come in here and make sure Harry is dead, along with any witnesses. The only way out is to come with me, with us."

Sirius must have tried to move closer to the Dursleys again because at that moment, they all came bouncing back into the kitchen in a tragic parody of musical chairs. There was already a haze of smoke between them and Harry but not so much that Petunia did not turn around to look at him and screamed. She grabbed Vernon's arm and pointed to Harry and Vernon let out another yelp of astonishment.

Harry became aware that his skin was now bubbling as if there were a hundred small blast-ended skrewts crawling inside. His arms and legs swelled enormously and he started to grow taller. Harry knew from his second year at Hogwarts when he, Ron, and Hermione had transformed into three Slytherins in order to find out whether Draco Malfoy had in fact opened the Chamber of Secrets that his transformation was the effect of the Polyjuice Potion.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia shrilled. "He's - he's turning into some kind of monster!"

Harry privately thought that Petunia didn't know how near to the truth she was.

All this proved too much for Dudley, who was now white as a sheet and trembling uncontrollably. He swung open the refrigerator, scrounged around inside, and emerged with the remaining container of chocolate pudding. Too paralyzed with fright to notice that the top wrapper had been tampered with, Dudley picked up a ready spoon (the very spoon, in fact, that Sirius had just used to stir the Polyjuice Potion into the pudding) and gulfed the pudding - Polyjuice Potion and all - down in four large gulps.

Harry had just been aware of Dudley clutching his throat and gagging in agony when the smoke and the pain from his scar began to overcome him and the world slipped into darkness.

***

Harry finished his account and looked up at Sirius.

Sirius nodded. "Then you remember almost everything."

"How did I get here?" Harry wanted to know.

Sirius sighed. "You lost consciousness. You were still transforming into your cousin when I picked you up and carried you over to the portkey. I tried to talk to your aunt, uncle and cousin one more time. The room was filled with smoke, but they just couldn't - they just couldn't do it. The last thing I saw they had all gathered under the kitchen table. Both your aunt and uncle had already started to hold your cousin, who was by this point beginning his own transformation. I couldn't wait any longer; I grabbed you, touched the portkey and then we were here."

Harry looked at Sirius for a long moment, slowly digesting everything he had just been told. "And where are we?" he asked.

"Somewhere in the lower Highlands," Sirius replied, "about thirty miles southwest of Hogwarts on the other side of the Forbidden Forest that divides the school from the Muggle world. I picked this spot while you were still in school last year, Harry. I've been going back and forth with the portkey all summer to make sure everything was arranged well and to take care of Buckbeak. No one knows about this place except myself and Dumbledore."

"Can't we send an owl?" asked Harry.

Sirius shook his head. "Too dangerous. This is a Muggle area. Any owl activity would attract attention - either from the Ministry or Voldemort."

"But won't they be looking for us, Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Or Dumbledore? If I've been out for twenty-four hours, then we must have been here since last night. Shouldn't we be moving?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't think so, Harry." He suddenly looked down.

"Why n-" Harry's question suddenly died in his throat.

Sirius looked up and watched Harry's expression change through puzzlement and realization and then dull shock. It reminded Sirius of the reflection he had seen in the mirror many nights over the last fifteen years.

"They're not looking for me," said Harry slowly, "because they think I'm already dead. That means, the Dursleys - " Harry looked up at Sirius.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Sirius laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know there wasn't much between you but I also know they were the last family you had left."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Sirius busied himself using a long stick to stoke the logs on the fire.

"I must have been a shock to them, seeing Dudley start to transform like that."

"I expect so." Sirius continued to stoke the logs. After a moment, he looked up and walked over to his godson and gently touched his forehead. "They might have been afraid, very afraid, but they also should have known they had no choice. Death Eaters or no Death Eaters, their house was burning up from the inside and they couldn't get out. They had always known about our world but they were too afraid to accept that knowledge. Some people would rather die than confront something that they cannot understand. In the end, it was their fear that killed them."

Harry nodded but he wasn't sure he was completely convinced. He looked up at Sirius again.

"But the Polyjuice Potion, don't I have to keep on taking it?"

Sirius shrugged. "There isn't any left."

"But why haven't I transformed back already? Ron and I only stayed transformed an hour before we changed back, and Bartemis Crouch?"

Sirius smiled. "You, Ron, and Hermione took a very old volume out of the library. Hogwarts isn't in the habit of keeping the newest advances in potions on the library stacks where students can find them, even in the restricted section. And Bartemis Crouch had spent many years in Azkaban prison before he tried to transform into Mad-Eye Moody. He was also behind the times. The Auror division has recently been perfecting an improved dose that keeps the user transformed for at least twenty-four hours." Sirius frowned slightly. "And they've even had help from our favorite Potions Master."

"Snape?"

Sirius nodded then turned to look at Harry seriously. "We must be careful though. Your cousin may not have kept all of his potion down. He might change back before you do. We'll stay here tonight. You're still not fit enough to travel and it's too dangerous to cross the forest. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. We should be safe here but we can't stay too long."

***

Wolfram Harrell lay down on the ground staring up at the sky, an expression of total disbelief written on his face.

Harrell was an extremely fit man whose friends had often remarked how young he looked for his age. He frequently took to his broomstick over the spacious grounds of his family's palatial estate. He had built his own Quidditch pitch and prided himself that he could still fly as fast and turn as surely as the days when he had played as a chaser on the Slytherin House team. Indeed, any medical examiner, whether Muggle or wizard would have very much approved of Harrell's physical condition.

Except for one small detail. At that moment, Wolfram Harrell was very much dead.

Voldemort placed his wand back into his pocket. He watched as Nagini circled Harrell's body with a bright, hungry look in his eye, not quite knowing where to begin his feast, the light from the fire in the Riddle House where Voldemort was still hiding reflecting on his silky skin.

Voldemort once again spoke in the high-pitched snake-like language of Parseltongue.

Nagini stared back at him, a slight look of self-pity in her jet black eye and grudgingly curled up next to Harrell, waving the back of her tail back and forth impatiently.

"Just a little while longer, Nagini," said Voldemort in English. "We do not want to disgust our guest."

He turned to Lucius Malfoy who was standing to his right, clutching the top of his stomach gingerly.

"Harrell has just returned with some valuable news, Lucius."

"I - Indeed, my lord." Malfoy tried to put on a brave smile.

"Yes," replied Voldemort, smiling. "At my instruction, he returned to Surrey this morning. The Ministry arrived as predicted, made inquiries with the Muggles, of course, and planted a few memory charms. Harrell waited for them to leave. Then, for reasons I fear have much to do with his second conscience, returned to the Muggle coroner's office sometime late this afternoon, and what do you think he found?"

Malfoy shook his head. He didn't like to think.

"It seems our Mr. Potter's body had been mislaid. The Muggles were quite disturbed. They began a very thorough search. It seems that where there should have been Mr. Potter, there was another boy, a little bit taller, and quite a bit fatter. A boy in fact that looked very much like Potter's Muggle cousin. What do you suppose could have happened?"

What color remained on Lucius Malfoy's face quickly disappeared. "Polyjuice Potion? P - Potter?"

Voldemort nodded. He sighed and looked down at Harrell's body. "Potter is still alive," he said flatly. "He escaped. I wouldn't have minded if Harrell had told me the truth. It was, after all, a very difficult operation. But he had raised my hopes last night and when he arrived today, I was so very disappointed."

Malfoy repressed a shudder.

Voldemort turned to look back at Malfoy. "I gather, Lucius, that you have some information that may be of use to us."

Malfoy smiled slightly, and could not resist straightening his shoulders with self-importance. "Yes, I think I might. I assume you are referring to the list of Potter's possible hideouts that came into my possession."

"Yes, indeed." Voldemort took a step toward Malfoy. "I still remember your Quidditch days, Lucius. I trust you haven't lost your touch."

"No, my lord."

"Good. Take a party of your best men to scour the areas where you believe Mr. Potter to be hiding and find him - tonight. We don't have much time, Lucius; he is resourceful as are those who are protecting him. It won't be long before he finds his way back to Hogwarts."

Malfoy nodded. He did not move.

"Is there something more you wish to say to Lord Voldemort?"

"Y - yes, my lord." Lucius cleared his throat. "The information on Mr. Potter's whereabouts was provided by my son."

"Ah, yes." Voldemort smiled. "Young Draco. And what of it?"

"I - I was merely thinking about our agreement, should our search be successful - "

"Should your search be successful, we might talk."

Malfoy smiled wanly and turned to Disapparate.

"Lucius."

Malfoy turned and looked back to his master.

"Do not lie to me, Lucius." Voldemort looked meaningfully at Harrell. "If the operation is not a success, we do have another plan, albeit a slightly more difficult one." He pulled Tom Riddle's diary from his cloak and showed it to Malfoy.

A shrewd smirk crossed over Malfoy's features.

Let the fool think he did me a great favor, thought Voldemort, rather than jeopardizing everything I have worked for. At that moment, Voldemort knew that he needed Lucius Malfoy's vanity as much as he needed his fear.

"Nevertheless," said Voldemort, causing Malfoy's smile to fade slightly. "I grow impatient. Tonight remains our best opportunity. I do not care much whether you return Harry Potter to me alive or dead."

Malfoy's jaw hardened and a hungry look surfaced in his eyes. He nodded to Voldemort, then Disapparated.