Regression of a Wizard by Breven

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/12/2006
Last Updated: 06/07/2007
Status: In Progress

The opening moves in the Second War have been made and the lines are drawn. Voldemort has
regressed Harry back into the mind and body of his five year-old self, left with no knowledge or
memories of the wizarding world. It is up to Hermione and the rest of Hogwarts to protect the young
boy until a counter-spell can be found. Then, it will be up to our young heroes to travel the
globe, risking it all to find and stop the Dark Lord once and for all. Featuring: Unspeakables,
Dark Creatures, battle magic, Prime Ministers, Greece, Paris, forbidden cities, lost treasures, and
unstoppable love. Hermione will stop at nothing to get Harry back to normal. After that, she’ll
stop at nothing to win his heart. But right now, she has to wonder…is Hogwarts really ready for a
young Harry Potter?




1. Prologue - A Rather Sandy Christmas
--------------------------------------



Disclaimer: No real Half-Blood Princes were harmed in the making of this fanfiction.



*Regression of a Wizard*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Prologue*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**December 23rd**

Harry Potter lay on his back, his eyes squinting into the crystal blue sky. The wind gently
ruffled his unruly black hair before rolling over his body like a familiar, warm caress. Above him,
white clouds drifted serenely through the heavens while waves of pure, blue water rolled over the
white sands and lapped at his feet.

"Merlin, I love Christmas."

Harry lazily rolled his head towards his best friend Hermione Granger as she daintily flopped
over on her back. He watched, fascinated, as she began applying more tanning oil to her well
defined stomach. His gaze traveled up slowly, taking in her athletic form. His gaze lingered
briefly on her face where her eyes were hidden behind a stylish pair of sunglasses. Her normally
wild hair was pulled back into a messy bun (into her sexy librarian look, as he liked to call it),
but a few unruly strands had made good their escape, playfully framing her face. He saw the corners
of her mouth start to crinkle in the beginnings of a smile. Futilely, he tried to peer though the
dark lenses to see if she had noticed him looking.

"Like something you see there, Harry?"

Apparently she had.

"Yeah, the scenery is smashing."

Hermione snorted before laying back down, her head facing him. The movement did wonderful things
for Harry.

"Mmm...what time is it?"

"What *year* is it?" he replied lazily.

He turned his head towards his other best friend, Ron Weasley, who lay sprawled on his stomach;
half on a towel, half buried in the sand. The water had begun to drag him out to sea fifteen
minutes ago, but Harry just could not muster the energy to drag his friend out of the water. In the
redhead's hand was a half eaten sandwich that he firmly refused to relinquish, even in sleep. A
crab busy was tearing into it.

Ron would be outraged when he woke up, assuming he didn't drown first.

Harry yawned mightily and Hermione giggled at him. "Remind me why we have to leave here
again." She asked lightly.

Harry turned over to face her again, propping himself up on one elbow. He grinned roguishly at
her. "You know, that whole 'save the world' thing we have to do? Remember?"

"You mean that whole 'save the world' thing *you* have to do," she
retorted, poking him in the arm. "*I'm* just along for the travel
opportunities."

"You groupie." Harry muttered affectionately.

"Me? What about your charbroiled comrade over there? He's twice as bad as I'll ever
be!"

"Mmm-mm." Hermione was right though. About the charbroiled part anyway. Ron was way
past 'burnt' and well on his way to being thoroughly cooked. Redheads didn't take the
sun that well after all.

"He is looking a bit tender. Love you forever if you took him inside."

Hermione glanced back across the white sand towards the alcove of grass huts sitting serenely
under the palm tree shaded mainland. It was only thirty yards or so to their rooms. It was much too
far to move.

"He can toast," she replied indifferently before plopping back down bonelessly.

"You're all heart, Granger." Harry said. "S.P.E.W and werewolves' rights,
vampires and trolls, all put before your best friend's welfare."

She just grinned at him before carefully lifting up and adjusting her red and gold bikini
bottoms. The movement was not lost on Harry's Seeker trained eyes.

"You're doing that on purpose," he accused, his best mate's welfare
immediately forgotten. He forcefully dragged his eyes back up to her shaded ones.

"So?" she replied easily. "All you have to do is say 'yes' to me, you
know. You're doing this to yourself."

"Playing dirty is what it is." Harry pouted, sticking his lower lip out.

She laughed. "What's a little foul play between friends? If you'd just agree to go
out with me, you wouldn't have to suffer like this." She propped herself up and leaned
back on her elbows, eyeing him over the rim of her sunglasses, one eyebrow arched delicately. Her
back arched *just so* causing Harry to swallow. Hard.

"Damn it, woman. We've talked about this. I'm..." He looked back towards Ron,
who was still out like a light, snoring gently in the sand. The water was lapping up to his chest
now and making steady progress upwards.

"I'm just not sure. I still don't know what I want...I'm not sure about
anything right now. About this war, about you, or about myself." He sounded genuinely wretched
and miserable. While she kept her composure on the outside, Hermione's heart broke for him.
When it came to his feelings, nothing confused him more than the concept of love. It was something
she had strived to fix every single day she had known him.

Hermione smiled a very un-Hermione like smile at him. It was that very slight, but knowing
smile; the one that she knew drove him absolutely insane. "You don't have to know Harry.
That's what you keep me around for, right? You should just trust me."

Harry shot up as if he'd been scalded by the sand. "I do!" he rushed to assure
her, his hands unconsciously reaching out to her. "More than anything, you know that.
But..." he was at a loss for words. He looked so lost. "I trust you with my life,"
he finally managed.

"But not with your heart?"

He looked torn about what to say and Hermione instantly felt guilty for baiting him.
"I'm sorry, Harry." She said quietly. "That was out of line and I know it. I
really didn't mean it like that and I honestly don't want to pressure you or make things
harder than they already are."

It was quiet for a long moment, the silence only filled by the gentle crashing of waves and the
calls of the seagulls. Harry reached down and absently adjusted his towel before giving her a
half-hearted smile. "I know. I'll have an answer for you one day, I promise. One day,
after I get all this," he tapped the side of his head, "sorted out. It's a right mess
in here." He suddenly grinned cheekily. "As for making things hard, well, I think you had
that in mind when you picked that suit."

She looked properly scandalized a moment before having the grace to blush. Obviously she had
been called out. Before she could respond, however, a larger wave crashed against the shore,
splashing Ron directly in the face.

"Huhwhuzzit?" He sat up quickly, his expression obviously befuddled, dropping his
sandwich in the process. He looked down at it in dismay. "Oh hang it all! It's all soggy
and sandy now!"

Harry and Hermione sat up further and looked at each other in amusement. Their 'talk'
once again postponed, or as Harry liked to think of it 'another AK dodged.'

"Ca'mon Ron," Harry said, standing then pulling his friend to his feet. He dusted
his swim trunks off. "We'll get you another. Dinner is going to start soon. They should
just be about done roasting that pork."

Ron's eyes lit up in delight. "Pork...and you say that cook it in that sand pit?"
He wondered off towards the huts muttering to himself as Harry bent down and offered his hand to
Hermione. She gracefully took it and got to her feet. She watched Ron's retreating form (one
half dark red, the other pale white with freckles) before turning back to Harry who was also
watching the other third of their Trio hop gingerly across the still scorching sand.

Harry turned, looking across the ocean's horizon, watching as the sun dipped lower in the
sky, his gaze turning pensive. The colors were just beginning to change from that deep blue to the
beautiful maroon and gold that the tropics were famous for. It was promising to be another glorious
sunset. Hermione gently tugged on his hand, guiding him towards their hut. He hadn't even
realized he was still holding onto her. She smiled happily at her small triumph when he didn't
let go as they walked.

Harry shook his head as they made their way across the beach. It was amazing how much things had
changed since their school year started. So much had happened and yet, there was still so much more
left to do. Their lives had taken quite a few abrupt right hand turns (and maybe a few left handed
ones too) since that fateful day in September. He glanced down at his and Hermione's
intertwined fingers.

Three months ago, he never would have imagined himself vacationing on a tropical island out in
the middle of the Pacific. He had been all over the world in such a small amount of time, saw so
many places and met so many people. Yet here he was, being pursued by both the witch next to him
and the most evil Dark Lord of the century. For entirely different reasons, of course, but similar
since neither one of them would take 'no' for an answer. It's truly amazing what life
can throw at you when you least expect it.

He looked down at the beautiful girl walking beside him, then back towards the setting sun once
more. He couldn't help the silly grin that made its way on his face before turning back to
where the others were setting up the torches for tonight.

What incredible adventure waited in store for them tomorrow?

Distantly he heard Ron's voice call out. "Hey Harry!
What's...Bar-Bee-Queue?"

Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.

-->



2. Tenuous Feelings
-------------------



Disclaimer: Any fictional characters portrayed in this fanfiction bearing resemblance to any
other fictional characters is purely coincidental.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*One*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**September 14th**

“I see.” Harry said quietly. The uncomfortable silence that stretched out between the Trio was
deafening. They stood on the Hogwart's grounds, several yards out from the main doors leading
into the school. The ancient stone fortress easily towered over them, dwarfing the three of them
with both its size and age. Harry stood slightly apart from his best friends; Ron and Hermione on
the other hand, stood quite close together. They were not quite touching, but they stood close
enough that one could see there was something more than simple friendship between them. The tension
between the three was nearly visible in the late morning air.

He had been expecting something like this to happen for quite some time now. Yet, although
he'd expected it, it still left an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. Watching them look at
each other, worry etched into Hermione's face and concern and embarrassment in Ron's eyes
before they both turned to regard him with identical expressions of…what exactly? Expectation?
Fear? Were they looking to get his blessing? Approval?

For some reason, that angered him. They had never bothered to ask him for his opinion before. He
wasn't their parent. Hell, he'd never had a parental figure to seek permission from, and he
was fine.

A chill ran though the new couple as the wind stirred their friend's robes ominously. He
stood watching them in silence, a blank look on his normally expressive features. He finally gave a
small shrug of indifference before walking past them, not bothering to look at either of them.

“Whatever,” he dismissed tonelessly.

“Harry, please don't!” Hermione said desperately. She started to reach for him, but he
deftly avoided her touch. Skipping neatly out of range, he kept moving.

“Don't worry about it,” He said as he held out his arm. Hedwig dropped gracefully out of the
sky and fluttered down, lighting neatly on Harry's outstretched arm. “I'm used to being
alone. What's a Hogsmeade trip anyway? It's not important.”

Tears threatened to fall as Hermione turned to look at Ron for help. Taking his cue, he gathered
his Gryffindor courage and stepped forward. “Look mate…” Harry paused, still not bothering to turn
to face them. “We…well we're not sure what's happening, you know? Between us.” He gestured
needlessly between himself and Hermione as his ears reddened. Pointless really since Harry
wouldn't look at them. “We just want to see what's there, right? See if there is something
we can make out of it. I mean…” Apparently not even Ron knew what he meant, for he trailed off at a
loss for words.

“I see.” Harry said again before moving off at a steady pace. He stepped out of the shadow of
the school and into the bright autumn light. “Let's go, Hedwig. We've spent plenty of time
by ourselves. We'll find something to amuse us, I'm sure.” Hedwig hooted happily, thrilled
she'd finally get to spend some time with her master. She nipped at his messy hair playfully as
Harry chuckled and threw an owl treat far into the sky. Hedwig took off quickly chasing after the
snack, deftly catching it mid-air. She rolled once and circled above Harry's head as they made
their way towards town. Harry laughing lightly as his snowy owl randomly dive-bombed his head,
attempting to coax more treats from him. He felt the tale-tell tingle of magic as he crossed the
safety of the castle's wards and continued determinedly into Hogsmeade, forcefully ignoring
both of his friends.

He was halfway to the outlying shops before either Ron or Hermione looked away from his rapidly
retreating form.

Ron sighed before looking at his semi-girlfriend. Her lip was trembling threateningly and her
eyes were watery; the warning bells built into every male on the planet were screaming that an
emotional outbreak was imminent. She had just *known* this wouldn't go well.

Ron sighed again. “Well, that didn't go as well as I'd envisioned.”

Hermione sniffed, wiping furiously at her eyes. “No, I expect it didn't.”

“Could have been worse, I s'pose.” He offered helpfully. “I mean, he didn't break
anything. The castle is still here. No explosions or other signs of random mass destruction.”

She snorted through her tears at his half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood. “That's
what worries me. Ron, why do I feel so…guilty?” she wondered aloud.

“I'm not sure. I really don't know, but yeah, I feel it too.” He looked down dejectedly
at his old, worn-out sneakers. For some unknown reason, he started feeling angry with Harry. He was
ruining his chances with Hermione on purpose! Why? Why couldn't Ron have something good for
himself just this once? Couldn't his best mate just be *happy* for them for once?

“Look,” He said, his voice laced with determination. “We have to do this for ourselves. I know
that I, for one, want to see if we can find something past the arguing and the fighting.” He looked
up at her. “I'm sorry he isn't happy with it, but the world doesn't revolve around
Harry. One day, he's going to have to learn that. Things change.”

Hermione, for her part, looked torn. “But I don't want to lose him, Ron! This changes
everything between us!” She looked ready to burst into full blown tears.

“This isn't even anything yet! Even we don't know what it is and I for one want to find
out!” Hermione nodded reluctantly, wringing her hands in her indecision. “Now look, let's try
and forget about this ok? We're not going to waste a perfectly good Hogsmeade weekend moping
around just because Harry's gone off his bloody rocker! I plan on having a nice first
date.”

Smiling a bit, she tried to wipe her eyes again, but her cheerfulness was clearly forced.
Ron's mind was made up however as he grabbed her hand and forcefully dragged her into town. The
beautiful day, laughing children and happiness that seemed to be present everywhere she looked did
nothing at all to lighten her mood. Throughout the entire day, Hermione just couldn't shake the
feeling that something wasn't quite right. It scared her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hogsmeade was such a nice, quaint, wizarding village. Harry always loved visiting throughout the
school year; it seemed to make the monotonous days of nonstop schoolwork slightly more bearable. It
was wonderful now that he, as an upperclassman, was able to visit anytime he wanted. The colorful
sandstone shops were always filled with students and people bustling about the cobblestone streets.
There was just something about strolling through, no particular destination in mind that appealed
to Harry. There was no hurry, no pressure to be anywhere. It was such a beautiful day; Harry just
couldn't force himself to remain angry. The bright blue sky was decorated with gently rolling
clouds, and Harry's thoughts immediately turned to flying. A good session on his Firebolt was
exactly what the mediwitch ordered to relieve him of his melancholy. He would have to hit the
Quidditch pitch soon after he was done in town.

Harry casually waved at a passing group of 3rd and 4th year girls who had
just exited Honeydukes and they giggled and waved shyly back. Every few minutes someone would call
out “Oi, Harry!” or “Alright there Potter?” It was nice having a year where you weren't
considered deranged or an evil wizard-in-training by everyone around you. Most people he recognized
from DA meetings or from casual interaction in classes. He considered them all friends whether they
were close ones or not. Today, though, he did not stop to chat with anyone nor did he invite
anybody to join him for his stroll.

Today he felt like being by himself. He seriously doubted if anyone would want to deal with his
black mood.

Harry was meandering about the winding streets, his hands in his pockets; his head lolled back
lazily watching the sky and its clouds pass by when a shadow momentarily blotted out the sun.
Seconds later Hedwig once again landed gracefully on his shoulder. He grinned as her large amber
eyes focused on him with amusement.

“What are you laughing at feather-face? Can't a bloke enjoy the weather?” She cocked her
head to the side at an impossible angle before cuffing Harry on the back of the head with one of
her wings. “Oh come on. Go find some nice, juicy rats to chase or something. I'm out of owl
treats anyway.” The beautiful bird hooted reproachfully at him before taking off in search of the
aforementioned rodents.

Shaking his head ruefully, Harry stuck his hands behind his head and continued on his wandering
trek. He made several stops throughout the afternoon, gathering various knickknacks and necessities
he had been needing. Harry bought a bit of everything from owl treats, Ever-fizzing-fizzles,
butterbeer, ink and parchment…to the latest edition of *Auror Monthly* (When Good Witches Go
Bad, 15-page special).

There was no way he could prove it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that this month's Auror
Centerfold might be none other than his friend Nymphadora Tonks. Color him paranoid, but the
vibrant blue hair and mischievous grin was all too familiar to be a simple coincidence. More so,
the flirty, knowing wink she offered him did nothing to change his mind.

He might just have to bring it up with her at the next Order meeting.

It still didn't dissuade him from deciding to hang the poster next to his bed.

By three o'clock, Harry had just about completely shopped himself out. It was no wonder
girls thought shopping was so therapeutic. It was completely exhausting! All he could think about
was taking a nice relaxing fly and then heading straight to bed.

He hadn't seen so much as a feather from Hedwig in the past half an hour, so he assumed she
had found herself a suitable snack to hunt. She, like her master, absolutely hated rats. Come to
think of it, he had seen neither hide nor bushy-hair of Hermione or Ron either. Harry's
amusement gradually faded and the smile on his face dropped off faster than Viktor Krum diving into
a Wronski Feint.

He really didn't know what to make of the thoughts and feelings running through his head.
Happiness, anger, jealousy, some deeply buried affection...he was so confused. Perhaps it was his
lacking childhood with the Dursley's that had numbed him to such things. After all, why worry
about love and affection when no matter how hard you try, you would never receive it? His fists
involuntarily clinched in anger. Maybe he just wasn't wired to understand feelings? Maybe…maybe
it's because he's a bloke and only girls get that stuff anyway?

Harry snorted in amusement.

Hermione would be able to tell him. She would have been able to explain things to him and help
him understand how it was supposed to be. She would have looked it up in a dozen different books,
cataloguing all the things that he would be feeling. Of course, she would analyze it all in minute
detail, breaking it down so that his inferior intellect would somehow be able to comprehend what
she was saying. Then, she would smile and turn it all around and make him feel incredibly silly for
not having come to the same conclusion earlier without her assistance.

Harry's frown deepened.

Only Hermione wasn't here. She was off with Ron, probably `*exploring'* the
possibilities of their budding relationship.

Exploring.

It sounded like a dirty lie, even to him. Ron probably was busy exploring every inch of his and
Hermione's almost-but-not-quite `relationship.' Which was exactly what he had been trying
to do with Lavender earlier that year. They were probably holed up in the dorms while the rest of
the student body was out enjoying the gorgeous weather. No, on second thought, Hermione was far too
clever for that.

They were more than likely using the Room of Requirements.

Harry gritted his teeth. He was tempted to try and clear his mind like in his Occlumency
exercises, but he was afraid that it could lock him inside his shields along with those disturbing
mental images.

Oh, Snape would love to see what was running through his mind right now. Probably would insult
him for having such sickening thoughts in the first place and then berate him soundly for his
piss-poor attempts at shielding.

Bastard.

Ron on the other hand… Well, Ron would probably comment on Harry's surprising lack of
imagination and suggest he read some of Seamus' more *colorful* Wizard's magazines.
They did have moving pictures after all. Then, after he made sure Harry had both the theory and
mechanics down, he would helpfully suggest he give it another go.

Git.

Whatever happened to the easy times when they were eleven and all they had to do was fight
against insurmountable odds and win? See the stone, get the stone. Find the escaped madman, kill
the escaped madman. Elude the evil wizard…and live.

Simple.

They had been an unstoppable team. The Golden Trio. They counted on each other, protected one
another, fought, and ate as one mind. It was like being part of a well oiled machine. When they
were together, everything was so effortless. Well, not *effortless* per say…but they knew
their places inside the group and were able to find their way. Always. That's just how it
worked for the Golden Trio.

Then things got complicated. As life was wont to do, people changed and evolved; growing apart
and closer, feelings changing until you didn't know what they were anymore. Friendship, love,
commitment, bravery, loyalty…jealousy, anger, confusion. It was hard to tell where one began and
the others ended. The older Harry got, the more things blurred together. Perhaps, that was what
Dumbledore meant when he said that the older he got the more `grey' things became.

Harry snorted. He was definitely feeling the confusion part now, not that it was anything new to
him. Truth be told, it was his usual state of mind until he found a concrete problem that needed
solving.

See the basilisk; slay the basilisk. All that rot was the way he liked things to be.

Simple.

Now, it was as if it was a crime for Harry to try and get any help with his homework from
Hermione anymore. If they were all studying in the library after classes, it could almost be
guaranteed that Ron would be giving Harry a not so subtle glance to pack up and leave. It
didn't matter if Harry was only halfway done with the day's assignments nor did it matter
that all Ron was doing was doodling on a parchment instead of actually working. The prat just
expected Harry to up and leave so he could get some quality time alone with their female friend. It
was as if it was a complete bother for Harry to be around them sometimes. Harry *knew* that if
the situation was reversed, if it was he who was trying to date Hermione, he knew that he would
never treat Ron the same way has he had been treated.

Hmph. If Ron and Hermione were going to leave him to play the role of third wheel, perhaps it
was best that he just took up his sword and moved on, so to say. `*Boy hero for hire. Slayer of
dragons, basilisks, and* *Dark Lords**. Catcher of snitches! Two for one specials
available. References available upon request.'*

Perhaps that was what bothered him the most. Harry squinted up at the clouds moving serenely
across the crystal blue sky. Maybe he was afraid of being left behind, once again being alone after
finally discovering friends with whom he felt he belonged. Maybe it was the thought of losing…what?
Love?

His frown deepened as he stopped in the middle of the street. A cloud momentarily passed in
front of the sun, sending a brief caress of coolness across his features. If there was any idea,
thought or feeling that was more confusing than the concept of love…then Harry surely had not found
it yet. The love of flying he understood. The feeling of opening Christmas presents for the first
time, of coming home to Hogwarts, the feeling he got when performing magic; those were concepts he
understood. Even Ron's love of food and sweets he could grasp if not appreciate for himself.
Love from a person? Not a concept he understood, so much.

That was probably one of the reasons that he was so fascinated by Mrs. Weasley's specialty
of crushing hugs, or Hermione's casual ease with which she touched him. That still did not mean
he understood it though. In fact, the idea of love made him distinctly uneasy. Love was what made
witches and wizards act so different when around each other; springing forth feelings of attraction
and infatuation or jealousy and anger. Love could turn two people who cared for each other into
bitter enemies. Love was dangerous.

After all, was it not Tom Riddle's love of power and lust for immortality that caused him to
turn dark?

Suddenly, Harry was interrupted from his musings by a pair of enormous blue eyes popping into
his field of vision, bringing him up short. A mass of straw-blonde hair held up in an elaborate bun
by a wand, a butterbeer cap necklace and a pair of enormous **`**WWW**'** earrings framed
the pair of wide, innocent eyes owned by none other than Luna Lovegood.

“You're thinking too loud,” she informed him perfunctorily in a stage whisper.

“Luna!” Harry exclaimed, startled. “*Merlin,* Luna! Make some noise when you move, would
you? You about gave me a heart attack.”

Luna leaned back from Harry's face with a satisfied smile and grinned up at him merrily with
her eyes closed and head cocked to the side. “You're funny,” she commented absently.

Harry gave her an amused look. Luna had to be one of the most singularly unique people in the
entire magical world, and that was no small feat. Harry secretly admired her distinctive way of
looking at the world around her. She looked at people and saw things that others would never
notice. It was an unusual ability and, honestly, Harry treasured her for it.

“Makes it easier to sneak up on the Snorkacks, eh?” He whispered back to her.

“Oh yes,” she nodded most seriously as they resumed walking together. Only Luna happened to be
walking backwards, facing Harry. He used to wonder how she did this without tripping, but after a
while, he gave up trying to figure it out. She never fell. With Luna, acceptance was the better
part of valor. “But it's not how loud you *move* that startles them. It's how loud
you're *thinking*.”

At Harry's puzzled expression, she elaborated. “You were thinking too loud. I could hear you
all the way over at Madam Malkin's. You sounded like this…” She made an exaggerated
angry/sad/pouting face that had Harry laughing hysterically.

“Did I now?” he laughed.

Luna wasn't laughing. “Oh yes. It was quite…gloomy.” She said seriously, but then brightened
up. “So! Here I am. And you are no longer lonely are you?”

Harry considered carefully. “Well, no I'm not. It's hard to be lonely when you have
someone with you,” he quoted wisely.

Luna, however, disagreed. “Oh no.” She waggled her finger at him in admonishment. “It is very
easy to be lonely in a crowd. I have come to the conclusion that you, Mr. Potter, are a prime
example of the lone Zeebumwee.” When Harry merely raised an eyebrow at her, she continued. “The
Zeebumwee is a small, but fierce creature. It is a solitary wonderer that moves from place to place
looking for its purpose. They can live alone for many years, not interacting with any others of its
kind; however living like this, it is never truly happy.”

Luna paused and looked at him expectantly. Figuring she was waiting for a follow up question
Harry asked, “So then, why aren't they ever truly happy?” Luna looked satisfied that he was at
least paying attention.

“Would you be happy knowing your instincts drive you to live out by yourself when your heart
desires the company of others?” Harry imagined not, but said nothing. This conversation was hitting
too close to home for his comfort. Luna continued on, blissfully ignorant to his feelings

“But, it is a very loyal creature, you see, and will fight to defend its mate once it finds
her.” Luna was staring at Harry with a most disconcerting amount of scrutiny. “They mate for life
you know.” She added in wide-eyed innocence.

Harry could not fight the blush that rose up, coloring his cheeks.

“So, ah… what is their purpose?” He stammered out in an attempt to change the subject. Best not
to let Luna get started on the mating habits of *anything,* because once she built up steam
and got going, she would not spare any detail. She could be quite graphic sometimes.

Luna shrugged her shoulders and skipped nimbly over a loose stone that was behind her. “No one
really knows until after they find it.”

“Fascinating.” Harry deadpanned.

“So where are your friends?” Luna inquired.

Harry scowled. “Probably off shagging on the common room floor,” he muttered darkly. He tried to
keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he had the feeling that he failed miserably.

“Well that sounds nice,” she replied absently. Harry goggled at her, but she appeared not to
notice. “But the couch is much more likely. It's a shame to waste such a gorgeous day away
indoors.” She observed him casually from the corner of her eyes. “Does it bother you all that much?
Them off exploring together?”

He prepared to fire off a suitable scathing remark, but stopped and actually considered the
question. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It does bother me.”

“Why?”

That single syllable, said so lightly, made his stomach churn. “I don't know.” He
reluctantly admitted. He was obviously uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

“Oh,” she said. “Are you in love with Hermione?”

Harry sputtered. “What? No! Of course I'm not! Don't be ridiculous.”

Luna hopped directly in front of him and came to an abrupt stop, halting their little walk. They
had ended up underneath one of the many stone archways crossing over the streets of Hogsmeade. The
shade would have felt wonderful had Harry not felt like his body temperature had shot up a hundred
degrees. She looked him directly in the eyes, her usually vapid gaze unnaturally focused for once.
He felt nervous.

“Are you're not fond of her at all then? You feel nothing for her?”

“Of course I'm fond of her!” Harry exclaimed, feeling defensive all of a sudden. “I…I
don't know what I'd do without her! Sure, she's bossy at times, likes to study more
than what's really good for her, and needs a good dose of fun at times, sure…but she means the
world to me. She's the best friend anyone could ask for!”

One silvery eyebrow quirked up and a single corner of her mouth turned upwards. “And you
don't find her attractive at all then, right?”

He began to immediately reply with a `no!' but that was obviously not true. He found her
quite attractive, sometimes to an amount that startled him. And on rare occasions, he had told her
so. It was those times, when she emerges from class; face alight in glee at learning some random,
pointless fact. Sometimes, it really hit him as he sees her in the Quidditch stands, hair windblown
and cheeks flushed red from yelling. Or the times when they're studying late at night and she
leans back to stretch, back arching *just* *right*…

Of course, there was always the Yule Ball.

“She's alright.” He admitted indifferently.

Luna pondered for a moment. “You're not in love with Ron then?”

Harry leapt back, willing his mind *not* to travel the same path it had just taken with
Hermione. “*Hell* no!” he forced out heatedly.

She looked confused. “I could have sworn it would have been one of them,” she muttered to
herself. She sounded disappointed. At least she had finally gotten more of a response on the last
one. “Then what is really bothering you?”

“I just don't know,” he began. “Maybe it's the fact that I'm afraid I'll lose
them? Or maybe it's the fact that they're off doing something, experiencing something I
wish I had. Maybe it's because they're so horribly wrong for each other? Maybe I don't
know what I'm thinking or feeling.”

Luna nodded. “So much of being you, of being Harry Potter, is about not thinking.” Before Harry
could take insult, she charged on. “You're impulsive. You just go with what you feel, not
taking the time to consider *why* you feel the way you do. After all, going with your gut
feeling has kept you alive all this time, why change tactics, yes? It's pure Gryffindor.” Her
insights continually surprised him. “Ravenclaw's, on the other hand, we think too much about
what we're feeling. By the time we come to the logical conclusion…it's too late.” She
sounded so wistful that Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was speaking from experience. She
shrugged her shoulders and continued on, humming a merry little tune to herself.

“If you're jealous of your friends date, why don't we have our own?”

Harry looked at her as if she'd gone and sprouted an extra limb. “Wh-*what*?”

“A date.” Luna clarified, speaking slowly as if that would help illuminate the issue for him.
“It is when two people go-”

“I know what a date is!” Harry stammered out hastily, rushing to interrupt her. Bloody hell, if
he could only fight down the blush that was overwhelming his cheeks. “But why me? I mean, what
would we do?” It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen with Luna, or even to be on a date
with her. He honestly did not understand why she'd want to be out with him.

Luna smiled serenely up at him, finally taking pity on the mere boy before her. Teasing him was
fun. “Because I like you,” She enunciated carefully. “You're fun and handsome and you treat me
like a person. And I'd imagine we will continue doing what we've been doing this last
little bit. Unless there's a nice couch you'd rather occupy?” Those wide blue eyes looked
up at him with such a guileless expression in them that he could not help the fire that spread from
his neck up to his forehead. Then, he saw the corner of her lips begin to crinkle in mirth. She was
having him on!

“Why you…” He began, advancing on her. “If you're not careful Lovegood, I may not have a
couch, but a squishy armchair might work just as well. And I happen to be rather adept at conjuring
those!”

She laughed and skipped out of his reach and he gave chase, laughing the entire way. Many of the
other Hogwarts' students out for the day stared at the two as if they had lost their minds.
Harry couldn't have cared the slightest. They eventually calmed down and continued at a more
sedate pace, only breaking out in giggles every once in a while.

They continued in this manner for quite sometime, merely wondering around Hogsmeade simply
enjoying each other's company, neither feeling the need to fill the silence with needless
chatter. Being with Luna was a lot like being with Hermione, Harry realized. If they had nothing to
say to each other, it was never an awkward silence like with others he knew. It was simply being
near that mattered. Luna walked along with him, occasionally twirling or skipping…or doing the odd
flip now and again, never pressing him for answers or forcing him into conversation. Every once in
a while, she'd find something interesting in a shop window and Harry would follow her to
investigate. All in all, it was an enjoyable day.

As they were coming out of their third shop, Hedwig dive bombed Harry's head of messy hair.
She circled once and few up to perch atop a sign only scant inches from Harry's reach. She
chattered at him in amusement.

“Oy, you get down here you! Don't feel like playing on the ground with the rest of us
featherless folks, eh?” Harry scowled up at his pet as Luna laughed musically. Hedwig chattered at
him again.

“She says that if you want her you'll have to catch her,” she managed between fits of
giggles. Harry stared at her a moment before turning to regard his owl, one eyebrow raised in
consideration. “Oh, did she now…” he drawled.

Nodding quickly, Luna said, “And there are only two ways I know of to catch an owl.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at his feathery friend, who was in the process of mocking her master,
hopping from one foot to the other and flapping her wings wildly. “Back to Hogwarts!” Harry
declared, grabbing Luna's arm and dragging her behind him. “You hear that Hedwig? I'm
getting my Firebolt, and then you're going to get what's coming to you!”

Hedwig looked at the two in amusement as they took off towards the castle. “Wait,” she heard her
master say. “What's the other way to catch an owl?”

-->



3. A Disturbing Heart to Heart
------------------------------



Disclaimer: Viewer discretion is not advised, per say, however it is highly recommended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TWO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Harry flew as quickly as possible back towards the blackened spires of smoke that was billowing
from the town's center. Even from a mile away and at five hundred feet up he could hear the
terrified screams of the villagers who were busy fighting for their very lives.

His pleasant afternoon of flying around the Quidditch pitch, playing tag with Luna and Hedwig,
had been cut woefully short. It was the smell of smoke that had first gotten his attention. He had
watched in horror as the flashes of spell fire gave way to flames and smoke. He had left a confused
Hedwig and a worried Luna with orders to go get the teaching staff to secure the school and send
anyone able-bodied person into town. He then took off like a rocket towards the disaster.

Damn it, he should have *known* something like this was going to happen! Damn Snape and
damn Occlumency! Was he actually managing to shield himself from Voldemort and his foul temper? Or
was the Pale-Scaly-and-Bald-One purposefully using *his* mental defenses to keep Harry out?
Gods it was so confusing! There was no way of knowing the sincerity of the feelings and images
leaking through to him. Were they real? Illusions generated to lure him into a trap?

Teeth grinding in anger, Harry sped onwards towards the town. He dropped altitude quickly, the
sun momentarily blinding him as he quickly descended to skim the surface of the lake. Spray from
his rapid crossing kicked a silvery contrail up behind him as he made the final push towards the
shore and the townspeople beyond.

He quickly pulled up to skim over the hill leading up to the main thoroughfare into Hogsmeade
when he glimpsed a lone figure standing serenely at the edge of the sandy shoreline. Harry would
recognize that balding skull anywhere. With a deft touch, Harry guided his broom around, gliding
down to gentle landing. He dismounted smoothly six feet above the ground, landing easily on a
large, rocky outcropping.

“Hello Tom,” Harry greeted quietly.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort, stood confidently at the waters
edge staring serenely towards the walled castle. He contemptuously ignored the Boy-Who-Lived for a
moment before turning his attention to his nemesis.

“Why Mr. Potter. What on earth brings you here?” Voldemort asked, his voice sending an artic
chill down Harry's spine.

Harry raised an eyebrow towards the cries of agony echoing behind him over the hilltop. “Oh you
know. I was out for a fly, spotted the sun reflecting off your scaly dome and thought I'd pop
down for a visit. Been simply ages since we last had a nice heart to heart.” Harry kicked his broom
over his shoulder and carefully slipped his wand out of its holster. Harry wasn't going to
admit it to anyone, especially himself, but he was terrified.

Riddle laughed gaily and Harry warily adjusted his position so that his profile was facing
Voldemort and his stance was kept wide. It was a rudimentary dueling position, but it was also the
most effective he had been taught so far.

“Oh Harry, how rude of you. Doesn't that bumbling fool teach you kids any manners in
that…*school*?” He snarled the word like a curse as he indicated towards the majestic building
with a lingering flick of his wand.

Harry kept his eyes focused on Riddle's, but his mind was very much aware of that wand. A
phoenix feather core wrapped in thirteen and a half inches of polished yew; it was perhaps one of
the most deadly weapons ever invented by wizards. Especially when wielded by one such as
Riddle.

He fought the urge to flinch and duck as the Evil One lowered his wand.

A woman's scream shrilly cut through the afternoon air before cutting off abruptly, its echo
lasting for several moments before dying in the expanse over the lake. The rage that welled up
inside him ran straight though Harry's core. From his soul to the magical source that gave him
his powers, every fiber of his being cried out to release the darkest curses imaginable at this
monster before him. He ruthlessly suppressed the desire. Harry's emerald eyes hardened.

“Call off your dogs, Riddle!” he spat.

If Voldemort had any eyebrows remaining, he would have raised them in amusement. “And now just
why would I do that? They so rarely get to go out now-a-days. I would so hate to spoil their bit of
fun. Besides, we're having such a lovely little chat. Why cut it short?” He asked mildly.

What the hell was he playing at?

“That's a shame. I should have guessed. I mean really, what with the Ministry pulling out
all the stops to hunt you and your playmates down and all; I guess it would be kind of hard to get
out.” As he spoke, he slowly inched his way around the dark wizard, putting the loch against his
back and hopefully keeping any of the Dark Wanker's cronies from sneaking in behind him.
Cowardly backstabbers they were, the whole lot of them.

His tactics were not lost on Riddle, who looked on with mirth apparent in his slitted red eyes.
He let the boy maneuver into the `better' position, clearly unconcerned with letting Potter
have the `upper hand.' After all, did one really ever have an `upper hand' when dealing
with pure**,** unadulterated evil?

Harry shook his head minutely, resolving to debate the tactical point at length with Hermione or
Moody over a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, assuming he survived this encounter.

Actually, he fervently promised himself he would argue any point with anyone over firewhiskey if
he could just live!

Would Hermione even drink the alcoholic beverage?

Voldemort smiled at Harry. “Why, if I did call them off, what would you do then?”

Taken aback at this question, he couldn't help but gape a bit. “Well, I ah…” He blinked
stupidly at the man.

“Oh my, what is the matter Harry? Having a spot of indecision are we?”

“Indecision may or may not be my current problem.” Harry shot back. For some odd reason that
Harry simply could not spare the time to fathom, Riddle found this to be completely hilarious.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” Voldemort chuckled. “Witty to the bitter end I see. I admire that, truly
I do.” He sighed dramatically. “However, I am deeply sorry that I can not submit to your request.
Once my Death Eaters have been unleashed and have tasted blood, it is not very easy to rein them in
until they have had their thirsts quenched.”

Harry grimaced as he watched Voldemort stride boldly around the beach with a grace he was
sickened to truly envy. He absently noted that he allowed Harry to keep his back against the
water.

Cocky wanker.

It was a deliberate slight against Harry and he knew it, however subtle it might have been. It
told him *exactly* what Voldemort thought about him and his dueling ability. If only
Dumbledore had given him more training! What was a few measly months of defensive lessons compared
to years immersed into the blackest arts?

Apparently, Riddle was thinking this as well because…

Or, no, surely not, Harry thought as his realization settled like a lead ball in his stomach. He
narrowed his eyes in concentration and he felt the tale-tell whisper of magic as it glided
effortless across his thoughts, completely bypassing his mental shielding. `Oh naturally,' he
thought bitterly, `he also has years of *Occlumency* and *Legilimency* training to
compliment said Dark Arts.'

Riddle laughed out loud as he read the young wizards thoughts. “Yes Harry, you actually thought
your elementary attempts at an *Occlumens* *Barrier*, while quite impressive for a few
months of half-hearted training, is impressive,” he even managed to sound condescending as he gave
compliments, “it cannot compare to the abilities of someone who has truly struggled to bring
themselves to the level of a Master!” He sneered at Harry's shocked expression.

“Oh, do pull your head out of the sand Potter and look around you! You're an apprentice at
best and a novice at worst! That old fool has inflated your ego ridiculously. Thinking that you
could pit yourself and your meager abilities against someone who's Mastery has exceeded decades
is not only pointless, it is downright foolish!”

Harry growled low in his throat. Damn the man. He was right of course, but damn him anyway!
Dumbledore had coddled him and praised him for his progress so much that he had, for a while
anyway, actually thought that he stood a chance. Not knowing what else to do, he fell upon the
experiences of youth.

“Well do us all a favor, Riddle, and please do go bury your head in the sand! Then inhale!”
Witty comebacks are, after all, a youth's specialty.

With a disappointed look, Voldemort casually flicked his wand in Harry's general
direction.

“*Infloranndas.*”

Harry reacted as quickly as possible, conjuring a ghost of the same silvery shield Voldemort had
used to defend himself from Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries. It was a pale imitation of
the true shield, made painfully apparent as Riddle's curse blasted through it in mere
seconds.

His back arched so much that it felt like he was going to break in two, his mouth open in a
wordless scream. The pain, oh *Merlin*, the pain! His insides felt like they were being
stretched and twisted unmercifully before, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Harry dropped
to his knees gasping for breath. At least he had kept a grip on his wand.

“Ow.” He said, unnecessarily.

“Indeed,” was all the comment that Riddle offered. “I understand your anger Harry, but do try
and keep in mind that you *are* talking to the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries.” His
sneer was Snape-worthy. “After all, it says so specifically in Hogwarts, A History.”

Harry's head snapped up so fast that the crack was audible from where Riddle was standing
several feet away. Shooting to his feet, Harry's wand automatically trained on where
Riddle's black heart would be. He could hardly see though the red haze of rage that was
clouding his vision.

“What have you done?” he demanded. His blood had gone cold at the phrase. There was only one
person in the world he knew that read that book, much less quoted from it.

“Why *I* haven't done anything, Potter. I've been here conversing with you this
entire time.”

Striding forward a step, Harry's wand never wavered. “Then what exactly was it you came here
to do?”

In answer, Voldemort's wand moved so fast it was a blur that even the youngest seeker in a
century could hardly follow. The sand at Harry's feet erupted in a shower of pebbles and small
stones, blowing him clean off of his feet. He flipped arse-over-teakettle before jerking to a halt
in midair, his limbs immobilized and his wand held in Voldemort's other outstretched hand. With
another jerk of the wand, Harry's limbs were yanked unceremoniously spread eagle and he was
rotated until he was upside down and face to face with the Dark Lord.

“What I want and why I'm here, you little, insignificant brat, is my own business,” he
snarled. “You're here and alive at my convenience until at such time as I see fit to dispose of
you in whatever manner I see fit.” Harry was hardly in any position to argue the point, especially
since he was frozen and unable to even blink his eyes.

“You know exactly what I want boy, and make no mistake, you cannot keep it from me. And, after I
rip the information from that tiny orifice you call a *brain*, I will render you incapable
from ever interfering in my plans until I figure out exactly what I want to do with the
information.”

Voldemort stepped back a moment before coolly walking around the suspended boy, surveying him as
one would look at a choice steak. It was really, really unnerving having those red eyes trailing
along his body. He could almost feel the weight of his gaze. If Harry wasn't so terrified of
dying at the moment, he might have been suitably disgusted.

“Tell me, Potter,” Voldemort said from just out of Harry's line of sight. “Bellatrix
informed me that you attempted to use the Cruciatus Curse on her that night in the Ministry.
Isn't that right?” He continued around until he was once again facing the boy. “She said it
tickled. She also requested that I tell you that if you had kept it up, you might have even brought
her to orgasm.” Harry looked horrified despite the paralysis.

“Yes,” Voldemort readily agreed. “Bella is such a twisted little thing isn't she? Her little
duel with her cousin had her thoroughly hot and bothered before your little scuffle in the Atrium.
She wanted you to know that you were welcome to try it again the next time you meet.” He paused
dramatically, his head tilting to the side thoughtfully. “After she is finished properly educating
you on its usage, of course.”

Harry could only gurgle deep in his throat as a response.

“Excellent! I'll let her know it's a date.” Voldemort's robes whispered roughly in
the wind as his wand suddenly disappeared into its dark folds.

Harry only had a brief moment to think `Eh?' before Riddle's arms spread wide, pale
fingers outstretched to either side.

“This won't hurt me one bit,” He hissed.

*Legilimens!*

Harry's head snapped back as if a sledgehammer had struck him. White hot nails raked across
the exterior of his mind unmercifully as his memories were dragged forcefully to the surface. He
was vaguely aware of his scar bursting open, blood obscuring his vision as his screams tore through
his throat.

-->



4. A Running Battle
-------------------



Warning: Reading fanfiction may lead to pregnancy, seizures, cancer, spontaneous organ
rejection, global warming, divorce and heart attacks.

*Regression of a Wizard*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Three*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone in town, including the attacking Death eaters, paused in their malicious games; gazes
forced towards the lake as the horrible sound ripped through the village. Evil grins slowly began
spreading among the dark cloaked ones, hidden beneath every white mask present.

It would appear that their Master had found the boy.

Across Hogsmeade in front of the Three Broomsticks, two friends had paused to catch their breath
in the lull of the battle. The red-haired one sat up straight as he looked, horrified, in the
direction of the sound.

“That's Harry!” he gasped, eyes wide.

“Bastards!” Hermione snarled, viciously re-stunning stunning a fallen Death Eater before taking
off in the direction of their wayward friend. Couldn't that boy *ever* manage to stay out
of trouble?

Ron, initially surprised at her outburst, was able to get in a nice kick to their downed foe
while Hermione wasn't looking and set off after her. The anti-apparition field weighted heavily
against their minds and magic.

Without warning, a silvery ribbon lashed out from nowhere, barely missing Hermione as Ron
knocked her to the ground and out of harm's way. The spell neatly bisected a tree that happened
to be in the way, splitting the trunk and sending the top half through the roof of a house. Both
students rolled to their feet, wands pointing in the direction the spell had come from.

Bellatrix Lestrange serenely stepped from the shadows of an alleyway, wand raised and her face
set in the mocking sneer that seemed to be her default expression.

“Aw, widdle mudblood fall dooown?” she sing-songed in that annoying baby voice of hers.

This time around, the woman looked much healthier than when they had last seen her. She was as
pale as ever, but her hair was no longer wild and unkempt and her robes fit her form much better.
She no longer looked emaciated, but rather her body had begun to regain the fullness that had once
made her obviously attractive in her younger years. Her face, while striking, was much too hard to
ever be called beautiful. It was in her eyes that you saw the madness.

*Still, she isn't at all bad looking, for an insane psychopath anyway*, Ron thought
absently.

Both students kept their eyes and wands warily trained on Bellatrix, stories of the legendary
dueler flashing through their minds. This was the woman who killed Sirius Black mere months ago and
neither was going to take chances with her.

Bella grinned, seeing the hesitation in their eyes.

“Where's the wee babies in such a hurry to run off to?” Her eyes widened in mock surprise.
“Oooh, you're off to help your little friend aren't you?” She cooed, stepping forward
slowly, her wand alternating between the two. She tsk'd with each movement. “Now we can't
have you two interrupting the Dark Lord's fun now can we?” The gravel crunched loudly under her
leather boots, shattering the silence as she advanced.

“Since when is torturing innocent people considered *fun?*” Hermione demanded, though
behind the scenes her mind was working at a furious pace. She tried recalling a conversation
regarding Lestrange she had with Tonks shortly after the start of summer. “*…dueling champion
'73 and '76…creator of the* Mortanius *curse…one of the original followers of Tom
Riddle…few alive who have landed a spell on her and lived…”* Tonks' voice rang over and
over.

She was good. No, she was better than good, but she wasn't the best. She could be beaten.
Sirius had bested her in school. James Potter had taken her on and won many times also. But Sirius
and James were dead. Tonks…well, even the Auror admitted to being afraid of the woman.

Harry had hit her…once. Hadn't he?

“Since third year,” Bella replied easily, breaking Hermione out of her thoughts. “I discovered
my particular talents on a wee firstie.” She closed her eyes and sighed fondly. “Little bitch could
never fully use her right hand again.”

Ron slowly began working his way around Bellatrix, Hermione taking the opposite side. It was
much harder dueling two people if they were spaced wider apart. At least that was the theory. Bella
hardly looked concerned with the prospect of facing two sixth years.

Of course, she didn't know that they had been studying offensive and defensive magic way
more advanced than what your average run of the mill Hogwarts student would know. Along with Harry,
the three of them were considerably further along then the rest of the D.A. could ever imagine.
Hermione doubted that even Dumbledore knew the true extent of their knowledge. They had trained for
moments like this. Hour after hour had been spent honing their skills in the Room of Requirement,
training for scenario after scenario that Harry devised.

Whether it was capturing Pettigrew, fighting Greyback the werewolf, dueling Lucius or Bellatrix;
they always emerged from the room bruised, sweaty and tired, but more confident in their abilities.
That was the wonderful thing about the Room of Requirements; it could conjure up a staggering
variety of opponents for virtually any skill level. Dementors, lethifolds, centaurs, vampire,
giants…the kids had run through each setting dozens of times, honing themselves against the forces
Voldemort was likely to employ.

Then, there were the matches against Voldemort himself. Those were never pretty. They had never
won a single fight against the Dark Lord. He apparently came with only one skill setting:
executioner. Voldemort on three, against two, and finally against Harry single-handily; privately
those sessions worried her the most. Harry had never let them watch him battle Riddle by himself.
That little detail bothered her more than she cared to admit.

In all their training sessions, one thing had become startling clear: the best way to fight an
opponent like Bellatrix was a single, continuous chain of only their most powerful charms. Only
using a virtual tidal wave of power would they prove themselves the victors. If she had learned
anything about Bellatrix, it was that she was startlingly fast and virtually impossible to
surprise. Even while taunting them, she was prepared to unleash her spells.

Hermione tried to catch Ron's eye, wanting to convey what she needed him to do. A pointed
look from her just returned a confused one from Ron. She couldn't be any more obvious in what
she intended to do because Bella was now watching her as she droned on about her various
tortures.

*Blast it all*, Hermione thought viciously, *if it was only Harry here with me, he'd
understand exactly what I was trying to say. Stupid, thick, prat.*

It was too late anyway. Hermione knew what she had to do. She could only hope Ron remembered
their lessons and followed accordingly. Ron shrugged his shoulders minutely as if to say, *what
the hell*?

“*Lancious!*”

As Hermione predicted, Bella turned towards the movement, launching her first curse at directly
at Ron's heart. It fit with her that she would fire at the male first. Somehow, it was both
sexist and insulting.

Preempting the strike, Hermione's wand blurred as she also cast her spell towards Ron.

“*Obex Marmor!*”

A marble slab burst forth from the ground intercepting the Lancing curse neatly before it could
skewer her best friend through. Ron hadn't been idle though. He had leapt to the side as the
Bellatrix's curse punched through the marble slab, twisting nimbly as he returned the favor. A
massive burst of stone and wind sandblasted Bella, who crouched behind her hastily erected shield.
Unfortunately for her, it only covered a single area directly in front. Flecks of stone and sand
buffeted her from three other sides, burning her skin and eyes. Caught off guard by her blindness,
her will faltered and she was blasted backwards into the darkness of the alleyway from which she
had emerged. The shards of her shield faded into the ether.

Ron hastily stood out from behind his protective barrier as countless flickers of bluish light
flared steadily from Hermione's wand. The entry way to alley was quickly buried under nearly
ten tons of large, heavy boulders. Well that had been surprisingly easy.

Hermione quickly lowered her wand as she looked towards Ron, whose face was extremely pale. It
contrasted sharply against his red hair and freckles.

“Oh she's going to be right *pissed* now,” he moaned pitifully.

Hermione's face was set in grim determination. “We didn't have time to play with her.
Riddle is going to kill Harry, we have got to hurry.”

She took off through the twists and turns of Hogsmeade, steadily making her way towards the
lake. Her black and maroon cloak billowed out behind her as Ron was forced into jogging to keep up.
Even with his much longer legs, he had to push himself to stay with the petite little witch. Man
she could get so fired up sometimes. Both, however, were breathing heavily.

They cut across a second alleyway and darted from cover to cover, continuously scanning every
direction for Death Eaters. Covering each other, they dashed across the street making their way
towards the entryway to Madame Puddifoot's tea shop, stopping briefly before creeping towards a
pathway behind the Hog's Head.

Hermione peeked cautiously around the corner of the building towards the square beyond. She
could barely make out the fountain and wishing pool in the center. Figures were scurrying across
the plaza, but she couldn't tell if they were friend or foe. Ron kept his hand firmly on her
shoulder as he kept grimly an eye on the vicinity behind them, ready for any attacks that might
come.

Flashes of multicolored light reflected off of the light stone archways and windows of the
structures across from them. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh hung heavily on the air, forcing
both of them to breathe through their mouths or risk gagging. It was the sounds oddly enough that
bothered Ron the most. It was deathly quiet for long periods of time when screams and crashes would
echo around them for brief moments before falling silent again. In the maze of cobblestone streets
and housing, it was nary impossible to tell where, or whom, they were coming from. Ron wondered if
this is what Harry had felt like as he was running through the hedge maze during the Third Task of
the Triwizard Tournament.

An inn two streets over was going up in flames, the orange tongues licking upwards, casting a
fiery glow in the sky above them. It wouldn't be long before the smoke obscured everything. If
someone didn't put the fires out, it wouldn't be long either before the entire town caught
ablaze.

“What now?” Ron gasped as he struggled to catch his breath.

“It's a clear shot from here to the Ugly Duckling Inn, but…”

He grimaced. “So? Let's go then. What's the problem?”

“The problem is that it's a clear *shot*, Ronald!” She said exasperatedly, pointedly
stressing the word `shot.' *Merlin, what I wouldn't give for an invisibility cloak right
about now.* Her eyes darted from dark corner to corner, carefully scanning the entire expanse in
one go. Either the figures from earlier had run on, or were cleverly hidden, waiting in ambush to
pick off anyone foolish enough to risk strolling through. The several bodies scattered throughout
the square made her think it was the latter.

Hermione growled deep in her throat, an odd sound, yet strangely menacing sound coming from her.
“I don't like this one bit. We should never have separated from Seamus and Pavarti. I can't
see anyone from this angle and there is no way of knowing who's controlling the streets.” She
pulled her head back around the side and turned to face Ron. “Where are the teachers and Aurors for
heaven's sake? It's been nearly fifteen minutes since the attack began!”

Ron shrugged. “Who knows? I haven't seen any students since we left the Hogs Head.” He
twirled his wand in between his fingers. “We've got Death Eaters in front of us, behind us, and
closing in on both sides. Either way we go, we're going to have to cut through some of them.
Why not just push straight on through?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “*Honestly!* Think, oh master strategist,” she said scathingly.
“There's no cover between here and there. One well aimed shot and we're done for.” She
glanced back towards the fountain and then further down the street. “We go around. It'll take
longer, but it's the safest route.”

“Bullshit, *Hermione,*” he snarled. “As you just so eloquently put, they're going to
kill Harry. It's going to take time that we don't have to give. They could already have
him!”

“No, *Ronald*,” she replied, stressing his name. “We play this safe. We're no good to
anybody dead. Especially Harry!” With that, she decisively turned on her heel and made to go
further down the road, her wand once again at the ready. They would *not* argue at a time like
this! She would have gone on too, if it had not been for the heavy footfalls of her companion
rushing headlong behind her and into the city center.

She turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of red hair dash towards the cascading pool
and the small ledge surrounding it. Hermione sucked in a breath, cursing the young Weasley quite
fluently in four different languages before sprinting after him. Ron was two thirds of the way to
his goal, mere seconds away from reaching safety, when the first spell lanced out from the top of a
four story building.

The sickly green curse needed no introductions for they were all too familiar with its
results.

Ron reacted instantly, throwing himself haphazardly the rest of the distance towards the low
wall. He rolled awkwardly to a stop, his chin and knees receiving the brunt of his impact were both
bleeding and torn. He pulled himself as close to the stone edge as he could before peeking his wand
and the top of his head over, ready to return fire. He had entirely missed where the spell had
originated.

Hermione, on the other hand, redoubled her sprint. Her wand traced a near perfect circle in the
air, clear, icy blue lines trailing its tip before she thrust it outward in the direction of their
assailants.

A circle gouged into the stonework of the building. The answering wall of fire that rolled
towards her was somewhat cowing.

Again, she raised her stone barrier (granite this time), forcing it to rise and cup over her
head, barely protected her from the scorching heat as it slammed into her shield. Ron followed
Hermione's direction and shot three curses in rapid succession. An obscuring black fog, a
blasting curse, and an acid mist blinded, choked, and forced anyone left alive on that rooftop to
take cover. A quick hand motion to Hermione and moments later she was by his side.

She looked angrier than he had ever seen her before.

“Move!” she hissed furiously. He needed no further prompting.

A flurry of spells came from three different directions, their passing searing the air with an
incandescent glow. While none of dark curses scored any direct hits, it was an unpleasant situation
nonetheless. The side of a nearby shop blew outwards in a shower of debris, sending stones and
mortar in all directions. The wizards were wisely using powerful area effect spells, similar to the
ones the two teens had been using, knowing well that they would almost have no chance of landing a
spell directly on either of them from such a distance.

The cobblestone path directly in front of them suddenly melted into glowing, molten rock. A
quick flame freezing charm and they were across the obstacle and into an alleyway leading towards
the lake. Ron turned and moments later conjured a rather lopsided brick wall. Hermione quickly
reinforced it with a moderate, but long lasting, shield charm.

They ran on for a few moments, taking two lefts and a right before halting for a moment in the
shadow of an archway to catch their breath. Ron lay against the wall panting heavily while Hermione
was bent nearly double, her back heaving. She straightened abruptly, a deadly gleam in her eye,
before she turned and slapped Ron hard across the face.

His head slammed back against the bricks with a most satisfying `thunk.'

Ron futilely clutched at the back of his injured skull, his eyes shut tight in pain. “What in
the nine blazing circles of hell was that *for*?” he cried indignantly.

Her lips curled into a menacing snarl. Although whatever scathing reply that was perched upon
the tip of her tongue ready to be delivered would forever remain a mystery. At that moment a
crackling sound similar to hundreds of ice cubes rubbing together reverberated throughout the small
street.

Both teens quickly looked towards the intrusion, both of Hermione's eyes wide in terror and
Ron's still squinting in pain, watched in horror as the air shimmered and warped as tiny,
electric blue sparks rippled in the summer air. A hole nearly six feet in diameter was slowly being
torn open in the very fabric of space. She could barely make out several shadowed figures moving
behind the disturbance. She raised her wand and pointed at their visitors.

“Ron,” she whispered urgently. “We need to leave. We need to leave *now!*” She began
backing away towards another intersecting alleyway, her other hand reaching out to bodily drag her
best friend with her. Before them, the air seemed to bulge and strain one final time as a great
ripping echoed around them followed by a sickly *`squelch!'*

Six black and gold clad Ministry Aurors dropped neatly to the cobblestone pavement, knees bent
in a combat ready crouch. Their wands were raised, ready for trouble as they branched out carefully
securing the alley. Instantly two of the Auror's spotted the teens and moved hastily towards
them. Hermione sagged in relief, lowering her wand, as she recognized the hulking form of the
black, bald headed Auror striding towards them.

“Ron, Hermione! Are you two okay? Where's Harry?” he demanded.

“Shacklebolt! Thank Merlin!” breathed Ron. The large Auror's eyes swiveled to the lanky
young man. “It only took you guys twenty bloody minutes to get here!”

Shacklebolt's reply was interrupted as two more rips and a squelch followed as two grey clad
wizards hit.

“Unspeakables!” Ron exclaimed in surprise and Shacklebolt rolled his eyes.

“Let the whole world know, why don't you?” He growled out. Ron at least had the decency to
look properly ashamed. “It took us *twenty minutes* to tear through the bloody anti-apparition
wards around the place. You-Know-Who must have set the wards himself. It took eight of them to
knock a hole big enough to insert a strike team.”

An especially fit looking Lieutenant strode over, barely giving the two kids a glance before
addressing Shacklebolt. “Sir, the initial wards are in place and Moran and Stalwert have set up
positions covering the streets. Two and Eight are preparing to set up the final barrier.” He
gestured to the unidentifiable Unspeakables working at the far end. The concealment cloaks
prevented them from getting even the slightest glimpse of their faces, only the embroidered numbers
on their sleeves gave them identity.

They watched as the Unspeakables quickly separated and glided over to opposite sides of the
street. Hermione observed, fascinated, as they each removed large glowing crystals from their robes
and placed them carefully on the ground. With a brief glance at each other, they stood back and
pointed their wands at the objects.

There was a short burst of light so bright that they were forced to cover their eyes. The sharp
smell of ozone permeated the air as they looked back over, blinking spots from their eyes. A
shimmering, blue shield arched across the street, creating an impervious barrier of energy. The
power radiating off the shield let Hermione know that nothing short of the Unforgivables would be
getting through.

Shacklebolt looked back at the teens. “We've been ordered to set up an insertion point and
hold it. The Ministry is going to be attempting to send in more teams and hit those bastards hard,
but it's going to take a while. We're going to take the town back one street at a
time.”

Hermione frowned as she watched the Aurors and Unspeakables scurry about their tasks, her brow
furrowed in thought. “No, I don't think that will be necessary. This doesn't feel like an
occupation. He's here for something and this is just a diversion, elaborate as it may be.” Her
eyes met the Senior Auror's, wide and afraid. “He's here for Harry,” she breathed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Notes: Now, first off, yes I did make Hogsmeade quite a bit larger than depicted
in canon. Why? First, because no self-sustaining village is only going to have 100 people**
**living there, especially** **in modern day times. Second, I have actually** **been to
England** **before. I have seen the villages there and walked their streets. I patterned the
town after the architecture I personally observed and took pictures of while I was visiting over
seas.** **What really comes to mind if you go over there is exactly how much stonework is
predominant. It was like** **everything** **was made of stone. Beautiful I tell ya! Nothing
quite like it here in the states.**

**As always, question and comments** **are** **welcome and I'll try my best to not
leave you hanging or wondering** **about anything** **too long.** **This chappie
isn't** **quite** **beta'd so there's bound to be some mistakes. Point them out
and I'll fix `em.** **Leave me some love and I'll give ya some back.**

-->



5. Pintsized Potter
-------------------



**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not HPB compatible.**

*Regression of a Wizard*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*F**our*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fighting throughout much of the village had been both swift and brutal. Few citizens had put
up much of a fight against the ones they had been taught to fear while growing up. The bedtime
stories used to frighten children into good behavior became their undoing as most wizards and
witches turned and ran instead of putting up a resistance. Those that remembered the first war had
no desire to confront the ruthless and often cruel dark robed wizards in the white masks.

The Auror Division had eventually been able to break through the wards surrounding the town.
Several small teams had been inserted and began weakening the wards until they collapsed totally,
allowing a massive influx of reinforcements from the Ministry to retake the city. The heaviest part
of the fighting had taken place in the town center with Hermione and Ron directly in the middle of
it all. The casualties had been relatively light for both sides, with the Death Eaters
*apparating* out as soon as the wards had been lifted. Still over two dozen lives had been
irreparably shattered by the day's events. A score more were left wounded in the streets and
alleyways. Several Dark Marks had defiled the skies for hours afterwards until being dispelled by a
trio of Unspeakables. Most of the major damage was done to the buildings and surrounding areas,
leaving quite the mess for post battle cleanup crews.

Healers from St. Mungo's and several other smaller clinics from the area came and went in a
constant stream, quickly moving the critically wounded into secure medical wards. The nurses
tending the Massive Magical Mishap Ward got little sleep that night. Only three people died in the
ward over the course of the evening. It was then that one of the Head Healers found that several of
their patients had somehow contracted Lycanthropy. The brutal slashes and tears in their bodies had
not been an obvious indicator as to the nature of their attack. The whole hospital was flooded with
such injuries, both magical and mundane in nature. Investigation had later shown a small contingent
of Werewolves had made their way into a small quarter of the village, ransacking and raping at
will. The number of small children brutalized and infected immediately led the Unspeakables to
identify Fenrir Greyback as the culprit. All the injured fit his victim's profile. Even more
disturbing was the number of victims reported as missing. It was unknown how many werewolves had
been in the town. They had slipped in and out leaving no traces but the bodies of their victims in
their wake. There was no evidence of any additional types of Dark Creatures used in the attack.

In the chaos that followed, it had taken nearly two hours to find Harry. The search for the
Boy-Who-Lived was ineffective at best, however frantic. Everyone Ron and Hermione inquired about
their best friend's whereabouts assumed he was off with someone else. They had ran around the
town checking in with all the Auror patrols, most major shops, and every single student they could
find on their way to the castle. When it became apparent that Harry was not, in fact, in the town,
the search began in earnest. When it was positively confirmed that he was not inside the castle
walls, via a quick glance at the Marauder's Map via Ron, it had seemed that all of
Hermione's worst nightmares were coming true.

She had initially feared that he had been captured by Death Eaters or buried underneath the
rubble of some collapsed building. Images of a broken and battered Harry, crying out for help into
the darkness quickly turned her usually organized mind into something more closely resembling
chaos. Hysterical was far too mild of a word to describe her. They kept searching, however, and
eventually they made their way towards the shores of Hogwart's Lake. None had realized that he
had never actually made it into town. The volume of his screams gave the belayed how far a distance
he really was.

It wasn't until the fiery, and somewhat stylish, arrival of Fawkes had things begun to look
up. The golden bird had appeared in a flash of brilliant fire, gracefully dropping down to land on
Hermione's shoulder. The young witch had looked at the bird with wide, scared eyes fearing the
worst. Trilling the most soothing sound anyone had heard, almost like that of pure, liquid comfort,
the phoenix had bobbed its head up and down urgently. At the curious gazes from the rest of those
assembled, the bird hopped off Hermione and started to fly out over the surface of the water. He
disappeared in another brilliant flash of light before quickly reappearing at the far end of the
lake. It was hard to miss his rather impressive method of travel.

Only Mad-eye Moody, who had by this time managed to hook up with Ron and Hermione, was able to
see the figure down by the water's edge. “It's a body,” he growled.

Everyone's blood turned to ice.

“*H**arry*!” Hermione shrieked, making a dash for the lake's edge. Her body
flickered rapidly in the cool evening air, instinctively struggling to apparate over to her injured
friend before Ron bodily tackled her to the sand.

“What are you thinking?!” he demanded angrily, holding her down. “We're in the middle of
Hogwart's bloody wards! Are you *trying* to kill yourself?” She struggled for a moment,
held in place by Ron's heavier form, while everyone else began hastily making their way around
the lake leaving the squabbling kids behind.

“Get off of me!” She snarled out, her face flushing red in embarrassment. She angrily watched
the feet and legs of the searchers file passed, as she squashed down her humiliation at losing
control. “I promise I won't go trying to apparate over to him. Now get off of me!” She kicked
her legs hard.

Ron slowly stood off of her, watching warily as she stood and hastily brushed the sand off of
her arms and legs before taking off at a dead run. Ron sighed wearily and dashed off after her, his
longer legs easily matching her frantic pace. She covered ground, quickly overtaking the other
rescuers. As they wound around the sandy shores, they passed through a grove of trees. A minute
later, they were almost on the other side.

Hermione stumbled to a stop; Ron quickly at her side, as they saw the Headmaster, Fawkes perched
upon his shoulder, carrying a small burden wrapped in a tattered cloak. The look on
Dumbledore's face was weary and his eyes were devoid of their ever present twinkle. He looked
as if he had aged ten years.

“Sir! What happened? Is Harry…?” Hermione's words lodged in her throat, hands automatically
covering her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to tear its way out. She had caught sight
of the tiny, frail arms and legs dangling precariously from inside the cloak. They were slick with
blood.

But the body did not belong to Harry.

“Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger.” The headmaster wheezed. “You will have to excuse me if I do not
linger to chat. Please, return to your dormitories and *stay there*!” he commanded sternly.
There was definitely no twinkle present in his eyes. “Harry will be taken care of, I promise. Get
to the castle.” With that, he looked to Fawkes and all three of them vanished in a burst of
incandescent fire.

*“*Dear Merlin,” Ron breathed, looking decidedly green beneath his red hair. It was not a
fetching combination. “That was just a kid! Who would do something like that to a scrawny
munchkin?”

For once in her life, Hermione wished she did not have an answer to a question.

Shaking herself from her disturbing mental images, she looked towards the castle. “Come on,
Ron,” she said grimly. “We have to do as the headmaster asked and get inside.” She looked upward
toward the battlements where there were already maroon clad Auror's taking station. “The Aurors
are there and it's not safe to linger out here. There's no telling if all the Death Eaters
have actually left or just gone to ground. We'll be much safer in the castle.”

Ron doggedly followed her as she powered onward towards the castle. “But…what about Harry?” He
asked anxiously. “He's still out…”

“I don't know about Harry!” Hermione shrieked. The aftermath of combat, her adrenaline rush
crashing in her bloodstream, fatigue, and anxiousness for Harry all seemed to hit her at once. “I
don't know where he's at! No one has seen him! I don't know if he's hurt or dying
or…or…” She trailed off, stumbling a bit as she broke into tears.

Hermione had never been one much for tears and Ron awkwardly backed off a bit. They both trudged
up to the main castle doors, filthy and covered in sweat in grime. The Aurors stationed at the
front doors eyed them warily, but let them pass unmolested upon recognizing them as friends of
Tonks'.

The two ascended the stairs towards Gryffindor tower in a daze, not really taking anything at
all in. The numerous guards, both Auror and Unspeakable, passed by without registering in their
weary consciousnesses. They only paused long enough at the portrait entrance to give the Fat Lady
the password (*Gryffindors go forward!*) and fell resigned onto a couch. They spent several
hours lost in thought as they carefully watched the portrait hole, willing their best friend to
emerge. Each hoping he'd walk though, black hair mussed terribly, grinning lopsided with a
bandage or three wrapped around him, but still none the worse for the wear.

He never did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***Unknown Time Later - Unknown Location***

He woke to pain. It began behind his eyes, tendrils writhing near his scar and traveling all the
way down his spine and into his stomach. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. What was
worse was the feeling of a profound violation, something his mind just could not quite grasp.

Emerald eyes opened to reveal a fuzzy, sandstone room, with white, sterile looking walls that
were barely visible in the flickering torch light. The room faintly smelled of anti-septic and the
peculiar smell of *hospital* that was unmistakable. Yet, he had no idea where he was.

He was currently lying in a comfortable, if somewhat itchy hospital bed, naked from the waist up
and apparently, judging from the breeze, from the waist down too. There was a bedside stand with a
pitcher of water and a pair of glasses along with a funky looking stick with a handle.

All along the walls, there were various cabinets with colorful liquids and flasks; each
containing what was obviously medicine. Sitting up, he glanced warily around. From his vantage
point in the far corner of the room, he saw that several of the beds were occupied. Most of said
occupants were sleeping soundly. Off across the room, a fire burned merrily away in the
fireplace.

What sort of hospital has a *fireplace* of all things? Rather silly, really.

His eyes squinted through the pain as he surveyed the room. Slowly everything came into focus. A
connected office had several figures in it, visible through the glass window. The door was shut
tightly, reducing their raised voices to a slight muffle. Whatever they were arguing about, it was
not pretty. He sighed warily. Adults always argued. Or yelled at him. Neither were particularly
pleasant to witness.

He watched carefully, making sure that those in the office was not paying him any attention, and
stealthy slipped out of bed. His feet hit the cold floor with a plop, sure enough he was naked, and
began to searching for something to use as clothing. He totally ignored the wand and glasses on the
stand. Nearby, someone snorted and shuffled restlessly in their sleep and the boy froze in place
instantly. He was used to having to creep around quietly. He waited patiently until whoever it was
had settled before resuming his search for coverings. It was so cold in there!

He spied a spare pillowcase on a table by an unused bed. He snagged it and glimpsed a sharp
scalpel on the adjourning table. He was a resourceful lad. Putting two and two together, he soon
had a makeshift pair of pants and a shirt that fit fairly well, if somewhat loosely. He felt better
covered, not nearly as exposed or vulnerable.

He still had absolutely no idea where he was at. The last thing he remembered was his Aunt and
Uncle yelling at him for smashing one of the pretty vases kept on the fireplace mantle. Naturally,
Dudley had been the one to hit the favored décor with his shiny, brand new sling shot. Of course,
his Uncle wouldn't have listened even if he had tried to tell him the truth, so wisely he had
kept his mouth shut, even while taking his beating and being thrown back into his cupboard.

Life wasn't fair, he had realized fairly early on. He had learned to take a beating
(literally) and keep on ticking. He tried so hard not to let anything get him down, hard as it was
at times. There was nothing he could do about his life, so why let it bother him? This was the way
things were and there was nothing to be done about it. With this mindset, he had learned to be
adaptable. While Dudders wasted his mind away on videogames, television shows and mindless eating,
he kept himself busy by watching and learning. He observed those around him carefully, figuring out
concepts that most three times his age never understood. He learned. He went with the system and
tried to use it, such as it is, to his best advantage. He was smart. He had been taking care of
himself for as long as he could remember.

This was just another odd puzzle to figure out.

With this mindset, he silently crept to the door and, feeling particularly brave and grown up
about it all, opened the door to slip out.

He promptly ran into a ghost. Or, to be more precise, he ran through a ghost. The sudden chill
from the drop in temperature had his hair standing on end and goose bumps running clear across his
entire body. He spun around quickly, eyes wide in fear as he took in the ethereal form before him.
He couldn't quite believe what was in front of him.

“Why, hello there young Harry!” Sir Nicholas cheerfully greeted his young Gryffindor with a tip
of his hat. He never quite counted on the reaction he got as his partially severed head, along with
his hat, came away with a wet squelch.

Harry's face drained of color, turning nearly white, before he turned and ran screaming all
the way down the hall. As the sound finally began to die in the echoing hall, Sir Nicholas turned
with a defeated sigh to one of the portraits on the nearby wall.

“Would you please find the Professor and let him know that his wayward charge is up and
gallivanting through the hallways?” To his credit, the anxiety in his voice was kept to the bare
minimum. “Let him know I'll try and keep an eye on young Mr. Potter until he finds us.”

The lady in the painting giggled lightly at him before waving and trotting off and out of the
frame. After she had disappeared from view, Nicholas turned back towards the direction Harry had
taken and let out a huff of non-existent breath. Fat-bloody lot of good it would do to have a ghost
to keep him out of trouble. Sighing warily, the ghost took off in chase of the lad.

Harry, meanwhile, was doing his best to get himself well and thoroughly lost. After tearing out
of the hospital wing's main corridor, he ended up taking a series of turns that took him
gradually deeper into the bowels of the castle. As little as he liked to admit it, he was scared
out of his wits.

That had been an honest to goodness ghost! What was worse was that it had seemed to know him by
name! Harry could only image that it was here to collect his soul or something. Because that's
what ghosts did. Naturally, fearing for his life, he ran for it. It quickly became obvious, even to
his young mind, that this place…this castle, was far from ordinary.

He skidded haphazardly to a stop in the middle of a dank, dingy hall. Suits of armor lined the
walls, while overhead several dim chandeliers flickered in draft. Every dozen or so feet, there was
a torch set into a recess giving off an orange, sinister light. He pressed his back up against the
cold, rough stone, eyes flickering from one end of the hallway to the other. He did his best to
hide in the shadows. What on earth was this freakish place??

The noises coming from all around him gave him the chills. He could hear the clanks and rattle
of chains, the hushed murmur of a hundred different voices echoing quietly throughout the building.
There was something in the air. Something he could feel crawling across his skin; its tingle warm
and beckoning. He had felt it before, but couldn't for the life of him remember where. He could
almost taste it on the wind.

“Whassa matter, dearie?” a voice suddenly asked from right next to his ear. Squeaking like a
trapped mouse, Harry whirled around, jumping away from the wall. His eyes darted around for the
person who'd snuck up on him. The corridor was empty. Nervously he licked his lips.

“I say! Are you ok? You look a trifle lost there lamb.” His eyes slowly slid over to the
painting on the wall. There sat an old (mid-twenties) woman sitting on a tree stump, holding what
looked to be a gardening shovel. She…was moving.

Harry slowly backed up until he came in contact with the opposing wall. His mouth worked
soundlessly as he gaped at her. It was a picture! A picture was talking to him!

The kindly looking woman had a look of concern on her face. “Do you need some help dearie?” She
at least sounded nice.

“Erm…no…no thank you…uhm...ma'am.” Harry stuttered awkwardly, backing away as slowly as he
dared.

To his disbelief, she simply walked into the next picture frame closest to him. “You do look a
mite small to be wondering around the castle at a time like this!” she said, peering at him
closely. “You look a bit familiar. You need to…” she was cut off as he hastily leapt further
backwards.

“I'm fine!” he squeaked before once again taking off down the hallway.

“Well I never!” the woman huffed. “Young kids these days. They keep gettun' ruder and ruder,
even the little `uns.” At this, she trotted off to find a professor.

Harry tore down the hallway as if the hounds of Hades themselves were chasing after him (which
he was convinced that they were). Torches flickered wildly as he flew past, his coming and going
leaving a shimmering orange luminance to mark his passing. Left, right, right, up the stairs...he
wanted out of this place and he didn't care how he got out. This castle must be massive; he had
yet to pass a single window open to the outside.

Castle...he'd never seen an actual castle before, only glimpsed of them in pictures and when
he was able to catch a sneak peek at the telly when his relatives were watching it. They all seemed
to be monstrous places, huge brick and block houses that the rich people lived in. Or...royalty
lived in castles too, didn't they? Maybe, just maybe this was some king's house?

If this was a king's house, did that mean that there was a princess? And didn't all the
kings keep their daughters locked up in the towers? It all made sense in a weird kind of way. Harry
skidded haphazardly around a corner and up a spiraling staircase. He briefly spied another dark
recess in the wall and quickly hid in it, letting his body be lovingly submerged into the shadows.
It all made sense, he thought. If this was a castle, then the king must be evil! Who else would
keep ghosts around and those poor people trapped in paintings?

No, that can't be right. There was only one king in England at the moment and Aunt Petunia
said he was nothing but a pompous git. They were annoying, but not evil. Then again, he had no clue
where he was. He might not even still *be* in England. He had to get out of there.

He was not completely sure of his reasoning, but it helped on deciding a course of action,
however flimsy it might be. He would work under that assumption until he could figure something
else out. The first thing he knew he had to do was to get out of the castle and find an adult. If
he was really lucky, it would be a policeman. He paused, his face scrunching up in thought. Ok, so
that was as complicated a plan as he could come up with, but it was better than nothing.

Harry carefully peered around the corner, his eyes darting around searching for anything that
was a possible thread. Assured that the coast was clear, he darted down the hall, stopping at
various nooks and crannies to listen for anyone moving about.

He felt like a British secret agent.

A crash came from somewhere behind him followed by several voices protesting loudly. Not wanting
to take a chance at being seen, Harry double-timed it around the corner and few up another flight
of stairs. He abruptly came to a darkened, mirrored corridor that stretched into the distance.
Harry looked back down the stairs and he could hear the voices approaching, getting progressively
louder the closer they got.

Making his decision, he began stealthily making his way down the hall. He paused halfway down,
and looked at himself in one of the mirrors. He stared hard at his emerald green eyes, his pale
complexion and absolutely hated what he saw. At best, he looked all of three and a half years old,
much younger than his true 5 years of age. He didn't know why he looked much younger than his
other primary school classmates, but he loathed it. `Wee baby Potter', they called him.

*It was all Dudder**s**'* *fault*, he thought savagely. It was he and
his older friend that started calling him the names that had, much to his chagrin, stuck. How he
hated that name. The boys would crowd around Dudders, chanting that infernal name in those
ridiculous baby voices. He could hear it echoing in his mind.

*Wee baby Potter…go home to your mum wee baby Potter…he can't…baby Potter's mum's
dead…*

Rage built up in his mind, his vision slowly clouding into a haze of red. The mirror reflecting
his image suddenly twisted and rippled before shattering into a million pieces. Shards of glass
came raining down like liquid metal raindrops upon the stone floor, the sound echoed harshly in the
quiet hallways.

Harry looked at it in shock. He knew he did that. Somehow, he had destroyed that mirror when he
lost control of his emotions. The voices that previously had been murmuring down the stairwell went
silent a moment before escalating into furious shouts. He could hear them trampling up the stairs
after him.

A moment of blind panic surged through him and before his eyes, every single mirror in the
rippled and exploded outward, one right after another. Lethal fragments of glass rebounded off the
walls and ceiling, ricocheting about in a furious, silvery storm.

Harry was cut and bleeding, but he didn't care. He never stopped for an instant as he bolted
from the hallway, blindly searching for a way, any way, out of the castle. Dimly in the back of his
mind, he could feel its growing presence. It was that suffocating, all encompassing thing that
saturated the very air of this place. He could feel it whispering to him, urging him forward as it
wrapped around him warmly. He couldn't escape from it and it was slowly driving him mad.

He abruptly came around a corner and skidded to a stop barely six inches from the ledge of a
sheer drop off. Harry's eyes widened in amazement as he looked downwards then followed the
empty chasm back up to the ceiling. He was in a giant room filled floor to ceiling with different
staircases that moved and shifted about. There were dozens of walkways and doors that led in every
direction. Nearly very square inch of the walls was covered with those odd moving paintings.
Torches and candles flickered everywhere, adding their fiery glow to the surreal movement of the
paintings. It almost made the room look alive.

He watched in fascination as a staircase slowly swiveled around to stop directly in front of him
for a moment before continuing on its way. Harry was jerked back to the real world as the shouts
echoed up the hall directly behind him. Whoever was after him was close.

He looked in despair at the slowly retreating staircase that was slowly inching its way from
him. He needed to go *now.*

“Get back here and *help* me!” he cried in frustration. To his absolute amazement something
did happen. The strange warmth, that odd presence that had continuously enveloped his entire being
shifted, bent its shape to his will. He could feel it reach out and anchor itself to the stairs.
The staircase halted in its tracks for an instant before making its way back to Harry.

Harry, for his part, stood amazed at what happened. Dimly he was aware of that warmth as it
seemed to caress his mind for a moment before giggling and withdrawing a bit. To him, it was as if
the stairs had listened and obeyed his command.

*Cool!*

He flew up the stairway as quickly as his short, little legs would carry him. He was not aware
of the staircases shifting behind him the instant he stepped onto the next. His pursuers would have
a very frustrating time trying to follow as they learned the stairs were temporarily stuck in place
and refused to budge an inch for them.

Once Harry reached the top, he paused a second to catch his breath. It was a good thing that he
was so used to running from Dudders and his friends. If you looked at their cruel games in a
positive light, at least they kept him in good shape. He leaned out over the abyss and glanced down
six floors to the landing that he just came from. He saw several people milling about, apparently
confused as to why the staircases weren't responding. One *ugly* man with long stringy
hair looked directly up at Harry and cursed, shaking his fist at the young toddler.

Harry gave the crotchety old man a cheerful wave before turning and trotting on down the
corridor, the screams of outrage quickly fading away into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Notes: Ahhh yes. The part most of you have been waiting for. We get our first
glimpse into the mind of a young Harry Potter. Let me know if you liked it or noticed any mistakes
that need to be corrected. Anyone wanting to submit an idea for some mini adventures for our young
hero, then feel free. As always,** **leave me some love. Reviews make the world go round after
all.**

-->



6. Famous Last Words
--------------------



**Disclaimer: Four out of five doctors agree that if you're reading this, then you're
delusional.**

*Regression of a Wizard*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Five*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry meandered about aimlessly, much more at ease in the upper levels especially since he had
long ago lost his pursuers. After finally getting to relax a bit further, he was able to take in
much more of his surroundings. These floors seemed to be decorated much nicer than the lower
levels, giving off a more homely feel, though the castle was still unmistakably medieval in design.
The floors were a mixture of marble and sandstone and covered with exquisite carpeting. Colored
glass filled most of the windows and while they did not let you see the outside, they depicted many
incredible scenes that would have been home in countless fantasy novels.

Torches still lined the walls at closely spaced intervals, and here it gave the rooms a cheerful
splash of color. He looked left and right at all the doors that stretched out before him. Some
appeared to be classrooms, while others looked like storage areas, but all appeared old and
outdated. He had found a few clear windows along his path. It appeared that he had made it to one
of the top levels. He could see the grounds spread beneath him outside and even spied a massive
spire jutting out into the early morning sky, but he never found a path that could lead him there.
In the distance he could make out several giant rings suspended high in the air, placed at opposite
ends of a football pitch. Their purpose he could only imagine.

Harry couldn't tell what time it was, but judging by the amount of light outside, it was
extremely early. He had not heard a single sound for the past hour or two and had yet to encounter
a single person in his wanderings. Earlier, he had stopped for a while and dozed fitfully beneath
the statue of an ugly one-eyed witch before waking and forcing himself to resume his trek. Even in
his sleep, he was unable to escape that suffocating warmth that seemed to be guiding his feet.

The pictures had long since stopped trying to talk to him, though their eyes continued to follow
his movements. Their stares had unnerved him at first, but their kind smiles calmed him somewhat
and eventually Harry had learned to relax around them.

Suddenly, Harry came to an abrupt halt. In front of him, the corridor ended with what looked to
be a giant statue of a stone gargoyle. Just as Harry began to turn around and backtrack, the
gargoyle beckoned him closer. Harry blinked at it stupidly for a moment before shrugging his
pillowcase clad shoulders, deciding it was no stranger than anything else in this freakish
place.

He cautiously crept his way closer, keeping a weary, green eye on the creature. The gargoyle
smiled widely down at the young lad before, with a scrape of stone on stone, twisting out of the
way to reveal a spiral staircase that lead upwards to parts unknown. His curiosity overcoming his
fears, Harry tiptoed upstairs, peering around the corner. Behind him, stone rumbled again as the
gargoyle moved back in place effectively trapping Harry in the stairwell. With no other choice, he
made his way quickly to the top of the stairs where he found a wooden door that was propped half
open, a silvery light shining through.

Harry peered warily through the crack and into the room beyond. He could see no one nor could he
hear anything other than some strange, metallic clicking noises.

Gently, he pressed the door wider and slipped through.

He could not stop the small gasp of surprise that escaped his lips at the sight that waited
before him. He was in a circular room that was filled floor to ceiling with various odd gadgets and
gizmos. Ancient books lined the walls along side whirling, silvery instruments and various other
odds and ends. There were devices that puffed plumes of multi-colored smoke and giant crystals that
reflected colors that Harry had never seen before.

Silvery suits of armor stood on either side of the room, obviously ancient and in much need of
repair (and a good dusting) but Harry was untraced by the way the light reflected off of their
bronzed shields and golden swords. Moving further into the room, he noticed bubbling cauldrons, the
air shimmering over them but with no fires lit beneath their bottoms. What really caught his
attention was just beyond, up on the second level.

A massive, golden, wire frame globe easily dominated the upper level. Beside it, there stood a
telescope with a multitude of lenses and apertures and knobs of all sizes. It all looked terribly
complicated to Harry, but he was willing to bet every toy solder he owned that it could see a speck
of dust on the moon. Beneath the telescope, there was a massive mahogany desk littered with piles
of paper and several smoking goblets. And sitting next to the desk…

“Wow.”

A small golden eye blinked in amusement at the young boy, as if it found the entire situation
humorous. The eye belonged to the most magnificent bird Harry had ever laid eyes on. It sat proudly
upon a golden perch as it stared serenely down at him. Its red feathers glistened softly in the
early morning sun's rays and it spread its wings out to either side before bowing slightly to
the young man. It looked at him expectantly.

Harry goggled at it for a moment, but when it was apparent the bird was not going to move, he
awkwardly bowed back. Satisfied that protocol had been observed, it trilled soothingly at him
before hopping down from his perch onto the desk. Entranced, Harry slowly approached the bird,
doing his best not to startle it. The red and gold bird observed the kid's actions with an air
of a kingly patience. Harry's hand shakily reached out to gently stroke the bird's fringe
when it seemed to look at something past his shoulder.

Harry whirled around…but saw nothing. Frowning in confusion he turned back to the strange
creature but was startled once again when he saw that there was an old man standing where he had
not been a moment before. Stepping back in fright, Harry prepared to bolt when he old man
spoke.

“Ah, I see you have met my friend Fawkes here.” His voice was kind and seemed to thrum with a
kind of power that left Harry in silent awe. The warmth around him seemed to respond to this new
person's presence, but Harry took little notice of it, too distracted by the newcomer to care.
The man patted Fawkes' head affectionately. “He's a magnificent creature isn't he?
Without a doubt, he is a phoenix of the highest breed. Incredibly bright, loyal above all others
and a superb judge of character.” Fawkes preened under the praise.

Quickly looking him over, Harry was puzzled by the man's appearance. He was fairly tall and
rather on the thin side. He seemed to have the brightest blue eyes when he peered at Harry over his
half-moon spectacles. His beard was simply the longest Harry had ever encountered in his admittedly
rather short lifetime. But it was his clothes that really got his attention. He was in what looked
to be a bright purple and blue bathrobe, covered head to knees with stars that twinkled and
shimmered as his robe moved. His legs were covered with rainbow colored socks and his feet clad in
fuzzy, black doggie slippers. The slippers barked and growled at each other quietly whenever his
feet stood too close together. Harry was dumfounded at the outfit. It had to be the most outrageous
thing he had seen yet.

The man smiled kindly and quietly said, “Hello there young Harry. How are you feeling this
morning?”

“How do you know my name?” he blurted out incredulously before covering his mouth in shock. You
never *ever* asked questions. That had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember.
Questions caused pain. But the professor laughed the question off.

“My dear boy, I know a great many things.” His eyes twinkled down merrily. “I have known you
since the day you were born.

“I've never seen you before,” Harry replied sullenly. The headmaster laughed amiably.

“Just because you've never seen me, does not mean I was not there.” Harry grudgingly
accepted this at face value. “Now, come here my boy and let me get a good look at you.” He paused a
moment. “Don't ever be afraid to ask questions young Harry,” Dumbledore chided the boy gently.
It was almost as if he knew what Harry had been thinking. “Seeking knowledge is never a crime.”

“Why are you wearing pajamas?” Harry asked the headmaster innocently. He could not help himself.
The old man's attire was just too fascinating.

“Excellent question my dear boy! I'm not quite sure as to the answer, but it did seem like a
good idea at the time.” He grinned at the toddler. “Why are you in a pillowcase?”

Harry frowned in thought before replying. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he replied
truthfully. Dumbledore grinned.

Harry shuffled slightly closer to the professor, slightly embarrassed about his pillowcase
clothes, but only slightly. They were actually fairly comfortable and fit a darn sight better than
any of Dudder's old castoffs. Dumbledore eyed the underweight boy critically.

“Hmm…very interesting,” the professor said. “Very interesting indeed, wouldn't you agree
Fawkes?” The phoenix amiably chirped in agreement.

Harry waited patiently for the old man to elaborate further.

Dumbledore pulled out what at first glance appeared to be a wonky looking stick with a handle
and Harry eyed it warily and shifted uneasily at the sight of it. The only sticks he ever saw had
been ones used to whip him with. Dumbledore looked at him gently. “You look a right mess there
Harry, let me get you cleaned up. Now, this won't hurt a bit.”

Harry looked confused as the headmaster waved his funky stick, but strangely enough, all the
dirt and grime and blood accumulated from his romp around the castle simply vanished without a
trace. Another wave transformed his raggedy pillowcase clothing into a nice set of blue jeans and a
t-shirt. Harry looked down at his new clothes in amazement. The words `Gryffindor's
Goldenboy' flashed on and off on the front in dazzling gold and silver, though Harry hadn't
the slightest idea how to read.

Harry looked back up at the old man with a newfound sense of wonder in his young eyes. “Wow,” he
breathed. “It's like...”

“Magic?” Dumbledore questioned with a chuckle as he quickly conjured two comfortable looking,
squishy armchairs. “Have a seat.” He offered. Harry happily scrambled up into the chair where he
promptly sank halfway into its surface, nearly disappearing from view. He giggled a bit before once
again slapping his hands over his mouth.

“Hmm,” the professor said, eyeing his botched bit of conjuring. “You're quite right; I
don't think I managed that one right. A bit *too* squishy, though I never thought I'd
hear myself say such a thing.” Harry thought it was spot on perfect, but he'd never argue
directly with an adult, for that was the quickest way to a three day stay locked in his
cupboard.

Dumbledore squinted his eyes in concentration and the very tip of his tongue poked out the
corner of his mouth as he gave his wand another wave. Instantly, Harry felt the warmth around him
stir and swirl about him. He rose up nearly a foot while several soft, multi-colored cushions
appeared beneath him, bringing him nearly eye level with the old man. Harry grinned.

“Now, that's much better!” Dumbledore exclaimed, obviously pleased with his improvising. He
settled into his own chair wish much gusto before reaching into his robes and withdrawing a small
tin. He popped the lid open to reveal a small pile of little yellow candies. He took a moment to
eye them before carefully choosing a particular one (though Harry could not see any difference in
one from another) before offering the tin to the boy.

“Lemon drop?” he asked pleasantly.

Harry's mouth dropped open. No one…*no one*….had ever offered a candy to him before.
Shock would be too mild a word to describe Harry's emotions. Dumbledore watched sadly as a
tiny, shaking hand reached out and gingerly picked up a sweet. Harry cradled it in his hands a
moment before lifting it up and finally plopping it into his mouth. He involuntarily closed his
eyes, savoring the sugary morsel for all it was worth. He knew that this moment would be forever
ingrained in his memory.

“Well now that both our sweet tooths have been momentarily sated, perhaps we could have
ourselves a pleasant chat.” He withdrew the tin and placed it back into the folds of his robes
before crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably.

“So, Harry, I must say that you've had us all extremely worried about you. When you vanished
last night from the hospital wi…from the hospital, we sent several people out to help find you.” He
peered over his half-moon shaped spectacles and leaned forward. “Care to tell an old man how you
managed to hide from them?” He asked in a whisper, as if it was a secret just between the two of
them.

Harry was confused. “I don't know, sir,” he said quietly. “I wasn't *really* trying
to hide. I didn't see anyone besides that ghost when I first woke up.”

“Curious,” he said simply. “And tell me, what about that odd hallway with all the shattered
mirrors? Did you see anyone else there?”

Shaking his head in the negative, Harry began to feel afraid. Scared that they would send him
back to his aunt and uncle's where they would once again lock him up in the cupboard for
misbehaving. Or even worse, lock him in a dungeon! Everyone knows that all castles have dark, scary
dungeons. It wasn't his fault though! He hadn't meant to break all those mirrors. He never
meant to cause trouble; stuff just seemed to happen around him at the most inopportune times.

Dumbledore looked intrigued. “Really? How odd…how odd…” He looked thoughtfully over at Fawkes,
who simply shrugged his feathery shoulders. The wizened old wizard turned back to Harry, his eyes
twinkling like mad. “Tell me lad, have you felt odd at all since you awoke? Felt anything unusual
at all since you left your bed last night?”

Harry hesitated only a brief moment before telling the headmaster everything he could remember.
He explained about his head hurting fiercely as he woke up, about his anger when the mirrors
exploded, and about the all encompassing warmth that constantly pressed against him and guided him
though the castle. Dumbledore took it all in stride as if it was exactly what he had been expecting
to hear.

“I see. Well, fret not Harry, we'll get this all situated soon enough. In the meantime, you
will stay here with us, I think. I'm sure you'll enjoy that as this old castle has many
entertaining facilities that you might find amusing. You would like to stay here for a bit,
wouldn't you?”

Harry very much wanted to if only to get away from his relatives, but was afraid of his
uncle's reaction if he did not come home and begin his chores. He feared the wrath of Vernon
more than death itself. He squirmed guiltily on his many cushions before voicing his concerns to
the Headmaster.

“Badumbledoor, sir? What about my aunt and uncle? Won't they be mad at me for staying away
all night? I don't…I don't want to get in any more trouble,” he finished quietly, his eyes
downcast.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “There is no need to worry; it has all been taken care of. Tell
me, what is the last thing you remember before waking this morning?”

Harry hesitated again. “I was locked in my…room. I was hurting a bit for a while. I thought
someone had taken me to the hospital, but nothing looked right.”

His mouth twitching with a frown hidden beneath his beard, Dumbledore said, “Yes yes. I can see
what you mean.” He stood looked outside the window at the bright light that was now streaming
through the windows. It was still early, but breakfast was fast approaching and he had many matters
to attend to. Plans had to be set in motion soon.

“Tell me Harry, are you hungry? Would a spot of breakfast make you feel better?”

Harry nodded, but then frowned. “But I don't know where the kitchen is sir. I can make you
some breakfast if you'd show me how to get there.”

Dumbledore forced a laugh. “No, Harry, I mean would *you* like something to eat? My treat!”
He stood and stretched mightily, various bones and joints popping and cracking noisily. He leaned
over. “You can have whatever you want!” he said with a wink.

Looking excited at the prospect, Harry literally bounced with excitement, nearly upending
himself off of his cushions. “Anything?” he asked after steadying himself, just to be sure.
Dumbledore nodded once and Harry looked suitably thrilled at the chance.

“Toast? And jam?”

“Of course Harry, anything you desire. Strawberry, grape or anything in between.” Harry finally
let loose with the first full, all out smile since he woken up. Dumbledore's heart broke at
seeing such delight in such a simple thing and resolved to make it up to the boy somehow, no matter
what it took.

“Now Harry,” Dumbledore said as he wordlessly vanished his chair and continued around to the
opposite side of his desk. “I want you to stay here for a little bit. You may feel free to look
around, but *please* do not touch anything without asking Fawkes if it is ok first.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the thought of asking a bird for permission for anything…but who was
he to argue? He had just blown up an entire hallway earlier, so really, stranger things had
happened. He readily nodded his assent.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore exclaimed. He picked up a silvery object from his desk and put it in one
of his pockets before coming back around to stand in front of Harry. He gently ruffled the
boy's already mussed hair. The poor boy must have been cursed with permanent bed hair in a
previous life. “Now, I am going to go arrange for a good friend of ours to take care of you for the
next little bit.”

Good feelings vanished into nothing as horrid images of Mrs. Figg and her multitude of cats
rushed into his mind. Dumbledore laughed heartily as he saw the expression on Harry's face.

“No no,” he rushed to explain. “You will like this person. She will take the absolute best care
of you. She is both kind and caring and I know for a fact that she is extremely anxious to see you.
So, do not fret.”

“'kay,” Harry responded simply. Obviously he still had his doubts, but if there was anything
he was a master at, it was going with the flow. After all, just about *anyone* could beat the
crazy, old cat lady at being a better babysitter.

“I shall return shortly, my young friend.” He turned to Fawkes and waggled a finger at him. “Try
and stay out of trouble, both of you.”

Fawkes blinked innocuously at the headmaster before launching off of the desk and lighting
gently on Harry's head. Harry looked up at the phoenix, delighted and then they both looked at
the headmaster with identical looks of angelic innocence.

Albus was not fooled in the slightest, nevertheless he said, “I will return shortly.” And with a
twirl of his robes, he vanished out the door. He forced himself not to worry as he made his way
down the stairs. After all, how much trouble could one toddler and an overgrown bird possibly get
into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Notes:** **Famous last words, eh? Yes, Dumbledore has finally arrived on the
scene and the mystery surrounding our young Harry deepens as more questions arise. Where is our
intrepid professor off to? What errands does he need to attend to so urgently? What horrific events
shall befall our brave toddler in his absence? Stay tuned for next weeks adventure…same
P****otter time****, same Potter channel.**

**As always, thanks to my loyal reviewers for I write for you guys. The next chapter, Harry
gets a new guardian. Fifty points to the house of your choosing if you can guess who it is. Leave
me some love!**

-->



7. A New Day Dawns
------------------



**Disclaimer: The author makes no claims of owning Harry Potter or the Half-Blood Prince. JKR
screwed that one up all by her lonesome.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Six*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**September 15th**

The early morning sun was shining brightly though the Gryffindor common room's windows, its
rays giving the already predominantly red and gold room a fiery glow. A fire was crackling merrily
in the stone hearth, yet no heat radiated from it. A solitary figure lay on one of the many couches
decorating the room, her slumbering form obviously miserable and restless. The blanket that had
been placed over her sometime in the middle of the night lay tossed aside, twisted as if it had
been thrown in the midst of a nightmare.

Bathed in the warm, fall sun, long, dark lashes fluttered gently open contrasting sharply
against flawless fair skin and rich, chocolate eyes focused blearily on the new day. Hermione
stretched gracefully like a cat, her body straining for a brief moment before collapsing back into
relaxation. Her clothes were slightly rumpled from sleep and her hair was extra frizzy, but on the
whole she felt pretty good. She took in her surroundings for a moment, wondering what she was doing
all alone in the common room when yesterday's happenings came crashing against her
consciousness like a horrendous tidal wave.

She shot up, looking around the room in a panic for some sign that Harry had come in last night.
She glanced at the blanket and wondered if perhaps he had been the one who had thrown it over her
last night before making his way to bed. No, Harry would have surely woken her, if only to let her
know he was still alive and well after the attack.

Or would he?

Hermione worried her lip for a moment. She got off the couch and walked rapidly towards the
spiral steps that led the way to the boy dormitories, her socked feet making no noise against the
stone. He had been awfully angry with both her and Ron yesterday. Neither of them had spied him
once on their trip through Hogsmeade. They had spent the majority of their time actively looking
for him; their date abruptly cancelled because of worry for their best friend. Rather, she had
called it off. Ron hadn't seemed to care whether Harry was okay or not. She would not have been
able to enjoy her time with Ron while knowing Harry was somewhere out there angry, miserable and
alone.

She crept up to the door labeled `Sixth Year Boys' and silently opened it a crack. She
briefly stuck her head in and looked over towards Harry's bed. Mutely, she stared though its
opened curtains at the already made bed; intuitively knowing it had not been slept in last night.
Fear gripped her heart as she turned her eyes towards Ron's bed. The red head was laying face
down on the sheets, clad in his pajamas, his snores barely muffled by the pillow his head was
buried in. Apparently one of them had gotten a restful nights sleep, she thought bitterly.

For some reason it agitated her to no end that Ron was able to just pass out and sleep like he
didn't have a care in the world when their best friend was still missing after a massive
attack. Anger rose like a burning fire in her before she ruthlessly stomped down on it. She turned
on her heels and made her way back down the steps, leaving Ron snoring where he was. If he
wasn't concerned enough to be up at first light helping look for his best friend, then she
wasn't going to force him.

Hermione stomped down the last few stairs, her fists clenching in anger. She felt helpless and
scared. It was the *not knowing* that killed her and if there was one thing Hermione Granger
hated, it was `not knowing'. She paused a moment at the foot of the stairs, once again biting
her lip in thought. It was still very early, guaranteeing almost no students would be up at this
hour. There were very few options open to her; but first she needed to check with a teacher.

If one person would know about Harry it would be…

The portrait hole quietly slid open and a wizened old wizard dressed in a set of psychedelic
sleep robes and fuzzy dog slippers stepped serenely though into the common room.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione exclaimed. It almost as if her turmoiled thoughts had magically
summoned him. The headmaster approached and nodded somberly to the young witch, his normally jovial
expression subdued. His ever present twinkle was notably back, though greatly subdued.

The fear that was gripping her heart, clenched brutally at his expression.

“Sir, please, Harry didn't come in last night,” she said, her brown eyes pleading. “Do you
have any word…do you know if he's ok?”

The headmaster looked at her in sympathy, though his gaze betrayed nothing. He looked as if
he'd aged another ten years since yesterday. He gestured towards the portrait hole.

“Miss Granger, please, if we could continue this elsewhere. I don't believe this the proper
place for such discussions.” He paused, before continuing gravely. “There have been many, many
things happening since last night. The most recent developments are…disconcerting.”

`*No,*' she thought. `*No, no…no…no, not Harry, please, not Harry!'* Her hands
were shaking as she brought them to cover her mouth, stifling a sob as she imagined the worst. He
couldn't be gone. Her last words to him couldn't have been in anger.

Dumbledore seemingly read her thoughts and hurried to reassure her. “Miss Granger,” he placed a
calming hand on her shoulder before bending down to look her in the eyes. “Harry is alive and safe,
I can assure you. However,” he paused again, as if unsure how to explain. “As I have said, there
have been some complications in his case. Please follow and I will do my best to explain before I
take you to see him.” He gestured towards the exit once more and turned leaving Hermione to follow
dazedly in his wake.

The relief she had felt learning that Harry was alive left her feeling numb. Her mind, the
logical portion of her that so often took the foreground, automatically tried to classify the
emotional experience as a lesson. *Never assume anything.* Her father had a saying from when
he was in the military. *“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me.”* Her mother had instantly
scolded him for the language, but the phrase had stuck in her mind ever since.

She followed the headmaster out Gryffindor Tower, watching as he nodded politely to the Fat Lady
and they steadily made their way up the stairs heading towards what she assum…erm…believed to be
his office. There were Aurors stationed at various points throughout the school. She had counted at
least five patrolling or keeping watch from Gryffindor Tower to the headmaster's office. They
approached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance, when the headmaster paused. Dumbledore
turned and gave her an appraising look. He pulled his wand out from its hidden pocket and gave it a
few swishes, setting up a silent space in which no one could eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Miss Granger,” he began seriously, “before I take you up to my office to see Harry, I must warn
you. Voldemort has done something to Harry; exactly what will be painfully obvious once you see
him.” He stared her in the eyes, willing her to pay close attention. “You *must not* overreact
when you see him. I have spent the morning with several collogues throughout the ministry, the
Department of Mysteries, and even called in several favors with some independent researchers.” He
smiled slightly at her worried expression. “Everything that can be done is being done as we speak.
His…situation…is being thoroughly researched as we speak and I am very confident that we will have
a solution within the month. Now...” He took a deep breath in preparation. She was *not* going
to like this next bit.

“Please, Miss Granger, you must understand that Harry is very confused right now. He remembers
nothing of Hogwarts. He knows nothing of magic. He does not even remember his friends.” The look of
sadness and understanding he gave her was simply awful. “He will not remember you.”

To say that she was shocked would be the understatement of the century. Imagining your best
friend being tortured and killed at the hands of one of the most evil men in history was a
sickening thought. Before, she had been elated to hear that he was alive and in the castle. Now,
having another horrific possibility laid in front of her was almost too much to comprehend. The
highs and lows her emotions were being put through was almost like a rollercoaster ride.

“Headmaster,” she croaked anxiously. “What, what did he do? What did that monster do to
Harry?”

The old wizard looked truly apologetic. “I'm afraid we do not quite know yet, Miss Granger.”
He paused, lost in thought. “It would appear that Tom, has for whatever reason, turned young Harry
into a…well…a younger Harry.”

Hermione gaped at him. “Pardon?” she said dimly. “A...what?”

“A younger Harry.” Dumbledore smiled slightly at her befuddlement. “Into a toddler, for lack of
a better word.”

“Is that even possible?” she asked in disbelief.

The headmaster was somewhat amused. “Apparently so.” Hermione had nothing to say to that. But as
she thought about it, there was every possibility that it such a spell could be done, then Tom
Riddle would be the one able to accomplish it. She thought back to their brief skirmish in the
Department of Mysteries. There was that death eater that was trapped halfway in a temporal
displacement field, who ended up partially regressed into a newborn.

Perhaps that was where Voldemort had picked up on the idea. Surely, he kept track of his death
eaters and their fates? If so, then perhaps the Department was already well on the way to a
possible cure for Harry. After all, they had magical artifacts that are eerily similar to her
friend's current predicament. Fine, that was easy enough to consider, she would find out later
just as soon as the news came in. But what were they supposed to do *now*? She looked up at
the headmaster, the reasoning for this visit dawning on her face.

“Ah,” he said simply. “And I see you've come to the obvious conclusion. What to do with
young Harry.” He nodded slowly, his hands gently stroking his long beard. “Yes, it is quite the
conundrum. I have learned several things over the course of the morning that I rather wish I could
forget, but that is neither here nor there. Harry cannot be taken to his aunt's, especially if
he is to receive magical treatment for his ailment. St. Mungo's Spell Damage ward is just not
skilled enough to handle a curse of this nature. It will take time and we will need Harry close at
hand if we have to take him to any place for examinations. Which, I'm sure, there will be
plenty of.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “That seems perfectly reasonable.”

“Harry needs to be protected. I cannot stress this urgently enough, for if I am right, then this
is merely just a lull in the storm. Tom is both cunning and ruthless. With Harry in this state, he
would be mere fodder for Tom should he be able to get his hands on him again. I believe that Tom
has ripped the prophecy from Harry's mind.” Hermione gasped. “Tom is biding his time and has
done this to Harry in order to give himself enough time to decipher the prophecy and decide on a
proper course of action. He has, in effect, rendered Harry totally helpless.” Dumbledore stared at
Hermione, his voice unusually grave. “Once Tom has figured out a plan, he *will* come to
finish what he started. The only reason we still have Harry is because Tom was not quite sure with
what to do with him at the time. When he comes back, it will be to finally put and end to
Harry.”

Hermione felt nauseous. Things were spiraling out of her control and it seemed like the whole
war was on the verge of coming to a head with Voldemort and his supports emerging as the victors.
Hermione knew of the prophecy, though not its exact contents. Of course, she thought the whole idea
of divination utter rubbish. However, the important thing was that Voldemort thought it was real
and in the end that was what mattered. He would be coming for Harry eventually. Probably sooner
than later. If, by some remote possibility, the prophecy *was* true, then everything depended
on their ability to keep Harry safe until his condition could be reversed.

“What you need from me, sir?”

“Ah, and once again, we cut to the heart of the matter.” He smiled gently. “Miss
Granger…Hermione, you will be taking care of young Harry while he is here in the castle. I trust no
one else but you with his well being, and I know that despite your other responsibilities, you are
more than capable of looking after him. For whether he remembers it or not, *you* are the
person he trusts most in this world; one of the few who would protect him with their very lives,
though he may sometimes wish it otherwise. Harry needs you more now than ever before, and I know
you will rise to the challenge amicably.”

Hermione would have been surprised if she hadn't been expecting something along those lines.
It was difficult to imagine having to take care of a small child, especially with her being an only
child herself, but she had read several books on childrearing and figured it couldn't possibly
be that hard. Harry was such a well mannered young man after all. How much trouble could he be?

She wrung her hands together anxiously. “Of course I accept, Professor,” exclaimed earnestly. “I
will protect and watch out for him just like I always have. Ever since I came here my life has
revolved two things. My studies and taking care of Harry Potter, though not always in that order…”
she trailed off, lost in thought. “Oh, I can't image what must have happened to him yesterday,”
she worried fretfully. Her eyes widened in shock. “You!” She pointed an accusing finger at
Dumbledore, who was for the moment caught off guard and backpedaled a step. “That was *Harry*
in your arms yesterday! *Merlin*, there was blood *everywhere*!” She had a furious look
to her eyes and a thundercloud darkened over her head. “You could have said something! I worried
myself sick all night long over him, not knowing if he was hurt or killed! What happened to him?
Oh, they tortured him didn't they, those wretched people.” She stormed up to the professor, a
mixture of fury and worry radiating from her. “Take me up to see him! …Sir,” she amended
quickly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and nodded quickly, turning back towards the gargoyle. A woman
scorned was a frightful thing indeed, but a woman who's loved ones that are threatened is a
terrifying sight to behold.

“Kit-kat!” he said and the stone statue leapt aside, allowing the pair admittance to the
stairwell. They walked up in silence and soon stood before the door. Dumbledore reached out to the
handle, his hand resting on it a moment before looking once again at Hermione.

“Again, Miss Granger, I must remind you to try and keep your emotions in check. Harry is a young
boy and wild bursts of emotion will not help him in any way. Please try and control yourself.”

Hermione sniffed. “I understand completely professor,” she replied in a slightly haughty tone.
She had complete control over her emotions and was determined to put on a good front for both
Dumbledore and Harry's sake. She would be the very picture of composure.

The headmaster nodded in satisfaction. “Then shall we?” And with that, he gently opened the door
and they crossed the threshold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Notes**: A sort of in between, foreshadowing type of chapter. Not too much
happening here, but you do get a small smidgeon of what's to come. Writing is going very slow
right now, not because of lack of reviews, for you guys have been great! Actually, I was shocked
because FF.net actually out reviewed my peeps on Portkey! WTF is up with that? 10 points to FF.net
though for your AWESOME support. Portkey, you're still treating me amazingly and have the most
reviews, so you're still my favs. Back to the tardiness of updates, I am completing the whole
storyline / outline backwards in order to increase updates after I figure out exactly where this is
going. Don't worry, I've ran this by several people and all are very excited at where this
is heading. Update coming shortly. Please, this is unbeta'd so keep an eye out for mistakes,
point them out, and I'll get `em fixed.

As always, leave me some love!

-->



8. The Voices in my Head
------------------------

**Disclaimer: The author makes no claims of owning Harry Potter or the Half-Blood Prince. JKR
screwed that one up all by her lonesome.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Seven*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Harry was bored.


Normally, Harry was a master at keeping himself rather well occupied. It came with the
territory, you see. After nearly five years of learning to look after himself and keep amused, one
would think that being locked in a strange room with countless, amazing objects and
fantastic…dohickies…would make keeping yourself entertained fairly easy. He was in a magical place
after all. There was so much to see and do; so many things to play with and learn about that,
really, the whole boredom thing should have been a non-issue.


Except there was the small issue of his keeper.


It would seem that nearly every single object in the room must contain some decidedly deadly or
dangerous property. It had started out simple enough. Harry sat atop his cushions in his squishy
armchair, mentally salivating over the prospect of a breakfast that, for once, he didn’t have to
cook. The professor guy told him he could have anything he wanted! It would be great!


If that professor guy ever got back.


The idea of a free breakfast kept Harry entertained for all of twenty-two and a half minutes.
While this may not seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, to a five-year old it was
an eternity.


Before long, his head rolled over from side to side, his eyes darting around in curiosity. The
books he pretty much ignored since he could not read and he seriously doubted that the headmaster
had any picture books. Old people never liked the really neat stuff anyway.


He gave a cursory glance over at Fawkes who had long ago moved from Harry’s messy mop of hair to
the desk. The bird was watching him intently as if he could sense Harry’s boredom before he turned
back towards his perch and took a drink of water. Slipping off of his tower of pillows, Harry’s
feet hit the floor with a plop before he meandered over towards a glass case. Inside, was a
gleaming, jewel encrusted sword that was almost three times as long as Harry’s arms. He eyes
widened in amazement as he peered into the case, his face almost pressing into the glass.


There was something very peculiar about this blade. He could feel the mysterious warmth pulsing
around the blade, like ocean currents ebbing and flowing outwards. The power radiating around it
pulled at his magic and without realizing it, his hand was reaching for the handle…


Fawkes landed atop the glass case with an indignant squawk, causing Harry to stumble backwards
in surprise. The bird leaned over and looked Harry squarely in the eyes before quite deliberately
shaking his head ‘no-no.’ Properly chastised, Harry backed away from the bossy bird, quickly
finding something else of interest to look at. He meandered about the office for a while, looking
at everything from the giant crystal (which Fawkes absolutely went nuts about when Harry reached
out to touch it) to the bubbling cauldrons (which Fawkes firmly refused to let Harry even within a
three foot radius). It was after being chased away for the umpteenth time that Harry finally
plopped down in front of the fireplace with a dejected sigh. What on earth could be so dangerous
about an old skeleton buried deep behind a chest-of-drawers? Sure, it did not even look remotely
human…what with fangs and wings and all…but still! It was already dead! The thing couldn’t exactly
hurt him now, could it?


He squinted at Fawkes, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully before puffing up his cheeks. He blew out
a lungful of air, his messy fringe flipping up and over his eyes briefly. The phoenix took notice
of Harry’s rather obvious melancholy and took pity on him. He fluttered over to sit on the boy’s
lap, fluffing his feathers before settling in comfortably. A smooth, relaxing trill bathed over the
boy’s irritation leaving nothing but calm and serenity in its wake. It was the most peaceful he had
felt since first waking in that hospital bed. After a few minutes, his mind began to drift in and
out consciousness.


Dimly he felt the warmth draw closer, tentatively reaching out to caress his thoughts. Something
within him responded to the touch, answering back the question that drifted into his mind.


**Play?**


The whisper echoed quietly in the room startling Harry from his groggy state. Fawkes looked up
expectantly, his head cocked to the side as if he too heard the question.


“’lo?” Harry called out nervously into the empty room.


A small breeze stirred some papers on the professor’s desk, yet there were no open windows. A
quiet giggle flowed through the air like liquid quicksilver and then the draft suddenly stilled.
Harry stood quickly, Fawkes held in his arms. The pair looked around, confused but neither feeling
any danger. Harry sensed something…childlike…in the air. Fawkes keened a question.


“Dunno,” Harry responded uncertainly. “It feels okay though.”


The warmth surged around them, pulling them with it as it flowed through the room towards a
particular shelf. Wiggling free, Fawkes hovered in midair next to his new friend, a questioning
look mirrored on both their faces. Shrugging, Harry went with the urge. Fawkes followed quietly in
his wake as they cautiously approached the shelf. Sitting inconspicuously on a tattered red cushion
was one of those funky sticks with a handle. It was almost buried underneath a pile of books and
papers, but something in Harry’s gut told him that all was not as it appeared. His eyes narrowed in
suspicion. There was an aura of…protection…surrounding the object.


**Play.**


The voice urged him onward despite the doubts lingering in his mind. His hand reached out on its
own accord to grasp the handle and surprisingly Fawkes did not protest. He met with unexpected
resistance however. The very air around the object seemed to solidify, blocking his way. You could
see the air shimmering lightly as the barrier slowly became visible. Harry gritted his teeth and
pushed harder. The air began vibrating as he slowly began pushing through.


The pressure intensified and he knew he was not going to be able to make it through. His hand
felt like it was going to be crushed. Before he could remove his hand however, the warmth flowed
protectively around his appendage allowing him to slip though the shield like a knife through
butter. He grasped the wand and quickly pulled it out, cradling both it and his hand tenderly
against his chest.


“Ow,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “That hurt!”


Fawkes trilled a soothing note in sympathy and Harry smiled in thanks. Lifting up the pilfered
object, the two studied it with a minute feeling of apprehension. It was nearly fourteen inches
long and its handle was tightly wrapped with a braided piece of leather. The leather was dyed a
crimson red and the handle ended in a silver pommel. Silver and golden runes etched their way along
the black shaft before ending in a sharp point. Harry had no idea what it was he was holding, but
the thrum of power it was sending through his arms and chest told him it was something very
dangerous. The bird and boy were both startled from their study when the voice spoke again.


**Play now?**


It seemed smug with satisfaction laced with minor overtones of impatience. Harry glanced briefly
at the stick in his hand. The warmth wanted to play and he was bored to tears after all, and since
Fawkes was not making an awful racket about it, surely it was okay. Right?


“What do you think?” he asked the magical bird. Golden eyes matched gazes with green ones, both
with looks of indecision hidden within their depths. Fawkes looked away first, glancing towards the
wand. He was bored too and Harry was only a fledgling after all. He was so very young. What was the
worst that could happen?


His head bobbed once in acknowledgement. Harry grinned. “Kay! Lets’ play!”


He waited. And then waited some more. Frowning, he stood there willing the voice to tell him
what game they would play. He had the stick...but had no clue what to do with it. He sure as hell
wasn’t going to be playing fetch. Shaking the stick experimentally, he jumped a foot in the air
when small golden sparks jumped out, fluttering serenely to the ground moments later.


“Woah…” he whispered. He gave the stick a harder shake and hundreds upon hundreds of fiery,
glowing embers erupted from the tip fairly showing the entire room in a golden light. He giggled in
delight, his tone nearly matching Fawkes’ own musical voice. The phoenix’s eyes crinkled in
laughter. Little did most wizards know, to a phoenix, a child’s laughter had much the same effect
as a phoenix song did on wizards.


**Fun play play now much fun we play now…**


A massive gust of wind billowed though the office as the warmth rushed inwards, seeming to fill
every square inch of the room with its presence. The boy’s shirt and pants whipped wildly in the
maelstrom while Fawkes had to dig his talons into chair just to stay in one place. Converging on
Harry, it flowed though every pore, every single cell of his body before finding escape back into
reality through the end of the wand.


There was a brief moment of complete stillness before everything vanished in an explosion of
light and magic.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The door swung open on well oiled hinges giving way to a scene of pure, unadulterated chaos.


Both the headmaster and Hermione stood transfixed at the display before them; the elder with his
mouth hanging open, the young witch covering her mouth in shock. Massive amounts of dust billowed
around the room, saturating the air and covering most everything in the office with a fine, grey
powder. Wisps of red, blue, and yellow light floated everywhere, giving everything a kind of
mid-seventies slightly psychedelic look. The floor was littered with books and silvery objects,
most in various states of destruction. Every suit of armor was toppled over like a stack of
dominoes, their swords and shields twisted like pretzels and the once pristine armor dented
inwards.


The multicolored crystal that used to dominate the foyer was mostly crushed, its remains left in
the shape of a giant toy airplane. Dumbledore’s desk was firmly attached to the ceiling, as were
most of his papers and cauldrons. The desk was now a vivid shade pink. Every single portrait of the
previous headmasters from years past were cocked at varying angles, some even upside down. Even
worse, it would appear that the men and women had swapped wardrobes. The list went on and on.


In the middle of it all stood a stunned and bewildered Harry Potter. He was unmoving except for
his brilliant green eyes which were blinking slowly in shock. His transfigured clothes were torn in
several places and charred in others. His messy mop of black hair was even more ruffled than
normal, with one tiny piece in back sticking straight up and still smoldering. He looked dazedly
over at his partner in crime who, blinked back stupidly before giving a warble and promptly
bursting into flames. The ash and feathers slowly floated around him before gently settling onto
the ground.


Harry’s shirt promptly changed from ‘Gryffindor’s Golden Boy’ to ‘Harry: 1, Fawkes 0.’


The boy coughed twice, puffs of blue smoke billowed out from his mouth. “Whoops,” he croaked
wearily. He looked up, suddenly taking notice of his audience as Dumbledore stepped coolly into the
room. His ice blue eyes surveyed the damage critically.


“What on earth happened here?” he asked, his tone perplexed. The offending wand that Harry was
holding fell limply from his hand with a loud clatter and he backed up in terror. The professor’s
gaze swiveled onto Harry, though not unkindly. The boy’s reaction was alarming.


He scrambled away quickly, his back pressing to the wall as he huddled in on himself muttering
apologies all the while. His eyes were so wide and scared that you could only see a sliver of
emerald green iris. Dumbledore approached the boy slowly and knelt in front of him, resting his
hand on the boy’s head, quietly smothering the burnt hair. The boy flinched as if struck.


“There, there my boy. No harm done,” the old wizard said kindly, his warm voice making Harry
look up in surprise. “Watch lad.” He stood up and quite theatrically rolled the massive sleeves of
his robe up. Shaking as if to loosen himself up before a massive effort, he raised his arms and
swept them about the room. Instantly, the air cleared and all the broken objects leapt to their
previous positions. Cracked mirrors mended themselves, suits of armor straightened up, books jumped
back onto their shelving, all the while Harry looked on in wonder. Even the newly born Fawkes was
placed back on his perch. Seconds later, the room was back to its pristine, if somewhat cluttered,
usual appearance.


“See? Right as rain.” He grinned down at the still cowering boy. “Not to fret young Harry, this
isn’t the first time you’ve ruined my office and I dare say it shall not be the last,” he
chuckled.


The boy looked up at the wizard with a look that clearly indicated that the old man had lost his
marbles. Still, he looked around the room, unable to believe his eyes. Every bit of destruction had
been fixed as if it had never happened. Across the room, something caught his eye. Dumbledore’s
desk had been pulled from the ceiling, its piles of papers back in their proper place, but the
color was still a vivid, eye-catching pink. The professor followed Harry’s question gaze.


“I liked the color,” he said simply and shrugged. Harry was now quite sure the man was off his
rocker. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion the entire castle was headed along a similar
route.


“Oh my God,” a feminine voice gasped from shock.


Harry and the headmaster both looked up as slowly Hermione crept further into the room. Her eyes
never wavered from Harry. She stopped several feet from the pair, her mouth still hanging slightly
open. Had his memory been intact, he would have realized that this was probably the only time he
had ever seen the girl genius speechless.


“Ah yes,” Dumbledore cleared his throat before stepping back. Harry stood also, placing the
wizard back between himself and this new stranger. Dumbledore smiled fondly down at the young boy
hiding behind him. “Harry, this is Hermione Granger. I have arranged for her to take care of you
for the next little while.”


He peaked cautiously around the headmaster’s robes and smiled shyly up at the pretty young girl.
“’lo,” he said quietly, the previously copious amount of destruction quickly forgotten. Hermione
stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before unleashing a high pitched squeal.


“Oh how *cute!*”she gushed, dashing forward, practically knocking Dumbledore out of the way
before grabbing the toddler up and squeezing him in the tightest hug imaginable. Harry’s feet
dangled a foot off the ground as he hung there frozen.


Someone was touching him. Someone was hugging him. Someone *female* was *hugging* him.
His head twisted in panic as he looked around before locking eyes with the headmaster. The unspoken
message was unequivocally ‘*Get me the hell out of here!*’


Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Miss Granger, if you would please set Harry down a moment. You
seem to be in serious danger of killing him by either suffocation or embarrassment.” He grinned as
she somewhat reluctantly set the young wizard down. “However, I would be most interested indeed to
see which got him first.” Harry shot him a baleful look as soon as he was freed. “Hypothetically
speaking of course. At any rate,” he hurried to change the subject, “we need to discuss what to do
with your self at the present. If you both would be so kind as to take a seat.” The headmaster
gestured up towards the pink desk and its accompanying chairs.


Hermione nodded in agreement, her eyes still locked on the young Harry incarnate and trudged
along next to the boy, obviously reluctant to let him out of arms reach if her worried looks and
twitching fingers were any indication. Harry watched her warily, afraid to drop his guard for an
instant lest she pounce again. If he let any weakness show, he knew she would snatch him up again.
Females tended to be very overprotective to little kids that they perceive to be weak or
injured.


Harry walked around the witch to stand in front of Fawkes perch. He pointed to the newly born
phoenix which warbled shrilly in greeting. “What happened to him?” he asked the headmaster.


Dumbledore grinned widely as he sat behind his newly renovated desk. “Apparently Fawkes has
finally met his match.” Harry looked over at him quizzically, obviously waiting on the kooky old
guy to elaborate further.

“Erm, yes, well…you see, Fawkes is a magical bird. A phoenix or, if you prefer Magicus
Featherous Burnicas* for its order, genus, and species. One of the most well known traits for
phoenixes is its inclination to die in a fiery burst of flame only to be reborn moments later from
its own ashes.” The headmaster watched in amusement as Harry took his seat next to Hermione and
lean forward expectantly, hanging on the professor’s every word.

“In addition, there are other situations which could possibly cause an early burning day. Say,
if one is accidentally killed or placed under a great deal of stress, it could very possibly
trigger a rebirth.”


Harry thought a moment before looking between Hermione and Fawkes before trailing his eyes back
towards the headmaster. Well, after all, the headmaster had told him it was okay to ask any
questions he wanted…


“Are you making this up?” he asked skeptically, with not a small trace of disbelief in his
voice.


Hermione was cut off in mid-admonishment with a significant look from the headmaster. He smiled
gently down at the young boy. “No, Harry. I daresay our friend Fawkes was just in shock from
whatever he witnessed earlier.”


“So, our phoenix is a chicken?” Harry clarified, turning towards the young bird. “Traitor,” he
muttered, thought not without affection. Chuckling amiably, Dumbledore wandlessly summoned an
object to him, catching it gracefully out of mid-air as it arched towards him.


“Cool!” Harry exclaimed in amazement. “Can you teach me how to do that?”


“I think you have done quite enough magic for today, young man,” Dumbledore said. He held up the
object. It was the slender red and silver etched wand that he had used to nearly blow up the
professor’s office.


Hermione sat up abruptly. She recognized that wand from her all time favorite book. “Sir, is
that…” she trailed off abruptly, looking worriedly between the wand and Harry.


“Can you tell me how you got this, Harry?”


Harry looked down abashed, a knife of worry twisting in his gut. He really did not want to get
in anymore trouble. It seemed like nothing he did lately ever turned out right. But, still, these
people had treated him with nothing but kindness since he woke up. Besides, he never lied. It never
did him any good.


“Fawkes said it was okay…” he muttered sullenly.


Whitened eyebrows shot up into his hairline as the headmaster studied the boy. He detected no
sense of dishonesty from him. It was absurdly easy to read the boy’s surface thoughts. Like most
children, they were literally open books to a modestly skilled *legilimens*. There were no
shields were erected to guard their minds, no evil intentions coursing through their thoughts. And
yet…he knew there was no way on earth that Fawkes would let the boy any where near this wand.
Especially not with the magical history it possessed.


But, at the same time, there was no possible way for Harry to end up with that wand in his
hands. There had been multiple layers of shields and wards mixed in with a liberal supply of
notice-me-not charms and a healthy heaping of several recent (and not for sale to the public)
Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Yet, the evidence had been left strewn smoldering about his office mere
moments before.


Serenely stroking his beard, Dumbledore decided that the best course of action, at least for the
time being, was no action at all.


“Very well, Harry. I believe you. We shall look into this matter later once Fawkes…” he looked
towards the fragile bird tottering on his perch, “…erm, grows a bit. Until then we shall consider
the matter dropped. However,” he gave the boy a stern look. “Please refrain from touching any more
objects of a questionable nature without first consulting myself or Miss Granger there.
Agreed?”


Harry looked at the barmy old man with confusion evident in his eyes. He had only understood
maybe a fourth of the headmaster’s flowery spiel, most of it easily going over his head.


A look of understanding passed over Hermione’s face before she bent down to whisper softly in
the boy’s ear. “He said ‘no touching without asking.’” Her warm breath ticked his ear. He’d never
had anyone whisper to him before and he found the close proximity oddly comforting. Grinning up at
her, he whispered back.


“Oh. Well, why didn’t he just say so then?” Harry looked up at the old man accusingly. Was he
trying to confuse the kid on purpose? Hermione straightened back up, barely suppressing the grin
that was threatening to break out.


Embarrassedly, the professor cleared his throat, though there was a considerable amount of mirth
evident in his eyes. “Moving on,” he said. “Ignoring the fact that you are now both the youngest
seeker and the youngest attendant of Hogwarts in the entire history of the school, we must figure
out exactly what to do with you. I admit this is quite the quandary. Miss Granger,” he said
gesturing to the witch, “here has agreed to be the one who will be taking care of you from now on.
You are to stay with her at all times. Do not leave her side unless a teacher is accompanying you.
You are to remain with that teacher until they return you to Miss Granger’s side. I know from
experience that, while you may not do it on purpose, trouble has a tendency to follow you around.”
He held up a hand to forestall the burst of indignation threatening to burst from the young
wizard.


“The fact remains, Harry that last night you avoided detection in a heavily patrolled castle
with over a dozen trained Aurors actively looking for you. Even stranger, you said you had only
seen one group throughout the entire night. There is something rather odd going on here. Something
more than meets the eye and until we are able to get you to see my colleagues at the Department of
Mysteries, we have to keep a very close eye on you.”


Harry sat still in his chair, not really having anything to say to that. After all, what could
he say? ‘No?’ ‘I don’t wanna?’ Kick and scream and whine unit he got his way just like Dudders was
prone to do? Hardly. For now, he would just go with the flow and see where that would take him.
It’d always worked for him in the past. He sat there in his comfortable chair, deep in thought,
while the Headmaster laid out his future plans to his new caretaker.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


**Author’s Notes:**

*Magicus Featherous Burnicas – If you watch Roadrunner you know what I’m talking about.

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Might be a while before the next one is updated as I’m
afraid we’ve almost caught up to where I’m at currently. The plot and outline stuff is coming along
very well.


I also hope that you all are checking the review section because for the last couple chapters
I’ve been doing my best to reply to all of your wonderful comments.


And…as I promised, here’s an omake section for one of my all time fav reviewers…just like I
promised. Enjoy the extra sneak peek into the ‘grown up Harry’ portion of the story!

The great doors to the infirmary burst open with a loud bang as Hermione swiftly crossed the
white tiled floor. The large book bag that was her constant companion was tossed carelessly to the
ground, its many, massive tomes spilling haphazardly everywhere. Her expression was the very
definition of apprehensiveness and her eyes were large with fear as she skidded to a stop next to
the bed.

“Dear God, is he ok? What’s the matter with him? Has the Nurse said anything? …what is the
matter with his face??” All this was said in a single breath. She grabbed Harry’s hand which was
lying limply on top of the covers and gripped it tightly between both of hers.

Ron looked up from his injured best friend with the most serious expression Hermione had ever
seen on him before glancing down to Harry’s face and back. Harry, for his part, was lying
comfortably beneath the crisp, sterile sheets of the bed that was universally referred to by one as
all as ‘his.’ The glasses that normally shielded his bright, expressive eyes were lying on the desk
beside him, leaving his features unusually naked for them to see. His eyes were wide and glazed.
Pupils dilated so much that only a sliver of emerald was seen. The grin that threatened to split is
face in two was…creepy.

“Ron,” Hermione breathed breathlessly. “What’s wrong with him?”

“It’s bad,” her other best friend said gravely. “He took a cheering charm right to the head,” he
deadpanned.

Hermione blinked stupidly before unleashing her barely suppressed fury.

“*What*?!” she exploded. “They brought him to the hospital wing for that? Of all the
senseless, absurd, most irresponsible stunts *ever! Honestly!*”

Ron held up his hand calmly and waited for her to draw a breath before continuing.

“It was one of Dumbledore’s I’m afraid. He apparently thought Harry needed...well, to quit being
a great, bloody, depressed *wanker* and hit him with one.” He paused, considering. “Full
blast.”

Hermione removed one of her hands from Harry’s and covered her face.

“Oh dear.” She murmured as Harry let loose a loud giggle.



9. Stairway of Storms
---------------------



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Eight*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

`Did the girl ever *breathe*?' Harry wondered absently to himself.

The two of them were walking side-by-side down the ancient stone corridor after just having
exited the statue that lead up to the headmaster's office. Ever since being dismissed the old
man's presence, the bushy-headed girl had been yapping nonstop about all sorts of nonsensical
things. He had thought that she would eventually slowdown, but against all odds, she had sped up
until there was almost a continuous stream of gibberish coming from her mouth.

The boy briefly debated throwing caution to the wind and making a run for it, but after a
moments deliberation he decided against it. That professor guy had told him in no uncertain terms
to pretty much stick with the girl no matter what and Harry had never *really* been one for
disobedience.

She was fairly attractive, for a girl, he thought (he'd never really bought into the whole
`cooties' thing at school). At first glance, she seemed like the bossy, know-it-all type.
However, despite the rather bushy hair and her rapid fire manner of speaking, she actually appeared
to be a rather pleasant sort of person. At least she wouldn't be screaming at him or locking
him in a cupboard anytime soon. Or so Harry hoped at any rate. The girl just didn't seem to be
the type.

In the short time since he met Hermin...Hermoin…since he had met “`Nee” he had already pegged
her as the worrywart-clingy-fretful type. From the way she was going on about `that dreadful
monster' `magical resonance solutions' `atrocities beyond belief' and other rather
large words while at the same time worrying her bottom lip and wringing her hands together
anxiously, Harry knew his assessment was spot on. Especially since she kept glancing down at him
with that odd look in her eyes that said she was barely restraining herself from picking the boy
up, squeezing the life out of him and smothering him against her modest bosom.

As if hearing his thoughts, Hermione glanced down at the young wizard.

*There!* That was the look again!

Harry timidly backed away from the witch, inconspicuously putting an additional seven inches
into the comfort zone he'd established. Seven inches was good for an extra split second of
reaction time, should he decide to make a break for it.

They came to a halt at the same open air stairwell that Harry had passed through earlier. He
looked on in astonishment. There were dozens of people traveling along the veritable maze of
staircases. Some were simply making their way to different levels while others seemed to be
meandering about while chatting away with friends. All in all, the place was infinitely livelier
than it was during his midnight romp. How could he have gotten through here without meeting
anyone?

The young witch turned to face Harry fully, interrupting his internal dialog. She had finally
(read mercifully) stopped her endless tirade. She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Harry, are you hungry? Breakfast was at least an hour ago, but we could make a quick stop by
the kitchens if you want. Or do you want to go up to the dormitories for some rest? Oh, we have so
much to talk about! I scarcely know where to begin…” she trailed off uncertainly and watched Harry
expectantly. Personally, he thought she did enough talking for the both of them, but he
couldn't very well say that aloud. Besides, it was nice having someone ask for his opinion
instead of simply giving him one.

He cleared his throat. “Uhm…I am a little hungry. The professor said I could have some breakfast
earlier. But, if you need to go somewhere that's okay too. I don't mind, really.”

Hermione smiled down warmly at her oldest (and youngest) friend. Dumbledore said he was only
five years old, but he looked so much smaller and younger! The same mop of unruly black hair topped
his head, and those gorgeous green eyes appeared even more vivid without those awful glasses
obstructing them.

Why, he looked cuter than a sack full of puppies!

. It was obvious that the young boy was definitely Harry. There was no mistaking it, especially
with that distinctive scar adorning his forehead. Hermione still had trouble adjusting to the fact
that this was the same young man she had last seen going to Hogsmeade yesterday morning.

Harry watched with growing alarm as the warm smile morphed into a slight frown, slightly marring
her pretty features. She sniffed abruptly before reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Harry.” She began. “I know you don't remember it, but we argued yesterday,
shortly before you went missing.” Harry was confused but nodded and waited for her to continue. The
last thing he remembered was being shoved up under the stairs all day yesterday. But, she obviously
had something she wanted to get off her mind and he wasn't going to interrupt. She went on,
though somewhat haltingly at first.

“I was so scared when we couldn't find you. I was worried that my last memory of you would
be the image of your back retreating while walking off in anger. And I know you were, though you
didn't show it on the outside. You didn't yell or anything, but then you've never
really taken your temper out on me before.

“But…then you were just gone. I couldn't stand the thought you know. I was so scared last
night I could hardly think. I felt so sick knowing that you might have been taken from me forever
and it was the worst thing imaginable. I just…I wanted you to know that you are my best friend,
Harry. I'll do my absolute best to take care of you and work nonstop to find a way to get you
back to normal.” She halted and Harry didn't know whether to be insulted or not. His uncle had
always called him a freak, but he'd thought himself as pretty normal up until now.

Hermione looked down the stairway, seemingly lost in indecision before turning back a moment
later, looking directly in Harry's emerald green eyes. The expression on her face softened
noticeably as chocolate brown met the younger, innocent orbs. Something stirred deep within those
sorrowful pools that tugged painfully at the girl's heart strings. There was no question left
in her mind anymore once she had made up her mind. No more hesitation.

“Harry,” she began again, though her voice was hardly a whisper. “I promise…I swear to you…”
There was an unexpected build up…a pressure that began forming around them, both pressing in and
tugging at something behind his navel. Time began to slow and the hustle and bustle in the
background receded into nothingness.

“…that I will never…” It condensed, and began squeezing him until he could hardly breathe. He
began to get frightened and his eyes widened with the fear.

“…ever let anything or anyone…” The air began to grow hot, almost stifling so. His lungs were
constricting even tighter until it felt his chest could be crushed. He was going to suffocate. Why
didn't she notice how scared he was?

“…come between us *ever* again.”

There was a sudden release followed by a resounding crack as time sped up and resumed its normal
pace. The two were started out of their trance by the sudden arrival of a mass of robes and pink
hair collapsing on the top stair next to the shocked pair. The new arrival was the apparent source
of the `crack' as she stumbled and ungracefully landed.

“Tonks!” Hermione greeted cheerfully, despite her watery eyes, while Harry stood behind her and
shook his head trying to clear it. Hermione seemed oblivious to his dazed expression. He didn't
know what had just happened, but he felt as if something deep inside him had changed. Something
significant. Whatever it was had shifted around inside him and anchored itself to his very soul.
Hermione herself did not seem to be nearly as affected by it as he did. He shook his head again and
glanced up towards the person who had tripped up the stairs. How someone manages to trip *up*
the stairs, he couldn't really fathom.

Immediately, his own eyes began watering from the intensely *pink* hair. Blinking the
afterimage from his eyes, he focused his gaze lower as the person gingerly stood up and massaged
her much abused knee.

“Wotcher, Hermione!” Tonks greeted cheerfully, despite the grimace of pain evident on her
face.

“Have a good trip?” the younger witch asked with a grin.

Tonks snorted and stood up, tentatively climbing the final step to the upper hall. She was
obviously relieved to be on flat, solid ground once more and Harry took a brief moment to study the
newcomer. She was nearly twice his height, dressed in the same flowing style of dress as everyone
else was around here, those these were a deep maroon. Her heart shaped face was rather pretty,
striking in a way, even taking the vivid shade of pink her hair was sporting. The woman was
young-ish for an adult, but she seemed to just *radiate* this air of childlike joy and
mischievousness.

The woman's perpetual cheerfulness was absolutely, positively contagious.

Harry peeked out from behind Hermione and grinned up and the Auror. Tonks' mouth dropped
open in disbelief as she finally caught sight of Harry. “Cor, Dumbledore wasn't joking was he?”
she asked in wonder before grinning down. “C'mere kiddo. Let me see you.”

Harry trotted around Hermione's still form and stood in front of Tonks, gazing up at her
with no small amount of trepidation. Unexpectedly, she reached out and lifted a surprised Harry up
by the back of his shirt until he was directly eye level with the rookie Auror. Harry, much to his
own embarrassment, squeaked.

Tonks whistled lowly. “Wow, you're even scrawnier now than when you were a pup, pup!
That's kinda hard to believe. You don't weigh much more than a feather.” She hefted him up
even higher and gave his stomach, which was left exposed as he dangled, a once over. “I can count
all of your ribs. What are they feeding you anyway?” Harry, who was in shocked about being so
rudely lifted finally snapped out of it.

“And how much do you weigh then?” he groused.

Tonks grinned widely as she sat him gently back on the ground. “Rule number two pup: never how
much a woman weighs.”

Harry adjusted his shirt with as much dignity as his five year-old self was capable of. It was
still extreme crooked. “What's rule number one, then?”

“Don't ask a woman her age,” was the succinct reply.

“Why?” he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes and bent down to adjust his shirt properly, only
paying half attention to the bantering pair of five-year olds. Harry fidgeted at her close
proximity, but she quietly told him to keep still. He froze instantly. Seconds later, she was
finished.

Harry mentally added `perfectionist' to his list of attributes he had made for `Nee.

“Because it's rude,” Tonks answered smugly.

Harry stared up at her fearlessly. “So's picking up people who are smaller than you,” he
pointed out just as smugly. The look on Tonks' face was priceless. She quickly wiped she smirk
off her face as she bent down to eye level.

“My my, such cheek. And from a kid who just got done squeaking when he was picked up by a little
`ol girl like me.”

Harry's witty retort was cut off as a gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Stop teasing Harry,
Tonks,” Hermione chided gently as she stepped between the two. “I realize that he's the closest
to you in terms of wit, but please try and restrain yourself. After all, you are the older more
mature one here.”

“I thin' she's got ah'bout tha right of it,” a new voice, dripping with sarcasm,
replied from behind the young Auror.

Tonks turned towards the newcomer, her face aflame as he stomped up the last few steps. “Sir,”
she said in greeting as she straightened up to attention.

The man stopped and leaned nonchalantly against the railing as he eyed his subordinate
critically. He was dressed impeccably in the standard black and gold scaled robes of ministry
Aurors. The silvery insignia on his shoulders and chest identified him as a senior captain. He
appeared to be in his mid-fifties, although Hermione knew with wizards that one's appearance
was very deceptive.

He stood perhaps six foot; no where near as tall as Ron but still a hand taller than Harry…or
rather, than Harry used to stand. His hair was dark and wavy and rather long for a ministry
official. It was held in place by a leathery band of blue dragon scales. Weathered would be the
best way to describe his face as it was obvious that the Scotsman had spent a good deal of time
around the sea.

One corner of his mouth crinkled northwards. “Ah ne'vr thought ye'd be one fer
bully'un thare Tonks,” He commented dryly in a thick Scottish brogue. “'Specially
remembering how tha oth'a lads used to treat yer clumsy self.” The aforementioned woman
sputtered indignantly, but his attention had already shifted towards the young witch and her even
younger charge.

“Keir MacLeod,” he introduced himself politely, and extended his hand towards Hermione. She
grasped it and smiled up at the wizard.

“MacLeod…” she murmured. “As in…?”

“Clan MacLeod.” The Auror snorted derisively. “Yes yes, believe me ah've heard it all
before.” He waved the question away with a dismissive flourish of his hand. “But believe me,
ye'll naught find a long blade on this wizard nor any spare heads.” Grinning wryly in apology,
Hermione turned back to Tonks.

“So Tonks, what's going on outside? I'm assuming you're here on official business
instead of looking to pick fights with kids smaller than you are.”

The Auror's expression turned grim. “Yes, its official today though I'm afraid that I
can't go into any specific details. This stuff is so bad it's been classified and even the
minister felt the need to inform Dumbledore.”

“An oddly intelligent move for him,” the grizzled MacLeod interjected. “Albus has enough on his
plate at the moment with such a violent attack so close to his school and involving no small number
of his students.” His gaze swiveled to focus on the young Potter. “Not to mention the small problem
of our resident boy wonder here. You ought to be proud boy. The amount of uproar you're causing
in the Ministry is rather impressive.”

Harry beamed happily up at the Auror.

“It's not like it's his fault,” Hermione rushed to defend her best friend. “That madman
targets Harry for reasons only known to himself. We're only doing the best we can in order to
stay alive.”

“And on that subject, my sources tell me that you handled yourself extremely well Miss Granger.
Your friend Ronald Weasley, too. One might become extremely interested in exactly how you obtained
your apparently formidable fighting abilities.” Hermione blushed under the praise. “Also, rumor has
it that Bellatrix Lestrange is livid about…something that occurred during the skirmish.
Wouldn't happen to know anything about that now would you?”

Hermione grinned weakly, an icy ball of dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Oh, Ron was
*not* going to be happy about hearing that. She was going to have to pull him out from under
his bed later.

“Tell me Miss Granger,” MacLeod sat up and casually stepped away from the railing, a serious
look crossing his features. “He-who-must-not-be-named has been nipping at you and your friends
heels for years now. Doesn't it strike you as strange that after keeping silent for nearly a
year after the fiasco in the Ministry atrium that he suddenly delivers an attack in broad daylight?
What does your infamous intellect think about yesterday's events?”

Hermione looked over to Tonks briefly. She was once again engaged in playful banter with Harry,
the two of them in their own little world. A chorus of `Nuh-uh's! and Are too's!'
accompanied the sight. She briefly wondered who was winning. Glancing back to MacLeod, she weighed
her words carefully. Auror he might be, but a friend he wasn't. At least not yet. One did not
trust indiscriminately in the wizarding world if one wanted to live to a ripe old age.

“One would have to wonder,” she enunciated carefully, one elegant eyebrow arched in question,
“why a senior Auror would care one whit about the conjecture from a sixth year Hogwarts student.”
Her brown eyes observed him with a piercing intensity that the older man found quite remarkable.
She didn't miss much, this one. At least if the reports he had read about her contained the
slightest grain of truth to them.

“Aye, true that might be usually at any rate,” he enunciated just as carefully back. “However,
situations such as this are far from ordinary and somehow you kids always seem to find your way
directly in the eye of such storms.” He grinned at her. “You've proven yourselves to be
remarkably weatherproof as of yet.”

Hermione grimaced as she thought of Sirius' fate and Harry's current misadventure. “One
might put it that way,” she replied seriously. “There have been casualties on both sides so far and
nothing can survive a hurricane indefinitely. And make no mistake about it Mr. MacLeod…there is one
coming. We may even only be in the eye looking out at the waters raging around us.”

MacLeod grinned humorously at the young witch as he abruptly continued on passed her towards the
Headmaster's office. “Pretty analogies aside little miss,” he called back towards her. “Fancy
words are little comfort to the dead and dying and they are even more worthless when trying to win
a war. This isn't just your fight. Should you think of anything you wish to tell me or think I
should be made aware of, speak to your Headmaster and he will relay the message on to me.”
Hermione's frown deepened as the aged veteran paused at the corner. “I, for one, plan on riding
this storm out and emerging from other side with my swim trunks and water wings on ready to get
back to swimming.”

And with that, he vanished around the bend, his footsteps echoing loudly as they faded away.
Hermione was more disturbed about the brief conversation than she let show on her face as she
turned back towards her friend. MacLeod's words weighed heavily on her mind. Of course he was
right. While it might not just be Harry's fight…and her's by proxy…it still felt that way
sometimes. It was merely an illusion though. The entire world, wizards foremost and muggleborns
especially, were standing on the cusp of a conflict that had the potential to change everything as
they knew it.

Voldemort was not just some lone terrorist struggling to enforce his ideals and beliefs on the
world despite appearing that way to most at first glance. In the wizarding world, a single man with
enormous power was a power to be reckoned with.

If Voldemort was anything, then he was a person to be reckoned with.

She shook those thoughts from her mind, bushy hair bouncing, as she gently laid a hand on her
charge. Harry craned his neck straight up and back, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Are you two behaving yourselves?” Hermione asked.

“Yup!” Harry chirped. “Tonks said she would take me out for ice cream if I
just…consee…consie….”

“Conceded…” muttered the embarrassed witch.

“Yeah! Conceded and let her win the argument.” Harry's green eyes sparkled with
mischief.

Hermione could not help but smile down at the youngster. “And what was the argument about?”

“Who is prettier…her or yo…”

“Whoops! Time to go…” the sheepish Auror clamped her hand over Harry's mouth, cutting him
off mid-sentence. “Heh, kids say the *darndest* things, don't they?”

An indignant Harry let loose with a string of muffled opinions on Tonks and her manners.
Hermione just rolled her eyes at their antics. Harry finally had enough and lightly nipped
Tonks' fingers.

“Ow! You brat!”

Harry scooted over and hid behind Hermione. “Witch!” he replied, sticking his tongue out. Tonks
had no retort for that.

“Children…” Hermione sighed.

“Hmph,” Tonks grunted, straightening her robes primly as if she had been greatly insulted.
“Well, I'm off then. I have several reports to file after I meet with the mighty bearded one. I
suppose I'll see you all later then.”

“Are you sure? We were just about to catch a late breakfast. You're more than welcome to
join us,” offered Hermione politely.

“Nah,” Tonks replied, waving her off. “If I'm any later I'm going to catch hell for it.
It's Shaklebolt's time of the month if you get my meaning. Catch you two later!” She called
cheerfully. Moments later she was gone.

“'Nee…”

Hermione looked down at Harry's confused look. “What did she mean? Is it a bad time of the
month?”

The witch gave a surprised wince. Great Oz's balls, she did not want to have to explain
something like that. Especially not to Harry. She replied in a carefully neutral voice. “No Harry.
That just means that Mr. Shaklebolt is having a bad day.”

“Or month?”

Hermione considered. “Or month,” she agreed.

“Food?” asked Harry, after a mulling that over a moment.

“Food.” Hermione readily agreed. And they continued on their way.

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