PC Newman chased the frantic suspect into the red-brick building, trying desperately to keep him in sight. A dimly lit hallway led into a zigzagging stairwell that seemed to reach up to the roof of the building. He gave a brief look behind him ensuring his partner was following in his wake, albeit a lot further back. He started his ascent, the pounding of his own footsteps and the suspects resounding in his ears.
Every nerve ending in his body was pulsing from adrenaline. Every now and again, following protocol he hollered commandingly up the dizzying staircase. The pressure began to build in legs forcing his brain to think of stopping but he needed to apprehend the young man they were tracking. He found himself slinging around each corner that followed another set of steps. All his concentration seemed to be centred on the pain riddling his legs until finally he saw a sliver of light high above him.
With a groan he reached the end of the arduous stairwell, stopping momentarily to catch his breath and to verify that his partner was not far behind. He gave a sigh of frustration when he realised his so-called `capable' colleague was nearly two floors below him. "Come on," he growled down the stairwell.
Sweat drenched his hair and ran down his forehead. His guessed the colour of his face was something in the violet family. He burst through the door out onto the roof leaving the door bouncing on its heavy hinges. A cool swift breeze blew across London's rooftops, easing the stifling warmth that threatened to overcome him. A smirk crossed his face; he knew the suspect must be cornered.
The smirk disappeared as he watched in astonishment whilst his target sprinted and leaped off the ledge of the building.
Heart pounding agonizingly against his ribcage, he scurried over to the edge to see the targets fate. A stunned silence captured the atmosphere as he realised just what his suspect had successfully managed. He had hurdled himself across a wide gap between the two buildings and was now dangling off the fire escape that ran down the length of the building.
Surely he could match the little junkies trick. Returning his truncheon to its holster he stepped back from the ledge, giving himself enough runway from which to dive. He sized himself up; he would be the one to arrest this useless perp and put him behind bars. A potential sense of worth caught control of his senses and he dashed towards the ledge, preparing to leap, images of glory and praise still imprinted in his mind.
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The chilling crashing noise caused John to let his eyes trail to the alley he had effectively soared across. Peering down between his dangling feet he suddenly felt ill at the sight that met him. The sound had been bone crushing against metal. The police-man's lifeless body was imbedded into a shimmering car that sat unmoving in the damp lane. The windscreen had fragmented into millions of glass shards that were now glittering on the ground.
It is not my fault, he thought convincingly as he clamoured with all his strength onto the metal landing he had landed beside. He was surprised that the rusty fire escape hadn't just collapsed when he had clutched to the bars by his fingertips. He gave the corpse a fleeting look before his eyes returned to the roof-top he had jumped from. The other police-man gave him a deathly glare before radioing in the precise co-ordinates of where he stood and calling for an ambulance.
It was his decision to jump…not mine, he repeated to himself as he trailed down the rest of the fire escape. His hands were quivering as they held the corroded banister and he suppressed a shudder when he reached the scene of the policeman's death. Averting his eyes he strode out of the damp lane into a vacated side street. His walk turned into a run as he approached another busier street at which point he slowed down again in attempting to blend in with the bustling masses of people.
It took all of his self-control not to break out into a desperate sprint. Suddenly everyone seemed like a threat but he didn't dare look either side of the street in fear of being spotted by another police-man. It wasn't his fault that the idiot had jumped but he failed to see how the police would see it that way. He would now be a murder suspect.
He decided to return to his flat, he had nowhere else to go. The police would try to search him but his name, John Smith, was virtually untraceable. The only drawback was John was hardly an angel in the eyes of the law.
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"Memory Charms are often misunderstood," started Professor McGonagall. Everyone had now taken a seat at the table and was listening with rapt attention. A fleeting glance at her watch surprised Hermione, it was nearing afternoon.
"Many people believe that a person who is caught by a charm of this variety has their entire storage of memories wiped out. But it is not so. They simply have them hidden from them." Hermione, who already had a good idea of where McGonagall was going with this, gave an audible gasp.
McGonagall continued as though she hadn't noticed. "As most of you are aware, a person can willingly pass on their memories to others. Therefore, I believe that it is possible for us to draw these hidden memories from Mr. Potters mind…"
"And show them his memories rather than retell them," finished Hermione in an unnecessary whisper.
Ron snorted slightly. "How are we going to show him the memories?" he asked incredulously.
"A Pensieve," stated Hermione simply. She still was not wholly comfortable with the idea of bringing Harry back. Ron seemed to have the idea that he would help catch the remaining Death Eaters but what condition would Harry be in after such traumatic experiences.
"Where will we find a Pensieve?" asked Mr. Weasley unconvinced.
"Dumbledore owned one. He kept it in his office. I assume it is still there," Hermione responded, glancing at McGonagall.
"Of course it is," she answered with a stern expression as if Hermione had accused her.
"But won't it take ages for him to relive every memory?" All eyes turned to Tonks as she said this. Hermione's features suddenly became clouded, she hadn't contemplated that.
"No," replied Lupin quietly. "The Department of Mysteries have explored a method of running through people's lives in order to attain information for further use. The Auror program had instigated the research as it would help Aurors who were required to go undercover play their character accurately, knowing their characters life thoroughly."
"What? That's preposterous! The Auror program would never instigate anything like that. I would know about it as I am among the highest ranked Aurors for the past ten years," Kingsley bellowed at the empty kitchen. "Why wasn't I informed?"
"Alastor Moody confessed to me that he was involved in the commencement of the research," Lupin continued sadly. "The research was abruptly stopped and all files were erased when one of their…experiments…was driven insane from the effect of having the memories induced into his system."
"Induced into his system?" Hermione's voice seemed to catch in her throat.
"It is dangerous and there is a significant risk but perhaps leaving Mr. Potter without his memories, indeed without his magic, is possibly far more treacherous." McGonagall stopped speaking and the room fell silent once more.
Hermione was aware of the oppressive hot air filled with many scents she associated with the Burrow. Even though the small door that led to the garden was thrown open she could feel no breeze coming into the overcrowded room. A glimpse outside showed that the suns rays were still beating off the ground. She caught sight of a few relaxed gnomes, stretched out on the dry earth soaking up the sun onto their leathery faces.
"So Harry, or whatever he is called now, could become mental from the effects of this?" Ron inquired with raised eyebrows suggesting he thought that anybody who would even consider this was mental.
"There is a chance of course," said Mr. Weasley optimistically "that Harry will return with no side effects."
"You can't put his mind through any more traumas," asserted Hermione. "You're dealing with such a fragile part of his brain, if something went wrong you could leave him in a comatose state. The risk is too high."
"And what do you propose?" There was no hint of sarcasm or disdain in Lupin's voice but it was clear he himself had come to a decision. Mrs. Weasley eyes welled up with tears and she nodded as if in agreement with herself.
"Harry would've wanted us to take the risk Hermione. I don't doubt that. Anybody who knew Harry…"Ron paused temporarily before contemplating his choice of words "Anybody who knows Harry knows that he takes risks."
There was a disturbance at the door causing everyone to swivel around in their seats. "Sorry to interrupt your meeting but I think we've got a problem," growled Alastor Moody, his grizzled features appearing in the doorway before limping heavily into the kitchen.
Lupin promptly filled Moody in on everything that had been discussed. Moody wore his usual expression of uneasiness before revealing to them that Harry was currently being chased through London as a murder suspect.
"Murder?! No, not our Harry," said Molly disbelievingly. Her hands were trembling again and Arthur gave her another comforting embrace.
"Remember, Potter isn't your Harry anymore. We've pulled up anything we can on him in the last four hours. He hasn't exactly lived the life of a saint. The upside of it is that the Muggle authorities are having a difficult time tracking him." Moody seemed agitated and refused to take a seat when offered.
"Wait…" Ron asked trying to grasp what Moody had just said. "Murder? What happened?"
"The murder was reported approximately an hour ago. The Police are instigating a wide manhunt. It gets worse," Moody continued seeing the looks of incredulity and horror on their faces. "The Death Eaters are pursuing him as we speak. They are aware that we know that they know."
"Could you repeat that last bit?" Tonks asked sheepishly.
"The Death Eaters are hounding Potter RIGHT NOW….AT THIS MOMENT," Moody bellowed. "There's no time to waste. The Order needs come to a definite decision."
"We have to do this now," Ron declared standing to his feet.
Lupin shared a cursory nod with Kingsley as they both strode from the airless muggy kitchen. Ron followed in their wake and Tonks scurried out after him. Hermione rose slowly from her chair but remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes were scanning the kitchen while her mind was running through everything she had just heard. The Order was going to reintroduce Harry Potter to the wizarding world but she didn't care.
What mattered to her was what condition would he be in if they successfully gave him back his memories. Would Harry ever be able to accept what they had done? Surely he would understand? Would he desert them on hearing of their abominable deeds?
"Ms. Granger I think it is time you make a decision." Professor McGonagall's voice was softer than usual but enough to startle her from her train of thought.
"You stay here and mind Molly," Hermione acknowledged Mr. Weasley before bolting after the group of Aurors, fear and panic coursing through her but mixed with the unmistakable feeling of excitement.
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He lay in a deep slumber on the misshapen couch of his grimy flat. The wallpaper that adorned the walls was flaking as time passed, the windows were perpetually stained and the carpets were worn and frayed. As he stirred from his sleep the first thing he noticed was that his flat was unnervingly quiet and darker than it had been before he drifted off to sleep.
He peeked down at his watch; it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. Usually he would be subjected to Oriental music blaring from the many apartments above and below his own, or the roaring and hollering of overbearing mothers calling their children in from the grubby street that led into his complex. Even the usual aroma of a diverse range of international food was missing.
He clambered to his feet in the darkness, making out the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. Outside the blotted and tarnished windows he could just make out billowing black clouds above the street. How could the weather have changed so rapidly? What was going on?
In his mind he had an image of dark shadows approaching from all around his flat. He heard footsteps stop on the threshold of his empty apartment. His breathing became shallower, each breath causing him pain. A sudden chill overtook him, his lungs felt as if they were filling with freezing water. His head throbbed as if he had a headache and his mind began spinning. His hands were shivering uselessly by his sides.
His olive green eyes were fixed on the door. He knew that someone was waiting on the other side. Yet all he could do was remain unmoving beside the blank window. Just then he heard scraping noises coming from the hallway, slivers of blazing light shone through the cracks between the door and its frame. With a horrible noise of splintering wood the door was blown forward off its hinges. A group of cloaked figures stood facing him.
He noticed some seemed to be hovering just above the ground, appearing deathly tall and immeasurably intimidating. All sound had been driven from the small area by the blast. A few members of the group were holding long pieces of wood which all simultaneously trailed from the threadbare carpet up to meet his torso. The silence was abruptly broken by a series of rattling breaths being drawn from the taller hovering figures. John felt as if they were drawing all life from his tiny apartment, including his own.
"Avada Ked…."
Unexpectedly there was a chain of red flashes behind the hooded figures. John watched in astonishment as they were driven further down the hallway away from his obliterated doorway. Light seemed to return to his vision. Dust from the explosion was spiralling around his flat clinging to the discoloured walls and frayed carpet. It seemed as if the throng of people who had invaded his flat were being driven away by whoever was approaching his doorway.
He discerned shouting coming from down the hallway. "Drive them away. Tonks, Hermione go to him and make sure he's alive!" Again his instinct jumped in. They definitely were not the police but they could still be hostile. He knew too many unfavourable characters to simply remain rooted to the spot. Forgetting his jacket or any of his belongings he dashed over to the window ledge, shoved the window open and climbed out so he was standing on the roof.
He did his best to avoid the pipes which crisscrossed across the roofs of the terraced buildings. He blessed the architect who designed the apartment complex for giving them flat rooftops. He paused briefly at the sight of the unusual weather. There were storm clouds circling the building where he was situated but further away the sky was a dazzling blue. His mind also wandered to the attackers and the strange pieces of wood they had brandished his way. One of them was about to say something, like a spell. For some nagging reason, far in the back of his mind it had felt and sounded familiar.
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"This place is filthy," exclaimed a breathless Hermione after a rapid glance at the grimy flat.
"Those Death Eaters just removed the door, of course it's going to be messy in here," stated Tonks peering around.
"Even so," responded Hermione as she moved further into the apartment, taking in the remainders of microwave dinners and dirty unwashed clothes hanging in the corner. "Where is he? Did they take him with them?"
"No! Hermione look, the window."
At once they tore across the apartment to gaze out. "Look…there he is." Hermione said pointing to a slight figure trailing swiftly across the rooftops. Immediately she began climbing out onto the rooftop. Tonks was beginning to follow when Hermione held out an impeding hand. "No, you go help the others. Tell Remus I have gone after Harry."
Tonks began to argue but Hermione cut her off. "It'll be easier to make his stop running if he isn't being chased by a crowd of people," she reasoned.
"Okay," Tonks accepted though still unsure. Hermione turned to leave but paused and twisted around. "What name does he go by now?"
"John Smith," she replied before giving her an encouraging wink and hastening to help the others in their struggle.
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