A/N] Just a little something I've been working on... might turn into something, might not! I hope so though.

The man, barely into adulthood, ran through the wheat fields with a loping grace. As he ran he kept looking back to observe something. A look of panic streaked across his face when he saw twitching from the fields or a noise that didn't belong. At the end of the field there was a large forest, the leaves a brilliant orange/yellow marking autumn in it's peak. As the man disappeared through two large trees, he lifted a pale hand from his dark robes and slashed a stick of dark wood through the air. Trees behind him began to topple and crash to the forest floor blocking the pathways through the forest. He seemed to know that this was a temporary measure and that whatever was hunting him would not be stopped for long.

Nearby, on a flat-top hill overlooking the fields two men stood watching their victim running through the woods. A third man on his knees was bound and stripped naked, shivering in the cold autumn air. He was forced to watch as the boy entered the forest. At the sight of the trees crashing to the forest floor, the snakelike man smiled. Voldemort turned towards a shimmering cage made from magic, where a dozen hunting dogs salivated.

"A good day for the hunt, eh my friend?" Voldemort's whisper carried over the light breeze to the naked man.

"My Lord -" He was silenced by his own screams as pain shot through his body.

"Hunt the boy. To the ends of the earth if you have to. Do not fail me," Voldemort hissed at the dogs. The dogs seemed emboldened by his threats and their snarls ripped through the air.

Voldemorts laugh was humourless and cruel. "Bring me his head." With a wave of his hand the cage was gone and the hounds flung themselves off the hill. "Your son will make a great victim. If he survives he will be free to leave my service, but your life will take his place. A bargain, if you will."

"He doesn't have a hope against magical blood hounds! Give him a chance, my lord, I beg you." The man's voice was barely a whisper and Voldemort appeared not to have heard him.

"Your son had a chance and he failed me. The Dark Lord does not give second chances." Voldemort straightened and looked towards the horizon. It was early evening and the sun was beginning to set. The hounds had reached the bottom of the hill already and had gained speed from their descent. "Severus, keep an eye on the dogs. We'll be at the Manor. Report when they have his head." Severus Snape nodded and turned on the spot, disappearing with a crack.

He kept running through the forest, never stopping. Even while running, he had magicked his silk robes into a black jumper and trousers, made of light but sturdy material to avoid snagging on the branches and forest floor. He hurtled through the forest at an alarming pace. When he came to a clearing in the forest, he already had a plan. He focused his mind on the complex wards surrounding his body, breaking them one by one. Anti-disapparation wards, dampening spells and other such magic kept him in the hunt. Voldemort had underestimated him. He had been taught Old and Dark magic- enough to remove the wards and keep him alive. At least; he hoped so. He knew that the tracer-tag placed on him for the dogs couldn't be removed, but he hoped that his deception spells had masked his trail.

"Point me," he said. His wand rose up from his hand a pointed away from the way he came. "London is east. At least, from most places it's east. If not I'll just have to travel the coast until I find a town." A howling came from the distance. "Merde," he whispered. The apparation ward would have to wait. He turned towards the east and ran.


"Bombarda," he whispered. There was a shattering of glass and a window pane fell to the alley-floor in shards. He dropped into the bakery basement with a light thud. He had felt his deception spells falter just before he reached the small village and didn't have the magical strength to replace them and destroy the ward anchoring him to the Earth. Sighing, he moved to the bakery table, waved his wand over a bread roll, which promptly turned into a backpack and, scooping up other food from the stable, stuffed them in.

Focusing inwards, the man felt the walls of the bakery shimmer and disappear and replaced with the stone walls that protected his mind. Voldemort had reduced his stone maze to rubble and planted the spells deep within his mind. Being a strong wizard, his magic usually brimmed around his mind making finding foreign magic difficult. Due to his depletion combined with the effect of the dampening spells, the anti-disapparation ward wasn't that hard to find in his barren mind. Drawing to him the last remnants of his magic he pushed it at the alien spell. With a painful crack, the magic collided and pain exploded through him. He was pushed out of his unconscious and back into the bakery nursing a headache. A wave of nausea washed over him and he passed out on the floor.


His depletion was so great that he was not plagued with his usual nightmares. He hadn't been sleeping long when, "Wake up!" echoed sharply through his mind. Cracking open his eyes, he squinted; a small trickle of light came in from the tiny window. The room spun around him for several moments before he regained his balance enough to sit up. He looked around to find the voice's owner, but instead found two small vials on the table next to his bag, and a note with spidery handwriting on it. The vials' labels said "Blood Replenishing" and "Magic Restorative" on them. The man sniffed each vial before taking them, relying on his potions knowledge to know they weren't poison. He picked up his bag and the note that sat beside it. Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London. Recognition and memories swam into his mind.

The old Black House? Why would I go there? thought the man.

He put the note into his pocket and climbed back out the Bakery window. Waving his wand over the fallen glass, it responded to his magic and jumped back into the window frame. Sighing with content at having his magic back, he turned to leave the alley way and cursed at what he saw.

Two of the blood hounds stood at the entrance of the alley way. "Putain," he swore in French again. Glancing behind him and seeing there was no escape, the man assessed the situation.

These dogs were raised by Voldemort. They were twisted and forged by dark magic. They're only a year old but larger than any dog.

The dogs, themselves, were hideous beasts. Their eyes were a bright, crazed red. Ears and tail stood erect, waiting for their pray to move even the slightest step. Magically powerful hind legs told his victim that these dogs could run the country faster than he could.

How long did it take them to get here? I could apparate. I don't know how fast these dogs are... I might not be able to leave before they get me. If they hang on then I won't be able to – No. Think Options.

Distraction.

"SOLEM!" He shouted, flooding the alley way with light. It was still dark enough in the alley for the dogs to be blinded by light. What happened next was done within a few precious seconds.

Destination -12 Grimmauld Place, London

Dedication- My life depends on it.

Deliberation!

Turning on the spot, he felt the familiar squeezing of apparation. There was no pain , no beasts hanging onto him and he mentally rejoiced at successfully apparating under such intense conditions. Whatever was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place, he hoped his benefactor was there.