Along Came Lily
Chapter 1
Author notes :
Disclaimer : The following work is not for profit. All recognisable characters, situations and locations belong to JK Rowling. This is my attempt to get them out of my system. This disclaimer holds for all the chapters in the story and any other story that I may have written in the Harry Potter fandom.
In this chapter, a few excerpts have been directly used from 'Prisoner of Azkaban'. All these chunks have been put in italics and have a note above them to denote that they have been extracted from the book directly.
The above disclaimer, as along with whatever punctuation and grammatical rules that are still adhered to in this chapter, have completely been added on my beta Vaelru's suggestions. :) Thanks
Please do leave a review. Thank you for reading.
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It was nearly one o' clock in the morning and Harry was lying on his stomach in his bed at Number 4, Pivet Drive. His History of Magic book was propped open on his pillow in front of him. A parchment lay on the top of the book. The topic on the parchment read, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century was completely pointless - Discuss".
Harry chewed on his quill's once-feathered side as he considered the one paragraph that he had managed to write down as an introduction to his summer homework.
Earlier in the summer, he had picked the lock on his old cupboard to retrieve his schoolbooks, wand and broom while the Dursleys had been outside, aah-ing and ooh-ing over their shiny new car in an attempt to get the entire neighbourhood's attention. With his books with him, Harry had been able to complete his assigned summer homework in almost all his subjects. This was the only one left. He had been on the first page of the chapter for the past 3 hours without any progress whatsoever. There was no point in wasting any more of his time trying to read the chapter.
He knew just what to do. Hermione had written earlier in the summer that she had found some local legends on the subject while visiting France with her parents and that she was rewriting her essay to include those legends in it. He would just say that he had found some legends as well from, say, Hungary. It was not like Professor Binns was going to go out or, contact someone and actually check the facts. Harry wondered if Binns ever went anywhere other than his classroom and the staff room. Did he still have his own chambers to go to after the classes or did he sleep in the staff room itself? For that matter, did ghosts sleep at all? It wasn't like they would get tired and sleepy, or did they? And what did Binns do in the summer when there were no students to drone on and on at and attempt to kill by boredom?
Harry realised that he was once again getting distracted from his homework. Making a decision, he sat up and put the quill back into his quill bag. He, then, closed his book after taking out the parchment. He really could not read any more of History. It was too late and his eyes were itching with tiredness. He would just complete the rest of the essay as and when the new 'legends' came to his mind. That actually even sounded fun.
He replaced the cap of his inkbottle and then hid all the magical things lying around under the loose board on his floor, under his bed. Standing up, he stretched and looked out of his window into the cool night. His spirits rose a little when he recognised Hedwig, his only true companion during summer holidays, flying overhead in rather loopy circles. She must have seen Harry as well for, suddenly, she dove down in a steep descent, appearing almost to have been shot down. She very nearly touched the ground in the garden of the house diagonally opposite the Dursleys', before swerving back up in an impressive move. If only Harry could replicate that on his broom. She continued to fly in weird patterns choosing to use the electric lines as obstacles and winding around them.
Harry held out his arm and whistled softly to get her attention.
"Show off!" He reprimanded her fondly when she flew in, landing on his outstretched hand. Hedwig raised her beak and climbed up to his shoulder to butt her head against his cheek. She let him pet her for a minute before stretching out her leg for him. Harry untied the roll from her leg and cajoled her to her cage. She flew down to it and went around it as if inspecting to ensure that no one had touched it and it was in the same dirty condition as she had left it in. Alas! Harry had cleaned it while she had been away! She expressed her severe disapproval with a few sharp hoots at Harry, who tried to hush her lest she should wake up his uncle. Looking balefully at Harry for having touched her cage and then on the top of it, shushing her, she proceeded to drink water and stretch her wings.
Harry waited, with a thumping heart, for her to quiet and settle down. When no sign of anyone waking up came for the next few minutes, he sighed in relief and opened the envelope, clearly from Hogwarts. There were three parchments inside. The first one was an official letter from Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and his Head of House, Professor McGonagall, with details of the train to Hogwarts. It also informed him that third years were permitted to go to Hogsmeade on certain weekends if they were permitted to do so by their guardians. The envelope contained a permission form for this, to be signed by the student's guardian, as well as a list of books required in his third year. Harry pulled out the other two parchments to find the list of books, which he pushed back into the envelope, and the permission slip, which he was supposed to get signed by either his Uncle or his Aunt.
His mood plummeted as he realised how slim a chance he had to get that permission from his guardians. If they would have had their way, they would not have let him attend even Hogwarts. Going to visit an all wizarding village was out of question. Hedwig's eyes followed him as he went back to his bed and drifted to sleep, still wondering how to get them to sign that slip.
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The next morning, Harry went down to breakfast still wondering about the permission slip.
Maybe, if he asked Aunt Petunia when she was in a really good mood… no, that would be spoiling her mood by reminding her of his magic and other 'abnormal things'. Bad idea. Well, he obviously could not get it from her when she was in a bad mood. That left her other 3 moods: gossipy (which she was in at least 3 quarters of the time when Dudley not around), fussy (when Dudley, and sometimes even Uncle Vernon, was around) and the pinched-expression state, which she defaulted to when not in any other mood (and which meant - get out of her sight or get assigned loads and loads of chores). Oh yes, and then there was that state in which she would suddenly turn upon Harry and gasp at his delinquent look - shoddy appearance, long hair sticking out, baggy clothes getting dirty. Well, that, most certainly, was not the ideal mood.
Perhaps, he could strike a bargain - he would weed the garden really well, help her with dishes and cooking, do a lot of chores, and generally stay in her good books (or as good as he could ever hope to be in her books) and maybe, maybe, she would consider it.
He snorted. Who was he kidding? Aunt Petunia was never going to sign the slip. She hated magic with a vengeance. She had been dead set against his going to Hogwarts and would definitely not 'permit' him to go to a magical village. Even trying to strike a bargain would drive her mad enough to award him some sort of summer-long punishment which would involve sending him to his room at 7:00 pm with two slices of bread and a cheese slice for dinner, having him wash all the window panes every single day instead of once a week and God knows what else. And even if he could somehow get her to agree to such a bargain (which she never would), he had never had any idea what she wanted him to do to stay in her good books.
She was usually content to ignore him as long as he stayed within her screaming range or Dudley's bullying distance. That meant that he should be out 'playing' when Dudley was out (or else, he was too strange, did not like socialising and kept himself cooped up abnormally), that he should be in the house before Dudley was in (otherwise, he was turning into a loafer) and that he stayed in his room except for mealtimes. Yet, whenever he would be invited to someone else's place, she would never consent. He remembered having been been invited twice or thrice for sleepovers when he had been younger but she had refused. Wouldn't it make more sense to let him go out to his friends' place to visit if he was so much of a trouble, but no. He had to stay with them. Harry scowled. No, there was no way to please Aunt Petunia unless he somehow could get converted into Dudley. She was never going to sign the slip.
That left Uncle Vernon, who lived to make Harry miserable and Harry knew that his Uncle would refuse signing for no other reason but that Harry had requested him to sign it. There was no way either of them were going to sign the slip unless he found a creative way to get Uncle Vernon sign it in return for something - like behaving when some guest of his came. Well, provided no elf decided that Harry's life needed to be saved by dropping a pudding on the guests!
It was not even eight in the morning and he was already depressed. He shook his head and sat down on the breakfast table, which was already occupied by Dudley and Uncle Vernon. They were currently watching news on the new television that they had had fitted on a wall in front of the dining table so that Dudley did not have to walk all the way from the drawing room to the fridge every time he wanted to eat something. Aunt Petunia was pouring out two cups of coffee from the coffee maker.
Harry took a couple of toasts onto a plate and started eating, paying only half a mind to the report on the television about some convict who had escaped.
######### Excerpts have been taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban below and are in italics##########
No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"
Harry scowled. He was not a layabout. There was nothing he could do about his hair. He looked up to reply to his Uncle but found him looking at the television, which was now showing the picture of the escaped convict. The convict had elbow length matted-hair and a gaunt face with deep set, scary, obsessed eyes. For once, Harry had to agree with his Uncle. The man did look crazy, filthy and up to no good.
However, Uncle Vernon did shoot a nasty look at Harry's hair, as did Aunt Petunia, who had just returned to the table with two cups of coffee. Clearly, she had also mistaken Harry to be the subject of his Uncle's comment. The scowl made a comeback. What could he do if his hair did not stay neat and tidy? Anyway, he looked positively well groomed as compared to the escaped convict. Harry fixed his attention to the TV, deciding to ignore his relatives.
The news channel started to tell them about the hotline number that had been set up, stressing upon how dangerous the convict was.
"A special hotline has been set up and any sighting of Sirius Black, convicted for murdering 12 people,"
"Arghh!" Uncle Vernon almost screamed and Harry and Dudley almost jumped.
"Dad!"
"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon squealed as he flung back his chair, bending a little forward from his waist and holding his shirt away from his chest with two fingers. He immediately picked up a napkin and began to wipe the front of his shirt.
Harry realised that Aunt Petunia had dropped both the cups of coffee, one on the dining table and the one that she had been passing to Uncle Vernon, on Uncle Vernon.
Completely unaware of Uncle Vernon's state, Aunt Petunia stood frozen, staring at the television, with one hand on the chair and the other covering her mouth. Harry could not see her face till Uncle Vernon, noticing her state, reached out and shook her a little, "Petunia, are you alright?"
She started at that and turned to face Uncle Vernon. Her face had gone absolutely white.
"Are you alright?" Uncle Vernon repeated worriedly, still holding his shirt away to prevent any more scalding.
"I … I …He," she tried to speak.
"Here, sit down," Uncle Vernon held out his chair and guided Aunt Petunia to it by one hand, his other hand still holding his shirt away from his body. "You are looking so pale. You must have a drink."
"No, no. I… I am alright, really, Vernon." She seemed to have recovered herself a bit but still looked upset. She started to put her forearm on the table before realising that she had spilt coffee on her polished table.
"Oh no, my table," she gasped and immediately stood up before realising that she had spilt coffee on her floor and Uncle Vernon as well.
"Oh Vernon, I am sorry," she said. "I hope you did not get burnt. I am so sorry."
"No, no, it is alright," Uncle Vernon replied, a little awkwardly. "I will just go and change. Are you sure you are all right now?" He asked, his other hand on Aunt Petunia's shoulder. "You don't look well. Are you sure you don't want a drink? You should sit down." He guided her back to the chair before asking, "What happened? Have you seen that convict? We must call the hotline then."
At that, Aunt Petunia slumped into her chair. Harry and Dudley, who had been looking on, too shocked to move until then, exchanged a look with each other despite all their mutual dislike. Dudley looked a little frightened and Harry realised that he himself was a little nervous as well. They had never seen Aunt Petunia really unwell before, or, acting as she was currently.
Aunt Petunia DID NOT spill coffee, not on her floor, not on her precious polished table and certainly not on her husband. She should have been fussing about it all by then and not sitting down looking… dazed? And she most definitely did not slump. Harry and Dudley quickly tore away their eyes from each other and trained them back on Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon was shuffling from one foot to another, one hand still on Aunt Petunia's shoulder. He seemed a little torn. The hot liquid must be scalding him but he could not leave his wife in such a state.
"No," she replied in a strangled whisper, "No, I have not seen him - no. I have not."
"Err … If you are sure you are alright, do you mind if I go and change out of my shirt?" Uncle Vernon said.
That brought Aunt Petunia back to the present. "Oh no, Vernon. I am so sorry. I am all right. You should … must go and change the shirt. Oh, I do hope it did not scald you. I will come with you"
"No, no, you sit. You seem to be in a shock. I will be back in a minute." With a pat on her shoulder, Uncle Vernon shot out of the room immediately to change his shirt.
"Mum," Dudley's voice wavered.
Aunt Petunia looked up to find Dudley looking a little scared.
"Are you alright?" Dudley asked.
"Oh Darling," she had tears in her eyes, moved at Dudley's concern. She immediately went over to Dudley's chair and, running her fingers through his hair, reassured him, "Mummy is fine. Don't you worry, Dudderkins. Mummy is sorry if she gave you a scare." She planted a kiss on his forehead, still misty-eyed.
Harry could not find it in himself to roll his eyes at his Aunt's treatment of Dudley. Like Dudley, he was too scared to say or do anything that might upset her once again.
She straightened her posture. "Oh God, look at the time. We are late."
Her roving eyes fell upon the table and the floor and all the spilt coffee. She almost shrieked, "My table! I had spent so much on getting that tabletop! And the floor! Marge's train will be here in less than an hour and look at the mess!"
That got them all out of their states. Oh well, that was Aunt Petunia, the stain hater, nemesis of all the spills and smears and splatters. She had recovered. Even as Harry and Dudley both winced slightly at her pitch, Harry was glad to have her back in her fire-fighting mode, her eyes almost burning as she declared a war on the stains throughout her home. Or at least, glad for a brief minute before she said,
"Harry, clean up the floor. We need to get ready for Aunt Marge's visit."
Harry groaned.
And Marge… wait …'Aunt' Marge was coming? No… Harry groaned once again, "Aunt Marge is coming?"
"Yes," she replied curtly, "for a week, and you are to behave."
She then ran her fingers through Dudley's hair. "Come on, Dudders, be a dear and go take a bath. You need to get ready for your auntie's visit, darling. You can wear your new red shirt. Mummy has got you a new green and red bow tie," she said sweetly, coaxing him out of his chair.
Hello, Christmas tree, Harry thought but was too upset at the news of Aunt Marge's impending visit to find even that humourous.
Dudley, just out of the shock, was apparently too happy at this 'normalcy' once again and got up with just a token protest.
Harry looked on sullenly at the spilt coffee on the floor, all thoughts of what had just happened out of his mind in favour of sulking over Aunt Marge's visit. The summer had just gotten worse.
"And no dilly dallying. I want you to start cleaning immediately and get done. Your Uncle wants to have a small talk to you about Aunt Marge's visit and then, you need to make yourself a little presentable as well. Get out of that T-shirt and wear a proper shirt and comb your hair." With that, Aunt Petunia closed the door and was gone, leaving him feeling distinctly disgruntled.
The morning was definitely not going well. At least Aunt Marge was going to be there only for a week. Suddenly, he had a flash of brilliance. Bargaining with Aunt Petunia was difficult but with Uncle Vernon - hmmm… he might just get his slip signed after all, if only he managed to keep his temper for the week. It was a daunting task, not short of killing the basilisk, but well worth the end goal. He smiled and set out to do the cleaning while his brain worked furiously to trap his Uncle into making the bargain.
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It was the last day of Aunt Marge's one-week stay.
Harry had tried his best throughout the week to keep out of her way, not that it worked. He had almost begged Aunt Petunia to let him go out and do yard work or give him chores in the garden or anything to keep him outside the house. Aunt Petunia, though usually happy to have him out of her way, was steadfast in having him inside the house giving Aunt Marge all the more time to criticise him and find faults and compare him to Dudley and uff! It was so frustrating.
He had already made Marge's wine glass shatter once when she had been comparing his breeding to that of a pup born of a bitch with bad blood. Even Aunt Petunia had winced when she had said all that.
Harry was sure that Aunt Petunia had no love lost for Marge but she tolerated her well enough because of Uncle Vernon. Of course, it helped that Aunt Marge had only good things to say about Dudley.
Yet, he could sometimes see Aunt Petunia wincing when Marge spilled wine or whatever drink she was be drinking on Aunt Petunia's pristine furniture, grimacing when the bulldog, Ripper, drooled all over her sparkling, polished floors and pursing her lips when Aunt Marge said something about bad blood and lineage and breeding, not that Aunt Petunia had any love lost for Harry's mother either but she tended to completely avoid the topic of Harry's parents.
With the exception of that one incident of shattering wine glass, he had managed to hold his tongue and his temper, mostly by drifting off to think about his "Handbook of Do-it-yourself Broom Care". Of course, that gave him a glazed look that had led Aunt Marge to think that he was mentally subnormal.
Thank goodness, today was the last day. Earlier in the day during lunch, Aunt Petunia had found an excuse to send him to his room before he could lose his temper when the conversation had started to drift towards his parents once again. He had been too angry and instead of going upstairs, he had left the house and gone to the abandoned park nearby. He had found the oak tree in the park and sat down there under its shade, seething with anger, which slowly turned into frustration and forlornness. Tears had flown down his cheeks freely and it had angered him even more that Aunt Marge had reduced him to this.
That was where he was currently.
It was really hot, the sun scorching down on him, festering his anger even more. Oh, how he hated Aunt Marge - really, really hated her. He hated the summers here, he hated being told that he was a charity case and should be grateful. He hated the school that his uncle had come up with to tell Aunt Marge where he was going. He hated every single thing about this place. He just wanted to get out of this place. He longed for Aunt Marge to go away, for the summer to get over.
He closed his eyes and lay down for a bit trying to keep away that wish kindling in his heart - to have a place to go to, a place that he could call his own. He stomped upon it. He could not even afford to think about that. No, no. His mind frantically sought something to keep himself from going down that path. His eyes got heavier and soon, he was dozing.
Harry woke up to the sound of cars zooming past him on the street. He felt disoriented - where was he? Right. In the park. He had no idea what time it was but the cars zooming past seemed to indicate that the office-goers were returning. That could only mean that it was at least half past 5 in the evening. At LEAST and that could only mean that he was going to be in trouble. He groaned and got up, taking off his glasses - he had dozed off with them on - and stretched. Then, he put them back on his nose and dusted himself off as well as he could. He walked out of the park, loathe to go back but without any other option. He had gone past just one street, telling himself that it was the last evening of Aunt Marge's stay when a car pulled up beside him and someone slammed the door close. Harry turned around to find his Uncle looking at him with a murderous expression.
"Uh oh!" went a snide voice at the back of his mind.
"Where have you been?" Uncle Vernon hissed as he crossed to him and latched on to his upper arm with such force that Harry winced.
"Stop it," Harry cried out, "you are hurting me."
His Uncle just looked both sides and then dragged him to the car and opened the door. He pushed Harry inside and slammed the door shut on him. He went back to the driver's seat and getting in, he started the car.
"Hurting you? I want to actually beat the stuffing out of you right now for disappearing like that. Running away! You have got into quite a habit of doing that, have you not? Last year, you ran away with those friends of yours in a…" he spluttered," a. CAR," he finally said, unable to say "flying car".
"I was just in the park and I would think that having me out of your way was a godsend," Harry replied hotly.
"The day we are able to wash our hands off you would be a godsend. I have been driving around looking for you for the past half hour. Perhaps, locking you up in your cupboard for the rest of the summer would do the trick. Might even teach you some manners, not that we can hope for much on that front," he sounded furious.
"Then you could have left me out. Why drive around and look for me? Let me guess. In my absence, Marge began to miss having someone around to berate and ran out of ways to get her daily quota of entertainment?" Harry spat back.
Uncle Vernon had been driving around looking for him because he had been out of house for what? 4 hours? No way. There had been several times before that day as well when Harry had been gone for entire afternoons and though Aunt Petunia preferred to know where he was all the time, she had never sent Uncle Vernon out looking for him save for the times when he had been out long after dark. He had been locked in his cupboard for long enough those times to learn to be back before dark, in fact, at the same time as Dudley. Anyway, as children, Dudley's gang had never been too far away from him even in the daytime and he had preferred to play by himself in their own yard or in the park where there were parents as well as children, to avoid their bullying.
They had reached home by then.
"Don't you get cheeky with me, you ungrateful boy," Uncle Vernon snarled. "And it is Aunt Marge to you. Do they not teach the least bit of respect to elders at that school of yours? You had better be thanking your stars that Marge does not know as yet about your little 'running away' or else, you would be looking all blue and black, running all around the park with Ripper chasing you. Be grateful that your Aunt sent her to take a nap."
"Right, a nap! She must have fallen down with the amount of wine she had had in lunch."
His Uncle turned to him, his face a shade of puce. Harry knew that he had crossed the line but he was too angry to care. He was the one who had been out in the sun all afternoon, sleeping under a tree and crying like a baby. He quickly got out of the car and closed the door before his Uncle could reach him and deliver what Harry knew, was going to be a painful whack on his head.
Sporting a scowl to match his Uncle's glare, he stomped back to the front door, which opened before he could ring the bell. Aunt Petunia was standing on the door looking as displeased as he had ever seen her to be.
"In," she hissed. "Now! Up into your room, and when I say your room, it means your room, not the streets outside like a loafer, unless you want the cupboard."
Harry simply went in and ran up the stairs, slamming the door to his bedroom shut. The anger from afternoon was rushing back. He threw himself into his bed and clutching the pillow close to his face, gave out a muffled scream. He stayed like that till the door to his room clicked opened and someone gasped. Aunt Petunia. Harry turned around and got up to sit on his bed, the scowl firmly in place.
Aunt Petunia gasped again, "Have you been rolling around in mud? What have you been doing? "
"I fell asleep in the park," Harry answered back.
"You… Park? That deserted park? Are you completely out of your mind? Do you have no sense at all? They have been showing the pictures of an escaped convict throughout the week and you just go off to sleep in a vacant lot? Not to think of what people would have thought, seeing you sleeping there like a homeless beggar?" She exploded. It was not often that Aunt Petunia lost her temper like that and she almost never shouted thinking it to be something that only poor, uneducated people did.
Her eyes fell on the bed and her lips pinched even more.
"The entire bed is full of mud and dirt," she hissed. "The entire house has a trail of mud and dirt from the front door to your room. You can clean the bed sheet yourself if you cannot keep it clean. I have had enough of this. Aunt Marge is leaving tomorrow morning. You had better keep your temper in check till then." Aunt Petunia warned him and left the room, not before saying, "Now, get up and clean the dirt that you have left trailing all through the house. I want it clean before dinner. And don't you dare come down for dinner looking like a delinquent."
Despite the indignation that he was feeling, Harry changed his clothes, washed his face and even ran his wet fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth them down. Then, he went out to go downstairs, only to meet Dudley in the hallway.
"Where were you in the afternoon?"
He sounded annoyed. When Harry did not answer, Dudley shoved him to the wall of the corridor. "Do you really want me to force the answer out of you?"
Harry was too angry to reply. He was busy controlling his anger to avoid any further accidental magic, though, his magic had rarely, if ever, kicked in to cause any harm to Dudley.
"What?" Dudley shoved him again.
Harry kneed Dudley's knees and ducked below his hand to escape to the top of the staircase. Turning back, he taunted, "Why Dudders? Did I miss out when Aunt Marge once again mistook you for Ripper with all those chins hanging out? "
Dudley lunged for Harry but Harry pushed him back, hissing, "Stay away from me, Dudley."
He quickly ran down the stairs to kitchen, where his Aunt was. Dudley never bullied him outright in front of his mother. His Aunt eyed him suspiciously but did not say anything as he took out a mop and started cleaning up the dirt.
#####################Excerpts taken directly from "Prisoner of Azkaban"###################################
Aunt Petunia had prepared a lavish dinner and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge had already consumed two bottles of wine. They had even got to the dessert course without any hitches when she suddenly started talking about the bad blood and breeding Harry had once again. His Aunt tensed and when Aunt Marge asked how Harry's father had been employed, Dudley looked up from his pie even as Uncle Vernon replied tersely that he had been unemployed. Harry felt his anger rise once again and nothing that he would do, try to think would calm him down. Aunt Marge went on
"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for- nothing, lazy scrounger who —"
From there, the dinner went on a downslide that culminated in Harry blowing up Aunt Marge till she was entirely round, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.
Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.
"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"
But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.
"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."
He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. "I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough." And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.
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It was dark. It was deserted. It was scarily quiet and the only thing that could rescue him from his current state was magic. However, it was muggle and he was underage.
He could go to the Burrow but he had no idea where it was. That was weird. Harry had no idea where Ron lived in true muggle, absolute terms except that it was somewhere in England. Most probably. Looked like England, at least. Hermione lived in London itself - Harry knew that. Where exactly, though, he did not know. He could not have shown up on her doorstep just like that, anyway.
He needed to get to the Gringotts and the only way to there, without any money, was to fly. Well, he thought, he had already done enough magic to get the Department of Underage Magic on his neck. Flying to London to get his money could not make the situation worse, could it?
He opened his trunk, which he had kept down in front of a ditch, to look for his broom when he felt a prickling at the back of his neck that travelled down his spine to his navel. He felt the slightest pull at his navel and looked around, suddenly wary. He took out his wand, closed his trunk and stood up.
Lighting up his wand, he swung around in a sudden movement, to look straight into a pair of large, gleaming eyes that stared back at him from a dark, hulking frame. Harry started and stepped back, only to tumble over his trunk. His wand slipped from his hand as he tried to find some purchase to break his fall. Panic flooded his heart. A big, dark animal was out there within 10 feet of him and he was about to fall in front of it, helpless without his wand.
He was about to fall into the ditch when someone suddenly caught his flailing hand and wrapping an arm around Harry's stomach, hoisted him up.
Harry felt a slight burn in his cheeks at the thought of someone having seen his embarrassing fall and all that due to a crazy hallucination of big gleaming eyes from a large animal. The man behind him was panting badly with the effort to pull Harry upright. His left hand was still gripping Harry's left hand and his right hand was around Harry. Just as Harry's heartbeat began to go back to its normal rhythm, his rescuer wheezed what sounded suspiciously like," Ha..rry."
Harry sharply twisted around, surprised that his rescuer knew him and once again stepped back when he saw the gaunt, deadly pale convict-on-loose, whose picture they had been showing a week before. He tried backtracking a little more and would have once again been in the ditch but for the man's death-grip on his hand. The panic in his heart rose once again as he looked into the maniacally gleaming eyes of the convict.
"Harrrry," he said once again, his voice sounding as if it had not been used for a long time.
Harry looked around wildly for his wand only to find it lying a couple of yards away from him behind the convict. The man, who was deadly pale with thin scraggy filthy elbow-length matted hair, had a crazy glint in his eyes. His face was twisted into a creepy expression of someone who had got his life long wish fulfilled. Harry tried to get him off himself but the man would not let go.
A soft pop behind them caused the man to pull Harry back against his chest with one hand around Harry's waist. Harry tried to push him away with his hand, only to have it captured in a death grip against his stomach as the convict turned around sharply, with Harry in front of him.
If things had not been crazy enough, Harry looked up from his struggle to find his hated potions professor standing there with his wand in his hand. Snape's face quickly turned from a look of annoyance to pure, unadulterated hatred. His wand was trained on Harry and the convict in an instant.
"Look what we have found," Snape said, his voice deadly cold.
"Snape!" the man behind Harry rasped.
"Let the boy go, Black," Snape commanded in a very hard voice.
"So that you could ship him to your master?" the convict sneered.
"Get away from the boy NOW, Black or I swear I will do it."
"Never! I would never give him to you," spat the convict tightening his hold on Harry's hand. Harry yelped in pain.
Snape's eyes were glinting with dark promises as he began to move his wand in a rapid movement, but the convict pointed his wand (how had Harry missed the wand hitherto?) to Harry's midsection, forcing Snape to abort his movement immediately. Snape violently pulled back his wand upwards to the side in a classic Hands-up-in-surrender stance, flicking it at the last moment. A number of loud cracks sounded in the background startling the convict for a brief second and Harry used that fraction's distraction to elbow the convict sharply with his free hand. This time, the convict yelped, in an almost canine-sound. At the same moment, Harry felt a force pulling him forward and pushing the convict back, that, combined with his own efforts to throw off the convict, threw him hurtling forward while a small object flew out from the convict's hand towards Snape. The convict seemed to have been blasted back.
Harry landed on the ground face down but immediately, began scramble away from the convict and the intense magical energy field that seemed to have burgeoned above him. He raised his upper body on his forearm to look for his wand and found himself encased in a transparent bubble that moved with him. Having spotted his wand in the brilliant swirls of light from the clashing spells above him, he turned his face upwards to check how safe it was to get it. The scene above scared him out of his wits. An intense battle was going on - Snape on one side and the convict on the other, and neither was pulling back on anything, going by the malicious intent emanating from the magical force above. Thankfully, he was not in the direct line of fire but to the left of Snape and a little ahead of him. His wand, though only 3 feet away from his feet, was on the other side of the line of fire.
He tried to make a dash for it from under the line of fire but was immediately pushed back and down by an invisible wall. Panicked, he looked up to find Snape snarling at him. Within a moment, Snape caught a curse – was it the transparent bubble surrounding Harry or was Snape's skin actually melting? Still snarling, Snape threw another curse that went out in a jet of yellow light before disappearing with a pop only to appear much further ahead of Harry.
A dark purple curse slammed into the place where Snape had been standing a moment ago while Snape's yellow jet exploded into a dazzling burst of light just in front of the convict. Snape incanted a new curse before the convict could locate him in the bright light. This spell sent the convict reeling in pain. Snape took advantage of the moment provided to him and blasted him to the ground.
Even from his position on the ground, the convict thrust his wand forward shouting, "Suffoco." but Snape had already slashed his wand and the man was getting dragged towards Snape and Harry as if by a rope tied around his ankle. As the now rapidly reeling in convict completed his curse in air, the aim of the curse went completely haywire and, tracing a green trajectory in the background of the fading lights left by Snape's spells, the spell sped towards Harry.
The jet of green light reminded Harry of the nightmares he used to have as a child and he froze as voices took over his head. "Not him, please. Not Harry," a woman pleaded.
A loud crash brought him back just an instant later, though and he closed his eyes and brought his forearm up to shield his face from the cloud of dust and dirt that seemed have enveloped him after the crash.
"No, no, no…" a distant voice screamed in the highest pitch as Harry struggled to draw in a breadth in all the smoke and dust.
"Avada," he heard Snape incant in a voice that sent shivers to the core of Harry's soul, ". Kad..," a number of soft pops sounded around them,"..av.."
"Stupefy!" "Reducto!"
"Expelliarmus!" "Obscuro!"
"Silencio!"
There was complete silence for the briefest moment after that before Harry, still struggling for breath, took his hand off his face to take in the new sources of spells.
"He is alive!" someone exclaimed and somewhere in his field of vision, someone else made a movement to rush towards him. However, 2 wands rose to quell the movement - the convict had once again been blasted back. Gagging and coughing, Harry struggled to take in a breath through all the dust that seemed to have lodged in his throat when he noted a wand pointing at his bare throat. Harry stilled. On the other end of the wand was Snape, looking scarier than ever, with skin almost melting off him like some plastic. A 3rd wand was trained on Snape.
"What are you doing?" One of the new wizards who had his wand trained on Snape asked Snape, almost nervously. "Stay away from him."
Snape looked up at him with a sneer, "He is suffocating. I am going to clear his airway, Williamson. What do you think I am doing?"
The auror gulped but said, "No need, Sir. I will do that."
Snape started to move away and one of the men turned his wand on Snape as this Williamson kneeled beside Harry. Snape gave the man who had pointed his wand on him such a scornful glance that the man seemed to shrink a little.
Meanwhile, Williamson brought his wand near Harry's neck. Harry suddenly remembered Madame Promphey's strict warning to him after last year's disaster when Lockhart had tried to mend his hand. She had asked him not to let anyone not trained for first-aid try a healing spell and had told him that only the Heads of House, Madame Hooch and she herself, were trained. Already suffocating, he found a new panic seize him when he realised that this time, it was not even his hand but his windpipe, which needed the help. Clutching his throat in his hand, he began to move back.
"Be still, Potter and let the auror help you," Snape's harsh voice froze him.
"Anapneo," the auror incanted immediately as he waved his wand over Harry's throat. A rush of air, good pure air rushed into Harry's windpipe as he coughed and coughed, trying to gulp in as much air as possible. His eyes teared up as 'Williamson' sat rubbing circles on his back. "There, there," he soothed Harry.
Snape suddenly waved his wand towards the third 'auror'. A number of things happened at the same time. The wizard with his wand on Snape threw a 'stupefy' at Snape and Williamson raised a shield for Harry even as the one with his wand trained on the convict fell down.
The convict, himself, had just disappeared, much in the same way that Snape and the other wizards had appeared - with a 'pop'. The wizard, who had just stupefied Snape, immediately raised his partner, who had been guarding the convict.
The other man got up and stumbling a little, stuttered that he had gotten distracted for a minute with Harry's recovery and the convict had taken the opportunity to stupefy him.
"What? Snape did not stupefy you? The convict did?" the one who had stupefied Snape exclaimed.
The other man just shook his head and said, "Scrimgeour is not going to be happy with this."
"If I were you, I would much rather worry about Professor Snape when you renervate him." This was Williamson.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck!" The man who had stupefied Snape hurried back to him and 'enervated' him immediately.
"Pavelson!" Snape hissed as he got up, drawling out the name in that scary way of his, "you utter," said Snape, pulling his robes straight, "bungling," he pointed his wand on himself and incanted something that seemed to reverse the melting-skin effect to some degree, "imbecile!" He took a step towards the man who had stupefied him and the man in turn, took a step backward. "All of you! You let Sirius Black escape." He looked ready to snap their necks.
"I… we…," the man gulped, "You should not have made a sudden motion, sir, specially not to send a curse in the direction of Auror Cooper."
"No, I should have sat gazing at the Boy-Who-Lived with eyes brimming over in sheer devotion like a 9-year old girl. Blundering, incompetent fools, all of you! The first thing you should have done on appearing here was to bind and incapacitate Black. Forget about the Auror Academy. How did you manage to graduate from Hogwarts?" Snape lashed down at all the three wizards, who looked down sheepishly as if they were first year students at Hogwarts.
Snape looked at them with barely repressed disgust and shaking his head, stalked to a spot and picked up a small object. Harry remembered that Snape had expelled something from the convict's hand at the beginning of the duel.
Williamson muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, "Fucking bat!" as he took out a mirror and whispered something before asking for backup to be sent as the other two men joined Snape.
"A portkey that he had." Snape said in his clipped tone to Cooper and Pavelson, as they hesitantly joined him. The other two wizards looked at each other as if daring each other to ask Snape to hand over the evidence. Who wanted to bell the cat?
Meanwhile, a dark-skinned wizard appeared with a pop a minute later along with another man who, despite a slight limp, had a loping grace and looked rather like an old lion with grey streaks in his mane of tawny hair. Nodding to Williamson, who raised his wand to his forehead in acknowledgement, they moved immediately towards the other three wizards.
Snape handed over the object to the dark-skinned wizard as Pavelson supplied, "Black had this portkey, sir."
"And a wand, that he used to disapparate while your aurors were busy holding me captive and throwing curses on me," Snape helpfully added.
Pavelson once again looked down at his boots, mumbling, "It was a mistake, Professor. I am sorry, really. It would not happen again."
The lion-like man glared at Pavelson, boring into him with a sharpness rivalling Snape's glares.
"I would hope not," the lion-like man replied in a clipped tone before continuing. "Professor, is this curse our aurors' doing?" He asked, looking at Snape's face.
Snape snorted. "I would not give them so much credit, Deputy Head Auror. They are yet to learn to use expelliarmus."
The lion-like man looked extremely displeased. He gritted his teeth. "Black, then. Pavelson, I need a team at the destination address of this portkey immediately. I do hope that you can manage that."
Pavelson popped out with the 'portkey', after putting his wand to his forehead in some sort of a salute.
By this time, Harry had got used to this appearing and disappearing - apparently wizards could teleport. In all the action that had happened since that morning, somehow, teleportation had lost its sheen. Or maybe, he was too dazed right now.
"Professor, you need some medical assistance as well, I suppose. The Department, of course, would be happy to recompense you for the trouble you had to bear because of our aurors. If you could just show us where he disapparated from, we ..."
"Of course. It is my duty to help the MLE, Deputy Head. This way."
Snape led the two newly appeared men to the spot where the convict had disappeared from, with Auror Cooper following them sheepishly. Cooper and the dark-skinned man immediately began to wave their wands in precise movements around the space while Snape and the lion-like man stepped back a little.
Williamson pulled Harry up and Harry was finally, finally, able to pick up his wand. His throat still hurt badly and Williamson conjured a glass and poured out some water from his wand for Harry to drink. It hurt like hell but Williamson encouraged him to finish it.
By the time he had drunk his water, Snape had returned with the man with the lion-mane hair. This latest arrival held out his hand for Harry and said,
"Mr. Potter, I wish it had been in better circumstances but still, a pleasure to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rufus Scrimgeour, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and this is our Assistant Head, Kingsley Shacklebolt."
Looking around at the scene around him, he said, "Aurors and obliviators are going to be swarming this place in about 5 minutes for further investigations." The man almost smiled and Harry had the distinct feeling that this is how a lion would smile, if a lion could, before pouncing on its prey.
Fixing his eyes back onto Harry and his face once again looking grim, Scrimgeour continued, "I daresay, you have had quite a lot of excitement today and must be really tired. Professor Snape here suggests that your Aunt's house is the safest place for you as long as you remain within it. I think that it is the best option right now. Black attacking you is not the best news to go public right now. It would only weaken the Ministry's position in the eyes of the general public. They are already alarmed by the news of his escape. Such a news can spread widespread hysteria. Yes, I think that it would be better if you are either sent back to your Aunt's or, better still, put in the Ministry's safety custody."
"Surely, Deputy Head Auror Scrimgeour," Snape intervened. "You would forgive me for expressing my inability to be inspired to confidence in the Ministry's custody after the scintillating performance by your aurors, not five minutes ago. Under the circumstances, sending him back to his Aunt's house, protected by wards established by Albus Dumbledore himself would be the safer, quicker recourse, at least till you arrange for a more competent custody. It would also give you a chance to talk to the Minister himself."
"No," Harry stated. He had no idea what was going on, why the convict had been behind him or why the news that some convict had attacked him spread hysteria but he knew one thing for sure. There was no way he was going back to that house.
Both Professor Snape and the Deputy Head Auror (whatever that was) turned to look at Harry.
"Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeour prompted Harry.
"I do not want to go back to my Aunt's house." Harry stated firmly, or as firmly as one could, with a croaked voice and hurting throat.
Scrimgeour's brow furrowed as he considered that before answering,
"I understand, Mr. Potter, that you have just had a disagreement with your family in which you acted out. You are apprehensive that you Aunt might be angry but, rest assured, we will talk to her. After all, she knows that it is only accidental magic and though, it generally does not happen after 2 years of magical education, we have explained to her that on rare occasions, control might be lost, especially in teenage years. Professor Snape's suggestion is quite rational."
"I really am not going back there." Harry reiterated his position, desperately trying to think of something to get out of this. "I am sure I could stay somewhere in the Diagon Alley. "
At that, Scrimgeour's eyebrows went up. "Unsupervised? In a hotel? We cannot allow a twelve year old to stay unsupervised in a hotel, Mr. Potter and definitely not after what just happened. I am sorry but I must side with your Professor and we really do not have the time to make further arrangements right now. As I said, in a few minutes, the area would be swarming with obliviators, journalists and other personals. They need not know that you were involved in this. Taking you back to your Aunt's house is the best course of action for now."
"I am not sure if that is the best way to dissuade him, Deputy Head Auror Scrimgeour. Mr. Potter actually lives for publicity, attention and articles in the newspapers. The mention of journalists is only going to encourage him to stay here and argue a little more." Snape added snidely.
"I do not," Harry answered hotly. Never mind that the man had saved him a moment ago but he hated him from the core of his heart.
"Indeed? So perhaps then, it is because you are too arrogant to listen to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, too selfish to think beyond anything but your petty, puerile, immature melodrama that is certain to get you a newspaper headline, 'Runaway Harry Potter'?"
"That is not true!" Harry replied vehemently. "I will go back to my Aunt's place, alright." He wanted to smack that smirk off Snape's face. That impossible, horrible, fucking bat!
"I am glad to see young people doing there due to the Ministry and for the Wizarding World, Mr. Potter. I hope that there would not be any more incidents this summer. Please take care not to step outside your Aunt's house till we have further arrangements for you," dismissing Harry with this, Scrimgeour nodded to Snape, "Professor, our thanks for your help. Could you come to the Ministry for a statement though?"
"A pleasure to help the Ministry, Deputy Head," Snape nodded back. "I will see the boy to his Aunt's place and then join you at the Ministry, if you have no objection."
"Ah, I think we would be able to do that, Professor. You really should see a healer immediately. The Aurors' Healeron-call should be able to help you immediately. I would personally escort him home and meet you at the Ministry in say, an hour?" Scrimgeor's eyes looked shrewd and suspecting.
"As you wish, of course." Snape complied, a little too pliable for Harry, and nodding to them both, disappeared with a pop, leaving a fuming Harry behind to be taken back to his Aunt's place.
#####################ACL######################################
The next morning, Harry was woken by a knock on his door. Aunt Petunia ordered him in a very cold voice to pack his suitcase and get ready immediately.
Harry, his heart thumping with anxiety and apprehension as to what was about to happen, started to get dressed quickly.
Last night, by the time he had returned, Aunt Marge had been obliviated and Uncle Vernon had already left to drop her off to the station. Dudley had gone along with them. The dark-skinned auror, who had introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt had accompanied Scrimgeour and had talked to his Aunt to convince her to let him stay while Harry had stood on the side, secretly hating his helplessness. His Aunt had just stood stoically with her lips pursed throughout his explanation and then sent Harry upstairs even before the auror had left. The only thing that she had said was that she had contacted Dumbledore already and would be talking to him the next morning, so thank you very much, but what she did with her nephew was entirely her outlook. Harry had been baffled as to how she had contacted Dumbledore and so soon! He had hardly slept a wink at night, too sullen and agitated at having been sent back. The Dursleys were going to make his life a hell. He had prayed that Dumbledore would come the next day. It had been 5 in the morning before he actually fell asleep.
Dressed and anxious, Harry came down to the drawing room. He could see only Aunt Petunia and the man who had introduced himself as Rufus Scrimgeour last night. Disappointed, he lingered at the threshold for a minute to know what they were talking about.
"Rufus," Harry's heart skipped a beat, "As Harry's secondary guardian, which Mrs. Dursley has named me in her capacity as Harry's guardian, I have decided to remove Harry from here for the summer. Rest assured, he would be provided with complete security." It was Professor Dumbledore's voice!
"Headmaster, I do not doubt your ability to keep him safe but it does not reflect well on the Ministry that it can not keep him safe. A much better alternative is that he be put in Ministry's custody. We could put him in a sort of internship where he would also learn a number of things. "
"It has just been two weeks since the start of holidays, Rufus. Let a 12-year enjoy his break from studies. Moreover, in the current situation, when the Ministry is trying to ensure that Mr.. Potter's name is kept out of all the public reports of the attack that took place yesterday, it would be far better for the Ministry to keep a distance, do you not think? You would need the Wizengamot's permission to take him in the Ministry's custody for any more than 1 month, specially since he is a minor."
"Of course, of course, but actually having him with us will reassure us of his safety. I am sure that the Wizengamot will see our logic."
"I would not be so sure about that."
"Well, at least we would have a month's time to look for a safe custody in that case. We might even be able to nab Black by then, given yesterday's evidence."
"You might but what if you are unable to? We can not have a child being moved from custody to custody."
"Minister Fudge is not going to like this. He was extremely concerned about his safety last night."
"Oh, I will talk to the Minister and assure him of Mr. Potter's safety. As it is, Rufus, I am sure that even the Minister cannot go against the wishes of a guardian in case of a minor, speaking of whom, I think, Mr. Potter, you should come in."
Harry came in, colouring a little at having been caught eavesdropping.
"Err… Good Morning, Sir," he stammered.
Professor Dumbledore's face shone with disapproval but it were his eyes that startled Harry. He had never seen them filled with so much anger. Rufus Scrimgeour looked almost as displeased as Aunt Petunia.
"I just came in," he mumbled to defend himself.
Aunt Petunia just looked at him disdainfully before turning her gaze back on Professor Dumbledore, who exchanged a look with her. Only Rufus Scrimgeour answered, "Careful, Mr. Potter, for you never know when childish curiosity might be mistaken for spying, specially in trying times such as these."
"I was not spying," snapped back Harry, his emotions all topsy-turvy after the bad night yesterday. And, they had been talking about him after all.
"Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore admonished him.
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to snap." Harry apologised, chagrined.
Dumbledore turned to Scrimgeour. "Quite all right, Harry, quite all right. You have had a bad day and a late night. You must excuse him, Rufus for it is natural to be a little curious about one's fate."
"Of course, of course. I would still prefer him to be with the Ministry, though. A little discipline will also not be unhelpful, I suppose and .."
"Mr. Scrimgeour," his Aunt interrupted the man, "I would prefer to put my nephew with Headmaster Dumbledore and I do not believe that there is a safer place for him. It is my decision as his guardian, or at least in our world, we still work according to the guardian's wishes for minors. Now, if you will excuse us, my husband and son will be getting up and I have to start breakfast. Good Morning."
Rufus Scrimgeour did not look very happy at the dismissal. Harry was sent up to get his trunk and the last he heard was Scrimgeour trying to get Dumbledore to commit to keeping the Ministry fully informed about his whereabouts.
He ignored it all and, all but skipped to his room and dragged down his trunk along with his broom, making as much of a ruckus as possible to annoy the still sleeping residents of the house. He was ecstatic. He was about to spend the holidays in the Wizarding World. More importantly, he was about to spend it without Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. No chores, no Harry-hunting, no ugly fights. He was not going to lose this last chance to annoy Dudley by waking him up with the clunking trunk on the stairs.
He had just descended a couple of steps when the trunk and broom were torn out of his grip. They flew down to settle down next to Professor Dumbledore who was again looking up at him with such a cold expression that Harry felt that he had arrived in some alternate universe. Aunt Petunia was fuming. Well, he had been making a big ruckus and the only reason that no one had actually woken up was that both Dudley and Uncle Vernon were as heavy sleepers as Aunt Petunia and Harry were light sleepers.
Harry sheepishly said," Sorry!" Nothing could bog him down that day. He was off. He did not have to stay with his awful relatives. He took a deep breath and came down the stairs, a big goofy smile splitting his face.
"Come here, Mr. Potter, and hold this," the Headmaster said coldly, holding out a strangely twisted silvery spoon. Harry made his way towards the Professor, suddenly feeling a little apprehensive at the Headmaster's tone, and held the other end of the spoon. What was he supposed to do with it?
"A portkey - it will teleport the persons touching it to a predetermined location at a given time or, as in our case, a command, " he explained in the most out of character lecturing voice.
Harry nodded waiting for the command but the professor kept on staring at him. Finally unable to take any more of this scrutiny, Harry said, "I am ready, Sir."
"Are you not going to thank your Aunt or apologise to her for last night's debacle or at the very least, bid her a Goodbye?" the Headmaster asked.
His Aunt almost snorted and said in a disdainful manner, "And since when have you learnt normal politeness? He has rudeness and thoughtlessness running in his blood."
"The same that runs through yours, you mean." Dumbledore sneered.
What? Dumbledore never sneered.
"No, I think this is the part that gets inherited with other freakishness - you know, from the mutant gene," Harry's Aunt sneered back.
"You mean the one that replaces empty-headed, dull, muggleness with the ability to wield magic? To bloom a flower in hand and..." Dumbledore drawled back, "swish a wand to change your dress's colour and ... "
Dumbledore never drawled.
"...clear a pimple and .."
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up. Get out," her pitch had gone high, "and take him. Get out NOW." Aunt Petunia's face was flushed red with anger.
The Headmaster smirked, "With pleasure," and bowing, he waved his wand to ensure that all of Harry's things were touching him.
Panic alarms were going off in Harry's mind. Dumbledore never smirked.
The Headmaster said, "Portus" before Harry could take his hand off the spoon. Harry felt a pull on his navel, as if someone had hooked it and pulled him into a narrow, narrow pipe and then, equally quickly, he was tumbling out and down, dry heaving on the floor, which was seedy enough to set him off again the moment his vision cleared.
Someone pressed a glass to his lips and recognising water in the glass, he gulped it in a go. When his head finally stopped swimming, he heard two voices speaking in low tones. He was still feeling extremely weak and dizzy and his throat still hurt from last night's near suffocation. He somehow summoned the energy to look up. The Professor - no, the impostor, for Harry was sure by this time that the man could not be Professor Dumbledore, was alone and fiddling with something that looked like a lighter.
"You are not Professor Dumbledore," Harry croaked. Harry's head swam once again and this time, his eyelids closed. His mind shouted, "Drugged, drugged, drugged!"
He got lost in the ensuing darkness.