Chapter 1 – An Unexpected Journey

They were surrounded. That was immediately apparent to Harry as he glanced quickly at the Death Eaters that formed a rough circle around him and his friends. What was worse, was they were outnumbered; nearly two to one, by much more experienced fighters.

"hand me the prophesy, Potter" Lucius Malfoy purred, gracefully inching forward. "Hand me the prophesy, and you have my word your friends will live."

It was tempting, Harry had to admit. He likely wouldn't survive whatever plans they had, but if it allowed everyone else to escape unscathed, he would have considered it. Would have considered it, had the word of a sworn Death Eater meant much.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at Ron, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod of his head. On Harry's other side, Hermione did the same.

"Promise you'll let them go," Harry stated, allowing some of the nervousness he truly felt seep into his voice. Let them think it was for their current situation, rather than what he was about to do.

"I promise," Lucius replied, reaching forward for the smooth glass orb in Harry's hand. A smirk graced the blonde man's lips. Had he been less focused on the prophesy, he may have noticed Harry unsheathe his wand behind his back.

"NOW!" Harry shouted, letting fly a Reducto at the nearby shelves as his five companions followed suit in near perfect synchronicity.

In the ensuing chaos of collapsing wood and glass, the group of six bolted, not waiting for the Death Eaters' retaliation. Jets of red light chased after them, missing by mere inches.

"No! You'll destroy the prophesy, you fools!" Harry heard Lucius all but screech.

Not caring to look back at what their pursuers were planning, Harry continued forwards as fast as his feet could carry him. All around him shards of glass and splintering shelves flew in complete pandemonium. Yet, thanks to the effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, all he could hear was his own ragged breath and the sound of his teeth rattling in his skull from the impact of every hurried footstep.

There, ahead, a doorway lay open, and Harry bolted through. Hermione and Neville were right on his heels, and with a murmured spell, Hermione fused the door with the surrounding doorframe, effectively barricading them within.

Harry paused for a moment to catch his breath before taking stock of the room they had taken refuge inside. To his left sat a familiar shimmering bell jar where a tiny egg was hatching and unhatching in a seemingly endless loop. Neville and Hermione had grouped up near the back of the room, behind the table full of time-turners.

"Where's Ron?" Harry gasped, realized that the size of their group had effectively been halved. "Where's Ginny and Luna?

Hermione blanched. "I-I don't know," She stammered, "They were right beside us, I swear!"

Before Harry could retort, a heavy thump reverberated from the other side of the charmed door.

"Move out of the way!" shouted a boisterously gruff voice. "Bombarda!"

Two large and brutish looking Death Eaters burst through the previously sealed doorway, and as if choreographed, began firing off a barrage of deadly looking curses and hexes at the three Gryffindors. Hermione and Neville manage to throw themselves to the ground just as a series of sickly purple jets of light soared through the space their heads had occupied mere seconds prior.

A hastily cast protego caught the hexes sent Harry's direction. The bespectacled wizard had to fight the urge to wipe the sweat dripping down the side of his face and keep both hands on his rapidly heating wand. His conjured shield buckled under the strain of the Death Eaters' onslaught until with an earsplitting CRACK, it finally shattered.

Harry suppressed a yelp of pain as a tendril of fire wrapped around his arm and pulled with an inhuman force. With a jolt, he found himself sailing face-first across the room towards his two assailants. A pedestal loomed in his line of sight, rapidly growing in apparent size. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of the bell jar that sat upon it and the constantly hatching and unhatching egg within before throwing his arms up to protect his face.

There was a distinct sound of smashing glass and Harry barely registered the feeling of an impact before the world lurched, and he knew no more.

-0-0-0-0-

Harry's mind was in a dense fog. At least that's what it seemed like. He couldn't see anything, and he was having trouble remembering just where he was. The sound of shuffling feet and rustling clothes purveyed his muddled senses, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of who it could have been.

The rustling drew closer and then stopped. Whoever it was that shared the room he occupied, was close. Had his brain been functioning at full capacity, he would have found himself worried about their intentions. As it was, he merely found himself mildly curious.

"I'll be home late tonight," A soft, somewhat husky, and evidently female voice spoke out just above his left ear. Had Harry control of his bodily functions, he would have flinched. "Try not to get yourself blown up."

Odd, Harry thought. Something like that could have almost been interpreted as a threat, and considering his life thus far, such a threat wouldn't have been entirely unexpected. Yet, the person sounded… amused. Like it was a joke. Who would find me being blown up funny?

Before he could chase this line of thought, his mental faculties screeched to a halt as something soft pressed against his lips. It was only for a brief second, but Harry was certain it was another set of lips. It felt distinctly similar to when Cho had cornered him under the mistletoe earlier that year. Only, it was less salty, warmer, and not nearly as wet.

Harry held stock still. Not that he had much choice, considering. As the unidentified woman's footsteps left his side, Harry didn't even dare to breathe. The audible squeak of a door swinging slowly open filled the room, and the footsteps grew muffled until disappearing entirely. About a minute later, in the distance, the thud of a much heavier door slamming shut rang out.

So, he was alone now. At least, that was the conclusion Harry came to. He couldn't hear anyone else; no footsteps, no rustling of clothing, and no audible breathing.

Speaking of breathing. Harry let out the air he'd been holding, only now feeling safe enough to do so. Well, that was strange, he mentally intoned. Quite the understatement, he realized.

He would have time later to contemplate just how strange it had been later, he decided. Now that he'd been left alone here, he could properly spend the time figuring out where exactly here was.

He was on a bed. That much was obvious, seeing as how the surface he was laying on was soft. Too soft to be the beds in the Hogwarts infirmary. Too soft even to be his four-poster up in Gryffindor tower. So, here wasn't Hogwarts. Was here safe? What did he need to be safe from? What had he been doing previously? Something about an egg? And shelves? That's right, he had been in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. He'd gone there to save Sirius with his friends.

His friends!

Harry sat bolt upright. Apparently he felt fine enough to move now. A triumph to be sure. Or, it would have been, had it not been overshadowed by the rising panic he was now experiencing as he rapidly peered around the room for any clue as to the well-being of his friends.

There were none to be had. Instead, he could now see the bed he lay upon; wide, luxurious, and adorned with thick, silvery sheets. It was plush, and fit for a king, but that did little to alleviate his worries. Beyond the bed, the room was a blur.

Being used to blindness as he was, Harry hastily felt around for his glasses. It took several minutes to find them perched on a nearby end table, and the shakily pushed them onto his face before taking proper assessment of his surroundings.

The walls of the room were a deep green complemented by silver accented baseboards. Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, he took the opportunity to gag at the decidedly Slytherin colours. He was pleased to note, however, that the end table upon which he'd discovered his glasses, was a very bombastic shade of bright red adorned with shiny golden inlays.

On the floor, by his side of the bed, was a haphazard pile of clothes. Upon the discovery of this, he realized with slight embarrassment that he was completely starkers. Electing to rectify that, he rose to unsteady legs, and with some amount of difficulty, slid the clothes on. They must have been left there for them, as they fit perfectly. Much better than any set he'd ever owned before, save perhaps for the dress robes he'd worn for the Yule Ball the year previous.

The door to the room had been left open, so he had no problems creeping out into the hall. Glancing around, he saw no one else. Nearby, were two flights of stairs. One that led upwards, and one that led down. Heading downwards seemed like the right way to go, Harry decided, recalling a shuttered window in the room behind him. He wasn't in a basement, so the path to freedom had to lay below.

He winced at the noisy groans that each step emitted upon receiving the slightest bit of weight, and ended up taking a much slower journey than he normally would have liked, but eventually, the stairs leveled out into an oddly familiar foyer.

It was much cleaner than he recalled, and between the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the new paint job, and the absence of the eerie shrunken elf heads that had once adorned the walls, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was immeasurably more hospitable than it had been the previous summer. He noted with amusement that the painting of Sirius' mother was among the many items that had been noticeably removed, as had the hideous troll-leg umbrella stand Tonks always seemed prone to trip over.

Harry didn't stop for long to admire the freshly cleaned environment, however, as a distinct clunk of something heavy and made of metal sounded out from down the hall. Spinning on his heels, he turned to face the source; the kitchen, with its door ajar.

Silently as he could, he tip-toed forwards, listening to a distinct sizzling interlaced with… was that humming? It was raspy, almost guttural, but it was something that somewhat resembled a melody, if one had a particularly active imagination and a suspension of disbelief.

Gently pressing his palm to the wood of the door, he pushed it open. There, at the stove, jovially preparing eggs and rashers of bacon in an oversized pan, dancing a bizarre jig as he did so, was-

"Kreatcher?!" Harry gasped, his eyes widening comically.

The usually dour house elf spun around, a smile on his face, and an unfitting pink apron dangling from his neck.

"Master Harry Potter is awake!" He chirped. Chirped! And what was this 'Master' Harry Potter business?

"Where the bloody hell did you get that apron?" the green eyed teen sputtered, having just noticed the monogrammed 'kiss the chef' script scrawled across it. Okay, maybe not the most pressing of matters, Harry mentally acknowledged, but his brain was having troubles processing everything at once, and that definitely stood out.

Kreatcher glanced down at the ludicrous garb, as if only just noticing he was wearing it. After a moment, he tilted his head back up to stare at the dark haired wizard, blink owlishly.

"Mistress' sister is giving it as a Christmas present," the house elf replied flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry's mind reeled back to the painting that had once hung in the entry hall; the one of Sirius' mother, and Kreatcher's supposed mistress. Her sister gave that as a gift? From the stories Sirius used to tell of his family, he'd never taken them as the kind of people to have as a sense of humor.

Shaking his head violently to clear it, he decided to dive into what was important; what had happened, and where his companions were. And who was the woman who'd kissed him earlier?

"Kreatcher," Harry began, casting his gaze about the gleaming (gleaming! Sirius had really put in a lot of work over the past year) kitchen, "Where is everyone else."

"Mistress is gone," Kreatcher replied, turning back to the food on the stove.

"I noticed," Harry remarked dryly, before realizing he may have been rather insensitive of the normally creepy house elf's feelings. "Er… I'm sorry?"

Kreatcher paused in his task to glance over his shoulder at Harry, a confused expression on his face, rather than the sad one Harry had been expecting.

"Master's guests are still asleep," the house elf continued, "They might be- oh, there's Master Draco, sir."

Harry whipped around and immediately blanched. As Kreatcher had stated, there stood Draco Malfoy lazily stretching in the doorway behind Harry. His trademark platinum coloured hair lay disheveled on his head, and he looked perhaps more haggard than Harry recalled, but it was clearly him, complete with a set of pale blue silk pajamas.

"Morning," Mumbled the blonde, shuffling past a horror struck Harry and taking a seat at the nearby table. Letting out a yawn, the normally arrogant Slytherin turned his gaze to the Gryffindor. "You alright there, Scar-head?" letting an amused smirk pull at the corners of his mouth.

That served as the last straw for Harry. Jerking out of his stupor, he slowly backed out of the room, before turning and bolting for the door. Barely pausing to throw it open, he continued on his mad dash onto the street, ignoring Kreatcher's calls behind him.

He ran down the block, continuing on his flight with no particular destination in mind, narrowly avoiding any pedestrian he came across. A few muttered angrily after him, but he didn't care. Another block blew by, and then another, and then another. He didn't slow his pace until his legs and lungs simultaneously screamed in agony for him to stop.

Slowing to a walk, he panted heavily, allowing his mind to sluggishly catch up to him. And then, it all hit like a hammer to concrete.

What in the absolute hell was Draco Malfoy doing at Grimmauld Place? If he knew its location, then his father must know as well. His father, who had been leading the ambush at the Ministry. Where were his friends? Were they even alive? Was there anyone he could turn to, considering the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix had been compromised?

As these questions ricocheted around in his head, he continued to wander. For how long, he wasn't sure, but it had to have been at least a few hours, judging by the fact that the sun was high overhead. It had been just after sunrise when he had left Grimmauld Place.

As he continued walking down London's busy streets, allowing his feet to instinctively guide him, he eventually spotted a familiar pub on the other side of the street. Sprinting across at the first gap in traffic, he pushed his way through the muggles that bustled past the run-down door that was his target, seemingly without noticing it. With a sigh of relief, he gripped the rusty old door handle and entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Inside the dimly lit tavern, the usual quiet din bubbled up between patrons, none of them taking notice of his entrance. A relief to be sure, especially in contrast to his very first ever visit of the pub.

Still, despite not being the center of attention, he was weary of being surrounded by wizards. If they could track him down to a supposedly uncharitable house, Voldemort's followers could undoubtedly track him down to here; one of wizarding Britain's most heavily trafficked venues.

Cautiously, he reached for his back pocket where he normally stored his wind, only to find it empty. Of course; there's no way the Death Eaters would have allowed him to keep his wand, he realized, suppressing the urge to plant his face into the palms of his hands. Though, in hindsight, the ease at which he had escaped was peculiar. Perhaps they were trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Well, they were kidding themselves if they thought they could catch him off guard that easily.

Stealthily as he could, Harry made his way around the outside edge of the pub, keeping his back pressed to the wall at all times to avoid anyone sneaking up behind him. He had made it nearly halfway to the entrance to the courtyard which would lead him to Diagon Alley when a rather cheerful voice called out.

"Harry?"

Said wizard nearly jumped out of his skin, not having noticed the raven-haired witch who now stood beside him, right in the one direction he hadn't been looking. Great vigilance, he mentally sneered. Moody would have had a conniption fit had he been there.

"Cho?" He gasped, recognizing the pretty seeker from Ravenclaw.

Her hair was up in a rather simple braid, which he'd never seen before. As long as he could remember, she'd always worn her hair down, even during quidditch matches. Her eyes also seemed to be free from excess moister, and lacked their normal redness and puffiness. A surprising, but welcome change to be sure.

"What are you doing?" She asked, snapping him from his observation.

"Uh…," he began to reply, rather dumbly, "the usual, you know."

Great answer, Potter.

Cho quirked a well-manicured eyebrow, clearly expressing the fact that she, in no way shape or form, believed him. Thankfully, she didn't seem to find it prudent to push the issue, and instead, changed the subject. "So… how's your arm?"

His arm?

"Fine," he replied, not sure how else to answer. It seemed to be an odd question.

The bell at the front of the Leaky Cauldron. High on alert, Harry's head whipped around to observe a hunched over old witch shuffle over the threshold before making her way towards a nearby table, where a group of other elderly witches were waving to her. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Harry?" Cho asked, reminding the wizard of her presence, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry replied tersely, not particularly eager to continue his conversation with her. Things hadn't exactly ended well between them, and he still hadn't fully forgiven her. Still, she wasn't a Death Eater, he was certain, so her presence was admittedly an upgrade from his previous companionship.

"Are you sure?" she continued, "You seem tense."

Harry groaned. As much as he hated to admit it, her being there presented an opportunity, and she didn't seem keen on leaving. He may not be happy with her, but if it meant keeping a hostile wand off his back, then her help might just be necessary.

"Actually, no," he said, bringing his voice down to a mere whisper, "I'm not fine. People are after me, Cho. Bad people."

Cho's face flashed in surprise, before she schooled her features.

"Who?" She whispered back, casting a surreptitious glance at the entrance to the pub.

"Death Eaters," was his reply.

"They're back?" Cho gasped.

"Of course," Harry frowned, feeling a shot of annoyance stab him in the gut. He'd been telling everyone that Voldemort had returned all year. It would stand to reason his followers were back too. The Ravenclaw girl had claimed she believed him. She had even said she had read his interview in the Quibbler, where he had named the Death Eaters he'd seen at Voldemort's resurrection. Had she been lying?

"I can take you to my place," she began, taking hold of his arm, jostling him out of his morose reverie. Harry resisted his impulse to pull away from the action. He wasn't fond of the intimacy of it. "We've got a floo you can use to call the Ministry if you need."

"No," Harry hissed in panic, nearly pulling his arm out of her grasp. The dark haired witch seemed shocked at his outburst, but her grip held strong. "Not the Ministry," He elaborated. He still didn't know what all had happened there, and it could be crawling with Death Eaters for all he knew.

"Alright," Cho flushed, "Not the Ministry. You can call whoever you need though."

Harry relaxed a little at that. For nearly a few minutes, hew internally weighed the pros and cons of going with her. He didn't fully trust her, especially after the revelation that she may have been lying to him all year about believing him. That weighed heavily on him. However, so too did the wellbeing of his friends. Eventually, their safety won out. Cho might be a liar, but at least she wasn't a masked psychopath.

"Okay," He agreed, turning towards the direction of Diagon Alley.

He was surprised however, when instead of setting out forward like he had expected, Cho turned on the spot. And then suddenly, he felt like he was being squeezed through a tube. With a loud CRACK he found his feet make contact with the ground, not realizing they had ever left in the first place. His knees buckled, and he fell over.

"Oh!" Cho squeaked, hurriedly offering an arm to help him up, "Are you okay? I'm sorry! I didn't realize your legs were injured!"

Injured? He internally huffed. You try staying upright after being chucked at the ground out of nowhere, you crazy- Harry suppressed the urge to be outwardly hostile. He needed her help.

"It's fine," He grumbled, dusting himself and his pride off as he rose to a stand, shrugging off Cho's offered assistance.

"Here," The witch began, gently placing an arm around his shoulders. Harry once again found himself rather uncomfortable from all the excess contact as she guided him to a nearby couch. "Sit, I'll cast some diagnostics to make sure you're alright."

He followed her instructions, not really finding it in himself to argue. As he sank into the rather comfortable cushions, he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings.

He was in a living room. A rather cozy one, if a bit small. It didn't look particularly luxurious, but it really didn't have to be. The couch he now sat on was at the centre of the room, perched in front of a trunk that seemed to serve as a makeshift coffee table. The trunk was laden with empty boxes of takeout and a few copies of Witch Weekly. From the cover of the top-most magazine, a rather attractive blonde witch with icy blue eyes, who seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn't place from just where, stared calculatingly back at him. Apparently Cho's parents weren't picky about tidying up.

Aside from the couch, there was a rather plush armchair in one corner, tucked beside a rather old looking bookcase; its shelves straining under the weight of the overwhelming number of books crammed into it. Had Hermione been there, her mouth would have undoubtedly been watering.

On the other side of the room, between a set of doors he hadn't noticed, a small heart crackled merrily. Various knickknacks adorned the mantelpiece, including a framed picture of what appeared to be a much younger Cho, perhaps 6 or 7 years of age, zipping around on a tiny broom. Chasing after her was a stout, visibly balding Asian man, a perpetual smile adhered to his face.

"That's my Uncle," Cho explained, following his gaze, waving her wand in various complex patterns. "He played for the Tunshill Tornadoes when he was younger. He's the reason I got into quidditch in the first place."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, turning his head to watch as a multitude of coloured lights flashed in rapid succession from Cho's wand. It was rather disorienting and distracting. It was also baffling that she seemed to be able to perform magic outside Hogwarts without any owls swooping in to deliver letters of expulsion.

He was about to voice his observation when Cho suddenly stopped. With a sigh, she stowed her wand up her sleeve before stalking over to the fireplace.

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong," She explained lifting up a small pot of purplish grey powder from a nearby ledge, "Nothing physically at least. Still, when you get the chance, I'd recommend some rest."

Harry nodded, unsure as to when she became a supposed expert on health, but accepted her statement regardless. He'd learned long ago not to fight Madam Pomfrey, and right now, Cho's clinical manner of speaking was reminding strongly of the Hogwarts medi-witch.

"Here's the floo powder," She stated, proffering the pot of dust, "I'll let you have some privacy while you make your calls. Sue's out right now, and won't be back for a few hours. If you need me, just shout."

Harry didn't know who Sue was, but was thankful nonetheless that no one would barge in.

"I didn't expect this," Harry admitted as Cho ventured back to the couch. "You know, considering the whole Marietta thing, I wasn't sure you'd be willing to help."

Cho frowned.

"I don't know why you're dragging that up now," she snapped, shoving the powder harshly into one of his hands. "Here I was, trying to help. I could have left you there, you know."

Harry glared back. If she wanted to be angry, he was happy to reciprocate. He had a lot to be angry about.

"Instead, I'm risking my safety, my friend's safety, in order to keep you out of harm. Because it's the right thing to do," She snarled, narrowing the space between them. I single, petite finger jabbed him in the chest. It hurt more than he would have expected. "I returned to Hogwarts after my seventh year just so I could help protect the younger students, and I have all the scars to prove it. I could have run. I could have hidden. But I didn't. I stood, and I fought, just like you taught me to. So don't you ever question my willingness to help, Harry Potter!"

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled a 180 and stormed towards one of the doors Harry had noticed earlier by the fireplace, leaving him baffled in her wake. Pulling the door sharply open, she paused, closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, as if willing herself to calm down.

"I'll be in the next room if you need me," she stated evenly, apparently having reached a more relaxed state through her meditative exercise. "So… yeah…"

She trailed off awkwardly, letting the statement hang tense in the air. Her eyes shifted uneasily from the doorway to Harry, who remained rooted on the sofa. After a moment of silence, she let out a sigh, and disappeared behind the door, closing it as she departed, leaving Harry alone with the floo powder and his thoughts.

What was she talking about? His mind reeled trying to decipher everything she had said, but try as he might, he couldn't figure anything out. Either she was crazy, or he was. And he was sick of being called crazy; by the Prophet, by the Hogwarts student body, and by the wizarding world as a whole. He refused to hear it from himself as well.

Giving up on the monumental effort of grappling with the words Cho had hurled at him, he stood and made his way over to the fireplace. Whatever Cho's issues were, his friends were his first priority. They needed him, and he'd been dragging his feet.

He grabbed a pinch of the purple powder and prepared to throw it into the fire. That was as far as he got, as he realized he wasn't sure who to call. Grmmauld Place had been taken over, and there was a chance that Umbridge had escaped the centaurs by now, leaving Hogwarts as a non-option. Dumbledore was in hiding, but he knew not where. There was realistically only one place he could call.

"The Burrow," he called out clearly, tossing the handful into the hearth. Verdant flames roared to life where previously there had been only embers.

Seeing that he'd been successful, Harry knelt. With a slight bit of trepidation pushed his head forward into the fire. Instantaneously, he felt his head begin to spin, as various fireplaces whizzed by at incomprehensible speeds.

With a lurch, he felt his head come to a stop, and he was presented with a clear view of a familiar sitting room, almost exactly as he remembered it. The only thing new was the giant, human sized bundle of yarn piled high beside an armchair. In the chair sat Molly Weasley, knitting something. One of her infamous Weasley Christmas sweaters, if Harry had to guess. So focused on her work was she, that she had apparently not noticed his sudden arrival.

"Mrs. Weasley," He called out, grabbing her attention.

"Harry!" she shouted, both in surprise and joy, as a giant beaming smile split her face, "So good to see you, dear! How are you? And what's with this Mrs. Weasley nonsense? I thought I told you to call me Molly."

She had? He certainly didn't remember being a part of that conversation.

"Do you know where Ron and Hermione are? Ginny too?" He asked, deciding to push it to the side in the lieu of more pressing matters.

Mrs. Weasley stared at him blankly for a few seconds, as if taken off guard by the question.

"Ginny?" She murmured, in a tone that sounded almost suspicious to Harry. "I supposed she'll be at practice at this hour," She shrugged. "As for Ron and Hermione, well, they'll be at the Ministry. Shouldn't you be there as well?"

How did she know about their trip to the Ministry? Had Snape passed on his message about Sirius like he had hoped? If so, and Ron and Hermione were still there, why wasn't the Order on high alert?

"Uh, no," Harry said, deciding to answer the Weasley matriarch's question before asking any of his own. "I don't know what happened, but we got separated. I need to find them. They're in danger."

"Danger?" Molly gasped, twisting her head to the side. Harry followed her line of sight to the magical clock that hung on the wall. "The clock says they're at work. Are you quite sure?"

"Positive," Harry replied, frowning. "Wait, work? What do you mean, work?"

Molly's head snapped back to face his.

"At the Ministry," she stated, looking very scandalized. "It's a Friday."

Harry stared in shock.

"Th-that can't be," He stammered, "It's Monday!"

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "Are you feeling alright Harry?" she asked, her voice softening.

"I'm fine," Harry huffed, waving off her concern. Or, he would have waved it off, had he been more than just a floating, disembodied head at that moment.

He'd evidently been out cold for almost an entire week. He needed to know what all had happened in the interim. Why were people still at the Ministry? What had happened to the prophecy?

"Where's Sirius?" was the question he finally voiced. It was perhaps the most important; the reason he had launched the foray to the Ministry in the first place. "Is he safe?"

Harry's gut fell out from beneath him at the look of sadness she gave him.

"Harry," she breathed out. "Oh, Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

Harry shook his head. Sirius had to be okay. They'd gone to rescue him, hadn't they? That was days ago; The Order would have saved him as soon as they found out. That had to have.

"I have to go," he mumbled, pulling his head back.

Molly's shouts were muffled as he passed through the flames, and then he was standing. He remained there; frozen and numb, refusing to process what Mrs. Weasley had said.

Then, with a jolt, he urged himself forward and began frantically knocking on the door Cho had left through.

"What's wrong?" She gasped, upon seeing how ashen his complexion had become.

"I need to get to the Ministry," He stated, brokering no argument.

"Um… okay," She responded, clearly confused, before gesturing him to follow her through the door.

He found himself in rather small bedroom. A single bed occupied the majority of the space the room offered, its sheets disheveled. A heaping pile of clothes sat unfolded atop the mattress, with various other articles strewn about the floor. Harry blushed and tilted his head upwards upon spotting a frilly white brassier in a nearby corner.

"Sorry about the mess," Cho murmured, scurrying about the room, picking things up and setting them back down. Harry elected to stay in the doorway to allow her space to move. "My ID should be here somewhere."

Harry, nodded absent-mindedly, and occupied himself by twiddling his thumbs anxiously. Cho apparently was able to locate what she was looking for, as she shouted out in victory and held aloft a rather crumpled piece of paper. Hastily folding it into quarters and stuffing it into a pocket before picking a robe off the bead and putting it on, she made her way back to Harry.

"I assume you have your badge on you?" She asked, fixing one of her sleeves, as it had folded awkwardly when she put her arm through it.

"My badge?" He blinked. "What badge?"

"Your Auror badge," She responded, as if it had been obvious.

Harry tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Coincidentally, she seemed to be doing the same about him.

"Why would I have an Auror badge?" He questioned.

"Because it's your job," She answered, clearly bewildered.

Seeing his blank stare, she reached a hand towards his forehead. He stepped back, this time not suppressing the reflex to move away. She pulled her hand back as well, clutching it to her chest in shock.

"Okay," She began slowly, "Why don't we start from the top. Why do you need to get to the Ministry?"

Harry sighed impatiently. "Sirius is in trouble," He replied, not stopping to think about whether or not she would even know who Sirius is. "Voldemort has him."

"Sirius Black?" Cho asked.

Apparently she did know who Sirius was.

"Yeah," Harry responded, "But he's innocent. He never did the things he was accused of. Listen, we need to go now. We need to save him."

Cho's gaze fell uncomfortably to her feet.

"Harry," she whispered, "I think we should go to St. Mungo's"

"Why?" Harry asked, taking a step backwards. That was the same reaction Mrs. Weasley had when he brought up Sirius.

"Because," she said, tilting her head back upwards to look him in the eye, "Sirius Black is dead."

Harry forgot how to breathe. Ice filled his veins.

"He died five years ago."

-0-0-0-0-

AN:

So, that was the first chapter. I've had this idea rolling in my head for a while, and finally got around to outlining it.

For those of you who've followed me for my other stories, you'll know that I'm notorious for leaving them unfinished. I'd like to put your mind at rest by saying, you shouldn't have to fear that for this story. For one thing, I've fully outlined everything I want to have happen in this one in a separate document before even starting to write (On all my previous attempts, I planned out the starts and the ends, but then just filled in the middle as I went. It got sloppy, disorganized, and it ended up going nowhere. I always hated the results). For another, this story should be much shorter than what I planned any of my other stories to be. Maybe something like 10-ish chapters?

Anyways, feel free to leave a review. I like them. Even critical ones. You can't improve without knowing what you did wrong.

Also, yes, this will be a Daphne/Harry fic. Cho's just one of the characters in the story, and a rather important one at that. I've always felt like she gets a bad rap in the fandom, so I wanted to make a fic that pushed her forward to centre-stage for a bit and put her in a positive light.

So many people call her out as being overly emotional, but I have to assume those people are either unfeeling psychopaths, or people who've never experienced loss in their entire lives. If it's the latter, I envy them. Losing someone close to you, like a boyfriend or girlfriend, while they're so young, and so suddenly, is a VERY hard thing to handle. In fact, I think Cho held up surprisingly well in cannon. She didn't openly cry in the halls or in public; just in front of Harry, someone she felt she could open up to.

That might have been poor judgement, since Harry had been taught through the Dursleys to never cry or show emotions. They thought it was a weakness, and as such, it made Harry perhaps the most poorly equipped person in all of Hogwarts to handle Cho properly. Had roles been reversed, and Cedric been the one to help her pick up the pieces, he likely would have been able to do so. He also likely would have discouraged her from trying to fill the gap left behind by dating someone else before she was ready (unlike what Harry did).

She was a wreck. She had poor judgement. That doesn't mean she's a bad person. It just means that Harry was poorly suited for her, and that she was capable of strong feelings. The latter of which, I'm sure Dumbledore would have argued is actually a very good trait to have. I would too.

Not to mention the fact that, as stated in this chapter, she returned to Hogwarts even after she had graduated, when Voldemort had taken over, and fought. Harry's 6th year would have been her last, and yet she was still there in the Room of Requirements in The Deathly Hallows, with the rest of the DA, both in the books and the movies. Yet nobody seems to take that into account.