Chapter 1: Voldemort, That's How

Harry leant back against the mud-coloured wall and unsuccessfully tried to clear his mind. Legs aching, head throbbing and his breathing shallow at best – none of which he could imagine meant anything but trouble. He was stuck. They were stuck. Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood and last but not least, Neville Longbottom. During his first few days at Hogwarts, Harry would never have believed that they would all become such good friends, but it had just happened that way. And he was glad for it. Harry sighed bitterly. What was he supposed to do now? How had something so simple become so complicated? Harry snorted.

"Voldemort," he spat. "It's always Voldemort."

And there it was; a sharp intake of breath followed by silence. He feebly pushed himself off the wall and started ambling around the room, carefully avoiding their expectant stares. He knew they wanted him to talk. He knew they wanted him to make the next move. But he was just as lost as they were.

"Harry?" It was a question. Harry looked down at his shoe, dug in his toe, and pushed around a pile of rubble. He couldn't ignore the situation any longer.

"Okay guys," said Harry, hoping they wouldn't notice just how rattled he was by all this. "I think it's safe to say that this is not what we had planned for the evening."

Ron let out a low chuckle. "That's a bit of an understatement." And in spite of it all, Harry found himself laughing, even if it was only for a few short moments. Ron was good like that; he always knew how to lighten the mood.

Hermione sniffed. "It's hardly the time for joking." Maybe it was because she had said it just a little too softly, or maybe it was because she was examining the ceiling of all things; either way, she wasn't fooling anyone. Still, she had a point.

Harry sighed and kicked a piece of debris across the room. "Hermione's right. I mean, the only reason we're all stuck here right now is because we didn't take the situation seriously. I just can't understand why we didn't think it through. We were so stupid!"

"I think you should watch who you're calling stupid," piped up Ginny angrily. "We had no idea! There was no way we could have guessed-"

"She's right mate," cut-in Neville, shrugging his shoulders at Harry. "This was out of our hands."

"No! You guys just don't get it. All this," he said, gesturing wildly around the room, "it's his thing. He's toying with us, trying to get a rise out of us."

Ginny stalked up to him, her eyes narrowed and cheeks blushing furiously. "Yeah? Well I'd say you're doing a pretty good job of it so far." He should have been livid, he knew that much. But in that moment he felt one thing and one thing only: grateful. Ginny was...fierce. She never faltered in her resolve to be strong. She never let them down, something he couldn't quite say about himself.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione said as she came forward, hands balled into fists. "This argument is going nowhere. We're still stuck in this room and we still have no idea what to do." She was right, of course. "From the moment Lupin flooed us, I knew something was off. Why would he floo us? Why not Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah and what about all that nonsense with the house elves?" said Ron. "House elves don't exactly go for midnight strolls."

"That's true," answered Luna slowly, "but they easily could have been Imperiused."

"Hang on, how do we even know if Lupin was telling the truth?" said Neville, running a hand through his hair in a show of agitation. "I don't even remember seeing any house elves. How about you guys?" There was a short silence. "He was obviously being impersonated."

"That's impossible Neville," Hermione sighed. "Polyjuice Potion doesn't work on werewolves."

"Fine then, he was under the Imperius curse. Death Eaters have no reservations when it comes to the Unforgivables," Neville said bitterly, staring at the floor a little too intently. They all of course knew exactly what he was referring to, but Harry realised that perhaps none of them truly understood what he was feeling. Maybe even I don't get it. Unlike Neville, Harry didn't have to see their lifeless bodies every other week.

Thankfully, Luna came to their rescue. "Maybe we should all just sit down, you know, just so that we can save some energy for...whatever he has in store for us." Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. What did Voldemort have in store for them? They all weakly lowered themselves onto the floor and Harry bit back a growl as the debris pierced his bare hands. Beside him, Ginny let out a cry of pain and angrily sprung back onto her feet. The rest quickly followed suit.

"Where are all these little rocks coming from?" muttered Ginny. As if on cue, the floor beneath them gave a tremendous shake, nearly uprooting all of them in the process. Harry fumbled around for his wand, desperately trying to prepare himself for what was coming next. But before he could even form a coherent thought, much less a plan of action, he found himself being pitched across the room, straight onto the wall. He fell to the floor and groaned as someone landed on top of him, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Harry could hear Hermione screaming and he knew he had to get to her, he had to save her. But what was all this white light? He tried lifting his arm and then something strange occurred to him. He couldn't feel his arm.

In fact, he couldn't feel anything.


Harry was jolted awake by a terrible pounding in the back of his head - he had obviously been mercilessly beaten with a club. Harry's eyes fluttered open and were greeted by a very familiar night sky. A wave of relief washed through him. He was in the Hogwarts Great Hall. He was home. Fittingly enough, it was then that he realized that something was terribly wrong with this image. For one, all of the students were screaming, some were even hiding under their house tables. Teachers were running around shouting and Harry thought he even saw a stunner fly past him. This wasn't right.

Harry jumped up and whipped out his wand, all the while trying to fight off a bout of dizziness. He shook his head and then as if someone had turned up the volume on a radio, the noise level in the room righted itself. The force of the commotion hit Harry head-on and he staggered drunkenly. He vaguely registered that he was shouting, but no sound was coming out of his mouth. His throat was dry and his lips were cracked. Where were his friends? What did this all mean? And for the third time that night, as if on cue, something very out of character caught his eye. Across the room stood an ancient man dressed in a very odd assortment of wizard clothes. His long white beard fell down to his waist and was neatly tucked into his belt. He wore half-mooned spectacles that brought out the very familiar sparkle in those blue eyes. There stood the last man Harry thought he would ever see again. It was Dumbledore. And he had his wand pointed straight at Harry.