AN: Finally, a new chapter! I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, but I'd lost the notebook it was in. The next chapter should be coming out soon (and it will be longer). There's a certain new character introduced in this chapter that I'm particularly fond of. He's based off of a character from another British author I love.


It was two hours and thirty-seven minutes before anyone noticed Harry lying in the street.

A young woman was walking her dog down Privet Drive when she noticed him lying unconscious in the middle of the street and called emergency services. She spent almost ten minutes trying to staunch still bleeding wounds without jostling broken bones while waiting for help.

When the emergency vehicles arrives a rush of activity began. Harry was lifted carefully onto a stretcher and hooked up to an IV almost before he was fully in the ambulance. Wounds were bandaged and blood samples taken, to be sent to the hematology lab STAT. As vital signs were being taken, one paramedic made and awful observation.

"Look at how advanced the bruising is." Close observation revealed that the most recent bruises were hours old, and there were numerous older bruises.

It got worse. When the x-rays were developed they showed not only the injuries from the accident - two broken ribs, a hairline fracture in his right arm, and a broken femur - but also older injuries. Partially healed ribs, which had cracked again and an old break in the left arm which hadn't healed properly. Along with bruising that was obviously from the accident there were more suspicious bruises; bruises that mirrored the shape of a hand on Harry's upper arms and neck. It was also painfully obvious that he was malnourished- he was dangerously underweight.

Twenty four hours after entering the hospital, Harry was still unconscious. The hospital staff attending him were frantic. His vital signs had been maintaining stable levels, but now his heart rate was dropping, rapidly. One nurse was standing by his side doing chest compressions as another one prepared a defibrillator.

"Shit! 30...25...his heart rate just keeps falling!" The attendant watching the monitor was panicking. She was new, and had never had a patient in critical condition before. She was terrified of losing him. "Fuck! It's at zero!"

Quickly, the nurse doing chest compressions stepped aside and the defibrillator was placed on his chest.


Harry opened his eyes to find himself in a completely gray environment with no distinction between sky and ground. A tall, thin, figure bearing a scythe walked slowly towards him.

"HELLO, HARRY POTTER." The words were heavy, spoken as if each syllable was the distant boom of a cannon.

Harry didn't respond to the apparition, he merely watched it approach with an impassive face.

"ALREADY YOU HAVE MET ME TWICE, YOUNG POTTER. EACH TIME YOU HAVE RETURNED TO YOUR WORLD WITH LESS THAN YOU MET ME WITH."

Ignoring the cryptic statement, Harry calmly looked the figure in the eyes. "You're Death." The apparition - Death - tilted its head in silent agreement.

"I AM DISINCLINED TO TAKE YOU WITH ME NOW, SO SOON AFTER WE LAST MET." The specter paused, though no expression showed on his skeletal face. One bony finger tapped against his chin, producing a strange clicking sound. "IF YOU RETURN YOU SHALL LOSE MORE THAN YOU DID OUR PAST TWO MEETINGS."

He received a non-committal shrug in response.

Pale blue eyes stared into bright green. Death's scythed tapped against his shoulder. "I SUPPOSE YOU CAN HARDLY MISS WHAT YOU DON'T REALIZE YOU HAVE." Death twirled his scythe. "YOU SHALL NOT BE RETURNING TO THE SAME FAMILY, BE ASSURED OF THAT."

Green eyes brightened a bit at that. Slowly, Harry nodded his head to Death.

"PEOPLE WILL WANT TO INTERROGATE YOU, YOUNG POTTER. ANSWER THEM HONESTLY."

As the scythe swished through the air towards Harry, Death spoke once more, his voice now heavier than before. It sounded like the slam of coffin lids, the resounding close of temple doors, and of dying screams on a battlefield. "JUSTICE MUST BE SERVED."


Although the defibrillator restarted his heart fairly quickly, it was another twenty-four hours before Harry's eyes opened. Only a few minutes after he had awakened, two nurses and a police officer entered his room.

After introducing himself, Officer Nick Sinclair proceeded to ask a few simple questions; name, age, birthday. After acquiring this information, one of the nurses left the room.

There were a few more simple questions. Who do you live with, where do you go to school?

"Where do you live?"

Harry's brow furrowed for a moment before Harry answered. "The cupboard under the stairs." Although the Dursleys had warned him to never tell anyone about where he slept, Death had said he wouldn't have to go back to them. And Death was a much more imposing figure than Vernon. Though he lacked the aura of violence which surrounded Vernon Dursley, Death's aura was much stronger, and felt much more dangerous than Dursley's.

The nurse who had remained in the room gasped loudly. The officer twitched, but managed to keep his emotions locked in. He asked a few more questions about how Harry was feeling.

"Are you tired?" A negative response.

"Do you need anything?" Harry replied that a book would be nice.

"Are you hungry?" Green eyes watched the officer for a moment, contemplatively. No one had ever asked Harry if he was hungry before.

"I'm always hungry."

A look of undeniable sadness crossed Nick's face. After telling Harry that other people would be in to talk to him, the police officer left.

The nurse, a young woman, turned to leave, promising that she would return with something for him to read. She stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at the frail boy in the large hospital bed.

"Don't worry Mr. Potter, you won't be going back to those awful people."


Nick Sinclair was worried. He didn't like abuse cases, which this clearly was- abuse and severe neglect. There were almost no records of the boy anywhere, other than a birth certificate and some school records. The only health records the child had were for the immunizations required to attend school. Even though he had obviously had broken bones more than once, he had never seen a doctor for anything other than shots before he was picked up by the ambulance.

And his name sounded familiar. Nick was sure his cousin had mentioned it. Nick himself didn't keep in contact with the magical world; his mother was a squib and Nick didn't have any magic; but he was close enough to his magical cousins that he got information about what was happening in the hidden society. He was sure that the Potter's had been prominently involved in the recent magical war.

It was time for him to use the floo powder his cousin had given to him. He had investigating to do.