CHAPTER THREE

HARRY POTTER ESCAPES THE CLUTCHES OF THE MINISTRY

The infamous Harry Potter, 16, after two years of being a threat to all families, wizarding and Muggle alike, had been caught by the Ministry. Ordered to a trial requested by the Wizengamot, he claimed that he had not controlled, tortured and murdered countless people. After being given his sentence of a life in Azkaban, Potter, using a branch of wandless Dark Magic, broke free of the chains on the chair, grabbed his wand, stunned two Aurors and blew apart the door. He escaped the Ministry, and is once again at large, and more dangerous than ever.

Harry threw down the newspaper in disgust. They were thick-headed gits, the lot of them. 'wandless Dark Magic' – only the Ministry would consider breaking some chains 'Dark'. And Stunning two Aurors – yeah, because they wouldn't have done the same to me, Harry thought angrily.

He had never really liked being famous – but being famous for defeating a Dark Wizard was a hell of a lot better than being famous for being one.

He looked moodily around the alleyway he was hiding in. He couldn't go to Gringotts – they were hardly going to let a 'Dark Wizard' make a withdrawal, and the Ministry had emptied his pockets, meaning he didn't even have change from the Galleon he'd used on the Knight Bus. But some things were bothering him a lot more than money.

His mother.

Momentarily, he had been so sure it was her. Stupid of him. Of course she was dead. He remembered back to his third year when he thought he'd seen his father – who had turned out to be himself.

Nothing made sense. The whole Wizarding world thought he was evil. The Ministry were denying Voldemort's very existence. He had hallucinated about his mother watching him. And, strangest of all, his scar had disappeared. His fingers traced the place where the scar should have been.

He sighed. Who would be able to explain what was going on. The two smartest people he knew certainly wouldn't be telling him any time one. One had been supposedly put under the Imperius curse by him, and the other believed Harry should go to Azkaban.

Harry now knew exactly what Sirius had felt like, going to Azkaban innocent. He sighed again. He wished Sirius were here now.

Suddenly, Harry realised exactly where he could go. But how could he get there? He knew it was in London, at least. Harry looked right and left, and stepped out of the alleyway, into the street. Well, if anybody tried to attack him, he had his wand. That was some comfort, at least.

He tapped a man on the shoulder. 'Excuse me,' he asked. 'Have you heard of Grimmauld Place?'

'Grimmauld Place,' the man repeated. 'Aye, that the one with the numbers in a funny order, innit? Skips number eleven, dunnit? Aye, 'bout 'alf an hour from 'ere.'

'Walking?' Harry asked, heart thudding.

'Nay,' he laughed. 'I mean on the underground, don' I?'

'Which way?' Harry pressed.

The man frowned for a moment, then, 'West.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'Thanks.'

Half an hour later, Harry was sitting on a train. It was late at night now, and the trains were emptying as people returned home from work. At last, Harry reached his stop.

He knew where he was now. He walked up and down the streets until he found Grimmauld Place.

He stood in front of it, and waited.

And waited.

He could not get in. Why, he did not know. He stood for a goof fifteen minutes, but gave up. Nothing.

'Right,' Harry said aloud, 'right.'

Where else could he go? Just somewhere to stay for a while, where someone could explain why everybody was under the impression he was evil.

Before he could think about anything more, somebody appeared in front of him. It had looked like he'd come from somewhere between 11 and 13, but Harry had had enough experience in the magical world to know that was not the case.

This person looked like – but no, it couldn't be, it wasn't – 'Sirius?'

The man stopped dead and looked up. He definitely looked like Sirius. He was tall, he had the same elegant black hair and handsome features, but there was something about him that wasn't quite ...

'No,' the man said coldly, in a voice that was not Sirius Black's, and continued walking down Grimmauld Place, away from Harry. 'Why does everybody always confuse him, that low, unworthy, blood traitor who broke my mother's heart with me, the respectable, loyal –'

Harry's jaw dropped. Firstly, this man seemed to think Sirius was alive. Secondly, he wasn't telling Harry that he, Harry, was evil. Thirdly, Harry knew exactly who this man was, even though it made no sense at all. 'Are you ... Sirius's brother? Regulus? But you're dead!'

The man stopped, and turned to look at Harry. 'I'm what?'

'Dead!' said Harry. 'Voldemort killed you! Sirius told me –'

'Are you Harry Potter?' Regulus whispered.

'Course not,' Harry said. 'He's evil, isn't he? Do I look evil to you?'

Regulus wasn't listening. If fact, he was on his knees. 'Harry Potter, sir, my family and I have believed in your cause for years. I would have joined you at any chance, had you not been so eager to work alone. However, if you have changed your mind ...' He trailed off, then extended an arm. 'Regulus Arcturus Black, Harry Potter, forever at your service.'

Harry stared at Regulus. 'Eager to work alone?' he said, dumbfounded. 'I was only alone because the damn Ministry thought I was evil! And what's this cause you're going on about, anyway?' Regulus opened his mouth, but Harry remembered something else. 'And did you say Sirius is alive? Where is he? I want to see him!'

'You want to see Sirius?' said Regulus, frowning. 'Harry Potter, I assure you, he is against your worthy cause. I, however –'

'Where is he?' Harry said. Regulus gulped.

'A while from here, Harry Potter, Sir,' he stuttered.

'Take me there,' said Harry firmly.

'As you wish, Harry Potter. I have some Floo Powder in my house, Sir, and a fireplace. Please, follow me.'

And as Harry did so, Number 12, Grimmauld Place was revealed. He followed Regulus up the stone steps and watched him open the door.

It was nothing like Harry remembered. It was clean. Harry could hear voices coming from the kitchen. And then Kreacher the House-Elf appeared from around the corner.

'Kreacher thought Sir Regulus would be out for a while longer so Kreacher hasn't quite finished –'

'It's fine, Kreacher, don't worry,' said Regulus quickly.

Harry had given up on being dumbfounded every time something was said, but things were getting ridiculous.

'Thanks, Regulus,' said Harry as he was showed to the fireplace. 'So where's Sirius?'

'He lives in Carvedale Avenue, but he's probably over at Potter Manor. He spends half his life there, I've heard,' Regulus said blandly.

Harry's heart began to thud. If his scar had disappeared, and Voldemort didn't seem to exist, and Sirius was alive ... 'Potter Manor!'

Three uncomfortable seconds later, he fell out of an elegant marble fireplace and onto carpeted floor, in the middle of a living room. Four wands were pointing at his face.

Author's Notes:

I know, I know, I said I'd update at 20 reviews last time, and this story currently only has seven, but they were all so lovely that I decided to update anyway!

I've just remembered – I've been editing chapters 1 and 2 a lot due to inconsistencies, and you all must have been getting those annoying alerts with no update. So sorry about that!

So yes, it's getting a bit more interesting. Chapter 4 and 5 are done, and I'm about to finish the 6th.

I'll update once this story gets 20 reviews – for real, this time!

Love, Annie.