Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything you can recognise from the books. The series belongs to J.K. Rowling and the people who publish the books and produce the movies.

A/N: I don't particularly like this chapter, but it serves a purpose of moving the plot forward. Now things are getting more and more complicated. To those who are wondering where is the Voldemort/Death Eater action, don't worry: you'll get that soon enough in the next chapter(s).

Still looking for a Beta. Have fun reading about the now shrunken Harry Potter! So many unanswered questions... Let's see how Harry will pull himself out of this one.


– CHAPTER THREE –

The Alchemist

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-X-X-X-

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The ten-year old face of Harry Potter stared back at him.

His lungs felt empty; Harry struggled to breathe. Panic jolted up and down his body, like electricity, exacerbating his shudders. This wasn't happening to him, this can't be happening to him. No, this had to be a nightmare, just like all the other dreams he'd had recently. It had to be. This just wasn't possible.

"Son, are you feeling okay? Do you want to talk to us now, or should we come back later?"

The friendly doctor's words didn't even register in Harry's mind. Harry was too busy goggling his reflection.

His cheeks were puffier and rounder, which took away his sharp, adolescent angles and supplanted them with a ridiculous, naïve demeanour. Moreover, somehow his ears expanded, or his face shrunk; only the Creeveys – and Dobby – seemed more childish. The only good thing about his new, deaged appearance was his eyes. For reasons unknown, they appeared wider and brighter, with longer lashes and an insouciant, green gleam. Though currently, those eyes reflected mainly shock.

"H-How long have I been out?" Harry asked the pleasant-faced doctor. He flinched at the sound of his voice; was he really that high-pitched and squeaky back when he was ten?

The young policewoman answered him: "I found your body in Begonia Park at seven in the morning, so you've been out for approximately one hour and a half. How's your head? Still sore?"

"Um, only a little," Harry said. Touching his lightning scar, he felt a white, gauze bandage wrapped around his head. It stung dully, like a heavy bruise; he must have hit his head when he collapsed on the playground floor, after being spelled by that green-haired woman.

"My name is Sasaki, and this is my friend, Dr Levski." The policewoman sat next to Harry, quietly. "Now, what do your friends call you?"

"Mark, Mark Evans," Harry lied, saying the first name that popped into his head. Pulling off the bedsheets, he tried to slide out of bed, but flinched at the pointed throbbing in his injured, left knee.

Harry put on his most innocent, vulnerable face; he needed to allay any suspicions of him, and playing "the scared, little boy" was the easiest way.

"Where am I? H-Has anyone tried to see me yet?" he asked.

The policewoman mellowed at Harry's guileless expression. "You're at the Guilford Adventist Hospital in Hampshire. No one knows you're here, except me and the doctors, but right now, we're trying to contact your relatives."

He had to get out here right now, Harry recognised restively. If he didn't leave the hospital soon, the Jack of Spades and his friend might discover he's not dead and finish the job.

First, he had to get the policewoman and the doctor out the room. Think quickly. Be smart. After the Padfoot Patronus... he couldn't afford to be too open and trusting. He had to be cautious, more canny. Harry realised with disgust: More Slytherin.

"M-My relatives? Please don't tell them I'm here," Harry whispered, starting his act. He really didn't want to do this, but it was the quickest way. "They'll hurt me again. I wasn't supposed to be seen by anyone."

"Who'll hurt you, Mark? Do your relatives push you around, or threaten you?"

"Uncle Ver-Verdie calls me a freak. He makes me sleep in the cupboard, 'cause I'm good for nothing, like my parents." Harry hitched his voice, for maximum effect. "I promised not to cry, but h-he gets angry and picks up the kitchen knife – and it h-hurts."

Dr Levski gave the policewoman, Sasaki, a dark look. "That explains the cuts on the knee and maybe even the head wound."

"Mark, we promise we won't hurt you," started Sasaki, carefully. "Just tell us where your uncle lives, and we'll make sure that no one ever hurts you again."

Harry shook his head wildly and drew back against the wall. "N-No, you'll lie and hurt me, like Uncle Verdie. I-I'm sorry – p-please leave me alone. I'll try not to be a freak, I'll try, I – please, leave me alone."

Drawing his arms around himself, he whimpered and held a stiff, rigid pose, the one which he knew would do the trick.

Dr Levski took the bait. "The boy's become catatonic. There's no use in approaching him when he's in such a fearful state," he said gravely to Sasaki. "We best leave him alone and talk to him later, after he's acclimatised to this new environment."

When Sasaki nodded, the doctor called out to a short, sallow-skinned nurse standing outside the door: "The patient has relatively minor injuries, but please monitor him regularly, in case he poses a risk to himself. For now, leave him to be."

Smiling gently at Harry, Dr Levski left the room and closed the door, but Harry was able to still catch snippets of his conversation with the nurse: "Report to me immediately when you see him leave that catatonic state."

As Dr Levski's voice appear to trail off, along with his footsteps, the policewoman beside Harry frowned.

"Are you sure you don't want to say anything, Mark?" she asked.

Harry didn't respond.

Sighing, Sasaki stood up and placed her briefcase by the nightstand. Then, after giving the catatonic Harry one last, sympathetic glance, she walked out of the hospital room.

Once he was sure that the policewoman had left the vicinity, Harry relaxed his position. The abused act had worked. He was finally alone, and likely to be so for the next ten minutes, at the least; he predicted that the nurse wouldn't check on him until then, due to his believable "frightened catatonia".

Maybe the act was successful because Harry based it off some of his own experiences, albeit exaggerated. He didn't know where he got the knife-wielding uncle image, though. Despite their tendencies to yell at him and feed him only half of what Dudley the Orca consumed, the Dursleys never hurt him physically. It would have raised too many troublesome questions from the neighbours.

Focussing back on his current predicament, Harry hopped off the bed. His bandaged left knee still stung, but if he leaned against his right and moved slowly, it wasn't so bad.

He grabbed the policewoman's briefcase from the table and began rummaging through it. It had to be in here – Harry watched enough of Dudley's crime shows while hidden to know that for minor cases, police officers often carried important evidence on person. He opened the briefcase's various compartments. Then, with a whoop of triumph, Harry pulled out his Holly wand. It must have fallen out of his hand at the end of the duel, and Sasaki must have taken it from the playground; the wand was far too odd-looking to be ignored.

Harry smiled. He felt a lot calmer and reassured, now that he had his wand again. It emanated a comforting warmth in his hand, like a long-lost friend.

Thank goodness Sasaki was assumptive and witless enough to leave her briefcase in the room, unattended.

However, ponderings on his current situation quickly overtook Harry's euphoria at finding his wand.

"Facts: been led by a Patronus and attacked by two people, a witch and a wizard. They both don't seem to be ordinary Death Eaters," he muttered to himself, gripping his wand. "The two of them play around with me and then try to kill me with some potion, which turns me into a ten year-old instead."

"All I need now is to have crumpets and a death-duel with Voldemort, and my day's complete," Harry said sardonically.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to think of a way out of this mess. He knew that this hospital, being in Hampshire, was only a twenty minute walk to Surrey, and a thirty minute one to Little Whinging. Maybe he could give the hospital staff the slip and return to Privet Drive by foot. But that was dangerous: although the two assassins might have thought he was dead and that their potion had worked, they could still be in the local area.

And Harry had learnt that he couldn't take on both of them, especially now that he couldn't even legally drink Butterbeer.

He needed to contact someone, then. Get some help from the Order of the Phoenix. They'd know what to do – one simple spell from Professor Dumbledore, and he'd be back in his sixteen year-old body. Even Snape would be able to cure him with his vile concoctions, although Harry snarled at the mere thought of the greasy Potions Master. However, where could he find them?

With a sinking heart, Harry realised that he did not know where the current Headquarters were. His recollections of arriving at Grimmauld Place were muddled; the last time, he went there by broom, which tended to be a somewhat hectic and chaotic method of travelling. Was it even certain that Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was the place of the Headquarters? Sirius owned that house, and who knew what was detailed in his Will?

That only left the Leakey Cauldron and Diagon Alley. He could filch some money from a nurse and ride a cab or take the bus to London. An owl to Dumbledore would solve the rest. But first, get out of this hospital, before the two who attacked him trail him here.

Nodding at his plan, Harry pulled the oversized gown to his knees, so he wouldn't step on the end and trip over in a crude imitation of Tonks.

He sighed at the shortness of his legs. Why did he have to be so tiny as a ten year old?

Harry opened the door. The corridor appeared to be empty. As fast as his left knee would allow him, he staggered down the hall. At the hall's end, it was a bit busier: a train of doctors and nurses were jostling and wheeling patients with varying injuries to and fro. There were loud shouts all around Harry, and everyone seemed too occupied to notice a small ten year-old in a giant, white gown.

But within this fray, a cloaked woman with cropped, green hair stood next to a similarly cloaked, younger man, whose startling grey eyes seemed to surveying the local area. Silver badges carrying a black Spade gleamed from their chests.

"The Jack of Spades and the Queen of Spades," Harry breathed in shock. He scurried behind a large counter, one without any nurses.

The two assailants moved through the crowd of patients and doctors, unnoticed and uncommented on, as if they were invisible. Perhaps they had cast a Muggle-Repelling Spell, or an Imperceptible Charm?

"Can't we just kill the doctor and get out already?" the Jack of Spades said to his companion. The people around him did not react to his words, as if under a spell. "Being among all these Muggles and their commotions is giving me a headache."

The green-haired woman glared at Jack. "We're Alucards, not Death Eaters. We're going to do this the proper way and kill the man in a secluded area. The body cannot be traced back to us. You don't want to reveal our existence to the Ministry, do you?"

"If we use the potion we used on Harry Potter, there'll be no chances of that happening," Jack replied, making Harry wince at the mention of his name. The grey-eyed man eyeballed the doctors who ran past him, trying to find the one he was planning to kill. "The poison would cause advanced apoptosis, leaving behind no traces of residual magic – natural or otherwise. None of our spells would be detectable on the body. So who cares about careful – why not just make our move already?"

Then, he fired a jet of lilac light into the ceiling. Purple streamers danced above, unfurling like a spring blossom, until one long jet of light zigzagged down the hall and into a faraway room. For a moment, a few doctors blinked at the ceiling, as though they were noticing the magic, but they shook their heads and returned to their business, untroubled.

"There," Jack said, pointing at the zigzag beam. "Looks like we found our doctor. Come on, Grandma. Maybe we'll finish this before lunch– there's this new bistro on Flint Street I want to go to."

The two assailants – Alucards – followed the purple light and disappeared down the hall, as the Queen of Spades hissed disapprovingly: "Using magic so brazenly, even with the Imperceptible Charm. It's miracle you're still alive, twerp..."

Harry felt like his heart was too big for his chest; it was bursting hard against his ribs. Those two were where, which meant that if he was seen or didn't leave the hospital imminently, Voldemort would be the least of his fears.

As Harry was edging away from the counter and towards a narrow corridor, a pair of hands suddenly wrapped around his mouth. He tried to scream and bite off the prying fingers, but the assailant held fast.

"Stop. Biting. I am here to help you, not kill you," whispered a scratchy, female voice. "When I let you down, don't scream. If you do, you will grab the Alucards' attention and get yourself killed."

And the hands snaked away from Harry's mouth. Immediately, Harry spun around and pointed his wand at his attacker, a short, horse-faced nurse with sickly skin. He recognised her as the one who was charged to monitor him by Dr Levski.

"Put down the wand, Harry. You'll poke someone's eye out," said the woman. She gave a strange, morbid smile. "And you don't want that: human eyes have lost much of their value as a rare potion ingredient, with the recent influx of dead bodies in Knockturn Alley."

Harry held his wand against the woman's face.

"Sceptical, are you? Your loss. Now, pay attention: there's a powerful Anti-Disapparition Jinx on this floor and its connecting corridors. Those two from the Alucard Cooperative have cast it, I believe, to pre-emptively stop all magical interference."

The nurse snorted, suggesting that she thought the two Alucards were rather unhinged or overly paranoid. Harry abruptly thought of Mad-Eye Moody. "The jinx will take too long to break. We'll need to sneak to the stairwell and go to the ground floor, where I can then Side-Along Apparate you to safety. Our only advantage is that they do not know you're alive, so we must not be seen. Got that? You can't be seen, by anyone."

"How do I know you're not trying to trick me?" Harry hissed, holding his wand up. "That you're not in league with those two, or, better yet, that you're not a Death Eater?"

The nurse didn't reply. Instead, she pulled a thin, grey wand from her sleeve and pointed it at Harry's left knee.

"Erapevo," she said.

His knee buzzed with heat, and the bandages flew off. The cuts had healed, leaving behind smooth, pink skin.

"That minor head-wound also needs to be fixed," the nurse said. She reached over, peeled off the gauze wrapping, and stated, "Episkey!"

The stinging above his neck disappeared. Surprised, Harry rubbed the places where the wounds once were and lowered his wand from the woman's face.

Remember Harry, trust nobody but yourself, echoed a voice. Trust nobody.

"I still don't trust you," Harry told the nurse, as she pulled him to his feet.

"You don't need to. All I want is for you to use that precious mind of yours and understand that currently you are in great danger," she said, looking over her shoulder for any stray doctors or nurses. "Now, take my arm."

Harry did as told. The nurse glanced around warily and began tugging them towards the stairwell. They clung to the walls, deliberately staying under any shadows. The hallway was almost completely empty now. Two white-coat doctors did stride straight past them, though, and gave not so much as a glance at Harry. He wondered if the nurse beside him had nonverbally cast an Imperceptible Charm.

After another minute of walking, a spindly stairway materialised at the end of the hall. However, unlike the rest of the corridor, it was not empty. Against a railing, to Harry and the nurse's shock, the two Alucards stood looming over a quaking, round-faced doctor.

The nurse pushed herself and Harry behind a large, potted topiary. With almost preternatural speed, she waved her wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on both of them. A wet feeling passed over his body, as if someone had cracked an egg over his head. Seconds later, the nurse and Harry both became near-invisible.

By the stairs, the Jack of Spades prodded the kneeling doctor with his wand.

"You claim, doctor, not to have told anyone your secrets, but we know better," he said coldly. "You know how much the Alucard Cooperative values its secrecy – and how we deal with those who threaten it."

"I didn't tell anyone, I promise you," whimpered the doctor, biting his lip. With dawning horror, Harry realised that the trembling man was Dr Levski, the kind-faced man from earlier. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any secrets – "

"Liar!" the Queen of Spades hissed. "You know, by sheer coincidence and circumstance, about our leader! You've even divulged this information to many others, including your sister. And this woman."

The Queen of Spade gestured at a bound and gagged, Asian policewoman, who was struggling at Jack's feet. When Sasaki kicked the Jack of Spades again, he directed a red beam at her. She instantly fell unconscious.

"I understand that she's just a Muggle and therefore no threat to us, but secrecy is everything to the Alucard Cooperative," said the Jack of Spades, crouching down to meet Levski in the eye. He took out a vial of black, brackish water. "Now, Dr Levski, just tell us who knows and – "

"Reducto!" the nurse shouted.

Spinning around, the Jack of Spades deflected the jet of red light with a bright, transparent blue shield. But the deflected beam collided into the concrete eaves, blasting outwards in a loud explosion of dust and debris. The two Alucards coughed and stumbled, confused.

Seizing this chance, the nurse hauled Harry down the stairwell and to the edge of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx.

"Grab my arm!"

Harry clasped the nurse's arm, and felt her turn on the spot; his arms twisted back and his legs stretched, compressed, as though he was being squeezed down a small, metal pipe. Darkness flashed between images of a small, brick house and the hospital. As his chest tightened and his body twisted through a vice-like grip, he thought he saw the Queen of the Spades and her shocked, black eyes staring at him. Then, there was a loud cracking sound, and Harry felt him fall onto a soft, carpet floor.

Harry breathed deeply, still suffocating from the pressure that had just been around his chest. He opened his eyes and tried to push himself off the ground.

"That was Side-Along Apparition. Not very fun, is it?" the nurse said, brushing dust off her blouse. She gave Harry a creepy, lopsided smile. "Too bad you didn't get Splinched; it would have been a most fascinating incident to observe."

Harry did not answer. Turning away from the short, sallow nurse, who still appeared rather untrustworthy, he studied the room into which he had Apparated.

What he saw was especially peculiar, unlike any other room he had ever seen. Plump, pashmina cushions rested on a lurid couch. Two Victorian cabinets carried an assortment of porcelain dolls with painted cheeks and lacy bonnets; to Harry's revulsion, many of the dolls did not have heads. A large, writing desk wore layers of frilly, cascading coverings, giving the impression of a frosted, layer cake. Portraits of fat, little girls in flowery dresses hung over the pink, beribboned walls. However, within this fray of frills and laces, there were also mahogany shelves packed with dusty tomes, sharp instruments glistening with dried bloodstains, and large glass jars filled with disgusting, pustuled things that Snape would blather over.

It was as if Umbridge's Madame Alexander Catalogue had produced a lovechild with Snape's Moste Potente Potions.

"If you are unsettled by all this pink, I apologise," the nurse said, settling down on the plush couch. "My late wife Perenelle was in charge of decorating, and she had a particular zest for collecting cerise-coloured dolls."

"Your late what? Are you saying that you're – " Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who exactly are you?"

The nurse smiled widely, as though Harry had proposed an interesting, new, scientific theory. "Polyjuice Potion lasts only an hour, so you'll be finding out." She checked her Minnie Mouse wristwatch and said, "Any minute now."

Then, the woman began to change. Her long, limp hair swooped back to her ears and became silver and curly. The flat nose lengthened and plunged, becoming pointed and aquiline. Next, her skin bubbled like a boiling potion. It lost its sallow tint and abraded with blotches and age-marks. Thick veins emerged, like mountain ranges. The short body grew tall, towering over Harry's child's frame, and crouched with old age. A smooth moustache and goatee blossomed from her, no, his face. Fingers thinned to the bone and became nimble, like those of an experienced Potioneer.

After another minute, an aged man in a white, nurse's blouse stood next to Harry.

"Late wife Perenelle... Perenelle Flamel... You're Nicolas Flamel!" Harry gasped, pointing at the man. "The Creator of the Philosopher's Stone!"

"You forgot World-Renown Alchemist and the Hogwarts Gobstones Champion of 1341. But, yes, you're correct," said Flamel, his voice much more gravelly than the nurse's. He gave Harry a warm, but eerily toothy smile. "Got it right on the first guess, too. Albus told me you were an intelligent boy."

Flamel took out a crystal flask containing a murky, celadon liquid from the blouse and placed it on the table.

"More Polyjuice Potion, in case the last dose wore off before I could retrieve you," Flamel explained to Harry, who was glancing at the flask. "Mr Potter, if I may, would you indulge this old man and tell me how you deduced my identity?"

Sheepish, Harry tugged on his hospital gown. "Um, I did some research on you in my First Year when someone was trying to steal your Stone... and I saw those Alchemy-Potions ingredients behind you and remembered that, er, you were-are really old."

"And it just clicked," Harry finished, lamely. He glimpsed at the rows of sharpened scalpels and bottled, pickled hearts, which he hoped weren't human. Even with the girlish lacing, this room was reminding Harry unpleasantly of a mad scientist's lab, the type which would host horrific dissections in Dudley's comic books. "So, could you please tell me what's going on?"

"Before we move on to those grim matters, why don't we deal with your clothing first?" Flamel said. "It won't do to have the hero of the Wizarding World run around in just a giant bedsheet, as fashionable as it may be."

Flamel swished his wand at Harry. With a flash of viridian light, the hospital gown shrunk and transformed into a garish, Hello Kitty sweater and a basic pair of jeans. Harry picked at the horrible sweater, remembering darkly that it was worn exclusively by girls. At least this attire fit his small frame, though, unlike the gown.

"Sir, why aren't you changing your clothes as well? You don't have to wear that blouse anymore," Harry said, when Flamel pocketed his wand and made no indication of leaving his nurse's dress.

"Modern Muggle fashion intrigues me, especially this contraption called 'pantyhose'. Women wear the most peculiar clothes, so in the interest of scientific inquiry, I shall keep on this outfit."

Flamel flourished the blouse and once again, gave an eerie smile. Harry edged as far away as his deaged body would allow him. The aged alchemist then rose from the couch, pinched a bottle of Gurdyroot Infusion next to a decapitated doll ornament, and poured some of the foul, purple liquid into a teacup.

"Here, drink this. It will strengthen your mind and help you come to terms with what I am about to tell you," Flamel said, offering Harry the Gurdyroot Infusion. Hesitantly, he took the cup and downed the rancid-smelling liquid, gagging. It tasted revolting, like Gym socks.

"The people whom you saw at the hospital are not Death Eaters, nor do they work for Albus Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic," Flamel said, once Harry had put down his cup. "They are Alucards, part of an organisation linked to the ICW."

"The ICW?"

"The International Confederation of Wizards. The Wizarding equivalent of the United Nations, if you will," Flamel clarified. "Apart from that, very little is known about the Alucard Cooperative, as they supposedly call themselves. Some say that they are international Hit Wizards along the lines of the Muggle Interpol, while others claim that the Cooperative is a secret foundation which conducts research into darker magic."

"Like the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked.

"That's the closest thing to it, I suppose," said Flamel. "The point is, Harry, next to nobody even knows about the organisation and therefore, next to nothing about them can be ascertained with any degree of confidence. It isn't even certain whether the ICW officially sponsors the Alucards as one of its branches, or if the Cooperative is a separate entity onto itself."

Flamel sipped his infusion of Gurdyroot. "Regardless, the Alucards are exceedingly capable; the great extent to which their existence is hidden is a testament to their skills. Once they decide to kill you, your life is most assuredly forfeit – and there is little you can do to prevent it."

Harry felt as though a hand had seized his intestines and had clawed at them. He opened his mouth, but no words would come out.

"Now, before I continue, why don't you tell me your version of events?" Flamel asked, eyeing Harry keenly and a little unsettlingly, much like how a scientist would examine a particularly juicy frog, before dissecting it.

Harry stiffened and gave Flamel an uneasy, wary glance. Even as he sat in the alchemist's living room and sipped the alchemist's infusions, the Jack of Spades's words rang in his mind: Trust nobody, but yourself… trust nobody.

Flamel noticed Harry's hesitance and smiled. "Only when I know what has happened to you so far, can I help you with your troubles. Have a little faith in me. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already – or abandoned you to your enemies. You have several, I believe."

Despite his distrustful vigilance, Harry could not fault Flamel's logic. And so, he started telling Flamel everything. He talked about Dumbledore's letter and the suspicion he felt when the Headmaster sent Fawkes the phoenix, instead of a standard, school owl. He recounted the Padfoot Patronus which had appeared on his doorstep – and led him away from the safety of Privet Drive, to Begonia Park. What he didn't mention was the strange hope in his heart when he saw Padfoot, or the crushing disappointment and foolishness he felt upon arriving at the empty playground.

"A Patronus Charm? Forgive my insensitivity, but I must applaud the Alucards, I'm assuming, for their ingenuity," Flamel interrupted, when Harry took a moment to compose himself. "The protections on Privet Drive explicitly repel all forms of Dark magic. A Patronus Charm, the epitome of positive thought, would not qualify thusly and would consequently be able to penetrate the blood wards. Anyway, do continue."

Harry recounted the strange chill which then enveloped the playground, how the morning sunlight grew dull against the Penguin Slide; how the entire area felt encapsulated, like a vacuum. He told Flamel about the Jack of Spades and the following duel, how the Alucard spoke to him. Harry recounted the appearance of the Queen of Spades and how the Jack of Spades forced him a vile poison which was supposed to erase all traces of his existence. He concluded with awaking in the hospital, deaged to ten, and escaping the ward, after tricking the doctor and retrieving his wand.

"That's when I bumped into you," Harry said, looking at Flamel. He narrowed his sharp, green eyes. "Why were you there at the hospital, though, Polyjuiced as one of the nurses? It's almost like –"

"– I was expecting your arrival? Waiting to rescue you? Anticipating your deaging?" finished Flamel, adding a spoonful of sugar to his Grudyroot Infusion. "The answer is yes, to all of the above."

Harry growled, his expression guarded. "But why?"

"Simple. I chose to protect you because I owe you a debt," Flamel said. "You saved the Philosopher's Stone more than four years ago, from Lord Voldemort. Had you not been there, Quirrell would have, growing impatient, broken the Mirror of Erised and taken the Stone by force. Your presence that night prevented that from happening – and stopped Voldemort's resurrection through the Elixir of Life."

Sighing, the alchemist sipped the infusion. "Any use of my creations for such abominable evil, without any consideration of scientific progress or basic moral codes – it would have been a fate worse than death for me, a trespass upon my integrity as a man of science. That was why Perenelle and I chose to destroy the Stone after Quirrell's attempt, to eliminate the possibility of such an event."

"But I am indebted to you," Flamel said slowly, giving Harry an intent stare. "So when a source – which, for the greater good, shall remain unnamed – informed me of your situation, I arranged for your safety."

When Harry fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided Flamel's eye, the alchemist raised a single eyebrow. "You do not believe me? Very well, I am forced to prove my allegiance to you."

Flamel pulled the grey wand out of his nurse's blouse and raised it. "I, Nicolas Étienne Flamel, swear upon all my magic and upon my soma, my sarx, and my pneuma that I intend Harry James Potter no harm."

At Flamel's words, a thin tongue of fire flared outwards and shone on Harry's astonished face, as though a magical contract had been made; Harry was reminded of the Goblet of Fire.

"This is not quite as good as an Unbreakable Vow, but adequate for this situation," Flamel said, as the supernatural fire glowed once more, before fading. "The Oath of Fealty will remove my magic and turn me into a Squib, in the event that I infringe its words. This is enough proof, I do hope?"

"Now, although I find some of this incessant paranoia deeply amusing, we must segue to more serious matters," Flamel said to the stunned Harry. "Currently, nobody other than myself is aware of your existence, or your current whereabouts. This includes the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix."

The mention of the Order stirred Harry from his stupor: "What! That's not possible. What about the Trace? If they can sense Dobby's Hover Charm, then they would've definitely noticed the Patronus Charm and all those spells from the playground!"

He winced at the shrillness of his ten year-old voice.

"The Ministry can only sense spells being cast within the areas they are monitoring – the Improper Use of Magic Office can no longer trace the spell after the incantation is complete," Flamel replied in his gravelly voice. "Unfortunately for you, the one who fashions herself the Queen of Spades incanted the Patronus Charm outside the monitored boundaries of Little Whinging, which signifies that it was not detected."

The alchemist continued in a glib tone: "Moreover, the vacuum over Begonia Park, following your description, was almost certainly a spell which confines all magical activity to the established perimeters – the playground. While that spell was maintained, all of your Disarming Spells and Blasting Curses would have been undetectable.

"Also, the playground, unfortunately, is outside of the Ministry-monitored areas in Little Whinging, the areas closest to No. 4 Privet Drive. Therefore, the vacuum spell itself would have also slipped by the sensors unnoticed."

"So no one knows how I disappeared?" Harry said, becoming more and more nauseous.

Flamel nodded, appearing rather cheery at this revelation, as though he was being tested with an excitingly complex riddle. "Dumbledore, thinking that the Blood Wards are more than sufficient protection, relies on similar, mediocre methods of tracking as the Ministry, so yes.

"Before casting the Patronus, the Alucards had discreetly incapacitated the Order member charged with watching you – the Metamorphagus Tonks – with a Confundus Charm, performed under a Bedazzling Hex."

Flamel grinned widely, like Dobby, after the elf had received a cache of Hermione's woolly hats. "The girl's constant tripping over made her easy to ambush. At any rate, she has no recollections of what had happened and so, the Order believes that you have been taken by the Death Eaters, mysteriously and silently."

Immediately, Harry thought of his loved ones – Ron and Hermione, Lupin and the Weasleys. They would be worried sick, searching for him and preparing for the worst…

"Why would the Order believe that Death Eaters took me?" Harry said stubbornly, trying to avoid the image of a wrought Hermione, ashen with fear. "I could've chosen to runaway, or something. Isn't that just as plausible as a reason for my disappearance?"

"No, because your luggage is still at Privet Drive," Flamel responded. "Only your wand, and the clothes you were wearing, were missing. If you had voluntarily taken flight from Privet Drive, I imagine that you would at least take your Invisibility Cloak, for stealth. Therefore, Death Eater involvement is the most probable answer."

"The Death Eaters themselves have little clue to your whereabouts, although I doubt that they are as saddened as the Order or the Ministry. I believe that you are not on the best terms with them?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, if they didn't try to disembowel me every now and then, I'm sure we'd be best friends."

"Disembowelling had gotten out of fashion in the seventies: too much blood for a rather slow death. I would not use it, myself," Flamel said in a semi-serious voice, which disconcerted Harry. "The Death Eaters are far more likely to use the Killing Curse, which is more effective. Anyway, all three parties do not know how you have disappeared, or your current whereabouts. We must use this to our advantage."

"Our advantage? Why? Am I still in danger?" asked Harry.

"The Alucards are ruthless. I do not know what you have done to upset them, but they possess a magic far greater than you can imagine. Once they discover that they were unsuccessful in killing you, they will stop at nothing to complete the task. And with your current, vulnerable form – " Flamel gestured at Harry's ten year-old body. " – they will have little trouble in doing so. No, you must remain hidden."

"But Dumbledore could stop them, he has to know a way," insisted Harry. "And who's to say this is permanent? A little Ageing Potion should bring me back up to sixteen."

"You mentioned earlier that the poison involved apoptosis? I have my theories, but it is almost certain that your condition will not be reversed by a mere Ageing Potion. My condolences, but your deaging is very much permanent for now," answered Flamel, fixing Harry with a thrilled, speculative gaze, as if he had gotten an early Christmas present. The alchemist was enjoying Harry's troubles from a scientist's point of view, far too much.

"As for Albus, he is, to my knowledge, not even aware of the Alucard Cooperative's existence. Even I did not until very recently. His lack of intelligence regarding the Alucards, coupled with his tendency to believe that he knows best, will lead your demise," Flamel said, ignoring Harry's protests.

"Since the forces we are dealing with are mysterious and powerful, your only choice is to hide. You are in no condition to ward off both the Alucards and the Death Eaters."

"But, I –"

The alchemist smiled knowingly. "You wish to involve more people in your troubles with the Alucards? That would almost be like consciously endangering them."

Harry clutched the arm of the pink, frilly couch. He glared at the china cabinet, mentally wishing that the headless, porcelain dolls would burst into fire. The screams of the Department of Mysteries, with Ron's gurgling blood and Hermione's wound-red chest, echoed in his ears, as Sirius passed through the Veil, face tauten with surprise… Flamel was right: it would be a dark day before Harry would lead his friends into danger once more.

"What do you have in mind?" Harry said, resigned.

Giddy, Flamel flounced his nurse's skirt and leaned closer towards Harry. "Excellent! This is a most grand opportunity to do some fascinating research… What I have planned, Harry, is ambitious, but likely to succeed: we must hide all hints of your survival and whereabouts. But the less people know, the more difficult it will be for the Cooperative to track you. You're no good to the Anti-Voldemort movement if you're decomposing from some Alucard-issued poison. For that reason, only a select number of people shall be privy to your situation."

"Select number of people?" repeated Harry. He had an ominous feeling about where Flamel was heading. "Exactly how many people do you have in mind?"

"Just two. You and me."

"How are you going to manage that?" Harry asked. Then, his eyes widened in realisation, and a dawning horror dropped on his heart, like an anvil. "No, you can't be serious!"

"Quite frankly, I am," said Flamel. The alchemist's dark eyes twinkled, swimming with unbridled anticipation.

"We are going to have to fake your death, Mr Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived will have to die."

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-X-X-X-

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A/N: Edited as of 28/01/11, thanks to the astute folks at DLP.