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As he watched in awed dismay, they began to sway, knees buckling and eyes rolling back in their skulls.

He tried to pull back on what he was apparently doing, but could find no hold. He scrambled towards the bars but stopped abruptly when they both fell face-first onto the cold stone flooring, utterly still.


Harry panted as his breathing tried to stabilize. He'd.. done it. Somehow. It seemed almost unreal.. but now he was locked in a cage, unless..

A careful study revealed one wand laying half under the smaller guard's right side, just out of reach of Harry's grasping fingers. That was his only way out.

He pressed his shoulder painfully into the rusted iron bars, straining to touch the polished handle of the light wood wand. His fingertip barely made contact, instead pushing it a bit farther away. He gritted his teeth around his own cursing and tried instead to hook the fabric of the man's robe.

Yes! He carefully got a large enough handful to try and tug the wizard himself closer. He grunted with the effort of pulling such a heavy load in his weakened state. But slowly, in small increments, he managed to draw the man in far enough to grasp the warm handle of his wand.

Harry wasted no time in waving an unlocking charm at the cell door, the only door in this manor that they bothered to lock, and standing unsteadily to exit. He checked the men, and could only feel a sort of disconnected resignation to find the man from whom he'd stolen his wand was dead.

It wasn't like he hadn't had it coming, he thought fiercely. It's not like I meant to. He shook his head and quickly searched them both, but only came up with the other unconscious man's wand. It was better than nothing.

Harry had no idea how long the man would be knocked out, so he simply waved a few spells over him, and hovered them both into the cell. His spells were rough due to the incompatible wand, but they were working. If he did wake up, the binding and silencing spells should hold long enough for Harry to escape. He wished he had studied some sort of glamour or illusion spells to make it appear as if he were still there in the cell, but figured with his one hour deadline that wouldn't matter much.

He crept towards the door, listening with bated breath. But there was no sounds of movement or speech – no one was close enough to have heard the men choking and falling, it seemed. He grasped the tarnished brass handle in his admittedly shaky grip, turning it ever so slowly, easing the door open a scant inch. He continued to listen as hard as he could all the while. He couldn't move too sluggishly if he wanted to be away from this place before anyone returned. But he also could not go rushing through the mansion like mad.

He had some sort of plan cobbled together in the back of his mind. Merlin knew he had had more than enough time to strategize about what would happen if he had actually managed to free himself from the cell without anyone interfering.

Harry figured that although the Trace was still active on him, using magic here wouldn't call the attention of the Ministry. He still wasn't entirely sure how the Trace actually worked – he doubted many wizards did. Dobby had gotten him blamed for the Hover charm in second year – but other wizards could do magic around him without it alerting the Ministry. So that meant that certain locations – like Hogwarts and the Express, obviously – weren't as strict.

Certainly the house of Harry Potter would have had a much tighter watch on it, but he suspected that certain wizarding locations were looser with the restrictions on underage magic. Wizarding villages and households, for example. And then certain spells, such as the Fidelius Charm, had to block such a thing, because the Ministry couldn't access the young wizard in question if they couldn't find them.

So surely Voldemort would have blocked this location from Sensory or Locating spells. He would not have risked Harry escaping or any rescuers finding him.

It was after Harry left the wards, if he got that far, that he would run into trouble. If he couldn't call Dobby or Kreacher – well, he couldn't book it out of here on foot, that was for sure. They would be on him before he'd gotten anywhere close to escaping.

As such, his plans were simply to sneak to the edge of the wards, summon his wand with the one that he had just stolen, and to run until he could call for help.

Simple, right? Not much that could go wrong at all, he thought sarcastically.

And so Harry tried to be as quiet as possible as he crept through once-lavish hallways. The place had been truly grand in the past, he could tell; the furnishings, the carpets, and the art all told a story of wealth. It must have been abandoned a long while before Voldemort had converted it to his stronghold. Now the opulent furnishings were rather like ghosts of a better time.

He had one hand braced on the peeling, stained wallpaper as he limped through one identical hallway after another – he hadn't seen much of his prison, really, just the cell room and the throne room in which Voldemort presided like a king over his court. That was where they had their.. fun.

But he knew enough to know that his cell was in the eastern wing of the house, and he was now moving towards the center in hopes of finding an escape route. He knew most of the windows were spelled shut, others boarded over. He had already tried those. It made sense that the doors would be the same – they would not have wanted so many exits on a place meant to keep people in.

So he was hoping that there were two points of entry: the front door, and one at the back of the house. His instinct told him to head for the back door, that it would be less closely guarded. A large house like this would have a very open front lawn, and crossing that would be too dangerous anyways.

And speaking of danger, he was nearing the middle of the house, where most of the Death Eaters congregated. He could indeed hear muffled speech and a door opening and closing. Luckily, he had avoided running into any patrols from however many had been left behind.

It was getting hard to keep going by now. He could feel his injured and under-used muscles quivering at the unexpected exercise. His breath was coming in sharp pants, sweat pouring down his face. Part of it was that he hadn't gotten to move around much during his stay. But largely it was the pain radiating throughout his entire being. Harry couldn't seem to think of a single place that didn't hurt...

His eyes shot back open when his head met the wall. He hadn't even been aware of closing them. This wasn't good. He had to hurry up, or he would just collapse into a heap on the faded carpet, as good as dead.

He deep a deep, gulping breath, steeling himself to keep going. One foot after the other. There was an end to this, eventually. He just had to keep moving. He chanted to himself, trying to push himself to keep going. To stop was death. To continue.. well, it was less of a chance, anyways.

Harry had to duck into a few rooms along the way, as footsteps sounded beyond corners, coming in his direction. But they all passed without incident.

If he was timing it correctly, it had been just over a half hour since they had departed on their raid, or whatever mayhem they were currently causing. And so he had less than thirty minutes, most likely closer to twenty, to get the hell out of this place.

But the hallways seemed endless, and he couldn't tell how close he was at all. Minutes crawled by, and the only company he had was his loudly thudding heart. His borrowed wand shook in his sweaty palm. He was sure he was leaving smears of blood along the wallpaper from his hand, leading a trail right to him. But he couldn't do anything about any of this, so he trudged onward as quietly and quickly as he physically could at the moment. Which wasn't very much of either of those things.

Finally, but finally, he came across a kitchen. One with big wide windows that showed the backyard, and a thick screen of trees just yards away from the door. He had made it!

He glanced around before entering, but it was deserted. Most of Voldemort's forces really had left the estate. Thank Merlin for that.

Harry hobbled across the cracked linoleum flooring towards the exit, shaking now half in his yearning. He was so close...

He spun around, wobbling at the sharp movement, when a voice sounded from the doorway he had just come from.

"How did you get out, boy!"

A short, portly figure in Death Eater robes as squinting at him from across the kitchen. He had seen that face before, in that graveyard two years ago. It was Goyle Sr.

Harry tightened his grip on the polished handle of his stolen wand, bringing it up to point at the man's chest.

He didn't hesitate, just shouted a Stunner right at the man, who seemed so shocked at being attacked, at the fact that Harry even had a wand, that he barely began to raise his own in defense. He blew backwards from Harry's spell, straight off his feet, landing with a resounding thud.

Harry whipped around and ripped the door open, breaking into a stumbling run. There was no way someone hadn't heard that.

Sure enough, after he had passed into the first few trees, he heard a shout from behind him. He dodged behind a large tree, and continued to walk as fast as possible, using the breadth of the tree to block their view of his retreating back. If they hadn't seen exactly where he'd gone, he had a chance.

He could hear sounds of pursuit, thankfully still far enough away. He just had to figure out where the end of the wards were.

Jogging now in his panic, he alternated between muttering Dobby and Kreacher's names as he moved, still hoping with everything he had that they could be called once he'd passed the boundary.

Harry tried to ignore the bolts of light behind him, as Death Eaters fired spells. Trigger-happy bunch that they were, they weren't aiming at him, so they were free to keep at it. He made sure to stagger from side to side, trying to position between bushes and sizable trees just in case they did see him.

The forest around Harry was getting increasingly dark in a menacing sort of way. Normally Harry liked the forest, but this was more like the deadly depths of the Forbidden Forest. Anticipation and dread lay heavy in the air, while light and even the very air he was attempting to gasp in seemed to fade. The trees spun crazily around him, and he staggered to a halt in a small clearing, spinning around to get his bearings.

Harry gulped as he sank to his knees.

He didn't know what direction he had just come from. There were bolts and jets of colourful spells in the distance in at least three different directions.

Merlin, he was screwed.

"Dobby! Kreacher!"


Dumbledore stood in a rush, arrowing straight for one of those blasted spindly instruments, immediately muttering and fiddling with the infernal thing.

Snape was about to scoff at the man's desperation, when Albus turned sharply towards him. He shut his mouth with a snap at the calculating look entering the older wizard's light blue eyes.

"Something has changed," He said without preamble.

"What has happened, Albus?" Snape queried, clenching his fists.

"I am not entirely sure, these cannot tell me what precisely has happened, only that something has. The probabilities surrounding Harry have shifted sharply."

Severus raised one brow, sure his face was reflecting his lack of excitement. "What does it mean, then?"

"It means, my dear boy, that Harry has once again, somehow against all odds, increased his own odds. Which means hope is not lost. Forces are at work, battling one another for dominance. We cannot help, of course. But if they shift just a bit more, we shall have to be ready to move, and quickly."

"So," Snape said slowly, enunciating particularly clearly, as he did when annoyed, "You are saying that some event has occurred, of which we do not know the nature of, but we are to do what we have been doing for the last two weeks since Mr. Potter's disappearance and simply wait."

Albus eyed him, in his own version of fond exasperation. "What it means, Severus, is that we will know within as soon as an hour what is to happen to Harry. There will be an end, whichever way it may occur. We can only hope and put our trust in Harry, as always."

Before Severus could reply, the Headmaster clapped his hands once. "And so, this is what I need of you while I alert the Order and other key individuals. I trust you will not be too upset with me, but your task will be of particular importance.."


To Harry's utter astonishment, the cantankerous old house elf of Grimmauld Place appeared with a pop in front of him.

Harry gaped at him a moment, and turned to scan around him. The clearing must be just beyond the wards.

With a semi-hysterical laugh, he turned back to the creature, who was glaring sullenly at him and muttering.

"The half-blood calls Kreacher to such a dirty place, of course he does. If only Kreacher had gone to the noble Malfoy house, but no, his Mistress' house has been reduced to a Mudblood sanctuary, yes..."

"Shut up!" Harry snapped. He breathed harshly. He'd forgotten how infuriating the elf was. If only Dobby had come. But he could hear sounds of pursuit getting ever nearer and he leaned forward to whisper harshly.

"Kreacher, can you apparate me to Grimmauld Place?"

The elf eyed him through those narrow beady eyes. "Master knows Kreacher cannot apparate him through the wards, idiot boy knows this, why he asks Kreacher this, he does not know. Mistress would hate what her beloved house has come to.. safehouse for nasty Muggle-loving.."

Harry grabbed the soiled handkerchief Kreacher was wearing, determined not to yell at the creature. There were more important things to worry about..

"Please, Kreacher, can you apparate me to a spot close to Grimmauld Place, where no Death Eater's are? Can you?" He asked desperately.

Getting to the front door of Sirius' house was his only hope, and he had to go before the Death Eater's began to gather there. They were currently combing the woods for him so he had just enough time..

Kreacher stared at him sideways with a slightly perturbed expression on his wrinkled, gnarled face. Must have been his use of the word 'please'.

But he nodded reluctantly, which was all Harry needed.

He raised his stolen wand and cried: "Accio my wand!"

The shouts increased in volume, but Harry waited, focusing with all he had on his wand. He remembered those old lessons during the Triwizard tournament with Hermione, trying to summon his Firebolt, and used everything that he had learned to call his wand to him.

He knew it was coming.

But so were the Death Eaters.

He cried out and doubled over in pain, clutching at the fiery pain erupting from within his scar. Oh no. Voldemort is coming back too. They summoned him.

This was really, really, bad.

"Kreacher, get behind me out of sight. Please, when I say, apparate us out of here as close to Grimmauld Place as possible." He hissed, one hand grasping the house elf's shoulder, trying to shield him in case anyone ran in before his wand arrived. If they saw Kreacher they might know where he was escaping to, and he'd lose any chance he may have to get inside before they surrounded Headquarters. They would go there eventually, he knew that, but all that mattered now was how quickly they organized themselves.

Finally, just as the sounds of footsteps crashing through the forest floor were uncomfortably close, and Harry was dizzy with holding his breath in pure panic, he heard a whistling as his wand hurtled towards him. He was just able to see movement, and raised his other hand, dropping the two stolen wands in the process.

As his beloved wand thwapped satisfyingly into his palm, and Death Eater's rushed into the edge of the clearing, he shouted: "NOW!"

There were lights, and a cutting pain, and a sickening swirling, and then he was unceremoniously slammed into unforgiving asphalt.

But somehow Harry had made it. He was laying face down in an alleyway, but he blearily recognized the rooftops beyond the cracked brick walls. Headquarters was close.

He turned to Kreacher weakly, and rasped, "Go ahead inside. I'll meet you there. Don't tell anyone I'm here, please."

Kreacher gave him a dubious look, but obeyed with a muted crack.

Harry dragged himself into a swaying stand, stumbling towards the slowly appearing front step of Sirius' house.

He hurt, unbelievably so. He was tired and weak. He didn't know if he would make it after he made it inside, he was so run into the ground and wracked with agony.

But as he rushed through the front door, he could say that he was at least free.