Apologies. For the last three weeks my life and time has been taken up with a performance of Les Miserables that I was in. We had a total sell-out season, standing ovations every night, an amazing cast, and now it's over and my life seems rather empty…

…do you hear the people sing?

Harry was drenched in sweat. He was in Hall Five with Nolana, who was putting him through his paces. He had spent the last fifteen minutes doing various stretches to warm up and Nola was now making him run lengths of the hall. The purpose of a warm up was to get warm – and he was already! Harry was sure Nola liked to put him through this just because she could.

He met her in the centre of the hall, and they began to spar. It was a one sided contest, really. Harry had barely any idea what he was doing, acting mostly on instinct, vague memories of what he had been taught already and desperate attempts to stop himself getting pummelled. He'd had enough of that from Dudley in his childhood, thank you. Nola was a teach-by-example person, and was correcting his execution of a particular kick when there was a hurried knock on the door

Williamson came in. "We've had a sighting of Antonin Dolohov," he said with no preamble. "And we're going after him. Get changed and get out here, both of you." He was gone in a swish of red robes.

"Dolohov?" echoed Harry. He felt his heart freeze. Dolohov had been at the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been responsible for the death of…

"What is it?" asked Nola, noticing the sudden anger in his eyes.

"Dolohov killed a very dear friend of mine in the war. Tonks' husband, Remus Lupin."

Nola put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't let this turn into a revenge mission, Harry. It's just our job."

Under two minutes later, Harry and Nola, now dressed in their usual clothing and not the training robes, joined Mona and Williamson, who were waiting for them.

"He was seen by a resident witch, who contacted us straight away. She saw Dolohov before a big, abandoned house with his wand out, and then he vanished."

"Disapparated?" Nola queried. If Dolohov had Disapparated away, they couldn't find him.

"No, from her description it sounded like a protection enchantment." Williamson ran a hand through his ponytail. "Sounds like he's intending to stay for a while."

"So how do we get through?" Harry asked, remembering the enchantments Hermione used on their campsite during the previous year.

"There are spells," Williamson replied. "Powerful ones, that aren't meant to be used without permission – which we have. Only a handful of people know them correctly, and they're hard to use – it's easier to wait until the protection enchantments are lifted or something."

He looked around the three of them. "Come on. We're Apparating to a place called Little Hangleton."

The darkness gave way, and the pressure on Harry's chest eased as he Apparated just inside the edge of a very familiar place. The graveyard was more overgrown than it had been when he was last here, almost three years ago. Harry took a moment to look around it; the memories of that night still clear in his mind. There was where the cauldron had stood, that clear space was where he had duelled with Voldemort, Cedric had died here and the Triwizard cup – along with its promise of escape – had lain beside that gravestone.

His eyes fell on the gravestone where he had been tied. There stood a giant statue of Death – with huge, widely spread and finely detailed wings, and a scythe raised in one hand. His cloak swept down the low plinth the tombstones stood upon, and was draped – it was hard to believe it was made out of concrete and not fabric. It was a work of art – the beautiful curves of the robe, the individually tooled feathers of the wings – but to Harry it was something from nightmare.

It was here he had been bound and forced to watch Voldemort's rebirth…watch his nightmare come to life. Subconsciously, he left along his right forearm – the cut, made by Wormtail to get his blood – was now healed to a very fine scar, but it was still visible. His sacrifice, his part in Voldemort's rebirth, was still visible…

"What is it?" Nola asked as she walked up beside him, noticing his far-away look.

"This was where I saw Voldemort reborn, three years ago," Harry replied quietly. "When no one believed me."

Nola swore softly, as Williamson hissed over to both of them. "No time for talk! We've got to get Dolohov."

Harry, immediately remembering why they were there – how could he have forgotten? – moved over with Nola to crouch beside Williamson and Mona. Dolohov had been spotted in the area…and how appropriate, Harry thought bitterly, for Dolohov to return to his fallen Master's old (very old) family home. Dolohov had been seen going into the manor itself, and so while Harry had been reminiscing Mona and Williamson had done the first and most important thing – cast and Anti-Disapparation Jinx over the house. Dolohov was trapped inside – now they just had to find him.

"Plan of action," Williamson whispered, "is simple. Mona will stay out here and enchant the outside of the house against escape, putting out charms in under his. The front door, where Dolohov was seen, will stay uncharmed, so we have a route of escape ourselves. Mona will stay on guard outside."

"Dolohov's enchantments?" Nolana whispered.

"Can be broken by me," Mona said, her mouth in a thin-lipped determined smile. "I know a few tricks."

"Ready?" Williamson directed his question mostly at Harry, who nodded. "Then let's go." He nodded at Mona.

Mona pointed her wand towards the house. Making a complicated movement with it, she whispered something Harry didn't hear, and he saw a patch of air shimmer slightly. She sat for a few seconds with her eyes closed. "It's holding. His charms are broken…disillusion yourselves people – the last thing we want is for him to spot us running up."

Together, the three Aurors and one Auror-in-training disillusioned themselves (Williamson did Harry, who didn't oppose the move – he knew the theory but not the practice) and ran lightly to the edge of the graveyard. Harry was sure he was going to bump into someone as they ran, but didn't. He tried not to look at his hands as he ran – seeing them change, as if invisible, was disturbing.

"Okay," Williamson said, removing the charms with a wave of his own wand. "We're going in."

Harry nodded determinedly. Surely this wouldn't be any harder than anything else he had done…still, Dolohov was dangerous…and although he'd never admit it to it, he was terrified.

Williamson silently opened the door, using the ever-useful Alohomora charm, and the three of them slipped inside. The entrance hallway was covered in dust more than an inch thick, and the air was close. It was deathly silent, until Williamson called out, his voice magically amplified. It was so sudden he made Harry jump.

"Dolohov! This is the Auror Office. You're captive in this house and under arrest. Come quietly or we will fight."

There was silence for a moment, before a rasping laugh reached them, the volume magnified in the same magical way. "Like hell, Auror."

Williamson nodded at Nola and Harry. "Call if you find him or need help." He gave Harry a wink. "Spread out."

Williamson crept up the stairs and out of sight, as Nola went through a door to the left. Harry took a breath and went through an open door to his right. He tried to move as silently as possible, but he was sure his breathing and heartbeat would give his position away. He was also sure that Dolohov would be lying in wait for him around the next corner…

But Harry's journey through the house was uneventful. He stopped every time he heard movement, but it never came to any exciting or terrifying outcome. He was alert for any sign of disturbed dust or signs of habitation as he crept along the old passages. Even though this was both serious and important, Harry couldn't help wondering about the old Riddle family who used to live here…

What were they like? Did they have any idea what kind of person their descendant would be? What did they think, when a young man turned up and said he was Tom Riddle's son – did they realise they would not live out the night? Did they realise their death when the young Voldemort entered the room? Did Tom Riddle Senior ever think about the fact he would have a child somewhere? And did he see himself in his son?

Harry paused to run his fingertips lightly over the edge of a dusty portrait in a hallway. They came away thick with dust, and Harry flicked his eyes up to the subjects of the painting. The family depicted there – a mother, father, and young, dark haired boy – all looked haughty and arrogant, even in painted form. Harry turned away and returned to the task at hand.

Ten minutes later, ten minutes of creeping and stealthy trying not to make noise, Harry heard footsteps in the next room and spun around to point his wand – at Nola. She was a mirror image of his position: wand out, ready to attack. She immediately lowered her wand when she saw it was him and not Dolohov.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, you gave me such a fright!"

"Likewise," Harry whispered back.

Nola grinned fleetingly. "Any sign of Dolohov?"

Harry shook his head. As he did so, there was a roar form the floor above, accompanied by a call from Williamson.

"Here! Above, north side!"

Nola and Harry moved as one, bolting through the dust up the stairs and towards the sounds of Dolohov's rasping voice. Dolohov's eyes widened as Harry entered the small room. "Why, it's everyone's favourite hero. Well, Potter? Still playing games?"

Harry knew Dolohov was trying to provoke him, so stayed silent as he took up a position to one side of Williamson. Dolohov looked slowly between the three of them, weighting up his chances. For a tense moment, the three wizards and one witch stood perfectly still…then all moved at once.

As one, those form the Auror Office cast Stunners at Dolohov. The three red jets of light flew at him and he dived out of the way, managing to cast a quick shield charm that deflected one of the Stunners into a bookcase near Nola. She, along with Williamson and Harry, hit the ground too, diving for cover behind dusty bookshelves and chairs.

For the next few minutes it was like something from the war. Spells flew thick and fast around the ancient room, until Harry could only identify his own among the smoke and debris. The decades of thick dust were stirred up, and between that and the various destruction being wrought on the room by deflected and wayward spells, it was all too familiar – it was like being back in the halls of Hogwarts during the final battle that night.

Harry flicked a disarming charm towards Dolohov, hoping to catch him off guard, but he saw it coming at deflected it. It hit Nola instead, and her wand flew out of her grasp and towards Dolohov. Williamson, thinking quickly in the heat of battle, summoned it over to him instead and he threw it back to her. The exchange couldn't have taken more than six or seven seconds.

Dolohov seized the distraction it gave to attempt a curse at Williamson, but the experienced Auror managed to barely deflect it, and the icy blue jet of light hit Harry instead, who wasn't been quick enough.

It had been cast non-verbally – Harry had no idea what it was. All he knew was it was like an extremely painful electric shock that threw him across the room and into one of the dusty bookcases. He fell heavily to the floor, along with many dislodged books, and did not move.

"Harry!" Nola shot Harry's prone body a worried glance. She had no time to worry – nor did Williamson – Dolohov's confidence had been renewed now one of his adversaries was down, and his spell-casting was as fast as ever.

His focus was on the two still-standing Aurors on one side of the room, and he did not see the other curse until it hit him in the ribs. Surprised, Dolohov stood for a split second before hitting the ground heavily, falling so hard he opened a gash in his head.

On the other side of the room, stood Harry. Wand outstretched and eyes fixed on his now harmless quarry, there was something different about him. He was standing to his full height, straighter, head tilted slightly to the side. Williamson and Nola could both see something in his eyes – coldness, deadly calm, ruthlessness. Where had that come from? The cold eyes, the merciless and sudden spell casting…they had never seen the usually warm and light-hearted young man look so…evil. If they hadn't known better, they would have been sure it was a different person.

"Harry?" Williamson approached him cautiously. How had he recovered so quickly? Maybe he was so used to being knocked around he had built up fast recovery skills? Merlin knows the young man had been through so much…Harry turned to look at him slowly as Williamson approached, and just before Harry blinked in the same measured way his turn had been, the older Auror thought he saw a flash of red. But then he was looking at Harry, the green eyes tired and pained, as the young man leaned back against the bookcase, breathing heavily. "That was amazing…what was that?"

Harry shrugged, and then grimaced in pain. "I…I don't know. Instinct?" He laughed warmly, and Williamson felt his concern melt away. "I don't even remember standing up…must've acted without thinking."

"Whatever it was, he's down and it's thanks to you."

Harry nodded as Williamson moved to check Dolohov with Nola.

He didn't remember standing up, or casting a spell. The last thing he remembered was that he had been hit with a curse – one that hurt like hell – and been thrown across the room. Then he was standing here.

How could he do something so extreme and not even remember? It must have been the adrenalin, Harry decided. The adrenalin helped him recover quickly and his instinct cast a spell at Dolohov…but he couldn't remember which one. And why had Williamson looked so momentarily worried – almost scared – as he came over? Harry shook his head.

He didn't care; it didn't matter, not now. All he wanted now was a pain-relieving potion and some rest.

Our plot thickens, our hero thinks he's going mad.

Excellent.

…singing the songs of angry men…Les Mis is made of pure awesomeness. (I wonder if one can make a Harry Potter version thereof? Oh, god, I did NOT just say that…I blame sleep deprivation…)