Author's note: Hello, my dear readers! Yes, I'm back with a new chapter which I hope some of you have been waiting for. Here it is for you to enjoy it! If you feel like reviewing it, you're of course welcome as always!

Many thanks to my great (and very fast and absolutely awesome) beta: TheSecretUchiha

Rating of this chapter: T

The last warning

xxxxx

The Burrow

30th December 2000, 10:35

Harry had no idea how he managed to survive the next two days. He didn't remember much from the hospital, where he spend the first ten hours after the attack. He was still thoroughly sick when the Order came to transfer him to the Burrow. From all the things which he happened to remember, there were only two events which stayed clear in his mind. The first was the sight of Ron yapping at George who taunted him about his messy looks and the second was Hermione talking to him in a quiet, apologizing voice. Seeing both his friends alive and uninjured lifted a heavy burden from his shoulders, chasing away that crushing anxiety which had continuously built in him ever since they separated. However, there was a bad side to everything. Once his worries left him, it was much harder not to think about how much every cell of his body hurt.

The following night was the hardest. It was probably only thanks to Molly Weasley's constant care that he lasted it with his sanity intact.

The next day passed considerably faster because the pain started to recede and he spent most of the day asleep. Mrs. Weasley woke him up only for meals and medicine. As she repeatedly told him, nothing could heal him better than a proper rest. It was also why she prohibited Ron, Hermione and other members of the Order to come to visit him.

But today he was going to see them again. Finally, he will get the answers to questions which harrowed him for so long.

Harry glanced aside and noticed two rolled up newspapers lying beside his bed. Molly had brought them along with his breakfast. Harry took one of them and adjusted the pillow under his head. He browsed the pages quickly, deliberately passing the front page with a photo of his grinning face. His resolution to ignore that page didn't last long however; he returned to it few moments later out of sheer curiosity. A big title above his picture proudly announced THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED: A HERO AGAIN. After reading that line, his eyes quickly located the article below, where Rita Skeeter picturesquely described how bravely he captured He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, how unreasonably he tried to thwart his escape and how he eventually became the captive of the Dark Lord in return. Skeeter was groping in the dark when she attempted to explain his miraculous survival. Harry was sure that she had to expect disbelief from her readers. That was probably why she decided to enhance the credibility of her story with a completely fabricated interview.

Harry sputtered in anger and threw the papers away.

But the damage was done already.

His memories brought him back to the Shack, where he was facing Voldemort again. The scene where he was tortured replayed before his eyes.

"If you are as clever as I think you are, you will understand."

This sentence chased away the rest of Harry's repose. It frustrated him that he was so clueless about what Riddle meant by this. Clearly, he wasn't clever enough. He couldn't think of another reason why Voldemort considered it necessary to use the Cruciatus Curse aside from his private delectation in seeing him broken and cheapened.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears of shame and disillusion in the corners. Hermione warned him that this would happen if he unreasonably gave in his feelings. Why did she always have to be right about everything?

But no matter how hard it was for him, he decided to find out the truth. Even if Voldemort wanted nothing else beside seeing him hurt, he needed to know. He was aware of the crimes which Voldemort had committed in the past, so he should be able to see the reality as it was. There was, however, one neglected and yet very important fact about Riddle which gave his broken heart a petty hope. Harry was the only one who saw the remaining fragment of Voldemort's humanity, that maimed bit of his soul which kept him alive. Regardless of how much Lord Voldemort tried to deny it, he was condemned to exist with it till his very last breath. He could never fully renounce the source of his life force. Surprisingly, everyone ignored this fact including the Dark Lord himself and that allowed Harry to reach his suffering soul with so little effort. And he could recall some amazing moments when he was sure he felt it respond.

A sudden soft knock on the door freed him from his deep thoughts. Harry opened his eyes which he had closed sometime during his contemplation and said.

"Come in."

"Harry?"

He recognized the voice right away and sat up hastily.

"Hermione … Ron! Oh, finally you're here! What took you so long?"

His friends rushed over to him, Hermione taking a seat on the edge of his bed, while Ron plopped down on a creaky chair beside her, speaking immediately.

"Harry! We wanted to come to you much sooner, but my mom was watching us all the time. You can't imagine how overprotective of you she was for the past two days. George even suggested using the Extendable Ears so we could check if you're still breathing in case that she was hiding your dead body..."

"Anyway," he said when Hermione cast a strict glance at him, "how do you feel, mate?"

"Perfect," Harry lied, but only a little bit.

"Nah, if I were you, I wouldn't say perfect mere days after being tortured by a snake-face, who got this chance because my idiotic best friend left me alone...," Ron muttered, his voice depressed.

"Which only happened because I couldn't come back to you. I shouldn't have left you in the first place," Hermione added sadly. "Harry we're … I am so sorry! I don't know where I got that absurd idea that You-Know-Who cared about you... It was so silly of me to think that you were safe around him! How could I be this stupid!"

"Well," Harry coughed to clear his throat. "Don't let it bother you now and rather tell me what happened to you … both."

"Oh … of course that you don't know anything. It's just...," Hermione hesitated and looked at Ron, biting her lip. "You need to know about what happened … but, I promised Molly to warn you beforehand. You shouldn't get … overexcited while you're weakened and one of the reasons why we couldn't talk to you sooner is … that you surely will after hearing what I'm about to say."

"Don't make me anxious, Hermione," Harry said tensely. "I'm worried enough even without you making it worse!"

She hesitantly pushed a tangled lock of her hair behind her ear and sighed. Her eyes couldn't hide the grief she felt as she spoke haltingly.

"Dennis Creevy … he was attacked by a vampire."

Harry just stared at her at first, his body becoming numb as his mind was flooded with memories of Angelina, of her face and clothes stained with blood, of her blank eyes watching him lifelessly...

"How is he?" he asked in a mere whisper, fearing the answer.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but her voice failed and she merely shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"No!" Harry choked out. Some invisible rope tightened around his throat, slowly throttling him. "Please, he can't be..."

Ron, seeing that Hermione couldn't answer him, broke the silence with his grave voice.

"He was murdered, Harry."

"But how?-!" Harry sputtered furiously and scrambled to his feet. "How could it happen?-! Was he attacked in the school?-!"

Ron glanced down at his folded hands. Even over his frenzy Harry noticed how crushed he looked.

"We don't know much about what happened, only that his body was found outside the castle grounds. The Ministry is trying to cover it up for apparent reasons. But we all know that the vampires were in the castle the night we helped You-Know-Who escape. It is more than possible that some of Negura's freaks … became too hungry."

Harry curled his fingers into a fist in rage, breathing heavily.

"I wish I could...," he growled through his teeth.

"Kill them all? Yeah, everyone here feels the same," Ron nodded vigorously. Harry just rubbed his nape, staring at his feet.

"I guess he was turned into vampire then?" he asked flatly. His limbs suddenly felt too weak and heavy to carry his weight and he sank back on the bed.

"Oddly, he wasn't. The worst part of it is that his body wasn't even found in one piece. According to the Aurors who found him, they blamed the crime on some ravenous werewolf first. Which was impossible because there was still three days to the full moon," Ron quietly explained.

"Moreover, werewolves aren't overly partial to drinking human blood and yet Dennis didn't have left a single drop in his veins. His murderer had to be a vampire," Hermione finished once she regained her lost voice.

Harry was horror-struck. Until now, he considered vampires as a problem which should be solved soon, if possible. The situation and his priorities changed dramatically. His fight wasn't just about Negura now.

"Whoever did that … he or she will pay for it. I promise," he said in a cold voice.

"Unfortunately, that's not all," Hermione whispered. Her face was paler than a paper.

"What?-! Don't tell me there's more!"

"Yes, you should know about that accident too. It was in all Muggle news."

"What accident?" Harry asked breathlessly.

She sighed quietly, rubbing the small crease on her forehead. "Two days ago, "she began, "a bus carrying about fifty people fell off the London bridge. Though the rescue workers arrived on the place of the accident within fifteen minutes, no one was saved. They only found fourteen bodies. Six children and eight retiree. The rest are gone."

A heavy silence filled the room until Harry finally broke it with a curse.

"Vampires?"

"Yes. Negura no longer terrorizes only our wizarding population. His previous army of murdered Azkaban's prisoners was eradicated by You-Know-Who. Now he's lacking suitable candidates, especially if we consider that he doesn't want to attack the magicians openly. Therefore his troops began to slaughter muggles. As far as they have no usage for children and old people, the monsters simply helped them to drown so there would be no witnesses. Moreover, Negura surely picked this strategy because he can easily pass the buck onto He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is known for his endless hatred of muggles," Hermione finished with revulsion.

"Which of course doesn't mean that You-Know-Who is any lesser evil than that disgusting leech," Ron quickly added, probably expecting that Harry would like to hear that.

However, Harry didn't listen to him. He was too shaken, because he remembered seeing Negura for a brief moment before the Aurors took him to the hospital. He remembered the fear he felt when their eyes met. This fear was gone now, replaced by scalding hatred.

"Hermione," he said in a quiet voice. "What happened to you? Why couldn't you return from Hogwarts?" He changed the topic, but he didn't close it. Negura would have to pay for his crimes. It sickened and maddened him that a man who was once a hero and a protector of innocents turned into one of those he swore to eradicate. Harry finally saw how far a hunger for revenge could go.

"They didn't let me go," Hermione whispered insistently, breaking him from his thoughts. "After Dennis was found, the whole school was turned upside down, everyone was watched, everyone was questioned. I couldn't leave no matter how much I wanted to!"

Harry just nodded.

"And what about you, Ron? What happened to you?"

"Er...," Ron coughed. "I made it nearly to the school. They caught me nearby the Whomping Willow. At first it was only the Aurors which I could easily convince to let me go after I proved that I wasn't the one responsible for Dennis' death. But then he appeared and I was in a big trouble."

"Negura?" Harry breathed out as he saw Ron nervously gnaw at his lower lip. "You saw him?-!"

"He questioned me," Ron whispered, his face getting a sightly greenish shade.

"He used Veritaserum on me and asked two things. Where was You-Know-Who and if you were with him. I couldn't lie Harry! I had to answer him. You can't imagine the way he looked at me after that … I can't even compare it with You-Know-Who's stare. I was so scared … that everything was lost … that you were going to die because of me!"

Ron looked downcast and sighed.

"I was raving," he muttered. "I begged the Aurors to stop him. I was on my knees, crying and pleading like a child. And do you want to know what was the worst part? I was in fact holding them back while that damned snake tortured you. I know I terribly screwed it up, Harry. I shouldn't have left you, but the desire to see Hermione, to check if she was all right, it was stronger than me. I'm so sorry!"

"Don't apologize, Ron. You didn't do anything wrong. But I still have to wonder how is it possible that the Aurors didn't arrest you once you told them all these things."

"Oh, you can bet they wanted to arrest me. I'm sure that they would love to send me to Azkaban right away. They surely thought that you and I pledged our alliance to You-Know-Who. Fortunately, they changed their opinion once they found you in the Shrieking Shack. They set me free a couple of hours later for they were sure that You-Know-Who merely placed the Imperius Curse upon me. You can imagine that I didn't protest very much."

"Which means that Voldemort decision to torture me … saved your life … and mine as well," Harry finished, astounded by this realization.

"Harry," Ron fidgeted a bit. "I know that I wouldn't survive an hour in Azkaban, but I really didn't wanted to imply that what you went through was helpful in any way. What You-Know-Who did to you was the most heinous crime!"

Harry straightened his back and said.

"And that's exactly why it helped us so much! I just didn't understand it at first!"

"What do you mean by that, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly and Ron immediately joined her.

"Yeah, what are you talking about?"

Harry looked at Ron and then at Hermione and edged closer to them. He felt a surge of new energy running through his veins. Finally he began to see things the way he should've from the beginning.

"Come on, don't you remember what he told us?" he insisted. "He said that Negura will try to damage my image and send the Aurors against me. That he was waiting for my mistake! And that's exactly what happened. Apparently, Voldemort was the only one prepared for this!"

"Prepared for what?-! He simply tortured you!" Ron sputtered out.

"Yeah! But imagine what would happen if he didn't! If he left me there just like that? I would be immediately convinced of treachery and Negura would kill me on the spot or send me to Azkaban! And what if Voldemort let me fight the Aurors as I suggested?"

"You wanted to fight the Aurors?-!" Ron butted in.

Harry pretended he didn't hear him and quickly continued.

"They would kill me for sure. What chance would I stand against them? Basically, it wouldn't matter if I fought back or not. I'd be dead either way!"

"But he could … hypothetically take you along with him. You could escape both. Nothing bad had to happen to you," Hermione said in a firm voice.

"Maybe," Harry nodded. "If he did take me with him, I would become an outcast. You know that I would never become a Death Eater just as I woudn't be able to come back and live a normal life. Negura would use this to destroy my reputation completely. I would be more hated than anyone, even Voldemort. I would lose everything, Hermione."

There was a moment of tense silence, after which Hermione whispered.

"So he was really doing you a favour? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Harry understood her consternation completely. She was also exposed to the agonizing effects of the Cruciatus Curse once. Everyone who ever felt it once would do anything to avoid this pain again. It made sense that she refused to see his point.

"Yes, definitely," he nodded slowly. "His idea was actually quite brilliant if you consider that he had a couple of minutes at most to come up with this plan to … save me, if I can use this word. So yes, it was a favour, coming from him, I'm sure he considered it that way."

As his friends continued to stare at him in disbelief, Harry's conviction that this was the answer he was looking for strengthened.

"I don't know Harry," Ron said hesitantly after a while. "This can be just a weird coincidence or something. I can't believe that You-Know-Who really wanted to save you without having any profit out of it."

Harry frowned.

"Maybe it's strange for you, but why else would he say 'If you are as clever as I think you are, you will understand' before he used that curse?"

"That's what he told you?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

Ron looked at Hermione and back at him, failing to hide his bewilderment.

"So he really planned this out? But why would he want to do anything for you? It's You-Know-Who! He doesn't care for anyone except himself!"

"He's apparently in an open war with Negura," Hermione said bemusedly. "He lost many Death Eaters and he's trying to find allies even among those who he previously detested. He knows that Harry has a great influence on public opinion and he probably wants to use it. Negura on the other hand tried to destroy Harry because he wants to gain an absolute control which would help him hide the truth about his past and origin. He failed, which shows that Harry is probably right. You-Know-Who must have been thinking about this. Obviously, Harry's popularity keeps Negura in check."

Ron scratched his forehead.

"Blimey, this is like an advanced game of wizard chess! Tell me, Harry, how does it feel to be You-Know-Who's knight?"

"It's hard to say, but you can help me with that. If I'm his knight then you're one of his pawns too," Harry grinned and punched his friend's shoulder.

Ron's chin dropped immediately. Harry judged that he didn't expect that his comment could so easily backfire on him.

In that brief moment of quietness which followed, before Ron dismissed it as a joke, Harry became absorbed in his thoughts again. He tried to reconsider what happened between him and Voldemort and while he was doing that, he discovered the reason behind his deep and persistent discontent. Harry realized that he didn't know whether the Dark Lord decided to help him because he merely considered him an important ally or if he had also a different motivation. Harry couldn't tell for sure whether Voldemort really liked him or if his previous interest was just a part of the game. If only the Dark Lord didn't stay true to his name and become something more than a riddle which Harry couldn't puzzle out.

Later, Harry joined Ron and Hermione as they went downstairs to greet Charlie who just arrived from Romania. They discussed what was new for a while before their chat turned to vampires and Negura. As expected, Charlie had never heard of him because his main interest was dragons, not vampires. He, however, confirmed that Romania was a country with the largest number of vampires per magician in Europe. He also said that it was unusual to see them as organized and united as they were under Negura's leadership.

Harry unfortunately didn't see how this information could help them with anything.

After lunch, he and Ron tried to go through his correspondence which kept piling on the dining table ever since the early morning. Most of the letters were written by his fans who were telling him of their endless love and adoration. Beside that, Harry also received three proposals of marriage, six vials of love potion, which automatically popped open when he unwrapped them, and numerous candy boxes filled with similar stuff.

"Look Harry, here's another one," Ron grinned at him and drew out another small bottle from the little packet. "This way you can soon start resupplying George's shop. I talked to him this morning and he told me that he always runs short of his stock of love potions whenever you have an interview in the Prophet."

"You meant a fake interview," Harry corrected him pointedly.

"So what? Skeeter didn't write anything offensive about you which is quite unusual considering her usual style," Ron replied casually. "Oh, I found a note...," he said excitedly and drew out a small pink piece of paper which was previously attached to the bottle."You'll like this. It's another 'Marry me, Harry!' She is the fourth one today. It's your record, isn't it?"

Harry sighed and looked at another pink envelope in his hand.

"Who is she?" he asked insipidly.

"Eloise Midgen," Ron said and hesitated a little. "Is it just me or do you also find that name familiar?" He flipped the small paper over several times as if he was looking for a sign which would help him identify the girl.

Harry put the letter on the table and rubbed his burning eyes.

"Wasn't she the one who wrote to me last time insisting that I should hang myself on my intestines?"

"If you're referring to that letter which you received shortly after Skeeter published that awful article about your visits of ... the fancy houses, then no, I don't think it was her. Eloise Midgen isn't the name of some Slytherin weirdo."

"Anyway," Harry sighed, "what's the most polite way of telling a girl that you're not interested?"

"You're never interested!" Ron protested and Harry looked back at the pink envelope. He didn't want to discuss this with Ron now. He tore the paper open and heard a short snap. A second later he was splattered by a fair dose of an overly sweet perfume. He cursed aloud, rubbing the droplets from his nose and chin.

"These girls are crazy," he complained, failing to hide his fret. "And it seems that they are trying turn me insane too."

"Most guys wouldn't mind too much if girls were desperately trying to get their attention. Besides, I'm convinced that one of those chicks is surely the one you're looking for," Ron held his own and pulled out a simple yellow envelope from the dozens of brightly coloured ones and waved it in front of Harry's face.

"Ron, we've been through this many times. I do not want to be seeing someone who likes me only for that scar on my forehead."

"I know," Ron shrugged. "But I also don't see you giving a chance to anyone."

Harry sighed. He knew that Ron wanted him to go on dates. He felt twice as bad about it now when his poor friend didn't have the slightest idea that he had no intention to have an affair with any of these girls. His heart was already taken.

"So what about this letter?" Ron continued, unaware of Harry's pained expression.

"No perfumes," he added and smelled it, "no love potion inside, and look – it's not even pink!"

Ron shook it in front of his eyes again to prove his point.

"And also no 'My dearest, sweetest, strongest, bravest Harry'," he added with a raised eyebrow.

"What's written there then?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Only your name. And curiously, there's also no sender. Strange, isn't it? I'll read it, okay?"

"Wait!"

Harry didn't know what made him jump up like that. It had to be that sudden premonition which told him that the letter was only for his eyes.

He took the envelope from Ron and quickly glanced at his name written in that precise, elegant and completely inimitable fashion.

He immediately recognized it and gasped for breath.

It had to be from him. He couldn't be mistaken. Hundreds of questions debouched in his mind that instant, one more confusing than the other.

"Harry?"

Ron's carefully controlled voice told him that he had failed to hide his shock.

"Are you all right?"

Harry looked up at his friend and forced a quick smile on his lips.

"Yeah, I just … feel a bit tired all of sudden."

Ron didn't seem convinced.

"Are you sure you're fine? I could tell my mom to look at you if..."

"That's not necessary, Ron," Harry said more harshly than he intended. He quickly corrected himself. "I'm really all right, okay?"

Ron slowly nodded and Harry didn't wait for anything and within a moment he was upstairs, tearing the envelope apart.

His hands shook so much that he nearly dropped the small piece of parchment which he found inside. Harry came closer to the window and read the message several times.

31st December 2000, 11:00 p.m.

72 Abbey Road, Axminster

And that was all. Just that date and address. Harry secretly hoped to read some apology, he at least expected an explanation confirming some of his deductions, but not this. Voldemort didn't even bother to communicate with him in a common, civil way. If this was supposed to be some sort of invitation, Harry didn't feel like coming.

He felt cheated and his anger thrived in him again.

"Damn you!" he vented his frustration and furiously kicked his old school trunk which was unlucky to stand right beside him. It clattered and crashed over on the floor.

"I don't think it's your trunk's fault."

Harry span around, seeing Hermione standing at the door.

"Ron told me that you are feeling unwell," she continued as she came over to him and sat down onto the bed. "I wanted to ask if something's bothering you but the question seems a bit redundant now."

Harry sighed and propped himself against a waist-high cabinet beside the window. "I'm just frustrated which means that everything's back to normal," he said in a bitter voice.

"What happened?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry snorted and handed her the small piece of parchment.

"Just read this and you'll know," he said.

But the moment her fingers touched the paper, it burst into flames. She yelped and dropped it quickly and only her fast reflexes saved her from serious burns.

Harry, realizing what could have happened, was aghast.

"I … I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I really didn't expect this … are you all right?"

"Yes," she nodded and rubbed her reddened fingers. "I assume that the sender holds some grudge against me."

"Not only you," Harry muttered, still stunned. "I underestimated the risk greatly..."

"I think that it was a message from You-Know-Who," Hermione said evenly as if she talked about the weather.

Harry knew that there was no reason to hide the truth from her.

"He wants me to meet him … I think," he said then, breaking their eye contact. "He just wrote me about when and where but didn't explain anything."

Hermione slowly got up and came closer to him.

"Harry, I don't think you should go. Please, don't forget that he regained his powers which makes him extremely dangerous. He may have treated you kindly for past few days, but that may change. Besides, you have seen yourself that he has no problem when it comes to torturing you."

"I didn't say that I would go there," Harry replied quickly and looked out of the window at the grey sky so his eyes wouldn't give him away.

"But you want to," Hermione said calmly.

It took him a long moment before he nodded. He should have known that it was pointless to pretend otherwise.

"Yes." His voice sounded empty to his ears. "I've lost that fight with myself, Hermione. I can't deny I want to see him again."

She bit her lip and hesitated for a moment before she asked.

"Did … something happen when I was in the castle?"

Harry's eyes stayed fixed to the clouds as he nodded again.

"Oh," she breathed out softly. "That changes the situation..."

"Not really, Hermione," Harry stopped her and turned to her. "What exactly does it change? Nothing."

"Harry," she said slowly. "I warned you..."

"I remember what you said, but what am I supposed to do? I can't just stop feeling what I feel. Look, I understand why Ron had to leave the Shack. He needed to see you so much that it influenced his common sense. This is just as strong to me."

"But Harry..."

"I'm not saying that I don't doubt my sanity. That I don't regret I let it happen, that I'm not afraid of him and the things he could do, because I am. I don't know what he's planning, I have no idea why he sent me such a detached letter after we've been so... I can't even say how he feels about me because I don't know … and yet … I need to... Just tell me I'm a helpless fool, Hermione."

Harry took in a shuddering breath and lay his forehead against the wall where he pressed it sometime during his rant. A small hand gently squeezed his shoulder. He turned to her and saw understanding and sympathy in her eyes.

"You're not a fool, Harry. You're in love," she whispered.

Her calm statement frightened Harry more than anything else.

"No! No, of course I'm not! I can't … be," he protested, shaking his head. "I'm not an idiot. I know that he doesn't even like me. Why else would he sent me such an indifferent note?"

Voicing out aloud his greatest fears was a natural defense against the possibility that Hermione could be right. And all Harry did was trying to fight it as much as he could.

"Well," Hermione sighed and propped herself against the window frame, looking at him directly. "There are two possible explanations."

"First, he doesn't really like you as you say," she stated evenly and Harry instantly felt crushed by that enunciation, "or second, he might like you and he doesn't know how to say he's sorry. It wouldn't be too surprising, I think. Actually, it reminds me a lot of Ron. Do you remember how he started dating Lavender Brown? He never told me he regretted his caddish behaviour though he had to know how much he hurt me. I really don't understand why you guys often have such a huge problem with saying 'I'm sorry'."

"I don't have a problem with it," Harry opposed her.

"That's true, you don't," she said and looked at him pensively.

"Probably because the Dursleys made me say it all the time," he spoke more to himself. Deep inside he already felt much better. Yes, Voldemort would never reduce himself to a person writing sniveling apologies, no matter how he really felt.

"So, what are you going to do, Harry?"

She tactfully reminded him that he should make a decision. Harry already knew what he would do. His resolve to find out the truth, regardless of the danger, didn't waver.

"I think I know already," she said before he could answer her. "Honestly, I would feel much better if we could come along with you, but I have a feeling that you wouldn't appreciate our presence very much."

Harry's lips slowly curved upward to form a real smile.

"That's very astute of you," he grinned.

She smiled back and took two steps towards the door. Suddenly, she halted and looked back at him.

"I won't tell Ron anything if you promise me that you'll come back unharmed."

"I promise I'll try my best, Hermione. I'll be leaving tomorrow evening, but first I need to come up with an excuse why I cannot join our New Year's party."

"I'll think of something," she said and the next moment she was gone.

xxxxx

The Burrow

31st December 2000, early evening

Someone had to cast a spell which damaged the linearity of time. Harry came to this conclusion sometime during the day because as impossible as it seemed, the closer the moment of his departure was, the longer every minute appeared to be. He had been on his feet since the early morning, testing his strength and tenacity. It pleased him to discover that even after a couple of hours he didn't feel tired at all.

The main topic of the day was Percy who managed to contact them using a fireplace secretly connected to the Floo Network. He provided them with essential information on the Ministry situation. Harry was shocked when he heard of what awful job Ron's older brother was assigned to do. Once Molly heard of it, she immediately begged him to come home. Dennis' death took its toll on her and she was traumatized by a thought of another of her children being in a mortal danger. But Percy calmly refused it and told them what he learned about Draco Malfoy instead. According to him, Malfoy was working for the Order now which was just another surprise for Harry. He never expected a cowardly brat like Malfoy to have the guts to fight against Negura. Everyone naturally wanted to know why Draco decided to play this dangerous game and when Percy told them of his truly altruistic reasons, Harry had to admit that if there was one good thing about Negura's reign, then it was Malfoy slowly becoming the noble man he should be.

The bad news were that the Leader was multiplying his forces. He was regrouping his vampires and had sent a small squad abroad to carry out some mission for him. Though Negura still pretended that those vampires were in fact deserters from Voldemort's army, Harry was sure that the number of people who believed in this had dramatically decreased.

Other than that, Harry realized he had problems on keeping his attention focused. He was too preoccupied by the thoughts of this evening. So when Ron later voiced his desire to see the fireworks display and that he would love to have one for his birthday too, he nearly ignored it.

And then he nearly fell of his chair. That moment he realized that he absolutely forgot about Voldemort's birthday. First, he quickly considered whether it would be a proper thing to do to give the Dark Lord some present. When the answer was a definite yes, he almost started panicking because he had absolutely no idea what it should be. He couldn't buy him anything made by Muggles – Voldemort would probably kill him for that. Concerning presents commonly given among wizards and witches, he doubted that Voldemort would want something like that. He would probably appreciate some books or some rare, valuable artifacts, but what exactly that could be, Harry had no idea.

Then he realized that the Dark Lord would be happiest, if he had brought him some young, talented pure-blood wizard ready to join his troops. Harry could only laugh bitterly at that thought. He lacked any realistic tips on how to please him, which only showed how little he knew about Voldemort's secret wishes.

A soft knock on the door, which he instantly recognized, announced Hermione's arrival.

"Come in," he said and she entered, carrying a smoking beverage in her hands.

"Here you go," she said and placed the small cup into his palm.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Your excuse to stay in bed," she replied. "It will simulate an allergic reaction to the medicine Molly's been giving you for the past three days. I hate to do this Harry, but if you really think you have to go… if you think that only that can make you happy..."

She sighed and shook her head.

"Just drink that and tell Molly you're too tired and you want to go sleep. The rash you'll get after this will be gone within fifteen minutes. Oh, and you will also need this. It's an alder wand, nine inches. Nothing spectacular, but still a good piece of Ollivander's work," she said and pulled out a short wand from her pocket.

Harry chuckled and nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, you're right. I will probably need this. Thank you so much, Hermione."

He looked at her, seeing strong disagreement in her eyes.

"Don't worry about me," he said lightly.

"I shouldn't worry?-!" she sputtered. "Harry, how could I not worry about you?-! So don't you dare not coming back! If anything happens to you, I'm sure Ron would find a way to bring you back so he could kill you himself and I'll let him do that, do you understand?-!"

Harry took a step back seeing the wild flames in her eyes.

"Okay," he gulped.

"Fine," she snapped and strode back to the door where she stopped and took a deep breath.

"Just be careful," she added then, her voice much softer.

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he said.

"I will. Er... By the way, it's his birthday today and I have no idea what should I give him. I wondered … if you could have some idea...?"

Hermione raised her chin and turned back to him.

"The more you miss something the bigger is the pleasure when you finally receive it. What do you think that he misses the most?"

His soul, Harry thought that instant but that was something he couldn't give him back. There was however something else he could. It struck him like a lightening. It would be crazy, audacious and risky which would make it the best present possible, because Voldemort could never forget who gave it to him

Harry visibly unbent and sent her one of his warmest smiles.

"Thank you, Hermione. You've helped me more than you think."

"You can repay me, Harry. Don't make me regret this," she said quietly and then left Harry alone to his thoughts.

xxxxx

Though Harry started to think that the moment would never come, it was suddenly there and he had to be leaving the Burrow. He stopped his practice with his new wand for those few spell he tested didn't come out the very well. Deciding to improve in this later he drank the potion and went to present the ugly rash on his face to the Order. Once he convinced them of his sickness and repeatedly explained Molly that he didn't need her help, he returned to his little bedroom and sneaked out of its window. He felt bad about deceiving them like that and he wouldn't lower himself to this approach if it wasn't necessary. But he had to discover what really Voldemort thought and felt about him.

He breathed in the chilly air of the night and set out on his mission to find the Dark Lord and confront him. Harry went far enough to be sure he passed all the protective charms and then he turned back and looked at the house in the distance. With one last glance he recalled the name of the street which he had read on the parchment and turned on the spot.

Once his surroundings materialized around him, Harry quickly checked if he was alone. He stood at the end of the wide road illuminated by orange streetlights. The sounds of TV, loud music and a distant laughter told him that the Muggles were enjoying their celebrations of the end of millenium.

Harry's attention turned back to his search for someone who could catch a sight of him Apparating, but aside from several people in the distance, Harry didn't see anyone. He shuddered a bit when a cold breeze blew down the street, seizing and carrying away several dead leaves from the old trees towering above the low-rise habitations.

"Come on," Harry encouraged himself and approached the closest house, reading its number on the entrance door.

"Sixty-five," he said quietly. If he was on the correct street, seventy-two couldn't be very far. He went down to check the next house and when he found a sign with sixty-three, he sighed and turned back towards the dark end of the road. The blackness beyond the last lamp seemed so impenetrable that he nearly wished he didn't have to go there.

The asphalt road ended approximately fifty feet behind that lamp, replaced by a cobble-stoned footpath. Sixty feet later it suddenly took a sharp turning right, leading uphill into a dark forest.

Harry lit up the wand and continued in his ascent, his senses sharpening with every step together with the nasty feeling in his stomach. He knew that this was just a result of his irrelevant distress and tried to suppress it the best he could. After a minute filled with gazing into dark bushes, he noticed an old building to his right. When he came closer, he realized that it was only a scrubby and desolate ruin. With a great difficulties he read the number on a rusty gate.

70, Abbey Road.

He was nearly there then. His heartbeat quickened in his chest and he had to take several deep breaths before he resumed his slow pace. The cobbles were becoming more and more slippery as the mild frost continued to cover them with a thin crust of an ice. He had to walk very carefully if he wanted to avoid a very unpleasant fall.

It was completely silent around him. The growing uneasiness bound his stomach into a tight knot and he seriously started to wonder whether he had made the right choice. It wasn't the darkness and shadows that made him so nervous. It was the feeling that someone was watching him.

He breathed in loudly and nearly missed the soft snap of a twig somewhere behind him. He turned around that instant, searching for the source, but he couldn't see anything beside weirdly deformed dark trees. His instincts told him that he was in a danger, though he still couldn't see it. He had to admit that he was afraid, however his fear was much different than the one he felt the night he went to die for his friends. That time he was prepared for the inevitable, he was reconciled with his fate. Now he realized that the fear of unknown was just as bad, if not worse.

Another snap and then quiet steps.

Harry raised his shining wand higher, still not seeing anyone.

"Who's there?" he asked in a resolute voice.

No one answered.

And then a hooded figure slowly appeared before him in a weak moonlight coming down through the maze of branches above them.

Harry's heart stuttered madly in his chest. For the briefest moment he thought it was Voldemort, but soon he realized that this person was not that tall by far.

Could it be some of his Death Eaters then? Did the Dark Lord bother to inform them that he might be coming or was he supposed to expect an attack? And what if it wasn't a Death Eater? What if it was a vampire and he fell into a trap?-!

Before he could organize the wild swirl of questions in his head, the hooded person spoke in a pleasant voice.

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you? For some time now I've been hoping to meet you. I wanted to see the face of the boy, who won Voldemort's favour over our exceptional Leader."

There was an awful pause after which the man added.

"I must say I'm a bit disappointed by your ordinariness though. Voldemort's a mortal too but he's at least powerful and tasty."

Harry felt how his insides constricted. So this was a vampire after all. His hand became sweaty, but his voice didn't waver.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, what happened to my manners? I've forgotten to introduce myself! I am Nestor Desalmado. Many years ago I also used to be just as famous as you are, though probably not that popular. That was before I learned that there are much better things than fame."

He pulled down his hood, and his grey eyes met Harry's green ones. Harry also caught glimpse of his features and realized that this man, this vampire, could be considered quite attractive if he wasn't surrounded by that entirely repulsive loom of death.

"Our Leader expected that you would come here," Nestor spoke softly and adjusted the hem of his luxury shirt on his neck. "He wants to give you and your little friends one last chance. Help us to defeat Voldemort and the vampires will leave this country for good. You could finally live in peace then. But if you continue to fight us, you will be destroyed among the Dark Lord."

"Live in peace you say," Harry snarled through his teeth. "Tell these fables to Dennis."

"Who is Dennis?" Desalmado leaned his head aside, curious.

"My friend," Harry sputtered. "He was murdered by some of your comrades or maybe by you in person."

"Then he was an ineluctable sacrifice," the vampire answered casually.

"So," Harry hissed, "if you'll be another ineluctable sacrifice, it will be all right then? Negura and I can still be friends? That's what you're trying to say?"

An icy smirk appeared on Desalmado's bluish lips.

"I'll take it that your answer is a no."

"For someone with a dead brain you're surprisingly bright," Harry sneered.

"You don't know who you're facing, Potter. You cannot win. It would be pitifully simple to kill you right now."

The pleasant voice didn't waver for a moment though Desalmado's voice regained a distinct cold subtone.

Harry's mad heartbeat resonated in his ears, but he didn't show his fear.

"Show me then!" he retorted and raised the wand.

Within a split second Harry was on the ground, furiously biting into his lips to stifle cries of pain. His right wrist was turned towards him in an unnatural angle and Desalmado stood above him, playing with his wand.

"You really thought you could beat a vampire in the night, particularly with your blind human eyes? How incredibly naïve boy you are. Haven't you really noticed your mistake? All of you, inexpert young wizards, always count too much on your magic and never protect the most important instrument of it, which is your hand."

He threw the wand back to Harry and said.

"Now its your turn to show me what kind of spell you can do with a broken wrist."

Harry grasped the wand into his other hand, turned on his back and exclaimed.

"Sectumsempra!"

He cast that curse in a general direction of that amused voice – and missed the aim, which made the vampire chuckle aloud.

"Pity I was asked not to interfere. I would have so much fun with you. See you soon, young Potter. And tell Voldemort that we've been watching him."

And the next moment he was gone as if he was just a figment of Harry's imagination.

Harry heaved himself to his feet, looking about for any further danger, but the forest was quiet and lonesome.

He gritted his teeth to stifle another grunt of pain. He was practically helpless in this state. Which also meant that he would have serious trouble with Apparation if he couldn't use a wand properly. He would probably end up splinched if he tried to return to the Burrrow now. Seeing that he had no other choice, he resumed his search for the place where he was supposed to meet Lord Voldemort several minutes ago.

And surprisingly, he succeeded.

The house was nothing he imagined to be. It was just another ruin of a historical building, probably a monastery which was once rebuilt into a household. Harry could only guess when and why it was abandoned. The eastern part of the building which towered to the sky was relatively conserved, but the western side was severely demolished and the roof threatened to collapse at some places. The facade was mostly gone, preserved only at the places where the spreading ivy didn't let it fall off. Windows were either boarded or the glass was missing completely, leaving empty dark gapes into the depths of the house.

That was all what he could see in that poor light. Being more heedful than ever, Harry checked the surroundings again and then he reached for the handle of the old gate. Oddly, it opened smoothly without a single creak of a rusty iron. Feeling slightly unnerved, Harry took another deep breath and stepped in a small, bushy garden. The bitter, icy smell of water and decaying foliage overwhelmed him for a moment. Harry fought the increasing tension and quickly crossed the short, grass-grown pavement and stopped before a massive, dull-painted door.

He still wasn't sure if he was stood in front of the right house.

Funnily, just as he thought of it, the number 72 appeared right above the huge knocker embroidered into a shape of a serpent. Apparently, Harry didn't have to doubt it anymore. He gulped idly and seized the bronze snake.

The moment he did so the serpent revived and quickly circled its metal body around Harry's left hand. It took all Harry's self-control not to yelp in surprise.

"Who are you?" the bronze creature hissed, its little red eyes blazing.

Harry didn't even think of lying as he replied truthfully.

"Harry Potter."

The snake let him go immediately and the huge door begrudgingly moved to reveal a narrow slot which Harry used to squeeze himself inside.

And he gasped in surprise.

Compared to its murky exterior, the entrance hall of this building looked magnificent. The parquets on the floor were glossy and polished, the long green rugs were dustless and spotless, there wasn't a single cobweb on the crystalline chandelier above his head, the furniture was simple, but clean as well. Though flames roared in the fireplace, there was no one taking care of it; the hall was empty.

"Hello?" Harry asked quietly, but no one answered him.

Harry glanced at a wide staircase leading to the first floor. Considering it a good place to start his exploration, he climbed it until he heard a quiet voice. He stopped dead in his track and tried to listen. When even holding his breath didn't help him to distinguish the words, he ascended few more steps and attempted to take a look behind a robust pillar at the end of the staircase.

The voices became much more clear and pronounced. Harry, driven by his curiosity, moved another two steps upward until he could finally peep at the scene which took place before him.

"How many?" said a high cold voice all of a sudden.

Though Harry didn't recognize the man who spoke before, he knew perfectly well who said those two words.

His heart, which was tortured by so many insecurities of his decision, finally came alive. It reacted wildly to the simple sound of his voice...

Harry leaned forward a bit more so he could see the whole room.

He could see a long table standing beneath the windows covered by heavy black curtains. Harry tried to count the people sitting around it – there had to be more than twenty. All of them were very quiet, pretending they weren't even there.

Harry was confused. Did Voldemort invite him to join a secret meeting with his Death Eaters? Honestly, he sort of hoped for a more private rendezvous. Also, why was he living under that false conviction that most of Voldemort's servants died during that fire of his previous hideout?

His eyes unconsciously located the fireplace and as expected, Harry finally found him standing there, bemused, facing the fire. Once again Harry's heart started pounding fiercely. He couldn't see much of him, but from his tense posture, he guessed that Voldemort was very angry. Harry forced himself to look at the man kneeling by his side, explaining something in a pleading voice.

"Which means you've practically brought them to this mansion," Voldemort said quietly and still Harry could hear his chilling voice very clearly. He turned to the man on his knees and raised the wand.

"My Lord, please, I swear I tried to stop them. Please, I beg you, Master. Don't punish me!"

Voldemort paid it no heed.

"Crucio!"

The man on the floor let out a scream of pain, attempted to stand but fell back, writhing. Harry felt like doing the same. He dropped to his knees and had to bit into his lip due to a stab of pain which ran through his injured hand. Hearing the desperate cries of that man sickened him to no point and it unleashed his boiling anger.

Just as Harry was about to jump from behind the pillar, Voldemort raised the wand and said in a cruel voice.

"You've given out this secret location, Jugson. You've endangered us all."

The man screamed again as another curse hit him and it took considerably longer before Voldemort lifted it and spoke again.

"Someone very important was supposed to come to visit me tonight. If this person is dead, you shall taste my true wrath!"

Harry's breath froze in his throat. Was it possible that Voldemort was talking about him right now?

"My Lord … please ...please, forgive me..."

"But Lord Voldemort is not forgiving," came a cold reply and the man cried out in pain again.

Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

Picking up his resolve, he squeezed his alder wand in his healthy left hand and threw himself around the pillar.

"That's enough!" he said it as loudly as he could - and the time seemed to stop for a fraction of a second.

Though Harry felt dozens of shocked gazes on himself, the only person who mattered to him was Voldemort. It was as if they were absolutely alone.

Voldemort had frozen for a moment but then his red eyes fastened upon him. Nothing moved beside the flames in the fireplace. No one was even breathing.

For a one crazy moment Harry found this situation horribly familiar. He nearly expected Voldemort to raise the wand he was holding and cast a Killing Curse at him.

It didn't happen. They still regarded each other in that frozen silence and then, finally, the slightest smile appeared on Voldemort's seemingly lipless mouth.

That was a direct hit below the belt. Harry's mouth dried and he wondered how long he would survive if he just threw himself at Voldemort and began tearing his robes off. Well, he could probably last a couple of seconds...

"You've come after all," Voldemort said softly and Harry forced himself to regain his wavering self-control.

"Yes," he nodded resolutely. "We have a lot to talk about."

R&R