I know, it's late... I'm a lazy bastard.

A Nameless Heretic Production

Crimson

Chapter Nine: Kidnapped

Groggily, Harry lifted his eye lids and awoke from his forced slumber. He tried to move, to stand, but failed as he was being restrained. As his vision cleared, he managed to make out, due to his lack of glasses at that moment in time, the cords tying his wrists and legs to the chair he was currently occupying. From what he could discern, it was a fairly old-fashioned chair, probably from some upper-class home. It was ornately decorated, with purple cushions that he found rather comfortable despite his given situation. He shook his head, trying to become more awake and clear away the grogginess. A lock of black hair went over the right side of his face, shielding his spiral-eye from view.

"Ah…" said a voice, cold as ice, from somewhere in the distance. Harry squinted, barely seeing a tall and curvy figure approaching him. It held up what looked like a limb, with some sort of clear-ish blob attached to it. "You need these don't you?" The figure cackled, and Harry concluded that it was a woman, due to her voice. Harry said nothing, struggling against his bonds. "Ah, silly boy, that won't work! I may be magically inept thanks to your bitch-mother's handiwork, but I can still tie a good knot."

"...who are you?" asked Harry. The woman, although he could not see it, sneered beneath the bandages of her face.

"Oh, come now, Harry," she said condescendingly. "I'm sure a clever boy such as you can figure it out… after all, you were right there when your dear mother mutilated me."

Harry blinked, trying to recall. "You are… Bartimeaus?" he offered. He was rewarded with a shriek of outrage and a backhand (he was pretty sure, it could've been a left hook) to the face.

"That is a masculine name, you twit! It's Bellatrix, Bellatrix Lestrange," she snarled, now mere centimeters from his own face. Hers was covered entirely in white and grayish bandages, her violet eyes staring at him madly through two slits in the patchwork. Her black hair haphazardly grew through the bandages, making her hair messier than even Harry's.

"Oh… right," said Harry. He suppressed a smirk as the woman screamed more, before she fell into a fit of coughs and wheezes. Evidently, she was still recovering from her near-decade long coma. Harry idly wondered if that stunner she had hit him with was the pinnacle of her powers at the current time. He then noticed something rather odd about his state of dress. "Why am wearing only my pants?"

Bellatrix sneered at him as she stood again, her wand trembling in hand. The mad (in both senses of the term) woman glared upon her captive.

"You see, child, I couldn't exactly allow you to keep all of your possessions in hand," she explained slowly. "Who knows, you could have had in your clothing… portkeys, special charms to aide you in escape, who knows!" Harry tilted his head, allowing her image to become fuzzy and letting his eyes rest.

"…why do I still have my pants, then?" he asked. "And why am I here anyway? If you wanted to talk, you could've just asked." Bellatrix groaned, slapping herself in the forehead.

"Potter, you're being kidnapped," she said bluntly. "You do realize that, right?" Harry blinked.

"Oh. Okay." Sighing in contempt, Bellatrix continued.

"As for why you still have your pants… do not question me! Be glad that I felt generous enough to not leave you without any sort of covering!" she roared adamantly. Harry grimaced, wondering what to do about the spit that had flown onto his face from her tantrum. The woman looked at him intently, and then grinned (or at least he figured, he couldn't see through the bandages, or even the details of her form to begin with anyway). She held up his glasses, centimeters from his face. "Do you want these?" she asked sweetly.

Harry said nothing, but his eyes stared at the glasses. He knew she was playing with him, torturing him, and tempting him. She was trying to break him. What a pity (for her) that that would not work… but deception was part of warfare.

Harry, swallowing his pride, jerked his head forward to try and get to his glasses, but to no avail as the woman before him pulled them away, laughing all the while.

"Silly boy, did you really think it would be that easy?" She laughed again, before pulling out her wand. Her eyes narrowed, and Harry knew that whatever was coming could not be good. "I want you to beg, Potter… I want you to beg. Crucio!"

A red and erratic beam of light shot out of the tip of her wand. Harry stiffened, bracing himself for the coming curse. He knew that the cruciatus curse was the worst torture spell ever made by man… what a surprise that all he felt was not pain.

"…that really itches," he said blandly, looking down at the beam of light hitting his chest without much concern. "So that's why you didn't take off my pants… you spent your energy earlier scanning my clothing, but could only know for certain that my pants were not charmed, and so to play it safe, you removed everything else. You can't even torture me." Bellatrix, now sitting and panting, glared up at the young man.

"Brilliant deduction," she said venomously, sarcasm dripping from her maw. "That stunner was all I had…" She stood, leaning close to the boy. She whispered, "I hate you, boy… more than you could ever know… causing you unbearable pain would bring me the utmost joy, but it seems I lack the power for it right now." She then giggled, ramming herself against him and pushing him roughly against the chair's back and into the wall. She panted for a time, but caught her breath soon enough. "Don't worry, though, child. You and I will have plenty of fun when the time comes… you'll be my little pet, groveling at my feet by the time I'm done with you."

The mad woman withdrew, twirling Harry's glasses between her fingers. Bellatrix placed them on a shelf, just close enough for Harry to see without too much trouble, but to far away for him to even hope to reach. She walked to the door, and opened it, before looking back at her captive.

"Good night, Harry!" she said, cackling. There was a slam as she closed the door, and Harry was alone.

Harry let his head fall, taking in a deep breath. He had been kidnapped by a madwoman who wanted vengeance for his mother's 'crime.' Said woman was probably going to torture him and try to break him over time, once she had fully regained her magical powers. She had taken his belongings (save for his pants), and tied him down to a chair. Harry could not remove himself from said chair. Bellatrix Lestrange had defeated him. He would not give up though.

Instead, he swore vengeance.

"You know not what hell you have wrought, Lestrange."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Hermione Jane Granger, second year Gryffindor girl and at the top of her class, was worried sick. Why, you may ask? Well, there were several reasons. One, she was always worried, whether it be for her grades or the possibility of stepping a toe out of line. Two, her dream man, Gilderoy Lockhart (1), was now her Defense against the Dark Arts professor and she didn't want to make a fool of herself. Yes, despite being a tad more mature and grown up then her peers, young Granger was still susceptible to handsome men with shiny teeth and an over-inflated reputation. It had never occurred to her that he was an idiot.

Case in point: "FEAR THE CORNISH PIXIES!"

Anyway, we're getting off topic. The third (and most important) reason for her worry was the fact that Harry Potter, one of the only children at Hogwarts she considered herself on friendly terms with, was missing. She had brought this to the attention of his head of house, Professor Snape, who in turn told Dumbledore of this disturbing development.

"I will alert the Ministry of Master Potter's disappearance, child, do not worry," the elderly wizard had said, his eyes twinkling. "I'm sure they will find him shortly. The boy most likely simply missed the train and is waiting at the station."

However, days passed, and Harry did not appear. Posters had been set up all throughout London with a picture of the boy and his name, but no information had turned up. Hermione wished she could yell and scream at them to do more… but she knew that the Ministry had done all it could do.

Sitting in the library, looking at a large tome but not reading it, Hermione had an epiphany.

"I'm lonely," she whispered, her words swallowed up by the sheer cavernous size of the library and reaching nobody's ears but her own. The girl, who had just recently turned thirteen, packed up her books and slowly wandered out of the library. Dinner would be starting soon, and her stomach demanded to be filled. Had she paid attention to where she was going, she would have been able to avoid an incoming obstacle.

"EEP!" shouted two voices in unison, and two girls fell to the ground and were buried under a pile of books. Hermione sat up, taking a copy of Mighty Magics off of her head and placing it on the table next to her. "Are you alright?" she asked in worry, looking at the girl in front of her.

"Ow…" The girl, a Ravenclaw about a little more than a head shorter than Hermione, sat up and rubbed a spot on her skull. Evidently a book had hit her there and it would probably form a bruise. Realizing what had just happened, the girl squeaked and stood up, gathering her books. "Sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I couldn't see where I was going, I—"

"It's okay," said Hermione holding up her hands as a sign of peace. She picked up a book, and held it out to the girl. "Really, I should've been paying more attention, it isn't your fault." The girl nodded uncertainly. "Um, I'm Hermione, by the way, Hermione Granger!" Hermione shook the other girl's hand, nearly crushing it with her own.

"I-I'm Su Li," cried the girl, bewildered at Hermione's enthusiasm. After Hermione had let go of her poor hand, Su stood awkwardly. "So, you're a Gryffindor, right?" she asked. Hermione nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Is… something wrong?"

Her query was answered with the entrance a tall, red-headed Gryffindor. His name was Ronald Weasley, and as far as Hermione was concerned (and soon enough Su Li, although she would fail to be as vocal about it), he was a complete prat.

"Well, if it isn't the know-it-all snake lover and…" he looked down at Su. "Who're you, short-stuff?" Su gritted her teeth, but said nothing. It wasn't as if she could do anything anyway.

'Sticks and stones, Su… sticks and stones…'

"Anyway," continued the tall boy, "What are you doing here, Granger? Looking for more books to study and show-off from?" Hermione frowned, glaring at the boy in front of her.

"No, I'm just studying for the test we have in a couple of days, Weasley." Hermione sniffed. "Shouldn't you be doing the same? I mean, you fai—"

"Shut up!" retorted Weasley. "Not everyone is as smart as you, Granger, and I'm sick of you being such a know-it-all. What are you trying to prove anyway? And what the hell were you thinking, being friends with that Slytherin garbage, Potter?" Hermione's hands balled into fists, and her face was starting to go red. "What's the matter? Miss your little Slytherin boyfriend? Ha h—"

"What's going on in here?" asked a voice. The three second years turned their heads and saw Neville Longbottom walk into the area, a bemused look on his face. Upon seeing Hermione, he frowned. "Ah, Miss Granger," he said with slight distaste. "It is a pity about Potter's disappearance." Hermione glared at him.

"You don't sound very displeased about it," replied the brunette. Neville smiled.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, no," he admitted. "Frankly, I think that Hogwarts, and the student populous, is better off without Potter running amok. He was a bad seed, ready to grow into a right nasty dark wizard if he had been allowed to do so. In fact," he continued while narrowing his eyes, "I doubt he's in any danger. I bet he's joined up with some remnant Death Eaters."

Neville sneered, oblivious to Hermione's pale and shaking fist.

"So what?" she said lowly, her voice a dangerous hiss. "You think Harry's evil? You think he's evil? Why?" Neville's eyebrows raised in a gesture of genuine puzzlement.

"Why, Granger… I thought that much was obvious," said Neville. "He's a Slytherin. Most Slytherin's come from Dark Families, and the house itself promotes all that Blood Purity and Dark Arts use. The hat even considering him for Slytherin, let alone actually sorting him into it, just shows that he's nothing but trouble."

Neville smirked.

"Although, I suppose he couldn't have caused too much trouble. He really wasn't too powerful, and he didn't even pay attention in class! How he got into Second Year is beyond me." Neville leaned against a bookshelf, silent while Weasley, being a loyal dog, laughed at his friend's critique of Harry Potter.

Hermione, however, was not amused. Su, bless her heart, really didn't feel like sticking around. She had always been able to sense trouble, and her 'sixth sense' was going haywire. Unfortunately for her, the only way out was blocked by Longbottom and Weasley. Had she been a more vocal person, she would be whispering 'fuck-fuck-fuck-…' a mile a minute.

"EXCUSE ME?" shouted Hermione. Although every part of her screamed at her to rip the boy into shreds, she could only bring herself to yell. "THAT IS THE MOST IGNORANT, JUDGEMENTAL, AND JUST PLAIN STUPID THING I HAVE EVER HEARD YOU SAY! YOU BARELY EVEN KNOW HARRY! I WON'T HAVE IT! JUST BECAUSE HE'S IN SLYTHERIN DOESN'T MEAN HE'S EVIL! I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT SOME SLYTHERINS ARE PERFECTLY NICE! IN FACT, HARRY IS ACTUALLY RIDICULED BY HIS OWN HOUSE ANYWAY! DON'T YOU GO AROUND JUDGING HIM!

"HE IS NOT LAZY! I'VE SEEN HIM STUDYING FROM TEXT BOOKS THAT I CAN BARELY UNDERSTAND MYSELF, AND IF YOU ACTUALLY TOOK THE TIME TO PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT HE DOES IN CLASS, YOU'D KNOW HE ALREADY KNOWS THE BULK OF THE MATERIAL WE'RE LEARNING!" she continued. She paused, catching her breath. Upon hearing a slow clapping, Hermione blushed.

"Ah," said Weasley, "Does da wittle know-it-all have a cwush?" he said in a rather sickening imitation of a toddler's voice. Longbottom indulged himself in some chuckling at his crony's antics. Hermione's blush darkened, but it was not of embarrassment: it was of fury.

"No," she said vehemently. Su could've sworn the air around them had turned to ice. "I just know Harry a bit more than you two… imbeciles… do."

"Er," said Su. "Hermione…" The girl held up a hand.

"Hold on Su, I'm not done here," she spat. "HARRY IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT WEAK, YOU LITTLE ARSE-HOLE! YOU KNOW HOW HE TOOK DOWN THAT TROLL BY HIMSELF! IF HE WERE AS YOU HAD DESCRIBED HIM, HE COULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT!" Su gulped, remembering seeing the teachers' transportation of the troll's mutilated cadaver to the grounds for proper disposal. However, that was not what was important right now.

Su gripped Hermione's bicep, and leant to the brunette's ear.

"Hermione… we're not alone…" she whispered. Hermione stiffened, and looked past Longbottom and Weasley.

"…bugger…" she whispered.

They were everywhere… students from all years and houses. They had heard her rant, possibly from all the way down the adjacent corridor to the library, and had come running at the source of the disturbance. Madame Pince stood in the background, absolutely furious at Hermione's breach of library protocol, and the students couldn't help snickering at what had happened. Some of the crueler ones were laughing out loud.

"Granger and Potter, sitting in a tree," they sang, in a great show of maturity. Hermione, fighting back tears and the urge to yell some more, fled the library, even knocking down several others in the process.

Although she would have rather just left this entire situation behind her, Su couldn't help but go after the girl. She knew what it was to be teased… that, and she agreed with everything Hermione had said.

'She's right, Harry's not like other Slytherins…' Su recalled that day he had helped her (sort of) with the levitation charm.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry was bending towards his right forearm, trying to chew off the cords that were keeping him tied down to the chair. He was not very successful, unfortunately. The cords were just too tough. Frustrated, he bounced in the chair in an attempt to spring out of it. Naturally, this was not successful either. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and tried to calm down. He needed to do this differently… he needed a new angle… He stiffened upon hearing footsteps.

"Ha! I see you've been trying escape," said Bellatrix. She bent forward, looking at him from centimeters away, and her violet eyes burned. "My power is returning, Potter." She gleefully pulled out her wand. "Crucio!"

Instead of an itch, Harry had a very powerful ache and burning sensation spread throughout his body. It was not unbearable however. More like a very large sunburn. After a few seconds, Bellatrix released the spell.

"Damn… still not enough," she muttered. Her eyes returned to Harry, who was sitting calmly in the chair. Her eyes narrowed. "Boy… be glad that I'm still not powerful enough to torture you for real. But don't worry;" she grinned evilly, "your day will come."

She stood up and left the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind her. Harry slumped in his chair, plotting his next move. Chewing on the cord would not work, and he had already been stuck here for a day. The woman had only fed him small sliced of bread and water during his time here, and as for his, ahem, 'other' needs…

Well, let's just not go into too much detail with that, agreed?

Harry's stomach roared in outrage, demanding to be filled. Bellatrix, giving him only water and slices of bread, usually just stuffed them into his mouth and let him do the rest himself. He had already been fed today, but he knew he needed more.

'Close… eye… left eye…'

Harry stiffened, looking around the room in alarm.

'Left eye… close… now…'

"Who's there?" asked Harry calmly. His eyes narrowed.

'Close your left eye!'

Shrugging, Harry did so. What he was met with was… strange, to say the least, and fascinating, to say the most. The world around him had changed drastically. He was surrounded by utter darkness, and he could see a strange mist in front of him. Looking towards the distance he could faintly see a blur of fowl looking mist surrounding another figure, who he could only assume to be Bellatrix.

'So… I can see pretty colors now?' he thought.

'No,' said the voice in his head. 'You are seeing the world on the magic-spectrum.'

'Oh… neat,' thought Harry. 'Uh, who are you?'

The voice remained silent.

Sighing, Harry re-opened his left eye and blew a lock of hair out of his face. He began to contemplate this latest development. He knew that there was something special about his eye… and now he knew what it was. Or, he knew at least part of what made it special. Something told him the latest addition to his anatomy was a lot more complicated than at first glance.

However, as interesting as seeing in the magical spectrum was, how was that going to help him in his current predicament was unknown to the young man. Wait… Harry suddenly remembered something he had learned whilst reading a book on magical theory.

All magical organisms (wizards, phoenixes, dragons, etc) had, by definition, magic. For the most part, their magic manifested itself as a wispy aura around them that could not be seen by the naked eye. The purpose of the wand in wizards' cases was to conduct the magical aura in order to perform a spell. The shaft of the wand allowed a wizard to conduct his magic with great dexterity, and the core allowed the magic to be augmented and allow more complicated spells to be performed.

Harry closed his left eye, and looked down at his right hand. His own aura, a reddish mist, surrounded him and lazed about in the air. Concentrating, Harry willed his aura to dig itself under the cords tying down his arm. He compressed the magic, sliding it beneath the twine and cords restraining him. Then, when he thought he had enough of it, Harry let the magic expand beneath the twin.

BANG!

Harry hissed in pain as his right arm's skin turned raw and the remains of the cords whipped him in the face, spreading throughout the room. Experimenting, Harry moved around his arm. He smirked. He was free, with minimal damage. He silently thanked the voice. He doubted he would've been able to wandlessly conduct his magic without being able to see his aura (2).

Harry, with only his right eye, looking up and saw that Bellatrix, or at least what he thought was Bellatrix, was rushing down the stairs, albeit slowly. Harry guessed she was still having trouble moving around.

Quickly, he untied his other hand, and then his legs, before rushing out of the room but grabbing his glasses on the way out, haphazardly slapping them onto his face. Now with both eyes open, Harry rushed down the hall in an attempt to find a place to hide. Hearing shrieks and footsteps, he went into a closet and climbed up onto the top shelf, hiding himself among the coats and such within.

Closing his left eye again, He watched as Bellatrix checked within the room he had been held within, before rushing down the hall and systematically checking each and every room, looking for him. She stopped, and Harry could tell she was seething by the fluctuations of her magic aura.

"POTTER!" she screamed. "I'LL RIP YOU IN HALF WHEN I FIND YOU! I SWEAR IT! I'LL MAKE IT QUICK IF YOU COME TO ME FIRST!"

Harry said nothing, opening his left eye and curling up. His breathing slowed. Tonight, when Bellatrix slept, he would try and get some actual food. He doubted Bellatrix could set up any traps or wards in her magically weakened state. She would probably keep searching for him all day, or at least until she finally became exhausted.

Harry took off his glasses, blinking in an attempt to get rid of the slight headache that had developed due to the now obsolete prescription, courtesy of his new eye. Following the logic that his right eye was perfect twenty-twenty while his left was the same as it had been, Harry popped out the right lens and replaced his glasses on his face.

Relatively safe, as far as he could tell, Harry began planning his next move. His trunk and wand were probably being kept somewhere by Bellatrix, but where? Perhaps they were in her room? Or maybe in some sort of vault within the house?

For that matter, where was he anyway?

Resolving to find out later, Harry closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep. If the door did open, he would be awake and alert enough to retaliate. His last thought was, 'Twelve year olds shouldn't have to go through all this shit.'

0o0o0o0o0o0

Silently, Harry awoke within the closet. Closing his left eye, he surveyed the surrounding area. He saw Bellatrix's aura in the floor above him, relaxed and floating about. She was sleeping, if he was correct. Just to be careful, Harry surveyed the rest of the area, and saw another aura. It was small, and a sickly yellow color, walking around a long ways from Harry. He didn't have to worry about it, as long as the yellow one stayed away.

Harry slowly climbed down the shelf and onto the floor of the closet, and then opened the door, careful not to make any sound. Luckily, the hinges made no squeaks or anything of the like, and he slipped out without making too much noise. Closing the door, Harry began searching for his next target: The kitchen.

He was starving!

After stealthily navigating the halls of whatever structure he was imprisoned in, he finally came across a kitchen. The yellow aura was far away, on the other side of the house, and was also sleeping from what he could tell.

Harry slowly opened the pantry doors, peaking inside. He needed to eat something that didn't require cooking or preparation… he didn't have time to stand idle. A satisfied smile wormed its way onto his lips and was soon replaced with a lopsided frown as he caught site of a few loaves of bread, beef jerky, some jugs of water, a bag of fried bat-wings, and other non-descript foodstuffs that required no cooking and were not out of place in an all-magical household but most of which could not be conceived by the average muggle due to difference in culture which would ultimately lead to one of the longest and most epic run-on sentences to ever grace your unworthy eyes that sadly just so happens to end right now (3).

"And they call me weird…" Harry muttered.

After grabbing a bag or two of food and two jugs of water, Harry closed his left eye to make sure that the coast was clear, as well as to make sure that there were no magical properties to the food he was carrying (i.e. poison, tracking potions, etc). He then fled the kitchen.

After a long time of sneaking around, Harry managed to find a nice walk-in closet to hide in. Wherever he was, it was huge. Harry guessed that it had at least three full floors, and had enough rooms to house several families. If he played his cards right, Bellatrix wouldn't be able to find him for quite some time.

Harry finished making his little 'nest' inside of the closet, safely hidden behind a curtain of robes, dresses, and cloaks, and began feasting upon his treasure-trove of edibles.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry leaned against the wall and held his stomach in content. He'd never thought that any meal would taste better than the feasts at Hogwarts. Slowly, he began drifting off into a light sleep yet again.

Hours later, his eyes flew open in an instant. His mental clock told him that it was nearing morning, and Bellatrix would no doubt be looking for him. While she lacked the magical strength to find him within the magical manor, it was not too far fetched to surmise that she had instated the 'no in or out' properties of the massive house. That way, she knew he was in the house. He'd have to think of an escape plan soon, as she would probably gain the strength to more effectively track him down within days.

He had to move fast.

Closing his left eye, Harry surveyed his surroundings. He was in the clear. Carefully, he opened the door and began sneaking through the halls. Periodically, he checked his surroundings with his trusty eye (he'd have to think up a name for it), but was careful not to use it too much. It saw things in a magical spectrum, not light.

Case in point: "Oomph!" Harry walked right into a dresser, whose magical aura was just the same as everything else around it; jack squat.

Slowly, and getting a bruise or two along the way, Harry ascended the stairs and found a little spot to hide in and wait. Eventually, Bellatrix would have to leave her room, where he knew his possessions were being kept. His wand, being magical in nature (as well as his potions ingredients and whatnot) had an aura as well. While faint, he could see it.

He waited. Hours passed, and Bellatrix finally dragged herself out of her room… without her bandages on. Harry smirked, admiring his mother's handiwork as Bellatrix tried to replace the bandages onto her face, careful not to disturb the healing-salve she had placed on her burnt face. Her lips were crusty slits around her mouth, and her nostrils were almost melted shut. Her ears were barely discernable from the burnt mess of flesh and skin that was her head. After finally completely covering her face, Bellatrix pulled out her wand and snapped a finger.

There was a 'pop!' and a small, wrinkled creature appeared next to her. It was a house elf, a very old one, with white hair in his ears and his long nose wrinkled.

"Yes, Mistress Bella?" asked the elf eagerly. Bellatrix faced the house elf.

"Kreacher, we are searching for the mudblood cretin again today. If you find him, don't hesitate to bring him down, and bring him to me." Beneath her bandages, she grinned. "Then we'll have some, ah, fun."

Giddily, Kreacher skipped down the stairs in search of Harry, followed by Bellatrix, who was humming a tune that sounded more like a funeral march than a light-hearted song.

Once they were gone, Harry looked over Bellatrix's room. There were no wards as far as he could tell (which was a lot), so he slowly made his way towards the door. Slowly, he cracked it open and slipped inside… only to receive a shower of marbles and other objects falling on his head.

"Fuck."

Bellatrix deserved more credit than he had given her; she hadn't ignored the option of using simple traps and security measures. The ruckus he had made could probably be heard all the way downstairs.

He had to work fast.

Harry dashed towards the trunk and wand, which were his own, and just as quickly fled the room. He didn't have time to watch out for Bellatrix: In her state of injury, he was certain that she wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs in time to catch him.

After several minutes of running silently (a talent he'd picked up during his years at the Dursleys), Harry turned into a room and locked the door. He leaned against a wall, slid down, and caught his breath.

He'd made it… for now.

THUMP

Harry jerked away from his trunk, which had returned to its original size.

THUMP

While muffled, it was loud enough for Harry to hear. He hoped Bellatrix wouldn't be able to hear it.

THUMP

The trunk door flew open, and Harry felt something impact with his chest. Winded, he looked down.

It was The Book… the book he hadn't been able to open in months. And it was glowing. His right eye felt warm, and the book floated into the air. It looked different…

Etched on the cover was the image of a serpent biting its own tail, the Ouroboros, with two ravens perched on its scaly hide, and with an eye carried within the serpent's bosom…

The book opened, much to Harry's sock, and the world around him fell into blackness…

(1): No, I am not regurgitating CoS's plot. If anything, Lockhart is there for comic relief and to fill in the DADA position.

(2) Alright, concerning wandless magic: Basically, it's just manipulating your magic without a wand. Now, anything uber-complicated (like a stunner or throwing fire) would require a wand. However, pushes, gusts of wind, etc, do not require a wand as long as you can manipulate your aura even a little bit.

(3): Oh, snap.

Ugh, I can't say I'm happy with Hermione's conflict with Neville... I rewrote the thing three times, and that's the best I've got so far. :(