Harry was trying to fall asleep.

Something very strong in him rebelled at the idea of sleeping while Sirius was in danger, but there was nothing he could do, strapped to a bed, unable to move more than an inch, and not knowing what was going on was enough to drive him mad. He didn't even know if Sirius was still alive. At least if he slept, he might see what was happening to his godfather, even if he had to see it through Voldemort's eyes.

The door to Harry's room opened. He craned his neck, expecting to see guards or Healers, maybe even Umbridge, come to punish him for his escape attempt. Instead, Lockhart stepped into the room.

"Harry?"

He unconsciously opened his mouth to correct him, but then shut it again when he realized Lockhart had gotten his name right this time.

"Professor? How did you get in?"

"I charmed the Welcomewitch."

"Without a wand?"

Harry had tried so hard to use wandless magic. When he was a child, his magic had always come out when he'd felt strongly about something, and it seemed as though he'd felt more this evening than the rest of his life put together.

For a moment, Lockhart looked just as confused as he did. Then he said, "Oh, no. Not that kind of charming. Anyway, I've got a wand. I pocketed yours while she was distracted."

Harry decided firmly that he didn't need to know the details. Lockart withdrew the wand from the pocket of his dressing gown. Harry took it, feeling the familiar grain of the wood under his fingers.

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

"Got your knife and cloak too," said Lockhart. He pulled out Harry's penknife and began sawing at the restraints around his wrists. "I supposed I owed you as much, after that business with the Memory Charm."

"Wait. You got your memories back?"

"Ages ago. Don't tell anyone, will you? There's a good lad."

"Then what are you still doing here?" Harry asked incredulously.

Lockhart, glanced around the room with something that almost looked like fondness.

"St. Mungo's isn't half bad if you're not Harry Potter. The nosh is decent. I've go my pinochle game with Magical Bugs on Fridays. No one makes me do any work, and people always bring me water when I ask for it. It's a bit like being famous, but without all the pressure. Do you know what I mean?"

"Not remotely," said Harry. "Er, so you won't be coming with me then?"

"Oh, goodness, no."

That was a bit of a relief. Harry was grateful for the help, but he doubted Lockhart would be able to charm their way into the Department of Mysteries. And some part of Harry, which he'd always known was there but had become much more aware of over the past few days, could never truly trust Lockhart. Not after what he'd been willing to do to Harry and Ron. Where he'd been willing to leave Ginny.

"Alright," said Harry. "Well, thanks again, but I have to go now."

"Would you like me to heal you before you leave?" asked Lockhart. "You look a right mess."

"I'm fine, thanks," said Harry. "I think I might need all my bones if I'm going to fight Voldemort."

"Is that what you're doing, then? Yes, I do believe I'll stay here."

Putting on the Invisibility Cloak, Harry left Ward VII for the second time.

He made it upstairs without meeting anyone, but in the hallway, he had to flatten himself against a wall to keep out of the way of two Healers doing rounds.

"...Spell Damage," one was saying. "Took four Stunning Spells to the chest. It's a wonder they didn't kill her. Poppy's with her now. I expect she'll be back on her feet in a few days, but Merlin, how many headmasters can Hogwarts go through in a year?"

Harry nearly followed them, wanting to know what had happened to Professor McGonagall, who had dared to attack her at Hogwarts, but the Healer had said she was still alive. There was nothing Harry could do for her. He might still be able to save Sirius.

The lobby was empty this time. Harry hurried to the door, but then hesitated, his fingers hovering over the knob. He didn't know if he could open it without setting off an alarm, and even if he could, he had no idea where to go.

Purge and Dowes, Ltd. was on Brompton Road. The Ministry of Magic was all the way over on Whitehall. It would take Harry ages to walk it and he didn't have any money for the underground or the Knight Bus. He might be able to sneak aboard the train in his Invisibility Cloak, but the idea of waiting for a train while Sirius was being tortured...

He needed help. He needed the Order of the Phoenix, but 12 Grimmauld Place was even further, all the way in Islington, and there was no guarantee he'd find a member there. Sirius was the only one who lived there, and Sirius was at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries, in the room with the glass orbs, at the end of row 97, and he was being tortured.

At least, Harry hoped he was still being tortured, which was a horrible thing to have to hope.

Dumbledore was missing, McGonagall was gone, Sirius was captured and Harry had never felt more alone in his life.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and flinched, but it was just a portrait above the reception desk. A witch with silver ringlets stepped into the frame. Dilys Derwent must have been visiting her other portrait in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. With McGonagall at St. Mungo's, it would be Snape's office now.

Snape, who was a member of the Order. Snape, who'd told Harry to come to him if he was in trouble.

A month ago, Harry would have laughed at the idea of asking Snape for help, but as soon as it occurred to him, he felt an enormous sense of relief. He could almost hear his professor sneer, "Step back, Potter, and let the adults handle it."

"Professor Derwent," Harry hissed.

The witch in the portrait started. "Who's there?"

"Harry Potter. Please, I need you to find Snape right away and tell him to come to St. Mungo's."

"Harry Potter? Where?" She squinted around the lobby, as though she expected to find Harry hiding under a six month old copy of Witch Weekly.

"I've got an Invisibility Cloak. Please, Professor! It's urgent!"

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knicker in a twist," she grumbled, but she left the frame again.

Harry paced the waiting room, feeling it had never been more appropriately named. He was seconds from tossing it in and trying the door, when he heard a loud crack. He turned to see Snape standing in the middle of the lobby. Harry took off his cloak.

"Professor!"

"What happened to you?" Snape's shrewd eyes moved from Harry's face to his wrists. "I leave you alone for a few hours, and you manage to get injured in a hospital? Hold still while I heal you."

"There's no time for that! Voldemort has Sirius in the Department of Mysteries!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Your godfather is at the Order headquarters."

"I saw it! I had a dream!"

"And did it ever occur to you that the dream might in fact be... a dream?"

This was why Harry never went to adults for help. They never listened.

"Voldemort has Sirius!" he shouted, balling up his fists. "He's going to kill him!"

Snape simply stared at him. Harry wanted to say something more, but somehow he knew that wasn't what was needed. Instead, he met his potion master's gaze and held it.

"Very well, Potter," Snape said, finally. "If your little nightmare scared you so much, I'll take you to headquarters and you can verify with your own eyes that Black is still too cowardly to leave the house. Take hold of my arm."

Harry nearly fell on Snape's arm in relief. A minute later, he wished he'd braced himself a little more, because it felt as though he was a Bubotuber plant, and someone was trying to squeeze all the pus out of him. Everything from his toes to his eyeballs seemed to contract, until, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

He and Snape were standing in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. It was empty.

"Sirius!" called Harry. "Sirius, are you there?"

There was a wheezy chuckle from the corner of the room.

"Master has gone out, Harry Potter," said Kreacher.

"Where's he gone? Where's he gone, Kreacher? Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?"

"Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he is going."

"But you know! Don't you? You know where he is?"

The house-elf laughed. "Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries. Kreacher and his mistress are alone again!"