Disclaimer: I'm running out on stuff to say. JK (aka NotMe!) owns Harry Potter and everything that comes with the package, pleasedon'tsuemeIampoor.

Review.

Inverarray and everything you don't recognise from elsewhere sprung from my hollow head. Oh, and Rasmus. He's mine, and the closest thing to a Mary-Sue you'll see here. Mwaha.

Dedication: A bunch of dedications are long due: To everyone who has taken the time to review so far! Yayness! Because feedback is my daily bread, ye merry hippogriffs.

To Japonica, for updating Always (I sort of forgot to include that the last time, so it goes here), and to Aedalena, who just might update Nullifier. If the planets are properly aligned, that is.

And to Amiable Dorsai, who hit the nail on the head a fair few times as to what would happen. You're not spying on me, are you:narrows eyes:

Go on, gloat. :toothy grin:


Chapter Twelve – The Fear Disease

CLANG.

SPLAT.

A furious curse, uttered though clenched teeth.

Harry raised his head from the Hit-Wizard's Guide to Advanced Duelling. His eyes wandered from the moving pictures demonstrating the step-by-step casting of the Dislocator Curse and to the kitchen, where he could see Dudley still trying to fix a simple dish of toast and eggs without killing himself in the attempt.

Thankfully, Harry had been able to clear the smoke, and the smell of burnt food that had lingered heavily over the place was all but gone by now. Not for long, if the sizzling that trailed to his ears was any indication.

Under any other circumstances, he would have put an end to Dudley's torture – and the consequential suffering of his ears – ages ago, but he was otherwise occupied. Besides, he had witnessed the smooth and immediate action of the Fire-Extinguishing Charms at work in the kitchen – twice – already, so there was nothing to worry about.

CRASH.

At least, nothing that a Repair Spell couldn't fix, he amended.

The longer Dudley was engaged in...

THUNK.

"Stupid thing! There's not even a bloody toaster in this place!"

... cooking – at least that was what the ickle boxing champ called it – the longer Harry could have some semblance of peace to prepare for their night-time journey. He rubbed his scar as it twinged, sending a wave of deep irritation and not a little frustration his way. Voldemort was growing restless because of something. Harry just hoped he would not throw a tantrum.

From the kitchen, Dudley levelled a killer glare at his cousin, hating him for sitting there with his stupid freaky book instead of fixing him the breakfast he so badly needed.

Harry cricked his neck, his eyes fairly dancing with amusement as he returned Dudley's gaze with an expression of curiosity that somehow did not feel all that fake.

"Hey, Dud..." Harry said, noticing his voice seemed to be on the right path to regaining its usual tone.

"What?"

"There's smoke coming out behind you," Harry commented. "Again."

The wail that escaped from Dudley's throat was heartfelt. He looked pleadingly at Harry.

"Can't you...?" he gestured in direction of the stove, where the Fire-Extinguishing Charms were already active. Pink smoke rose, engulfing the flaming frying pan and preventing any further damage.

"Cooking is certainly amongst my capabilities, Diddy," said Harry, opening his book once more. Upon noticing his cousin continued to stare at him, he added, "You'd better hurry up, Popkin. At this rate, it'll be dinner you'll be preparing."

The reaction was immediate.

"Don't call me Popkin!" Dudley shouted, his hands clenching into fists. "Or else I—"

"Or else what?" Harry said unconcernedly, putting down his book and giving Dudley a mildly challenging look. "You'll give me the 'old one-two'?"

Dudley's mouth snapped shut, but his small eyes glinted angrily. With a huff, he turned his back on Harry, who scoffed and read on, smirking at a flashing arrow that pointed to the subject of the Dislocator Curse, with the words, "To try out on cousin Trixie" written in Sirius' handwriting.

Later, Harry couldn't tell what had been more hilarious: Dudley's botched attempts at cooking, or when the moment came to eat it all up.

He glanced at his cousin, who was sputtering furiously over his charred eggs and bacon, which, to be fair, were not as badly carbonised as the three previous attempts, which had found a more permanent residence inside the rubbish bin at the corner.

"I can't eat this," Dudley muttered furiously, his piggy eyes glinting at Harry as if it had been his fault. Which was, quite probably, what he believed anyway.

A squeaky hic! came from the rubbish bin, and Dudley jumped back a step with a squealing cry, letting go of his empty plate, which shattered on the floor. The rubbish bin, in turn, began to hiccup loudly every so often, which seemed to prove too much for Dudley to bear, Calming Draught or no.

Harry then took pity on his cousin, cleared the mess with a wave of his wand, suggested sandwiches for lunch, and led the shivering Dudley out of the kitchen before his legs gave way under him.

Behind them, the rubbish bin gave a loud belch.


He had grown increasingly quiet as time wore on, and not even pacing around the living room had helped his mounting anxiety. He glanced at his watch for the third time in the space of five minutes.

Three o'clock.

Slytherin's pink bloomers, could time go any slower?

He mentally reviewed his plan, which now had acquired not only shape, but also was ready to be put into action at any minute. He had no map, but otherwise, he had done and redone everything he could do.

If only he didn't have to wait another five hours.

He had stumbled upon the problem of transportation, of course. A second exploration walk around the tent had provided the solution, quite literally mounted in a glass case. Harry's hand disappeared inside his pocket, finding his eek and the two broomsticks concealed within.

He could tell them apart by touch, and the brass compass mounted on his Firebolt felt superfluous now. His own broomstick had a scratch on the handle, a small dent, insignificant to its functionality and yet meaningful to him. A souvenir from the previous day's attack.

The other broomstick was identical to his own, except that the high-finish polish was intact; the second broom had never been flown, aside from a couple of test laps around the Duelling Chamber. So Tingly had told him.

Sirius had wanted his first real flight on that broom to be in Harry's company.

This knowledge caused a leaden weight to settle in the pit of his stomach, cold and twisting. Heavy with guilt. Harry tore his eyes away from the tapestry between the two fireplaces, which showed the landscape to the north, fighting the sudden urge to blink furiously.

'There are things worth dying for!' Those had been his exact words, when Fred and George had lashed out at him. He had said they couldn't understand, and he'd been right. Harry still couldn't.

Was I worth it, Sirius?

Part of him scoffed for even thinking that question, knowing. Another part of him did not want to know the answer to it. Not ever.

He glanced at Dudley instead, who was squeezed in an armchair, the perfect likeness of a stranded whale. One that seemed much more at ease with the world, too. Dudley was presently occupied discovering the better side of magic; a chocolate frog was in his left hand, while the other opened the wrapping with utmost caution.

Exhausted, Harry slumped further in his chair. He ought to try and sleep a little, he knew, but no matter what he did, he couldn't.

"No—" Dudley exclaimed, lunging for the chocolate frog that had leapt out of his reach and falling flat on his face, the empty wrapper clutched in his fist. The frog landed straight on top of his head and gave a little hop, even as Dudley tried to grab it, managing only to give himself a hard smack on the head and squash the frog flat in the process.

Harry regarded his cousin, shaking his head, a vague ghost of amusement flitting across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, when—

"Take them and kill them if they are too many, but do not advance just yet. The old man is sly. Detect every single ward and dismantle them without him noticing." Harry hissed, a smoking goblet in his hand.

"It will take time, My Lord..." The hooded figure prostrated before his bedside spoke with a foreign accent that nevertheless did not mask his fear. None of them could do that.

"Time I have in spades, Rasmus. It is foolishness I do not suffer lightly."

The searing, white-hot pain left him as soon as it had come. Gasping, Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, blinking at the suddenly painful light. His left eye was throbbing once more, and for a moment the world slid out of focus.

He closed his eyes, trying to control the inevitable bout of nausea that followed the pain in his scar, and attempted to sort out the alien feelings that came with it.

Voldemort was excited about something, something that would be very useful to carry out his plans... It had nothing to do with him, Harry realised, and he was honestly relieved about it, wrong as the thought struck him as. Whoever was being targeted by Voldemort would probably suffer a great deal, but Harry couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for a faceless victim at the moment. He could not help them, whoever they were. He had enough trouble, as it was, trying to help himself.

He opened his eyes.

Dudley was staring at him like a baby hippo caught in the headlights, a Chocolate Frog Card in his hand. Harry squinted at it.

Dumbledore twinkled merrily at him.

Harry looked away, feeling somehow more tired than ever before.


"Harry is in Azkaban?"

"No, Molly—let me explain..." Remus' tone was urgent. He had remembered at last, managed to force his mind to yield the vital part of information he only now realised had been gone clean from his mind. Apparently, when Sirius and James had suspected him of being the spy, neither had remained idle.

Not that he would have expected them to. There had been too much at stake, then, to just do nothing.

There still was.

A part of him wondered how much more he had forgotten. Memory Charms didn't really work on werewolves, as his friends had known full well, and the more detached part of his mind was trying to understand what exactly was at work here, why he could recognise the place with relative ease, yet have so much trouble remembering where it was situated.

The less detached part of him was wringing his insides into knots. The revelation had struck a chord he thought could no longer be moved, one he thought buried long ago. Clearly, he'd been wrong.

But there was no time to indulge in self-pity and old memories now. They had to find Harry first, everything else just had to wait. Even things that felt so much more relevant at the moment than finding the Wizarding World's last hope.

The Order needed to know what little he now remembered. They needed to be told, and Remus knew the explanation would not come easily. Sometimes, even back then, the numerous arrangements had seemed confusing to him. He wondered if Sirius and James had ever felt the overwhelming complexity of their plans weigh so heavily on their shoulders as it did on Remus' now.

"He's somewhere in the Wastes of Azkaban," he resumed his report, stressing the word and knowing that much more explaining would be needed to describe the place. The Order, he also knew, would hardly let him finish.

And sure enough—

"Well, there's hardly a difference--"

"On the contrary. There's a world of difference." Remus cut Shacklebolt off cleanly, his expression so grave it quenched the remaining attempts of voiced opinions before they were uttered.

Now, where to start explaining?

The entire tale would take days upon days to tell, and not even Remus knew it whole. In fact, what with the evidence of this Memory Charm (what else could it have been?), he doubted he could even tell half of it, with any luck. Sirius, on the other hand, would have been able to.

It was him, after all, who had staged the whole 'Operation Muncher Bluff' – which James had jokingly referred to as 'Operation Barmy Watchdog' when Sirius wasn't listening – down to the last detail.

James had helped, of course, and Lily, and between the three of them they had turned the High House of Black, an impressive enough ancient manor, into Black Lodge, a fortress that could be defended by one person only. If one had the power necessary to achieve such a feat, that was. Which, Remus reminded himself, he did not possess, but both Sirius and James had. Not that it sufficed in the end, which was saying a lot about Voldemort's power in those days— but he was rambling.

Right. Starting point.

Deciding to skip the first part of the story, Remus Lupin spoke again, fully aware of the sets of eyes hanging onto his every word.

"Back when Harry was born, James and Lily were living at Sirius'--"

Plainly, this was not the best point where to start from.

"Lupin, you're straying from the subject." McGonagall had quickly reverted to her classroom stance, and Lupin squeezed out a tiny smile.

"I am not. This has to do with the Potters' whereabouts before they moved to Godric's Hollow," he retorted evenly. When had it become so easy to speak of Lily and James that way? He mentally shrugged it off. "After Godric's Hall was destroyed, they moved around several times, as you might recall, before settling in with Sirius."

"The Potters were living in Manchester when Harry was born, and Sirius lived in Dartmoor, if I am not mistaken? I do not recall them ever moving in with Sirius." Dumbledore's face was drawn. He, too, seemed to be remembering old times, in spite of the situation.

"No, no, Sirius had a house in Cornwall—" Dung threw in, only to be interrupted quite flatly by Arabella Figg.

"The Potters were living in York. I would know, since I babysat Harry for them a few times."

"I remember quite distinctly they had a house near Exeter," Hestia objected with a deep frown, shaking her head.

"Those were all decoys." Remus had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the babble.

"But I visited them at Cornwall a few times--" Dung insisted, looking dolefully at Remus, who only now realised how thoroughly his friends had fooled everyone. He half expected an explosion of glittery confetti to burst from thin air, complete with a banner proclaiming the words 'You have been had!', as James had promised he would do if they were ever found out.

"They would apparate whenever someone called at any of those places," Lupin resumed his tale yet again, remembering the many pains his friends had taken to make the total six houses look nearly identical from the inside. "Besides, if you remember, the main access to their house was through the Floo. So they set up scores of spells that would trick visitors into believing they were in York, for instance, when in reality they were visiting Black Lodge."

Mad-Eye chuckled appreciatively. Having taught both James and Sirius in their day, the paranoid Ex-Auror had become rather intimate with their unorthodox way of handling things. However, he seemed to be the only one so far who had understood what Remus meant to explain.

"Oh." McGonagall's eyes widened, comprehension dawning. Lupin did not find it as uncanny as he perhaps should have. The Transfiguration Teacher certainly had gotten to know the Marauders quite well over the years she had spent trying to end their mad pranking career at Hogwarts, and even better later, after they had all joined the Order's ranks.

"What did they do to trick the Floo?" It was Arthur who spoke up, and Lupin inwardly groaned.

"It was a... complicated connection system." This was not going the way he wanted it to, not at all. The Floo connections alone had been a month-long operation, not to mention illegal, and they were not the only thing the two Marauders had set up way outside the boundaries of Wizarding Law. Aside from the fact that he didn't want to besmirch his friends' (mostly) clean records, Remus knew that explaining every detail he recalled would take too much time. He decided on another vein.

"They were, as we all know, primary targets of Voldemort's – he resolutely ignored the hisses and flinching around him – and James and Lily had a particularly hard time finding a long-term residence anywhere." Some of the older members nodded reminiscently, their faces grim and drawn. "The Potters moved in with Sirius some time in the spring of 1980, before Harry was born, and the three of them came up with a plan that would keep them safe, or so they hoped.

"Whatever the reasons for it, Black Lodge was the only place James and Lily found some peace. They didn't have to move for over a year… until it was destroyed in August 1981 and it became obvious they needed to do something else if they wanted to survive. "

"The Fidelius Charm." Shacklebolt nodded thoughtfully.

"Exactly."

"What does this story, enlightening as it is, have to do with Potter's current whereabouts?" Hestia Jones inquired. She was not a very patient woman, Remus knew, and she was plainly resisting the urge to shake him and force him to make a point already.

"Everything. Harry must have some sort of recollection of his time there, that would explain why he Apparated in that wasteland." Lupin's eyes were fixed on the Auror, otherwise he would have noticed the sudden change in the old headmaster's bearing.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed keenly for a moment, his whole body straightening. Next to him, McGonagall stiffened also, and shot him an uneasy sideways glance. He shook his head ever so slightly, returning to his previous stance after a mere few seconds. McGonagall pursed her lips, a sure sign of disapproval, but said nothing.

"The Potters lived... on the island of Azkaban?" Dung Fletcher's bloodhound eyes were as wide as they could go, and his tone was completely bewildered, not to mention disbelieving.

"No, no, no." Lupin's eyes wandered to meet Fletcher's, and he struggled to hide his impatience. Yelling at them would not help him any. "We called the wasteland that way, seeing as it was the first thing we saw from the Overlook... from the house, I mean. Nothing ever grew down there, and, seeing as the island of Azkaban was the next thing we could see from there, we thought it fitting. The location of Black Lodge itself was on the mainland."

At this statement, the confused babble broke out once more.

"Hang on. Do you mean to say that… what are you trying to say?"

"James and Lily lived in the wasteland next door to Azkaban? "

"But not actually on Azkaban?"

"Not quite in the Wastes, but the mountain that's a few score miles further to the north, the one you all see as a rocky hill... and yes, it's all on the mainland." Remus gestured to the frozen memory, which showed a mountainside covered thickly with trees. For him, at least. The rest, even Dumbledore, for some reason, saw only a low hilltop cluttered with ugly boulders.

"That's still too close to Azkaban. Voldemort kept trying to get it as his fortress back then." Mad-Eye growled, shaking his grizzled head.

"That was one of the reasons they lived there, if I recall correctly."

"Because it was close to You-Know-Who?" Molly's face mirrored Dung's disbelieving expression. There was no hesitation in the answer.

"Yes."

"You're mental. I mean, the Potters were mental," Tonks stated, frowning deeply and shaking her head.

"It was Sirius' idea." Lupin shrugged. And it worked, too.

"Sirius was barking." she retorted at once, a slight smirk on her face. Lupin cut a grimace.

"He might have been," he agreed with a small smile of his own, "but I believe it was partly the location of the house what kept the Potters alive far longer than we thought possible."

"So… why can't we see the place?" Bill Weasley spoke up, squinting at the memory that still irradiated from the old Pensieve, frozen.

"Er…" Lupin hesitated, trying to recall. "Shrouding Spells, I would think."

"Shouldn't those have been broken when the house was destroyed?" Although Bill had been too young to take an active part during the First War, he had a way to figure things out, and Lupin gratefully took the chance to return to the matter at hand.

"No idea. As far as we could see in the memory, they're still active for some odd reason."

"Would they hide Harry? From Fawkes?" Being a Curse Breaker had its uses.

"No, they just made the house and its grounds look like a rocky hill that made people want to go anywhere but there. Fawkes ought to have had no problem finding Harry if he made it to the grounds." He's done it before, after all.

Remus forced the memory of Fawkes' various visits to Black Lodge back to the seldom visited corner of his mind where it belonged. Not one of them had been good news.

"But why didn't Fawkes find Potter, then?" McGonagall voiced, yet again, the one question they had no answer to.

"I don't know. It's as if the earth had swallowed him." Lupin sighed. It would be a long afternoon.


"My Lord, the three outer layers of wards are down now."

"Excellent, Rasmus," Harry answered, snapping his fingers to have Wormtail help him sit upright.

"Should we attack, My Lord?" Rasmus' eagerness was barely concealed. The man was fairly shivering in anticipation.

"Not yet, my friend, not yet. Has the old man given any indication?"

"No, My Lord. They are all in the dark. My work is—"

"As thorough as I expected it to be," Harry interrupted, allowing himself a small chuckle that caused the Death Eater before him to stiffen slightly. "Do not attack yet, Rasmus. All wards must be down before we can do so. The old man is no laughing matter, and I expect he will be suspicious."

"My Lord, the fire could not be prevented," Rasmus mumbled apologetically. "We needed to ascertain the strength of the wards and the response to..."

Harry waved a long, bony hand at him in a rarely seen gesture of dismissal.

"No matter. As long as you bring me the cores and disable the three inner layers of wards, he shall not stand a chance. You say he is in the dark, keep him that way. Disable all wards first." Harry's gaze shifted to a group of robed people to his left. "Then we shall make the Dark shall engulf him forever."

Shrill laughter resounded in Harry's ears, and the dark bedchamber swirled and faded around him, even as he struggled to wake, only to come into focus in the shape of another room, only this one was lined with books and scrolls of yellow parchment.

He looked into pale green eyes glinting furiously at him and brought himself not to flinch. How long had he been here, getting yelled at? He could not tell, any more than he could stop his hands from trembling.

"...such irresponsibility! I cannae believe your carelessness!" The entire room seemed to shake with the booming of that voice, the air itself seemed to crackle with the man's wrath.

"Sir, I..."

"You WHAT? You're sorry? You self-centred oatbrain, you endanger every member of this family because you wanted to have yerself a good crack or two, and all you can come up with is 'I'm sorry'?"

"I..."

"Don't you see that all I have done all yer miserable life was try to keep yeh two safe?"

"I know..."

"Well, let me educate you further." The tone was a deadly quiet now, but not less dangerous. He did flinch this time, and Gramps noticed it. He always did. "I shall not condone one more death at your hands, least of all your brother's. Wasn't your mother sacrifice enough?"

His stomach clenched. He was dimly aware that his hands had stopped shaking, even as his insides went cold.

He did nothing to stop the blow.

Harry woke with a yelp, only to find himself face to face with Dudley again, who had taken a firm hold on the collar of his robes and was shaking him.

However, rather than frightened, Dudley's face was flushed purple, furious. And he was yelling.

"...throw it away this instant!"

"Wha—" Harry somehow found himself standing, pointing his wand at Dudley's chest. "Let go!"

Dudley backed away with a start, the familiar fear of magic written across his face.

"What is it?" Harry forgot his pains, suddenly alert. He glanced out the window, a hex ready on his lips. "Anyone attacking—?"

"The mirror in the bathroom!" Dudley squealed, backing away from his cousin. Harry blinked hard, trying to get his eyes to come into focus.

"The...?" He lowered his wand and turned to Dudley again, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"The stupid mirror! It talks!"

"Well... yeah." Harry gave Dudley a confused look. "So?"

"It called me pigface!" Dudley shouted, regaining his furious manner. "I want you to throw it out!"

Harry groaned aloud, throwing his head back and letting himself fall back on his chair.

That's what you get for falling asleep.

"Dud, I'm not throwing my mirror out just because you say so," he told the ceiling in a tone of forced calm.

"But... It talks!"

"Most magical mirrors do." Harry gave his head a quick shake, and finally could see properly again.

"It insulted me!" Dudley was scandalised, probably all the more so because of Harry's indifferent reaction.

"It's not like it was lying." Harry's tone was calm, but it held a warning that not even Dudley could miss. For a long moment, Dudley didn't move, his fat fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to clench around Harry's neck.

"Fine," he snarled angrily, crossing his arms in a huff. "When are we leaving anyway? There's not even a telly in this freaky place."

Harry checked his watch.

"In a couple of hours," he told Dudley, his stomach doing a weird wiggle that was in no way related to the... er... dreams he had just been woken from. "As soon as it's dim enough."

"Dim?" Dudley had not expected such an answer.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Dim, like you. You ought to get ready."

"Hang on," Dudley grunted, "I thought someone was coming to get us?"

"Have you seen anyone arrive to get us out of here?" Harry countered heatedly, his eyes glinting in the firelight.

"No, but... aren't your... you know... looking for us at all?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted quietly, all anger gone from his voice as abruptly as it had come. "If they were looking for us, they ought to have found us by now," he said bitterly. "They were supposed to be watching Privet Drive, so nothing happened to us either, but there you are."

"They were guarding you, you mean." There was a definite note of hurt in Dudley's voice that made Harry look up.

"No, Dud. They were supposed to be watching Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, you, and me. They said they'd keep anything from happening to any of us. It's just like last year, dammit!" Harry banged his fist on the nearest table, making Dudley jump.

"Yeah... with those Dementis-things," he nodded emphatically, swallowing. "I remember those."

"Dementors," Harry corrected automatically. "And yeah, that wasn't supposed to happen either. Besides, it's no good just sitting here waiting. So we're leaving."

"H-how are we getting back?"

"Our best chance is to Disillusion ourselves and fly to a town that's not too far away to the south," Harry muttered in his hoarse voice. "I'll have to cast a Binding Spell on you, mind. When we get there, maybe we'll find a map and then we can decide upon a route, because I still don't know where we are—what?"

Dudley was gaping open-mouthed at him, and Harry had the distinct feeling that, had he told his cousin they'd be riding back on wild dragons whom they had to poke with red-hot irons to keep moving, he would have received the same response. So he decided to simplify things.

A lot.

"We're flying back to Surrey."

"We're flying all the way home?" Dudley's expression became, if possible, even more clueless. Well, at least he had caught on the main idea.

"That's the best we've got. I mean, unless you have a better idea..." Harry gave him a meaningful look.

"Why don't we stay and wait for someone to find us?"

"That's out of the question. What if the Death Eaters come along?" Harry said quickly.

"Oh, yeah..." Dudley mumbled.

Both boys fell silent for a long time.

Casting about for something to do, Harry took to fixing dinner, which Dudley all but devoured hungrily, completely ignoring the fact that the meal had been prepared purely with magic. In Dudley's case, the phrase 'love and food go together' (or some such thing, Harry was still unsure as to the proper wording) fit to a tee, to judge by the gusto with which he tucked in.

Harry ate very little. He felt like he was chewing leather and forcing down wood shavings, and his every bite was as reluctant as his cousin's were hearty.


"You can't remember where it is!" Shacklebolt's booming voice made the muggles behind him give a start.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley had, perhaps, retreated to their bedroom for the night, but they had both returned and remained – quite unobtrusively, at that – watching every move from the Order. Mrs. Figg gave them Calming Draught at regular intervals, but they were both still reacting badly at the sudden loud outbursts from the wizards in their house. Vernon in particular.

Not that anyone paid them any heed.

"No," Lupin said tiredly, looking out the window at the sun, which would soon set, marking yet another night Harry was not found. "I can't. No matter how hard I try, I can't remember where Black Lodge is located."

"But you've been there before, haven't you?"

"Yes. Hand me the map." The table was cleared with a wave of a wand, and Lupin bent over the large magical map of the British Isles.

There was a tense silence, the likes of which had become common in the past twenty-four hours.

"Does anyone know the location of Azkaban?" he asked next, looking up. "It would help narrow down the search perimeter." The old prison complex was unplottable, and few could pinpoint its exact location, as no sane wizard went there out of his own accord. It was their luck that two members of the Order had once had to visit quite often.

Dumbledore and Mad-Eye both moved at the same time, but the old Ex-Auror was faster by a notch.

"Here," he grunted, gesturing at the northernmost part of Scotland and bringing a gnarled finger down somewhere north from Cape Wrath.

"There are six towns that could be eligible," McGonagall said after some consideration. Lupin nodded, staring at the names: Scourie, Rhiconich, Inverarray, Durness, Eriboll, Tongue. He did not recognise one of them.

"Why are we trying to find Black Lodge at all?" Bill said suddenly. All turned to look at him. "I mean," the Curse-Breaker went on sensibly, "There is the distinct possibility of Harry having been taken to Azkaban."

Yet again, everybody suddenly was talking at once, but the comments were not, as it surely seemed to the Dursleys, completely unrelated to each other.

"If Fawkes could not find Harry..."

"Has You-Know-Who taken Azkaban?"

"All we know is that it has been lost to the Dementors..."

"Yeah, but if You-Know-Who controls the Dementors...?"

"Can a phoenix enter Azkaban?"

"I remember Sirius saying nobody could apparate in Azkaban, all had to be done the Muggle way."

"Well, if Fawkes can apparate all over the place at Hogwarts..."

"How would we go about getting Potter out of there?"

"Maybe one of us should go with Fawkes and have a closer look..."

Albus Dumbledore raised a hand. As one, the witches and wizards around him stopped talking.

"We can't use Fawkes. He was reborn only a few weeks ago, and drawing the memories was taxing enough for him as it was." He gestured at the sleeping bird lying on an ornate purple cushion. "I think it would be best to—"

"There must be something we can do!" Tonks erupted furiously, cutting Dumbledore off. "Even if it means storming Azkaban, we cannot leave Harry on his own!" The babble rose once more, all Order members present voicing their agreement.

"Nobody will be going anywhere." A cold voice said from the doorway. Severus Snape had returned from his meeting with Voldemort.

"I have news."


Anxious as he was of their nightly, highly dangerous journey, Harry could hardly wait to be on the move.

Waiting, he decided, sucked.

As the minutes ticked past, he found himself remembering other times when he had felt so wretched, so nervous.

The familiar way his stomach was doing back flips in quick succession and the slight trembling of his fingers brought back memories from what felt like another life. His first ever Quidditch match came to mind, followed by the mental image of that First Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

He snorted without humour. Back then, things had always seemed complicated. Now, he thought them simple, straightforward affairs. When had he begun to change so much?

This was different, however. Ron and Hermione had always been there for him, and even though Ron and he weren't talking back before he faced that dragon – hell, he had even seen it beforehand! – the Triwizard Tournament had been held in familiar territory, and Harry had not been completely alone before, like now... A part of him longed for the companionship of his two best friends, not in the least because they would surely come up with a few good ideas.

His eyes acquired a steely glint. No; he would not allow himself to be weak now.

Outside, a war was being fought, and he could do nothing more than do his part, as much as he wished to simply ignore it.

He had to see this through, because he'd be damned if he let anyone else, even Dudley, suffer because of him. It was well that Hermione was in Australia with her parents, and even better that Ron and Ginny were in Romania helping Charlie with the dragons. They deserved to be happy, to get away from the madness the world was coming to, if only for a while. Away from him.

Outside, lightning rent the hereto overcast sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder.

Harry sighed in defeat. Not even nature seemed to be accommodating for him today, he mused wretchedly, watching the large raindrops splattering against the window panes.

He pushed his plate away, rising to stare out the kitchen window. It was almost time to move, and he was restless. There was a feeling rising in the pit of his stomach, a nagging sense of having overlooked something, and for one of the best Seekers in history, it meant a great deal.

The rain was threatening to become a storm, but the colder part of him welcomed it; add the weather conditions to the Disillusionment Charms and the Invisibility Cloaks, and they would be virtually impossible to spot.

He looked at his watch one last time, confirmed with a look out the darkened window.

It was time.

"Good luck, Harry," Tingly said from the window pane, winking at him merrily.

"I'm going to need it," Harry agreed, feeling his throat constrict slightly.

"Be careful, eh?"

Nodding at the mirror almost mournfully, Harry began to ready himself to leave.


He double-checked that the Water-Repelling Charms were in place before he adjusted his Invisibility Cloak around his neck. Beside him, Dudley, cast uneasy glances at the suits of armour that still barred the way out, their long spears crossed before the doors.

Harry gave them little more than a passing notice. He raised his wand, muttering, "Noctoculos" as he twirled it before his face. He found he had to blink away the little lights dancing before his vision.

Turn off the lights before casting—I forgot. Gah!

"Come here, Dud," he said, squinting at the suddenly overbright light of the entrance hall. "I need to waterproof you."

"No, you don't!" Dudley exclaimed, taking a step backwards and clamping his hands firmly on his bottom. He stared at Harry's partly concealed persona in horror.

"Listen here, Big D," Harry said, his already stretched patience snapping at last. "It's nothing like that. Now I'll cast a spell on you that is going to help you stay dry, unless you want to be outside without it."

"Y-you w-won't turn me into a pig?" Dudley whimpered, his hands tightening their grip on his vast backside.

Harry shook his head gravely, filing this moment away in his mind for later, when he would hopefully have the chance to laugh his head off at the memory. Now was not the time.

"Impervius," he said instead, tapping Dudley's head lightly with his wand. "There. Wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Dudley, who had tried to duck away from his cousin, straightened up slowly, after making sure his behind was still tail-free.

"I don't feel any different," he grunted. Harry rolled his eyes.

The final preparations were met quickly. A voiced command from Harry made the suits of armour snap to attention at either side of the doors, and Harry drew the Firebolts from his dragonhide case.

Beside him, a shivering Dudley, wearing Mr. Weasley's Invisibility Cloak, cast uneasy glances at the rain outside. His floating face reminded Harry of the pumpkins that were part of the customary Halloween decorations at Hogwarts. He hoped he'd live long enough to see them again.

Harry opened the doors, only to receive a blast of very cold rain in the face. Suppressing a shudder, he grabbed Dudley's fat wrist and stepped out of the tent, fairly dragging his cousin along.

"Take care, Harry," Tingly called after him. He turned around, pulling Dudley back when he jumped at the voice.

"Cheers, Tingly."

"Tingly? What kind of stupid name is that?"

"That's the talking mirror's name," said Harry.

"Yes," Tingly threw in proudly. "Harry named me himself."

Dudley's grunting laughter resounded in Harry's ears as he slammed the doors shut.

The tent shrank and packed itself with a wave of his wand, and he replaced it in his dragonhide case, glad for the Water-Repelling Charms he had cast earlier. The storm was working itself into a gale, and he would have been drenched to the bone by now.

Beside him, Dudley shivered, his teeth chattering in the cold, his outline faintly visible due to the raindrops bouncing off him; Harry had Disillusioned them both, and was presently checking the darkened landscape for any signs of movement.

The Night-Vision Charm worked wonderfully, Harry noted. He could see as if it were daytime, his widened pupils taking every sliver of light and using it to his greatest advantage, even despite the wind and rain whipping his cloak around his feet.

Dudley sniffled.

"Where are we going again?" he asked miserably, clearly not at all happy with the travel arrangements.

"Inverarray," Harry muttered, casting a strong Anti-Fall Spell on one of the broomsticks, so Dudley would not fall off. "It's a town thirteen miles to the south."

"Never heard of it."

"We're going there anyway." Harry's tone left no space for arguments. "From there we might get some information to return to Surrey."

"And take a train?" Dudley asked hopefully, eyeing the broomsticks moving around in midair by what could only be Harry's hand with deep mistrust.

"That'll only get us caught faster. Up!" Both brooms leapt up and floated in midair, waiting to be mounted. Harry cast one last Binding Spell to make sure the brooms were not more than a few feet apart and gestured for Dudley to mount, taking in his surroundings.

"Okay, let's go."

"I'll fall off!" Dudley squealed, his voice shaking with fear.

"Nonsense," Harry snapped. "Just kick off from the ground and let's go."

"But—"

"Let's go!" Harry snapped again, mounting his own Firebolt. "Kick off. Now!"

There was a squelching sound as his boot connected with the ground, and Harry was airborne, warily checking his surroundings—when he was yanked back to the stony ground, pulled down by a heavy, dead weight and came crashing down with an even larger, wet thump.

"Dammit Dudley, you just had to kick off—" Harry said angrily, picking himself and his Firebolt up with a jerky movement.

"I did!" Dudley cried from somewhere to Harry's right. "This thing just wobbled and fell down!"

Oh.

Eyes widened in realisation.

Bugger.


"This... clearly changes things."

The headmaster's quiet comment sounded, in Tonks' ears, like the understatement of the year.

Voldemort had indeed taken over the command of the Dementors.

He had taken over Azkaban.

"There is more," Snape said, his cold eyes surveying the rattled group before him. "The Dark Lord seems to be afflicted by a disease."

Heads shot up, revealing identical expressions of disbelief.

Lupin's eyebrows rose.

Voldemort, ill? This could only be good, as impossible as the idea sounded.

"Severus?" Dumbledore interrupted the badly-hidden gloating of his Potions Master. The headmaster seemed as nonplussed as the rest of them.

"He fell unconscious last evening, of causes unknown," Snape said in his slow, velvety tone, which nevertheless held a hint of smugness that was (thankfully) rarely heard coming from him. "I was required at Azkaban to brew the necessary restorative potions. The Dark Lord only regained consciousness at noon today."

"How?" Mad-Eye rasped out, his magical eye scrutinising their spy.

"I did mention the causes are unknown," Snape replied archly. "Lucius Malfoy confided that the Dark Lord suddenly convulsed and lost consciousness. By the time I was summoned by him, he was running a fever."

"I hope you poisoned the bastard," Fred threw in, earning himself a withering glare from his former teacher. When Snape spoke again, however, the answer was directed to Dumbledore.

"You will understand that I had to brew the necessary potions, headmaster. If not for this chance, I would not have been let in on the location of the Dark Lord's current headquarters."

"I understand perfectly, Severus." Dumbledore's tone was calm. "However, there is one thing that concerns us more closely." In a few sentences, Snape was filled in on Harry's most likely location.

"Not an ounce of sense," the Potions Master spat furiously. "You do realise that if the Dark Lord gets wind that Potter is near, he will move all his forces out to get him?"

"Potter is not in Azkaban?" Shacklebolt asked urgently.

"No, and the Dark Lord has not sent anyone after him, either." Snape's tone was one of definite certainty. "Presently, only that big-mouthed idiot Malfoy and some other Death Eaters are with the Dark Lord. Just the Innermost Circle. He called some to a meeting an hour back, which I was not required to attend." Snape paused momentarily, scowling deeply. The fact that he was not a member of the chosen few jarred him, it was plain to see.

"However, Malfoy told me the Dark Lord continues his search for wand cores of, shall we say, uncommon sources, and at the moment he is bent on finding those. Had he captured Potter, he would likely not be sitting calmly in his bed and waiting for the outcome of a simple raid."

"A raid?" Mad-Eye said harshly. "Where? Who is he targeting?"

"I shall know soon enough. For now, I am expected to brew these," Snape handed Dumbledore a list of potions, "and I shall attempt to notify you as soon as I know."

Dumbledore read the list and passed it wordlessly to Moody.

It was long, and contained mostly poisons and potions used formerly to torture prisoners. Not one of the items listed was legal; all had been outlawed by Wizarding Law, some as far back as 1432.

The list spoke volumes of Voldemort's plans for his new playground.


For a few long moments, Harry simply stood in the increasingly strong rain, gaping at Dudley and feeling immensely stupid.

He had made a mistake in his calculations, a crucial mistake at that.

Muggles couldn't fly.

Everybody knew that.

Damn.

Now what to do? Gritting his teeth, Harry sploshed towards the spot where he could just make out a broomstick floating in midair.

He could not leave Dudley here on his own, although it would be the easiest thing to do: for one, he didn't want his tent burnt to a crisp if Big D fancied a snack. Besides, he just couldn't bring himself to leave him.

"Dud..." he started, turning things over in his mind. The figure next to him gave a little jump and a squeak. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'll charm you to be light and I'll levitate you with me," he said after a moment's consideration.

"What if I fall?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, all right?" He glared at his cousin, in time to notice him back away, letting go of Sirius' brand-new broomstick. Harry's hand shot out to catch it before it hit the ground.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't see you, aren't you there?"

"Where?" Harry asked irritably. "It's not like I can see you either, you dimwit!"

"I'm right here," Dudley's voice trailed somewhere to his left.

"This is stupid—Finite!" Harry raised his wand, and almost immediately wished he hadn't: He had cancelled both the Water-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, and the rain was seeping, icy, through his cloak and robes. Ignoring his sudden discomfort, Harry pushed the hood of his Invisibility Cloak down, squinting through fogged glasses around him.

"I don't want to fly all the way home!" Dudley shouted at a rock behind him.

"I'm here, Dud," Harry said loudly, having glimpsed his cousin's face by the rocks they'd sat at upon arrival.

"I don't have time for this." Harry muttered furiously, striding over to Dudley and pointing his wand at his cousin. Dudley, predictably, took a step back—and only succeeded in stumbling backwards over the very rock he had been yelling at a moment earlier.

"Merlin's balls—Dudley!" Harry exclaimed, reaching out and hauling his cousin upright again.

"I still don't want to fly all the way home!" Dudley shouted, his face contorted in an ugly grimace.

"Would you rather oink for a living?" Harry snarled dangerously, aiming his wand between Dudley's eyes. Overhead, a bolt of lightning illuminated the scene for a split second, making Harry's eyes glint with a ghostly green glow.

Dudley whimpered, his hair plastered against his fat head, but had to admit defeat. He didn't want to be turned into a pig.

Personally, he preferred Harry invisible – he looked frightening, angry as he was. But he was also his ticket home, and Dudley wasn't stupid enough to miss his chance – what if they were attacked by wolves?

"Now stand still," Harry warned, maintaining a tentative hold on him anyway. "Disillusio. Impervius. Levo Pondus." The spells were cast in quick succession, and Harry tightened his hold on his cousin, who was now in danger of being blown away by the strong wind whipping his cloak around.

Harry gave a lopsided smile at the irony of the moment.

"Here. Mount this." He handed Dudley Sirius' broomstick. "Adhaero," he cast the Sticking Spell next, and Dudley flinched. "I'm not done yet – iugo compescor ten feet," said Harry, tapping his cousin's side and his own before letting go of him. They were now bound to one another with invisible chords.

Harry took a moment to re-cast the Disillusionment and Water-Repelling Charms on himself, shaking his now sodden bangs out of his eyes. Lightning clapped overhead, and he mounted his broom.

"Ready?" he called over the howling wind towards Dudley, who swallowed and said,

"Is this going to hurt?"

"No." Harry gestured at him with his left hand, gritting his teeth. This was not going to be easy— but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

He took a deep breath.

"Corpus Levitas."

Thunder rumbled ominously, followed by the clap of lightning, which illuminated the barren wasteland the very moment Harry kicked off the ground and sped towards Inverarray at last.


It was quite dark by the time they finally soared across the skies. Dudley was whimpering, clinging to the handle of his broomstick with such force Harry feared he might disintegrate it. Harry had given him the broom just so he had something to hold on to, but it was completely unnecessary; Harry was levitating him right by his side with his left hand, using his right to fly his broom and hold his wand at the same time.

He had never before attempted to wandlessly levitate something as large as Dudley, and it was proving a staggering effort, even with the Lightening Charm in place. Still, Harry felt like grinning. He was drenched to the bone, his feet were cold and his hands numb—but they were finally on the move, and that was what mattered.

Fog was forming below them, growing thicker as they advanced, and Harry suppressed a shiver as the feeling of being too much in the open caught him once more. A most unpleasant prickling in the back of his neck made him speed up, albeit marginally—he was flying positively slow for his usual standards, both due to the rain and to keep control of his cousin, but it soon became obvious to him he needed to speed up, unless he wanted to be blown off course by the increasingly strong wind that blew from the east.

He leaned forward slightly and flew on, ignoring Dudley's frightened yelp.

However, keeping Dudley in the air was draining Harry's energy faster than he had anticipated. His arm was cramping up, and he began to shake from the effort. Regardless, he flew onwards, knowing that stopping for a rest was out of the question. As much as he had deep misgivings against using his wand—it would be useless in case of an attack if he did, and somehow, he had a rather vivid mental picture of an ambush – he realised he would have to switch to levitating Dudley with his wand or walk the rest of the way. Sweat trickling down his back, Harry let go of the broom handle and recast the charm.

After that, flying became much easier. He sped up, eyes peeled for any sort of movement, losing all track of time.

All in all, Harry almost let out a triumphant shout when he made out a faint, flickering row of streetlamps ahead.

Almost.

His victorious cry died in his throat, and he slowed down until he was hovering in midair, the wind threatening to blow him off his broom. Harry did not care about the wind any more than he did about the rain still pouring down on them.

The flickering streetlamps here and there were the only sources of light as far as he could see.

Taking out his Omnioculars, he scanned every inch of the town ahead, stomach clenching into knots. His eyes wandered along the first row of houses and buildings, taking in the darkened windows and lack of cars in the drives. Everything looked so... empty. Abandoned would come closest to describing the feeling emanating from what had simply seemed a sleepy town the day before.

A power failure. Please, let it be a power failure...

He made to lower the Omnioculars, when lightning illuminated the scene for a second—something caught his eye and he froze mid-movement.

A shadowy figure had been visible, for a split second only, on one of the rooftops. Harry did a double take, but when he looked again it was gone.

What was that? It had been too big for a person.

A Dementor? Were Dementors really that big? Maybe a troll? What if that thing had been a giant?

Or... a trick of the light, perhaps...? His mind's voice was back, and he had to agree with it. Yes, it had probably been the fog... but...

But what, Potter? He chided himself. You're getting as paranoid as Mad-Eye here. That wasn't a Dementor, you'd have known. It's not like you haven't fought them before, is it?

He was inclined to believe it had been a trick of the light, a shadow of something else and pointedly not a Dementor. How far-reaching were Dementors' senses, anyway? Could they sense him two miles away?

He swallowed, half angry at himself already for loosing his nerve so fast and half intrigued as to what exactly had scared him. Could it have been a Dementor?

How far could the Dementors spread fear, anyway? Could he sense them two miles away? His head swirling with questions upon questions he didn't have an answer for, he closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, his mind was made up. Without a warning, he switched yet again to a wandless levitation of his cousin and urged his broom forward in a gentle dive, Dudley following in his wake like a huge balloon.

"'S that the town?" Dudley asked in a voice that sounded entirely too loud to Harry's ears.

"Yeah. But it feels off, somehow. Abandoned." Harry's grip around his broomstick tightened, and he advanced flying as low as he dared, fairly pulling Dudley along by means of the Binding Charm.

"Doesn't seem abandoned to me," Dudley grunted. "There's got to be a store somewhere. Where's the train station?" Flying was not his thing.

"Dunno," Harry muttered, not really paying attention to Dudley's words. He was still scanning the deserted streets for any sign of life and seeing none. He flew over streets lined with shops, a school, several low buildings, all identical in their apparent lack of inhabitants. The place looked lived-in enough, though. What did this mean?

"Why don't we just call home?" Dudley suggested, clearly desperate to touch ground.

Harry turned to look at the spot he knew Dudley was, blinking. He hadn't thought of that.

"Look, we can ask those blokes there—"

"What blo—" Harry started, but cut himself off almost at once. Two figures were hurrying eastwards down a street, apparently dragging something big and bulky along. Harry brought the brooms to a stop, his heart pounding madly against his ribs, even as the figures disappeared from view. Either those were really long coats, or the figures were wearing cloaks.

What is going on here?

The next moment, his stomach turned over.

There was a shrill cry, the likes of which he had never heard before—and a ghostly green light replaced the darkness for a long moment, magnified by the swirling fog and the rain. It threw the buildings into sharp relief, then disappeared.

Someone had cast a Killing Curse not a quarter mile away.

A yelp from Dudley jolted Harry back to his senses, and he managed to control the Levitation Charm before his cousin fell. Instinctively, Harry directed the brooms away from the source of the light, his mind devoid of any coherent thought except,

Get out of here. Fast.

It proved easier said than done, though. Harry's left arm was painfully cramped, and the effort of keeping Dudley in the air was becoming impossible. And if those wizards were what he thought they were, he'd need full use of his wand soon.

He would have to land.

"Dud, I'm going to land away over there..." Harry said, surprising himself with the tightness of his voice. "I'm... really tired."

"About time too. I want to call mum." Dudley growled, not in the least put out by what had happened.

Without waiting any longer, Harry dove as quickly as he dared; he was risking dropping Dudley, and they hadn't survived this long just for him to concuss his fat cousin.

Not that it would make him any more stupid than he already is, though, the little voice in his head commented.

Harry managed to land quietly in a narrow alleyway that was every bit as empty as the rest. No sooner had his feet touched ground, he sank down quite ungracefully, breathing heavily and shaking slightly.

Next to him, Dudley also touched ground, giving the term ungraceful a whole new meaning. He toppled over and landed in a heap with an "oomph!", still attached to the broomstick by the Sticking Charm.

More out of concern for the broom than his cousin's discomfort, Harry flicked his wrist and cancelled it, forcing himself to assume a sitting position. He shivered; despite the Water-Repelling Charms, he was drenched, not to mention freezing and covered in sweat. He hadn't realised the wandless magic had been this taxing. He barely could move his hand—his left arm felt as if he had been forced to polish the Trophy Room at Hogwarts without magic.

Which, incidentally, was one of the many things he'd rather be doing at the moment.

He looked around. The alley was pitch dark, but he could see just fine. There wasn't much to clap eyes on, however. An overturned, notoriously empty dumpster was all that caught his eye.

For his part, Dudley seemed quite eager to go. He felt around until he found Harry's foot and tugged.

"Make me visible again so I can go call mum," he said in his usual bossy tone.

"Shh!" Harry hissed, groping blindly until he found Dudley's collar and pulling him down. "You're not going anywhere, Dud. Now keep your voice down—we don't want to be seen!"

"B—"

"There are Death Eaters here. Now zip it. Understood?" Harry felt Dudley nod, and released the front of his Invisibility Cloak with enough deliberation to get his point across a bit further.

"All right," Dudley whispered, clearly shaken. He didn't really like invisible Harry, either. "I just don't want to go home on a broom."

"We'll see what we can find, then," Harry conceded, privately agreeing with his porky cousin. He had just flown little over thirteen miles with Dudley in tow, and ended up shivering and weak. He needed an alternative.

Harry adjusted his Invisibility Cloak around him once more and pocketed both brooms after quickly checking them for damage. Wand in hand and looking warily around, he grabbed Dudley by a shoulder and led the way out of the alley even as Dudley's watch chimed ten o'clock.


.

Harry was made acutely aware of the lack of sound. There were no motor noises, no people speaking, no lights other than the faint yellow beams of the streetlamps. It was uncanny. Yet they walked down deserted streets, never hearing a sound beyond the dull fall of their footsteps, which were in turn nearly drowned out by the rain. It had now abated considerably but still fell, icy cold and steady, without a sign of relenting.

The silence around them was oppressive, and even Dudley forgot to whimper and gibber. The sensation of being in a graveyard increased with each step, but Harry couldn't think of any other way to go. If anything, they needed directions to carry on—they could be down in Sheffield, for all he knew.

They turned a corner and reached what looked like a main street, which housed what looked like the shopping area of the town, to judge by the many display windows lining the street on either side.

"Harry, this place gives me the creeps," Dudley whispered, waddling on after his cousin and taking care to stay as close to him as he could. Harry didn't answer, stopping by a newspaper stand, which appeared to have been deserted before closing time.

He had found what he was looking for.

Skimming over the dates, Harry grabbed himself a copy of the Inverarray Investigator, while Dudley's ham-like fists closed around as many chocolates and sweets he could reach. Harry let him, searching for the second-best thing to human directions—a map.

No sooner had he seen it, than he let it disappear in his robes' pockets, and dragged Dudley unceremoniously past a few shops and into a coffee shop that seemed to have an open door.

A swift glance inside revealed it to be empty, and a firm shove had Dudley inside. Yet another wary look around, and Harry closed the door behind him, cringing at the chime of an electric welcome bell. He cursed in a low voice, muttering a locking spell and drawing all curtains on the large windows closed before he trudged to a table and spread the newspaper before him. Dudley, catching on, turned the sign of the glass door to 'Closed'.

"Harry, let's get out of here," Dudley whinged, shivering in the near-complete darkness. Harry, however, did not move to turn on the lights. "this place is creepy..."

"I know. But I need to know what's going on here." The paper was dripping wet, but still readable. Harry's eyes scanned the front page.

What he read made his blood freeze in his veins.

"Wednesday, July 17, 1996

The Fear Disease?

This morning, hundreds of inhabitants of Inverarray were stricken with inexplicable panic attacks and left the town, in the worst case of mass hysteria ever witnessed since the great Wave Storm of 1944. Experts in psychiatric science have hereto declared their confusion regarding this psychosis, which has taken hold of over one third of the population in this town during the past twenty-four hours.

Dr. Med. Rowan McTabby, 73, head of the Casualty Unit of Our Saint's Hospital, declared that it had most likely to do with the inordinate amount of fish that abruptly changed their migration patterns and have fairly crowded the coastal waters since July the fifth. "We might have mistaken the sudden riches of the sea, and those fish are ill. The fishermen must have eaten some of those mad fish, and this is a bad case of food poisoning."

However, even although most of those afflicted with sudden panic were indeed amongst the fishermen, many others were seen dropping everything and fairly racing away from the town in a hurry.

Marcus Tetley, 27, stated that he felt as if he would never be able to feel safe and happy again if he did not leave the town at once, before slamming the door of his car shut and driving away at full speed.

Amongst those panic-ridden citizens who were stuck in traffic and did not abandon their vehicles then and there, many complained of a sudden loss of eyesight, nausea, clamminess, breathing problems coupled with terrible nightmares on the night prior. But these symptoms seem to worsen overnight. Some others were found wandering the streets, their eyes vacant, unable to utter a sound or react in any way..."

Harry lowered the paper, feeling ill to his stomach. Dementors had been here, at least since July 16, and that was a week earlier. They seemed to have quite effectively rid the town of its entire population during the next few days—the paper he now held in his hands was the earliest he could find.

Why had Dementors attacked this place? And most importantly, why hadn't the Wizarding World caught on? Or even the Muggles? If an entire town was swiped clean all of a sudden over one week earlier, it should have made the news at some point.

Harry was certain this event had not been in the Daily Prophet. He'd remember if it had been. Pausing for a moment to rub his eyes and check that they were alone, Harry pocketed the Inverarray Investigator and spread the map out on the table.

He remembered the figure he'd seen on the rooftop earlier and swallowed. They'd been really lucky not to have run headlong into the Dementors' hands so far. He shivered, gritting his teeth.

Dementors feed on emotions, Potter, his mind's voice chided. Don't give them a sodding beacon!

Beside him, a rustling sound was heard, and he whipped around—only to find Dudley sinking his teeth into a recently unwrapped Mars bar from the pile he had filched.

Not that stupid, are you, Dud? Harry thought wryly, watching his cousin's disillusioned form stuffing his face. The Night-Vision Charm was pretty amazing.

Wordlessly, he reached for a chocolate, ignoring the glare Dudley was most likely levelling at him and turning to the map.

It was a simple affair, clearly made for tourists, showing a street map of Inverarray on the one side and the British Isles on the other. Important museums, churches and other sites were marked with little symbols, as well as the major roads and cities. He perused it, relishing the warmth spreading out inside him with every bite of his Mars bar.

Harry had no trouble at all in finding Inverarray. It was marked with a bright yellow fish that grinned toothily at him.

It was also at the very top of the map.

Right underneath a lip of land called Cape Wrath.

Harry groaned aloud and banged his head on the table, making Dudley utter a startled noise.

"What?" Dudley demanded after swallowing a large chunk of his third chocolate.

"I just found out where we are." Harry's voice was muffled by the map.

"Well that's good, isn't it? Where are we?"

"We're on the bloody top of the map," Harry mumbled tonelessly. "Any further north and we'd fall off the flaming edge of the earth."

"Er..."

"Not to mention we're in a godforsaken, abandoned town that just shows up on this map because it was printed here," Harry went on defeatedly. "It doesn't even have a train station." And it was emptied by Dementors, and Death Eaters are running rampant all over the place, he mentally added, banging his head against the table a couple of times for added effect.

We're toast.

Dudley gaped at him, dumbstruck. His jaw was moving automatically, but it could either be out of a desire to speak or out of a large bite from a chocolate bar.

How do I manage to get myself into these messes? Harry wondered sullenly, at a loss for anything more constructive to do or say.

He never could think of an answer to his own question.

Just as he was getting himself worked up into a suitable brooding frame of mind, the ground shook, nearly dislodging him from his seat.

THUD.

It shook once more, rattling the windows and glass door.

Harry leapt to his feet, his wand in hand—

"EARTHQUAKE!" Dudley screamed at the top of his lungs, making a break for the door—and bringing Harry crashing to the ground after leaping forward a few paces. The Binding Charm was still active.

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, groping around in midair and finding the invisible rope that bound him to Dudley. He gave a mighty tug, and suddenly felt Dudley next to him.

THUD.

A grunting noise was heard, too loud to make out any words, yet strikingly familiar to his ears...

THUMP. THUD. THUMP. The glasses and cups behind the counter fell crashing to the floor.

Lightning flashed, and for a brief moment, Harry could make out a shadow moving outside, too large to be a man, too clumsy in its movements to be a Dementor—

"What's that?" Dudley whispered, aghast.

"Dunno. Something big," Harry said shakily, his mind racing to identify the shadow and coming up empty. He did not have long to wonder.

Framed in the doorway, only a few feet and one glass door away from them, the figure raised a longish something, bringing it down on the glass pane with an almighty CRASH that drowned out Dudley's panicked scream.

Oh, bugger, bugger, bugger.

Harry pulled his cousin lower, clamping one of his hands over Dudley's mouth.

"Stay down. Shut up. And don't move!" Harry hissed, raising his head over the back of the corner seat they had been occupying. Dudley whimpered and recoiled underneath the table, even as a huge head poked through the gap the door had previously occupied, letting out a deafening roar.

Harry's eyes were wide as saucers, but he didn't have to see the figure to identify it. The smell alone was indication enough, bringing back vivid memories of his first year.

The troll advanced heavily, tearing down the curtains as it went, undisturbed by the shards of glass raining down on it.

Harry watched it enter the coffee shop, not moving an inch. Beside him, Dudley was shaking madly. He seemed to be crying, whimpering quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the matter at hand.

The troll's club was up in the air again. Harry doubted it could see or hear them, but that didn't prevent it from demolishing the entire place in its search for whoever had just yelled. Why hadn't he thought of placing a Silencing Charm on the place?

One thing was clear: it was going to tear the place to bits.

The troll also happened to be blocking the only way out.

The club swung a wide circle, knocking over chairs and tables as it went, only to land heavily on the counter with another loud CRASH. The troll took a step forward, stopping short at the electric chime that issued from the door.

Harry knew he had to do something. Hiding would get them nowhere. He grabbed Dudley's shoulder, deciding that they could edge past the troll's back. The club smashed into the counter yet again, and the troll roared once more. Harry tugged harder, but Dudley seemed to have frozen in place. No amount of hissing, pushing or even pinching brought him out of his stupor—

"Dudley, you stupid, fat idiot, move!" Harry hissed, ducking in time to avoid being hit by the club as it swung backwards to land against the mirror behind the bar. The troll was busy wrecking the counter, now was their chance— "Come ON!"

It was useless. Harry glared at Dudley, who gaped at the monster before him, his face shiny with tears. His mind provided an ample range of expletives, none of which would help him out at the moment.

Ah, well, the little voice in his mind provided, admitting defeat before it went blank.

Right. First he needed a distraction. But what?

Something big.

SMASH. Roar. A table went sailing overhead, disintegrating on the far wall. Dudley jumped and gibbered.

Harry's hand disappeared inside his dragonhide case, and unearthed a handful of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs.

Why not? A slow grin spread across his face. If he managed to pull this one off, he'd be the Weasley Twins' slave for eternity.

Harry started crawling out from underneath the table, rolling away from the cash machine the troll had held in its hands mere instants earlier—and was suddenly held back by an invisible rope.

Damn this ten times stupid Binding Charm! Finite!

He narrowly dodged a crate of beer that followed the cash register, and began to approach the troll, which was presently turning the tables into toothpicks. Rolling to the left, Harry avoided the club once more, leaping to his feet as fast as he could, not caring if he was hit by the debris filling the air— Roar. Smash.

He was behind the troll, eyes watering at the pungent smell of dirty toilets mixed with old rubbish, but he did not care—blinking to dispel the blur in his vision, he muttered a Sticking Charm and attached the handful of Whiz-Bangs to the filthy loincloth level with his face. The troll turned right—aiming for the table Dudley was cowering beneath—the club went up—and the whole world erupted into brightly-coloured sparks.

There was a deafening howl, and the troll began flailing wildly, trying to get rid of whatever was burning its bum. Harry rolled to the left, suddenly aware that he had once more become visible—and so had Dudley. Ducking from the troll's flaming behind, he caught a glimpse of the big lump retreating deeper into the coffee shop.

"No, you idiot! Over here!" Harry gritted out, his heart pumping madly against his ribcage. The troll was tearing at its back, still roaring loud enough to wake the dead—and suddenly a Catherine Wheel broke free from the Sticking Charm and whizzed past, writing the words "KAZOOM KABOOM KAZOOM!" in bright purple smoke. The troll smashed a burning hand into the wall, making everything rattle, and Harry narrowly avoided being hit on the head by a lamp.

Struck by sudden inspiration, Harry pointed his wand at the whizzing firework, shouting,

"Evanesco!"

The ensuing display would have made the Weasley Twins proud; eleven Catherine Wheels were now bouncing off every surface, whizzing around the room at breakneck speed and emitting sharp whistling noises, spelling out rude words and colliding amongst themselves with shrill cries of "WHEEE!"

Harry ducked and dodged his way towards Dudley, resisting the urge to cover his ears.

The ground shook as the troll fell on its back, trying to put out the fire on its rear and to swipe at the flying fireworks at the same time.

Harry didn't see it coming.

A hand as big as Hagrid's contacted with his chest, sending him flying backwards against the wall, even as the troll scrambled to its feet, rounding in on him.

There was no time to think. Harry raised his wand—

"Reducto!" Bright light left his wand, connecting with the troll's bald pate—and ricocheted off it, hitting the ceiling instead. For a second, everything stood still. Harry saw a huge crack forming right above the troll's head—he backed away one step.

Dudley!

Even as time sped up once more, Harry saw the ceiling begin to crumble—and did the only thing he could.

He leapt outside, but his mouth and body seemed to have acquired a mind of their own. He heard his voice shout, "Accio Dudley!"—he felt his wand arm shoot forward even as the rest of him flew out of the coffee shop—and was promptly bowled over by what felt like an enormous cannon ball the very instant the ceiling caved in on top of the troll.

A cloud of dust burst out of the shop, mingling with the fog permeating the still deserted street.

With a great heave, Harry peeled his cousin off him and sat up. Howls and roars still could be heard from what had moments earlier been a shop, but was now reduced to rubble.

Hopefully heavy rubble.

"C'mon," he muttered, dragging Dudley to his feet and looking warily around. The back of his neck was prickling ominously, and he felt suddenly cold.

Oh, joy.

"C'mon!" he repeated, grabbing Dudley's collar and sprinting down the street, away from the troll.

The ground was shaking again, and suddenly the whole town seemed to be alive with harsh cries and furious roars.

Harry looked back, and saw three, no—four... five...

Gods.

No less than a dozen huge trolls were pounding the street he and Dudley had just left, and moments later, the sight of the Catherine Wheels rising up in the air and flying eastwards told him the troll had been freed.

Harry lost all track of time. He didn't know how long he'd run before he dared to stop and take a breather, turning a corner at another street that was lined with pubs, and into a dank, dark alleyway.

Panting, he leaned against the wall, and watched Dudley sink to the ground next to an evil-smelling, overflowing dumpster.

"That was close," he muttered, adjusting his Invisibility Cloak around his legs and screwing up his face at the smell of rotting rubbish. "Merlin, this smells worse than the troll..."

"Wh—what was that... that thing?" Dudley squeaked out. Harry had never before seen him shaking so hard. However, his voice was strangely calm as he answered.

"A mountain troll," Harry informed matter-of-factly, "and it seems we got away just in time, too."

Dudley gave a shaky, sob-like laugh.

"What now, Harry?" he asked after a while.

"Now we have to get out of here," came the obvious answer. "I just wish I had brought the map." Where to get another one?

"H... here." The said piece of paper was suddenly right under his nose. "I... I took it before it smashed the table."

Harry regarded Dudley intensely for a moment, looking as if he were about to kiss him. Which he would have, had Dudley been less piggy, nicer, and a girl to boot. A relieved grin spread across his face, and he took the offered piece of paper, crouching down beside his cousin to peruse it once more.

"I guess our best chance is to head south to this place called Ullapool. It looks like a big town—" Harry said, frowning, his eyes still gleaming ghostly green in the darkness.

"Where? I can't see a thing," Dudley grunted, his mouth full of candy once more. He suddenly stiffened, his face losing the little colour it had regained. "You don't want to fly all the way there, do you?"

"Unless you have a better idea..." Harry growled, glaring at Dudley, who backed off, but did not hold his mouth.

"I don't want to fly on your stupid broomstick!"

"It's all we've got, all right?" Harry snapped back angrily. Why did Dudley have to make the simplest things so blasted difficult? "It's not like you have to do anything to fly anyway."

"But it's seventy miles away!" Dudley cried, jabbing his fat finger at the map.

"I know it, dammit!" Harry erupted. "And believe me, if I could get hold of a better solution, I—" He stiffened, suddenly realising his breath was coming out in wisps of vapour. It was freezing cold.

Dudley could not see a thing. Harry hadn't noticed the absolute darkness surrounding them... until now.

Dudley's breath was coming in fast gasps.

"H—Harry..." he whispered, "There's something..."

Harry felt the approaching figures more than he heard them, but had no time to move. Something nudged his back, strong enough to send him sprawling, face forward, to the ground.


TBC.

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