Author's Note: Trigger warning for violence, emotional and mental abuse, gaslighting, torture, enslavement, vomit, dissociation, and panic attack.

Wow, that's a long TW. Here's an even longer chapter - my biggest one yet!

I hope you enjoy this. It was quite difficult to write, but I think the end result wasn't too bad? Hopefully!

I hope everyone is keeping safe. I send virtual hugs to all who may need it.

'Til next time.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Reunion

"I'll admit – the dress threw me off." A wry smile cuts into Jobe's cheek as she takes a drag.

Harry's cheeks burn and he squirms a tad, as if he could distance himself from his current predicament. He glances to the window and sees his own reflection – he looks more like a scrawny street rat than a lady now. His glamour must be wearing off.

Within the borders of his reflection, Draco (now looking more his proper age) stands guard on the other side of the glass, arms folded, lips thinned in irritation. Beside him, Margaret stabs him in the side with a crooked finger.

Harry swallows a laugh and quickly turns back to Jobe. "Mind if I bum one?" he asks, holding out two fingers and snipping them together like scissors.

Jobe grunts and reaches behind her ear, producing a wrinkled tailored. She presses the end to the lit ember of her own smoke before passing it over to him.

Harry sucks hard, feeling that satisfying burn in his lungs.

"So...I don't know whether to sucker-punch you or give you a hug," Jobe mutters around her cigarette. Her face pulls tight into a perplexed grimace. "Wizards are fucking weird, man."

The raven huffs a mirthless laugh. "You could put it that way, yeah."

"Y'all are weird, but not so different from us-what was it? Muggles?"

The man nods, flicking ash from his smoke.

"Yeah, muggles," Jobe grumbles. "Magic or not, it's the same bullshit isn't it? Genocide and discrimination. One side or the other. It's just the same bullshit."

"Pretty much." Harry glances at his friend, brows tilted. "Does this mean you believe me?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose so. Don't think you have any reason to lie. And it explains a lot." She squints at the wizard. "You're still an asshole though. Chosen One or not."

His head dips low and he stares at his cigarette. Smoke curls and stings his eyes. "I'm...sorry, Jobe," he says, thickly. "I didn't...I wasn't thinking."

The woman reaches out and ruffles Harry's hair, mussing up his perfect curls. "Obviously." She leans back against the brick wall, cigarette dangling from her lips. "So what's the plan?"

The raven takes another drag and glances over his shoulder. Draco is still staring at him, hawk eyes now burning with barely constrained rage. The old lady has now graduated to kicking the Death Eater in the shins.

"I don't know," he admits. "I thought I could just...wait out this war. But the noose keeps tightening round my neck, Jobe. Sometimes I just...feel like going back. Giving in. It seems so much easier than-"

"Fuck no!" the musician yells, knocking an elbow into Harry's side. "Don't be a dolt, you dolt. You wanna walk your own path? Well, it's not gonna be easy – and I'm saying this from experience. You're gonna have the whole world systematically trying to fuck you up, but you can't throw down your cards too early, man. The way to beat the game is to keep going. What's the point of a finish line if you don't stick around long enough to see it?"

Rubbing his sore ribs, Harry contemplates his friend's words. "But...I don't deserve this life when all those people-"

"Yes you do," Jobe snaps with a scowl. "Anyone who says otherwise is a fucking prick. Look, you're not to blame for those deaths. It's that asshat Voldy-whatsits. You've just been brainwashed your whole life to think you're to blame – which is serious gaslighting if you ask me. Really manipulative bullshit." She flicks her cigarette butt into a bush. "It's the same crap my parents tried to pull on me for years. Until I wised up and got out of there."

Harry falls silent. He takes his last drag and drops it to the ground. Crushes it under his heel.

"Look, Tom...Harry...whatever-your-name-is. You don't have to pick sides. You don't have choose whether you wanna live with mummy or daddy – you got a third option too. Living by yourself. Finding your own path. There are always options, if you look hard enough."

The wizard gives his friend a small smile. It's the same thing that Draco has been telling him this whole time. Forget about what the Order wants. He would not hold himself responsible for something he had no hand in. If that makes him selfish, then so be it.

"Ask her where I am," Gideon hisses suddenly from his right. A ghostly nudge. "I wanna see if she carved a giant dick into my headstone, just like I asked."

"...Where is...where is Gideon-" Harry swallows the rest of his words, feeling the most uncomfortable prickle crawl up his neck.

"He's where every other poor fuck is buried in Aldeford. Does it matter?" Jobe says, brusquely, her eyes fixed on the tall gate between them and the road.

The dead man frowns at Harry and shakes his head, worried eyes shifting over to his old travelling partner.

"I suppose not," Harry mumbles, clutching at his skirt. "I just...was it-"

"Just stop." Jobe turns her blazing gaze at the shamefaced man. "Just stop it, alright? It's over and done with and I'm too damn tired to deal with this right now. I don't have the capacity to give you the validation you're looking for."

Heart stuttering, Harry nods mutely.

"Yeah, she's really pissed off, huh?" Gideon muses, clapping a reassuring hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Just give her time. She's still hurting bad."

Jobe rolls her eyes at Harry and flicks a stray dreadlock out of her face. "Anyway, now that you're here, you may as well help me."

The raven glances up, eyes wide and blinking. "With what?"

"Midge," the woman says, jabbing a thumb in the old lady's direction. "Maybe you can figure out what happened to her. And maybe...maybe you can fix her."

Harry simply takes another drag, heart heavy and feeling more helpless than he's ever felt in a long, long time.


With the concrete swagger of a seasoned executioner, she scans the soldiers standing at attention. There's around fifteen of them, all highly trained aurors with a penchant for efficiency. She's someone else now, someone ruthless. There is only one thing she sees and her determination is aged amber, fatalistic evermore. She clings onto that confidence and loses herself in it. Her heart is flint. Her present is all that is.

"Do whatever you have to do," Ginny barks, pacing before her soldiers. "The traitor is out there, armed and dangerous. He will do whatever it takes to ensure his freedom and that means you have to do whatever it takes to ensure his capture. There's no use for bleeding hearts in my taskforce. All of you are proficient in healing and obliviation – so use it. Collateral damage will be inevitable." Steely eyes flit from face to face. "If you have a problem with that, then leave. I have no use for you."

None of her soldiers dare to breathe as she challenges them. Impassive faces stare straight ahead. Not a muscle moves. Like insects caught in resin, they are statues now – prompted to life only by her command. Her smile fails to reach her eyes.

"Team one – start from the tavern, work your way west. Team two – you're in the outskirts. Comb through the farms and the forest. Team three – you're with me. We'll be working our way out from the town square. Remember, the traitor is in disguise and he has backup. I believe it may be a Death Eater." She rattles out her orders like gunfire, every team readying their wands in affirmation. "No stone left unturned. No-one left unquestioned. No matter what."


Hermione folds the last of her clothes and places it into her charmed handbag.

"Ron," she calls, glancing around the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. "Ron, are you all packed?"

"'mione, d'you know where I put my bloody bag?" comes an irritated growl from the bathroom. "It's not in here either, dammit-"

The witch frowns and immediately ducks down to check under the bed.

"It's under the bed, Ron-"

"Hermione! Ron!" A hurried knock raps against the door. Before Hermione could open her mouth to call them in, the door bursts open and a pale faced Charlie strides in. He heads straight for the window without even glancing at the brunette or the hassled wizard who emerges from the bathroom.

"What the fuck, Charlie?" Ron grumbles, wiping his wet hands on his robes.

The older Weasley says nothing. Instead, he stands at the window and stares out with the most serious expression.

Ron clamps up immediately and moves to his brother's side.

Oh no, Hermione thinks, joining the two men. What now?

What meets their eyes is utter chaos. In the village beyond, they can see smoke rising from a few of the houses as blazes rage unbridled. Robed figures sweep through the streets, grabbing muggles left and right, shooting spells without prejudice. Villagers appear terrified, angered, confused by the sudden attack.

Ron whips out his wand, knuckles white. "Death Eaters!" he hisses, eyes narrowing.

"No," Charlie monotones. He raises a finger and points to one of the robed figures, flying around on a broom. They seem to be the leader, directing the others from their perch.

Hermione tries to focus her eyes on the flying figure, heart pounding a mile a minute. "Oh no," she gasps, hands clutching the window frame. The telltale red atop the figure's head is unmistakable.

"Ginny," Ron whispers, looking like a stunned mullet. He leans back on his heels and glances to his brother. "What's she doing?"

"Looking for Harry," Charlie says, grimly. "She's called her taskforce together and now they're doing anything to capture him." He bows his head, teeth grinding together. "I can't believe she would stoop to this level."

"We have to stop her!" Hermione cries, wand in hand. "There's no time to talk!"

Charlie intakes deeply and raises his head. He nods at the witch. "Ron, grab Keaton. Find Ginny and try to talk sense into her. Hermione and I will go to Kingsley. We'll bring the backup. Remember our training - focus first on neutralising the threat. Then dealing with the muggles." With that, he strides out the room, determination cut into his pale face.

Hermione starts to follow him when she realises her boyfriend isn't following. She glances back with an impatient frown. "Ron? What's wrong?"

The younger Weasley is still staring out the window, wand now held loosely at his side. He's silent for a moment, then finally says, "We need to find the traitor."

"Yes, and we will, Ron. I promise. But we have to stop Ginny first-"

"Maybe we shouldn't," Ron says, loudly. He turns to the witch with a guarded expression. "Maybe she's doing what should have been done already."

Hermione lets out a sharp sigh, looking more impatient by the second. "You can't possibly mean that, Ron. Now stop joking around, we need to deal with this-"

"I'm not joking Hermione. I mean it. I think we should be helping her, not-"

For the first time since they were children, Hermione proffers Ron an expression of utter disgust. She looks at him as if he were a stranger; as if he emits a stench most foul. He swallows the rest of his words and steps back instinctively. His back hits the window frame.

"Death Eaters," Hermione hisses, eyes flashing in pure, white rage. "You thought they were Death Eaters." Her burning stare lingers on the red head, muted only by the glistening of unshed tears.

"'mione-"

But she's already spinning on her heels and storming out, leaving behind a rather red faced Ron Weasley.


Josef would tell just about anyone who would listen how much he loves his job. Sure, there were parts of his work that most would find extremely difficult to deal with. But Josef enjoys all aspect of his work – because it's not about him or his sensibilities. It's about his clients and how he can make them smile. He sees each and every one of his clients as if they were his own grandparents or his own parents. He never really had a family, so in lieu, his clients became more than just clients. They are his entire world.

Margaret, his most critical case, is a special one. Despite her illness, he can see the life and strength within those glassy eyes. They hit it off from the moment they met like Bonny and Clyde, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Cheech and Chong...so and on and on. She wouldn't have any other nurse. If anyone other than Josef tries to approach her, she would scream bloody murder. It would have to be Josef or nothing would get done.

While he acts rather concerned about this selectivity, Josef can't help but feel warm at the thought. Margaret picked him! He had become someone's rock.

Yes, she has him wrapped around her little finger, and he doesn't mind at all.

He ambles down the hallway back towards Margaret's room, a paper bag in hand. Inside, there are two pudding cups and four large sandwiches. He likes to keep Jobe well fed whenever she comes by. At least fatten the woman up whenever he has the chance.

"Excuse me," a cold voice suddenly hits the back of his head.

Josef spins on his heels and finds himself face to face with a rather stunning red headed woman. She is dressed in what appears to be a robe and has a stick in hand. Her face is quite pale however, and the nurse spots deep bags of exhaustion under her steely gaze. Concern flutters.

"Yes? How can I help you?" he says, offering her a warm smile.

The woman is unmoved. She raises the stick and points it at Josef. "We are looking for a man. He's rather short and skinny. He has green eyes and glasses, and he has black hair. He might be in a dress. Have you seen anyone who might fit this description?" The woman's voice is toneless and her words are like bullets, sharp and short.

Josef blinks and cocks his head to the side. That sounds like...he swallows, feeling his stomach churn. Something doesn't feel right. "No, I can't say that I have, ma'am," he lies through a smile. "Why are you looking for this person? Are you the police?"

The red head narrows her eyes at the nurse. From behind her appears four similarly dressed people. They all have sticks and a cold glint in their eyes.

"Sir, there's nothing but the reception and the kitchen on this floor," a burly robed man tells the red head. "Should we go up to the second?"

The red head flexes her shoulders and gives a quick wave of her hand in affirmation. "You do just that. Flores, you're with me."

An incredibly tall woman quickly moves to her leader's side. "Yes, sir," she booms, dropping her strange orange gaze down at the befuddled nurse.

As the others rush up the stairs in the fire escape, Josef begins to hear the sound of screams and mayhem from above. Dread grips his chest and churns his gut. This isn't right. This isn't right at all.

He focuses his attention on the ostensible leader and her goon. "Now see here, I don't think you should be doing this." He points a finger at her, tone stern and clear – it's the same one he uses on misbehaving clients. "There's no need to frighten our residents. If you need to find this person, I suggest you go to the police and file a missing person's-"

"Imperio." The taller woman hisses, waving the stick in the air.

Josef suddenly slumps as all tension and anxiety drains from him entirely. A strange calm washes over him, settling his heart. A dreamy smile sweep across the man's face and he looks to the two women before him with no expectation and no thought.

Something whispers to him from deep within, urgent and awfully frightened. But it is soon drowned out by the red head's voice.


"Are you quite finished?" Malfoy frowns at them as they re-enter the room.

Jobe raises a brow at the Death Eater and she wheels Margaret away from him. "Got a stick up your ass or summin', mate?"

Harry opens the old lady's wardrobe and rummages inside, grabbing a large suitcase to pack. The blonde shoots daggers at the mouthy woman before striding over to the raven.

"How much did you tell her, Potter?" he hisses, leaning over the smaller man.

Harry doesn't spare Draco a glance, so focused is he on gathering his old benefactor's things. "Don't worry, I didn't tell her anything about you. I just said that you were my bodyguard."

"Body-" Draco's lips thin in displeasure as he straightens up. "Careful, Potter. Need I remind you that your life is very much in my hands?"

"Yeah, yeah. Can you grab whatever's in the dresser?" Harry tosses a large bag behind his shoulder and it lands at the Death Eater's feet. "Anything that look important, just shove it in the bag. And be quick about it."

"Are you giving me orders?" Draco bristles, giving the bag a kick. "I will not stoop to such-" The rest of his sentence is choked off when Jobe elbows him aside.

She picks up the bag and gives the man an incredulous look. "Are you serious, mate? If you're gonna just stand there and bitch all day, why don't you go outside and keep an eye out, huh?"

Two pink blotches bloom in Malfoy's cheeks. The man heaves and swells, ready to offset a barrage of thorny words, when a scream cuts through the air. Draco deflates suddenly and tenses, sharp eyes flitting to the door.

Jobe and Harry freeze and glance at the ceiling. Another scream, then another. Hard thuds and the thunderous cracks of furniture breaking. Footsteps running this way and that.

Harry blanches and drops the suitcase, doe eyes searching out the blonde's. The latter is only focused on the door as he slowly slides it open, wand in hand.

He doesn't need to pull it far, however, as it slams open from a force unseen. It smashes into the wall, sending a shower of plaster over the floor.

Draco staggers back, a curse falling from his lips.

In the doorway, stands Ginny Weasley, all ice queen and deadly ire. Behind her is a giant woman with orange eyes, holding Josef by the scruff.

Harry gapes at Ginny, limbs shaking, pallor tinged with green. He takes a jerky step back into Jobe, who quickly wraps a protective arm around his shaking form.

The Death Eater backpedals also, wand out, coming to stand between Harry and the aurors. Cool greys betray nothing as he glances between the soldiers.

"Ah. Weasley. I thought you would have learned some manners by now," he says, voice silken, face impassive save for the arrogant lift of the chin.

The red had narrows her eyes at Harry, though her words are directed at the Death Eater. "Lay down your wand. If you make me say it again, I will kill you."

Harry can barely recognise her. She looks sick and hateful. The look she gives him is nothing he's ever seen before – not from her. "...Ginny," he croaks, ignoring Jobe's hissed protests. "Ginny, you don't have to do this."

"Quiet, Potter," Draco warns, raising his wand a tad. "You cannot reason with someone like-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Shocking green fills the room as the killing curse barrels towards Harry. Draco whips his wand back in defense, but as he casts his spell, a great, ear-shattering CRACK snaps against the air.

Both spells miss, hit the opposite walls. Plaster and mortar explodes and fills the air with a plume of white.

Draco throws himself behind the bed, glancing around quickly for Potter.

Nothing. Potter is gone, along with the muggles, leaving Draco to deal with the murderous Weasley alone.

"How did you do it, Death Eater?" Ginny calls from the thick of the haze. "How did you manage to brainwash him into betraying us? Did you use the imperius on him?"

Draco scoffs, eyes squinted against the dust. "You can be quite assured, Weasley," he calls back, "Potter needed no more convincing from us. You see, we let him make his own choices – a rare freedom while he was with you, I'm sure."

"Then that makes him as despicable as you," the witch spits, tone venomous. "The fact that he chose to betray us by his own volition." A smile enters her words. "I thank you, Death Eater. For giving me the final strength I need. Now I can kill him with no hesitation. And no regrets."

"How you can kill a man you once lay with is beyond me," Draco says, searching the haze for tell-tale movement.

"Don't you dare moralise to me, Death Eater. I've seen your handiwork. Did you enjoy killing all those muggles?"

A shadow moves to his left. He raises his wand, killing curse on the tip of his tongue-

Ah shit. The muggle. Josef, was it? Potter's face, with those accusatory eyes, round and green...they grip him tight and unyielding.

Even if he killed the muggle, how would Potter know? This death would not be seen by the Dark Lord, therefore Potter would be blind to it also. He can always blame Weasley...more fodder for his cause...

Draco lets out a sharp sigh and sweeps his wand. "Expelliarmus!"

The red light dissipates into the haze. A hard grunt. The clatter of a wand.

There's a faint groan and sharp gasp. "Oh, dear me...What-what's going on?"

"I advise you to run for it, muggle," Draco calls to Josef, who appears to be free from the curse. "The giant may turn you into her supper."

A nervous stutter follows hurried footsteps out of the room. None of the aurors move to stop him, their focus entirely on the man behind the bed.

"I don't think you realise how serious this is, Death Eater," Ginny says, inching ever closer. She kicks over the dropped wand towards the disarmed soldier. Flores picks it up with a quiet nod of thanks. "This ends badly for you and the traitor if you should continue to defy us. But if you come quietly, I'm sure the Minister would consider a pardon-"

"The time for making friends is long gone, Weasley. Hogwarts is far behind us." At this point, Draco swallows his pride and starts considering disapparation. He needs to find Harry. And fast. But before he does... "I would like to say one thing however. You are right that Potter has betrayed you. His betrayal is in fact far reaching than that. It is not mere cowardice that led him to walk away. It is, in fact, loyalty." The Death Eater smirks to himself. "You can tell your precious Order that Harry Potter has become loyal to the Dark Lord. He is ours, Weasley, and nothing you do will ever change that fact. Not even the threat of death."

As another green light fills the room, Draco Malfoy leaps to his feet and turns, disapparating with a sweep of his fine, gentleman's coat.


Retching and strained cursing fills his ears as he drops to his knees. Behind him, Jobe attempts to hold back the surge of vomit rising in her gullet.

Margaret, on the other hand, sits calmly in her wheelchair, humming a quiet tune to herself.

Harry leans back on his haunches, staring blankly out the open barn doors. The country green fields are dark and quiet. A heavy mist hangs in the warm spring air – suffocating and imposing.

He seems unable to catch his breath. His shaking form is sweat drenched and freezing. It's too close. Too dangerous. Not just for him, but for Margaret. For Jobe. He almost got them killed.

"Goddamn!" Jobe yelps, spitting out excess bile into the straw. "What just happened?"

Harry glances at his friend, feeling numb. "...I'm sorry. It was...she was..." He swallows thickly. Ginny. Oh, Ginny! Whatever happened to you?

Jobe sees the man struggling and her expression softens. She crouches beside him and pats his back reassuringly. "It's fine. We don't have to do this now." A quick glance around brings her back with a troubled face. "Where's your bodyguard?"

Draco.

Feeling his heart stutter, Harry gets to his feet unsteadily. A cold terror seizes him at the thought of the man battling the aurors alone. How could he leave him like that? What if he-

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Jobe's voice rouses him from his panicked thoughts. He gives her a weak smile. "Look after Margaret...please..."

Jobe nods, moving to grasp the old lady's shoulders as she gives her friend a wide eyed look. "Are you going back? Could you look for Josef too, while you're there? Do you think he's okay? Maybe I should come with you-"

"No," Harry says, firmly. His voice is more confident than he feels. "I'll be back soon. Stay inside the barn." A pause as he considers his friends-no, his family. "If I don't return by sunset, I want you to leave Aldeford. Go to another town, another country. Anywhere but here. Understand?"

Jobe frowns, brow valleying. She opens her mouth to protest, and heatedly so, but another ear-shattering CRACK snatches the words from her throat. Where Harry once stood, now there is nothing. Nothing but the warm imprint of his feet.


The streets are burning and wrecked. Stunned muggles lie strewn about, others stumble through the smoke, eyes glazed and lost. What was once a boring, quiet village, had been transformed into a war zone within minutes. Aurors shout to one another as they search through the houses and interrogate villagers. Ron watches with narrowed eyes as an auror slaps an old man around the face, barking questions as she does so.

"Your sister's got guts," Keaton says, tone one of awe. "I expect bleeding heart Shacklebolt and his puppy, Longbottom, to have some words about this."

"Fuck 'em," Ron growls, stomping past a burning car. "If we don't take a hard stance, we'll just waste another month sitting on our dicks in this shitty town."

"Strong words, Ronald. It's easy to talk the talk-"

"Shut up, Keaton. Focus on the job and keep your eyes front." Ron scowls at the sneering man, ears turning a bright red. He's right, of course. For all his planning and plotting, Ginny had beat him to the punch. It's humiliating, being shown up by his own baby sister. But a part of him is glad that he didn't have to take the first step off the edge.

Amidst the racket and the chaos, the all too familiar sound of an apparition draws Ron's attention to his right. It came from an alleyway, hidden in the shadows and thick plumes of smoke.

"Keaton. Alleyway." He draws his wand and strides into the alley, his grumbling partner following close behind.


The heel snaps and his ankle bends under him. He lets out a pained shout as he falls, shoulder slamming into the brick wall. Blazing fire shoots up his leg and he shifts on his bottom, trying to ease the weight off his injured ankle.

"Oh, great," he mutters, tears prickling his eyes. "And I have no wand! Goddammit, Malfoy."

Shaking hands rub at the already swelling ankle and he glances around, trying to figure out his location. When his eyes land on the crusted puddle of vomit, he lets out a high pitched giggle. Back to the start, he thinks, unable to contain the hysteria bubbling up within. I've come back to the start like none of this ever happened!

"Finally lost your mind, huh?" Ron says with a savage grin. He steps in the dried vomit without a care, constricted blues capturing Harry with a predatory gleam.

As if his terror fled with the piss now drenching his skirts, Harry gives the two aurors a giddy grin. "Wouldn't that be lovely?" he says, voice all too loud and much too high. "Wouldn't that just be fucking peachy?"

Ron's lips twists in disgust as he glances down at the raven's soiled dress. "I thought you looked familiar. What was it then, a glamour?"

"Look, Ronald. The traitor's pissed himself!" Keaton sniggers and tucks away his wand, no longer considering the raven a threat. "Let's bring him in, then. He's worth more alive than dead, isn't he? Maybe gets some intel outta him."

"Why not?" the red head says, smirk distorting his features. While he doesn't stow away his wand, he lowers it to his side, head cocked as he considers Harry. "But first..."

The former Chosen One finds himself in a thick haze, something akin to smoke, perhaps. The distance between him and the reality before him widens, until it seems as if he is watching himself from afar. He can no longer feel the lukewarm wetness in his skirts. He can no longer smell the acrid smoke and hear the mayhem beyond the alleyway. Fear touches him not, neither does the hysteria that gripped him mere moments ago. No, all he feels is an eternal numbness, leaving him without body or mind.

So he doesn't even register the pain when the two aurors begin kicking him to the ground. Nor does he feel anything when Ron, someone he had once considered his own brother, beats him across the face with savage delight. When Keaton casts the cruciatus curse on him, he registers his body flailing and writhing – but no sensation reaches him.

In the darkness of the fog, he senses something watching him. A cool hand reaches out and touches him. A slow burn spreads across his forehead, emanating from his scar – but the pain is one of anger not his own.

A face dips into his consciousness – handsome and refined. With two serpentine eyes that pierce his very soul. The flash of fangs. A great snake, rearing her head. A snake unfamiliar to him.

The face melds into another, one familiar. One that brings him much ease and comfort. Blonde locks are mussed. Grey eyes wide and frightened. Frightened?

An expression he's never seen before on that face. That wonderful face. It's an expression he decides he doesn't want to see again.

Potter? Potter, can you hear me? Harry! Wake up!

Margaret, he tries to tell him. Margaret and Jobe are in the barn. They are in the barn...

Alright, calm yourself. I will take care of them later.

Don't hurt them, please! He tries to raise his arms, to stop him, but he can't feel any of his limbs.

I will not hurt them, Potter. Calm yourself, lest you further injure yourself. We need to leave, now!

Leave...leave? Where were they? What happened?

But already, he's drifting further into the fog, the darkness descending upon him like a thick blanket. For the briefest moment, he feels strong arms wrap around him and carry him – and he's a child again, held securely in his father's arms. Warmth radiates through him and he's so terribly happy, and so terribly sad.

And then, like a wind snatching the candle flame, Harry Potter disappears.