Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 36

"Anton Greaves," Professor McGonagall called. Anton took the few steps to stand in front of her, she consulted her list and announced "Hufflepuff."

Connor Greaves, straight after him, was also assigned to Hufflepuff. The pair had had McGonagall scratching her head. Not Gryffindor as too many had asked for Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw as they'd said they didn't want Ravenclaw. They were pure-bloods of impeccable lineage, but Connor had Harry Potter as a foster brother, and so could easily have been met with hostility in Slytherin. So Hufflepuff.

There had been similar problems with other students, and she'd taken care where they were placed, not trying to guess at character, but making sure that no Muggle-born went into Slytherin. In a few years, the pure-blood ethos of that House might have broken down, but not yet. Ravenclaw - there would be new students going into Ravenclaw who were not good at guessing riddles, so entry had been changed to a password, the same as the other Houses. Headmaster Pucey had questioned even that - exactly why was a password needed and was there any reason at all why entrances were hidden. Her answer of 'Tradition' had been met with a raised eyebrow - he was apt to do that - but then she'd added that there had been hostility between House members in the past, and the common rooms were safe havens. And that was probably why he'd insisted that from now on, there was to be a very strong stance taken against all forms of bullying.

Anton and Connor settled in quickly, and since they both had the benefit of early training in magic, were doing well.

Harry was also happy in his group of friends. He felt happy, he felt safe and he was enjoying his work. Runes. Runes were fascinating, though he found Arithmancy a bit of a drag. The language of Old Aniragi was not easy to learn, but it was delivered with some fascinating snippets of ancient Aniragi culture. There were the occasional treats of trips to Hogsmeade as well, now he was a 3rd year. He was working hard and the weeks passed quickly.

It was not until after the first Quidditch match in October that Harry even remembered that Mick had told him to ask Hagrid about an area to practise the powerful explosive, cutting and piercing spells. And then he forgot again in the excitement of the victory.

There was some news that month, a rare letter from Sirius, that Cecilia had a healthy baby boy. His name was to be Gerion James Black. 'I named him after your grandfather, who was kind enough to let me stay with me after I left home. I was only sixteen. And then James, your father, who was such a friend.'

Harry knew nothing about Sirius's home life, and wondered why he would have left home so young. It had sounded like he was a trouble-maker at school, so maybe they'd been disapproving? Or abusive, as the Dursleys had been? He hadn't heard of anything like that, and he seemed to have a perfectly nice house. He shrugged and wrote the expected letter of congratulation.

xxx

It had taken several months, but Voldemort was triumphant. He was in possession of a young, strong body, a man called Victor Evans, and he was surrounded by thirteen freed prisoners, all of those who had agreed to follow him in return for their freedom. Only one was a Death Eater, the only sane one who remained of all of the Death Eaters who'd been imprisoned there. That was Algernon Rookwood. The rest were murderers, rapists and thieves, plus a man called Victor Evans, who had tried to blackmail Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. That was the body he now possessed, pure-blood but not from a family with either influence or wealth. Himself plus thirteen men, ruthless and strong, with no inconvenient qualms about breaking man-made laws. It would be the core of his new Death Eaters, his new rise to power. The Dark Lord was finally on his way back.

They were no longer on the island of Azkaban, but the mainland adjacent, still a long way from civilisation. The only building close was that of the guards' sleeping quarters. The men cooperated under his orders, efficiently killed both off-duty guards, and took their wands in addition to the two they already had. Voldemort/Evans held one, Rookwood the other. Voldemort held out his hand for the new ones, but while one was handed to him with only a slight hesitation, the other man who held a wand, stroked it, grinned at him, and took a step backward. Without hesitation, Voldemort/Evans aimed one of his wands, but the man was ready and fired back so that he dropped the wand he'd been trying to use. It was not a display of competence.

The other men looked at each other, and then one grabbed the dropped wand, and started a quick, but cautious walk backward, not taking his eyes off Voldemort, who was trying to aim his second wand. Voldemort's clumsiness was a result of the non-cooperation of Evans, who was still struggling against the possession.

Rookwood, the one still faithful Death Eater, glanced at his master, and then brought the escaping man down with a cutting curse to the legs. Others had run and were already out of reach.

Voldemort gave Rookwood a nod of approval and then turned to the remaining disobedient man, holding him under the Cruciatus Curse until he stopped moving. It was necessary, he felt, even though it took more energy than he could readily spare. His remaining men had to know he was to be feared. He demanded utmost loyalty. Rookwood knew. The others also had to know.

But he needed to be stronger. Unicorn blood. He only knew one place where there were unicorns and that was Hogwarts. He didn't anticipate any problem getting onto the grounds of Hogwarts. He'd done it before.

The four men started moving. There were three wands. Voldemort/Evans held two, Rookwood one.

xxx

The mass escape was not reported, though it caused a great deal of consternation at the Ministry, not so much that some very bad men were now free, but that there were only five prisoners left behind. Fourteen gone, ten had been killed, it was not known why or by whom, plus five still in the prison, but they were ones hopelessly insane. The Dementors were restless without their quota of victims, and there were hardly any in the lesser prison for whom extreme punishment was justified. There were urgent consultations with the Unspeakables and with other countries - was there anything that could kill Dementors? But no-one had any answers, and lists were made of prisoners to be transferred to Azkaban. There should be thirty. The number had been settled on decades ago, the minimum required to keep the Dementors quiet.

But then seven of the escapees were recaptured, which meant that two fine defaulters, four petty thieves, and Gilderoy Lockhart were dropped from the list. They were very lucky. The numbers at Azkaban were brought back to thirty, and the vile creatures stopped making their threats.

xxx

Halloween arrived. Halloween was the anniversary of Harry's parents' death. It reminded him of Voldemort. If Dumbledore was right, he could become dangerous again. On this date, two years ago, there had been the troll. If he met a troll now, he'd be far better prepared, but maybe not prepared enough. Trolls were resistant to magic, as were certain other magical creatures, he'd heard. And he guiltily remembered how little extra defence practice he was doing. Surely there would be some open area that he could use, he and Charlie. There was no need to keep his abilities hidden from Charlie. He would not tell Ron. Ron was not only prone to jealousy, but was not good at keeping his mouth shut when required.

There was a cold breeze blowing when he approached Hagrid the next day, but his clothing was all temperature regulated, and aside from a cold nose, he scarcely noticed it.

Hagrid greeted him amiably, said something about not seeing him as much as he'd like, and took him inside his warm hut for a 'cuppa.' Fang promptly came over and slobbered over him. Harry reminded himself that he could do a quick scourgify once Hagrid was not close. He didn't like slobbery clothing, though he would not have worried once.

The conversation was general for a time, Hagrid said that he often helped Professor Ironside with Magical Creatures and that Ron was doing well at the subject, told him that the name of Defence had been changed because of a rumoured curse on the position, and said that 'poor Headmaster Dumbledore' was not expected ever to face trial. "Worked too hard fer too long, 'e 'as," he said, "And tha's why he lost his judgment, I reckon. Not his fault, and anyhow, some of those things they said were just not true. I knew 'im, yer see. Great man. Great."

"He worked hard for all of us," Harry said tactfully. He knew perfectly well that Hagrid had always idolised the old man.

And, crossing his fingers, he said, "I do try and follow his example. He was a warrior, you see? And I want to be one too. So what I need is somewhere outside where I can practise the powerful curses, like a bit of flat ground behind a fringe of trees, so no-one can spy on me." And he gave an awkward chuckle, "In case You-Know-Who ever comes looking for me."

But Hagrid looked at him with a heavy frown and then shook his head. "You keep away from the trees, young Harry. Yer know it's forbidden."

"Not in the real forest, just close. Maybe just behind that first line of trees?"

"I don't want yer damagin' stuff. And b'sides, there's no need. You have Professor Trimble, an' he's a good teacher. Ever'one says. Yer don' need any more'n that."

Harry persisted, "What if I promise not to damage anything? Leave the trees alone and maybe make a few holes and then fill them in afterwards."

"No. And don't think of going into the Forbidden Forest. It's dangerous in there."

"So what's in there that's so dangerous, Hagrid? I thought there were only deer and foxes and things."

"Centaurs."

"But the centaurs are alright. One helped me first year, remember?"

Hagrid raised his voice, "Stop arguin'. Jus' keep away, even from the edges."

Harry stopped arguing, but he was puzzled. Just two years before, Hagrid had taken him in there along with a couple of other first years - at night! All of them had been scared, but Hagrid couldn't have thought it too dangerous then or he wouldn't have taken them. And they hadn't seen anything dangerous aside from the spirit of Voldemort. There had been the dead unicorn. It would be wonderful to see a live unicorn, maybe even several of them. That dead one couldn't have been the only one. And the centaurs were no threat. Werewolves? Probably none, and he wouldn't be there at night in the full moon in any case.

He said, resigned, "Alright, Hagrid. If you say so," and he finished the large cup of tea, surreptitiously vanished the rest of the inedible biscuit he'd been provided with, and took his leave.

But the idea kept playing in his head. He wanted to explore the forest. It was not fair that so much of the grounds was off limits to students. And besides, he wanted to practise the big spells. He wanted to blow up things. It was fun. Mick had let him, using an area at the back of the property, but there were spells he hadn't mastered yet and he decided that he really needed to master them.

He wasn't the only one who wanted to explore the forest. He heard Fred and George Weasley complaining that Hagrid had chased them out, and then one of the seventh-years, the same. He'd been with his girl friend. "It was not even dark yet," he complained. "And we were only behind a tree, not really in the forest at all." That was Peter Jones, Muggle-born, he suspected, though he didn't know. Redheaded, and so was his girlfriend, a Hufflepuff.

There was talk about it at dinner a few days later. It was Lavender Brown, who was saying that Hagrid was really scary sometimes. "He had two of the firsties in tears just because they were out after dark. But there's no rules to say they were not allowed to be, not when it's dark so early at this time of year."

And someone said, "Giant blood, probably. They always have a violent streak."

Harry said, "I always thought he seemed gentle."

"Seems so, but giant blood. It's always there underneath."

Two days later, the rumour spread like wildfire. Hagrid had been fired after some sort of an argument with Headmaster Pucey. There had been shouting, though Pucey had never seemed the type to shout. But then there was the contradictory story that he had simply left to work at one of the dragon reserves.

Hagrid had been a friend, and he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Harry sent a letter with Hedwig, a thank you, and a mention that he'd been the one to tell him of the wizarding world. 'It was an amazing day when I first met you.' And 'Good luck in your new job,' hoping that the story of the Dragon Reserve was correct.

There was no reply, and now Harry saw no reason why he should not now go exploring as he wanted. He'd be sensible, and go well armed, of course, and be prepared for any surprises, though he thought any actual danger quite unlikely. He'd look for unicorns, and he'd find a nice clearing or maybe a hollow and throw some serious curses. It was like how muscles sometimes felt as they needed to be stretched and made to work. Maybe his magic was like a muscle, and it needed to be pushed a bit.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore sat in an armchair and stared out at the gardens. They were nice gardens, but they ended in tall fences that were spelled to be unclimbable, and he didn't have his wand. He was profoundly depressed, and had no appreciation of how lucky he was to be in such a gentle prison.

A nurse came bustling over, tutted at the meal he had barely touched, and told him that she'd put a bib on him if he couldn't keep himself a bit more clean when eating. "There are others here who have suffered actual damage, you know? And most of those still manage to keep themselves clean."

Dumbledore ignored her. He no longer tried to tell anyone that Voldemort was not dead, and that it was all Harry Potter's fault. Mostly he just sat.

xxx