15th April 1995

Harry was still thoroughly frozen up as he bobbed along in the air behind the wizard he'd healed, towed along by a spell Harry usually saw Flitwick using on books. The Death Eater seemed to feel a proprietary sense of obligation to, if not let him go, then at least to ensure that no particular harm came to 'Black' during their journey to the Dark Lord. At one point he whispered his name to Harry – Amycus Carrow – formally promising him a Life Debt.

Harry had never heard of him before; he wasn't one of the Azkaban escapees. The wizard was probably a relative of his though; Pansy's mother was a Carrow, and Pansy had some cousins from that family due to start Hogwarts soon, he thought. The man was probably a cousin of Harry's to some degree, but then, what pure-blood wasn't? Harry was just glad he hadn't saved one of the Lestranges.

"Lord Pettigrew might torture you, but I shall do my best to see to it you aren't permanently injured or killed," Carrow promised, as they walked along. Harry found his reassurance scant comfort. "Our Dark Lords honour the Old traditions; he will understand a Life Debt. Not to mention the value of a potential future recruit! That was good work on my arm; I thought Dawlish had cursed it clean off and I was done for! We do not have many Healers or Potioneers serving our cause. Studying with Madam Pomfrey, are you?"

The other Death Eater had darted ahead on his broomstick, and screams were now coming from ahead of them.

Carrow sighed and tutted. "Tch. London cancelled, and now I will miss out on all the fun here," he said, to his unresponsive prisoner. "Still, Hogsmeade will be cleansed of the filth that infests it, all the same. Is that not wondrous? Returning it to the pure wizarding village it is supposed to be. I do apologise for your current indignity young Master Black, however, orders are orders."

Harry couldn't see much, and he couldn't move, which made the experience of travelling through a battle zone all the more terrifying. His view was of the tops of buildings, a couple of which had plumes of smoke rising from them, and of floating clouds which failed to be a restful and calming sight. His other senses strained to pick up clues as to what was going on; the soft press of his Healer's Bag which Carrow had rested atop Harry's stomach for convenient transport, the choking scent of woodsmoke, the strange yelping cries and snarls of the fairy hounds off in the distance, the sounds and warmth of crackling flames not too far away, and some panicked screams, calls for help, and frantically shouted incantations.

The yelps and some of the distant shouts of their victims and opponents were, Harry guessed, some distance away, perhaps at the edge of the rapidly-emptying village. Those people who remained were safely bunkered down, as much as possible. The houses with suspiciously blood-smeared doorways looked completely untouched, as far as he could tell by snatching glimpses as they passed by.

Nearby, somewhere on his left, he was certain they were passing by a building still on fire. There were people trying to extinguish the flames judging by how often "Aguamenti" was called out by young voices. Children defending their burning home, perhaps. Possibly with some opposition, for an occasional Shield Charm made its way into the mix.

"Flipendo," called a deep man's voice from very close by.

His heart leapt into his throat as he heard Hermione's distinctive tones, shrill and high as she cast a Shield Charm.

"Protego!"

"Why are you still dealing with Scribbulus' shop?" Carrow asked, sounding amused. "For fun? Incendio. 'Tis naught but a bunch of children."

Harry heard the whoosh of flames and renewed panicked cries nearby, and he hoped desperately that Hermione was alright.

"I have to keep shielding," a rumbling bass voice replied defensively. After a moment's reflection Harry realised that he thought he knew that voice – it sounded like Greg's father, Mr. Goyle. "I cannot hurt them, it is forbidden. Yet they keep attacking, and putting the fire out. The Dark Lord said to burn it to the ground, and it is still half up. 'Tis not an easy task, fighting five on one when I mayn't use damaging spells."

A few young voices, one of them definitely Hermione's, rang out loudly in attack.

"Stupefy!"

"Diffindo!"

"Protego. Of course you can. Diffindo," Carrow said. There was a feminine scream in response to his spell which made Harry's heart leap into his throat. "Even you can manage that spell. Take one opponent down and 'twill keep another one or two busy tending to them."

"But they're… uh… our Lord said–"

"We are allowed to – Protego – retaliate in kind," Carrow said impatiently. "We are… but barred from… initiating fights – Langlock – and from killing them." There were a couple of pauses in his speech to Goyle, to cast spells both verbal and – Harry suspected – nonverbal.

In a brief quiet break after the barrage of casting Harry heard Neville's softer voice call out a counter-spell. "Finite."

Oh great, he's here too and I'm utterly useless, floating here like a… a bobbing duck. Worse than sitting. Is Hermione alright? I can't see what's going on! The truce doesn't count for much if one of my people starts a fight, but it's all I could get Lord Voldemort to agree to! Should I have warned them? Told them not to fight? I'm a useless friend.

"Merlin!" Harry heard Neville call out loudly, sounding shocked and scared. "It's… it's… Black! Antares Black! Look! There… the Death Eater's prisoner!"

Thank Merlin! He remembers my disguise from when we snuck a look at the dragons and is keeping up the ruse!

"What?" Hermione asked. Harry was utterly delighted to hear her voice again, even though it sounded like she was in pain. "Aguamenti. Incendio Reicio. Wait! That's–"

"'Tis th-the sneaky Slytherin, I know!" Neville interrupted urgently. "We still have to save him! Even though he is not our friend. H-Hogwarts solidarity!"

Harry didn't know what the Death Eaters would do if they found out his true identity, and he really didn't want to find out. Harry strained to move, strained to do anything, but his efforts were for naught. He was useless and he couldn't move a muscle.

"He… Right!" Hermione said determinedly. "Let's do this, together! Potter Watch… ATTACK!"

Harry floated slowly down, like a drifting autumn leaf, to lie on the hard, ash-covered cobblestones as his captor's concentration lapsed.

If only the Body-Bind Curse would wear off too, he wished, but he had no such luck. It wasn't a spell that required ongoing concentration to maintain; its duration depended on the force with which it was cast, and this was no amateur effort.

Overhead Harry saw a barrage of spells whizzing by, streaks of light and sparkles of colour that in better circumstances would make for a fantastic light show. But this wasn't a fireworks display, it was a battle. It shouldn't be so beautiful. At least there was no sickly green amongst the rainbow of curses. A moment ago he'd sincerely regretted his stupid truce, but right now it felt like it was the smartest thing he'd ever done.

My friends are still alive because of me!

He strained his ears to listen for clues to how the battle was progressing, and who was involved. He heard Hermione yell out, "Susan!" at one point, and knew that a Bone-Breaking Curse had taken down Susan Bones. Her aunt had wanted her to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays where Slughorn could brew fresh Wolfsbane Potion for her, and for safety's sake. The moans of pain Harry could hear were a relief; Susan had survived the dubious safety of her choice to stay at Hogwarts. He guessed there were about a half-dozen people fighting against the Death Eaters, only one or two of which sounded like adults.

Goyle – Greg's dad – was on the defensive, concentrating on Shield Charms and throwing out the occasional Stupefy or minor disabling hex with monotonous regularity.

The unknown Death Eater who'd captured Harry was the most vicious – favouring the Fire-Making Spell and Cutting Charms to sow chaos, and mixing things up with an occasional Confundus to confuse and disorient his opponents.

Carrow seemed more creative in his approach, and favoured minor hexes and chuckled a low, evil laugh as he cursed his opponents with everything from knee-reversal to slug-spitting hexes, in between shielding himself. Harry was a bit confused by his choices as the man had been much more vicious and effective in fighting the Auror but was reassured when he remembered his truce with Voldemort must be restraining the man's spells.

Neville was going hard in his attempts to rescue Harry, shouting his incantations as he threw out Stunning and Severing Charms like his life depended on it, or to be more precise, like Harry's did. He was also trying to target Harry with a General Counter-Curse presumably in hopes of freeing him, but the wash of soft red light from his Finite spells was frustratingly blocked by Harry's captors every single time.

Hermione was vicious and fearless in her attacks, keeping her incantations as soft as she could manage. Straining his ears to listen to every word of the fight, Harry heard her trying his own signature Deboning Spell a time or two.

Only one or two spells seemed to get through the Death Eaters' defences, and it sounded like they were quickly reversed, but it heartened both Harry and his friends, who doubled the intensity of their attacks.

Goyle yelled out in pain as some nasty spell got through – Harry thought it might've been one of Neville's Severing Charms – and cursed loudly. "Damn you to Tartarus! Stop playing with them and help me properly! You are supposed to be good duellers!"

"But 'tis such fun," Carrow drawled, sounding amused. "Protego. They think they can win. Steleus."

His hex sounded like it hit someone, and Harry heard a young boy break out in a sneezing fit, interrupting his spellcasting attempts with a massive sneeze every time he tried to get an incantation out.

"I suppose he is right," the tenor said regretfully. "Pungit. We should finish this and report in. On three… two… one."

A furious red swarm of curses – some silent – whizzed overhead, dwarfing the previous display which now seemed lazy and slow in comparison.

Disarming and Stunning Charms flew past in such a fast barrage that the defenders were unable to cope, and Harry heard the thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

"Do you want to finish off the Muggle-lover?" suggested the tenor. "Grown wizards are fair game, after all."

"Very kind of you, old friend! 'Twould be my pleasure," said Carrow, sounding pleased. "Some scars, perhaps, as a lesson about maintaining the purity of our race, and a reminder of the price of standing against us. Diffindo, Diffindo! Incendio!" he cast, almost laughing through the incantations.

There was a rich, oily smell in the air now. The scent of cooking meat. Harry wanted to throw up.

"He shan't be troubling us again in a hurry with his wand hand missing!" Carrow laughed.

Harry wanted to be sick. He'd saved this man's life and his hand… only for Carrow to go and cut off someone else's. Some innocent man whose only crime had been to be a Muggle-lover. He'd tried to do the right thing… he really thought he had. If people had only come out of the shop with him, then Carrow would have been healed, restrained, and hidden back inside the shop, and this would never had happened. But they hadn't, and so what he'd done had led straight to someone else being maimed for life.

Harry was magically hoisted in the air again and got a brief glimpse of the battlefield while he was being lifted up. Neville was down but breathing, next to Hermione who had blood staining her shirt but was also alive, if white-faced. Three other children were next to them; Susan Bones, a young auburn-haired Ravenclaw girl whom Harry vaguely recognised from last year's Junior Potter Watch group, and a child of maybe eight years of age.

Two adults were down and out as well and looked in much worse shape than the kids. An unknown witch was covered in acid burns, but at least they weren't spreading. Both her arms looked badly broken or cursed, bent in impossible shapes. The man Harry knew – he was a shop assistant in Scibbulus' shop, and as Harry looked at the severed hand burning on the cobblestones he remembered how the wizard had cheerfully chatted to Harry about how much he loved calligraphy, as he wrapped up Harry's latest purchase of coloured inks. Now he'd never illuminate a manuscript again, with his right hand a sickening charred mass on the ground next to him, and with the stump bleeding out fast he would be lucky to survive. Tears started running down Harry's frozen face.

This is my fault!

Harry fruitlessly strained once more against the spell holding him in place. When he'd been hit with the Full Body-Bind Curse he'd been locked totally in place like a statue, and his wand had been cautiously but courteously pried out of his tight grip and placed in his pocket. Where it did him no good at all. Silent casting was no good without a wand, and while he'd made some progress with wandless casting, he relied on emphatic gestures to help him focus on casting the Summoning Charm to drag his wand to his hand, or to light up his wand tip with a Lumos. So far that was the best he'd managed.

"Let us away," the tenor said, and they started moving. Harry heard the soft moans of someone feebly stirring behind them and thought despairingly of the Healer's Bag sitting on his chest, as useless as he was.

Harry calmed his mind, calling up his mental image of an ocean shore, trying to focus.

Depulso! Harry ordered sternly. Thoughts might not be enough, but they were all he had. If he could get his bag to fall off it might stay behind to be of some use to others, even though he couldn't be.

Depulso! He thought it should be strong enough to throw back a damn elephant if he only had a wand to focus through, with the force he was putting into repelling the bag from his own chest, but it didn't twitch.

Forget calm! Harry thought, as a girl whimpered in the background, and the Death Eaters laughed and chatted casually as they drew ever further away from his friends. Ambrosius says strong emotions can substitute for ritual as a focus, so emotion it is, then! I just need to want it enough! Let's try for some 'accidental' magic!

He focused everything he had, his rage, his fear for his friends, his fear of what Pettigrew might do to him especially if he was recognised, everything into making that damn bag move.

The bag slid a critical four inches to the left, and slowly toppled off his chest. The soft thud of the leather hitting the cobblestones was quiet enough to go unnoticed, with the crackles of fires and the thud of charred roof beams collapsing to the ground providing cover. He'd managed a tiny spell, a burst of wandless and wordless 'accidental' magic, and it left Harry feeling briefly triumphant but weak as a kitten.

Now, he thought, let's see if I can get myself free.

A minute later he was still trying, despite feeling wrung out and limp like a wet tea towel, and just as useless. He had managed to focus on his Metamorphmagus ability to make sure his hair was extra thick and curly across his forehead – just in case his shifting had lapsed. That at least didn't seem to take much effort.

A man's scream rang out through the air and their progress slowed. It seemed they had reached their destination, where he could hear that someone was being tortured with repeated bursts of Crucio.

Harry was floated into an upright position as they stopped, and Harry saw Pettigrew – at last! – standing over Sirius' body as he spasmed on the ground, back and neck arching up as he screamed in pain from the Torture Curse.

"You will tell me everything you know about your brother and what he did with my locket!" Pettigrew screamed, spittle flying from his plump lips as he stood, wild-eyed, over his victim.

"Go to Tartarus, rat-face!" Sirius snarled, still rebellious but exhaustion thick in his muffled voice. He was face down on the ground, and a multitude of small cuts littered his arms and legs. He didn't seem to have the energy or ability to move, but it wasn't stopping him from defying Pettigrew with his last breath.

"Crucio!" Pettigrew screamed.

Pettigrew didn't look like what Harry had expected. He'd seen photos of the man, young and happy standing alongside the friends he would one day betray. A plump, nervous young man with his short, light brown hair slicked back, afflicted by spots, with a tendency to jiggle restlessly in place in some of the photos or nibble at his nails, like it was tough to stand still for too long.

This wizard, however, even lost in his rage, was very different in his bearing. He stood tall and straight, commanding the attention of the small ring of half a dozen robed Death Eaters around him who stood like silent sentinels. He was still a little plump but his skin was clear, and he was clad in a long black traditional robe trimmed with silver. His hair was longer and secured in a smooth ponytail secured with a black ribbon; the style of a pure-blood adult wizard who was the Head or Heir of a House. His image of pure-blood perfection was ruined by the rents in his robe though – clearly he'd been hit by more than one spell as there was a long slash across his chest and the arms of his robes looked like swiss cheese there were so many holes in them. If he'd been injured it didn't show. There was no obvious blood, so either he'd been healed and cleaned up, or the spells hadn't drawn blood. A reticule hung off his belt, made of thick black dragonhide. Harry thought it looked larger than the average reticule… just large enough to hold a single book. Like a diary.

Sirius' screams didn't end when the Cruciatus Curse was lifted, as Pettigrew hauled him around in the air and sliced off his right ear with a sharp flick of his wand.

"You can lose yourself piece by piece, piece by piece," Pettigrew screeched, sounding almost hysterical in his anger. "Let us see how you like it! Where is my locket?! I need it, and you will tell me! Crucio!"

Sirius spat feebly at him in wordless reply.

Another burst of the torture curse left him temporarily robbed of the will to fight back, and he collapsed bonelessly on the ground, moaning piteously, when Pettigrew dropped him back down.

Harry's captors stepped warily forward, both sinking to one knee.

"My Lord, a gift for you," the tenor said. Carrow remained silent.

"Who dares…? Ah Yaxley," Pettigrew said, sounding mollified. "I hope your interruption is for a good reason."

"Yes, my Lord. This boy is a member of the Black family, captured as per your orders. Perhaps he may help persuade–"

"I do not need your advice!" Pettigrew interrupted, with a hiss.

"My humblest apologies!" Yaxley said, sounding nervous and apologetic but not too scared.

"My Lord, he is not a blood traitor like this piece of harpy dung," Carrow volunteered. "He may be even willing to help insofar as he can; we encountered him as he was healing me from injuries I sustained–"

"I am not interested in your failures," Pettigrew snarled. "A Black, you say? Are you certain?"

"Yes, my Lord," the two Death Eaters said, almost in unison.

"Antares Black," Carrow added. "Multiple people identified him. A Slytherin student and judging by his skill and the charm on his robes, an Apprentice Healer, despite his youth. Mayhap he would make a good–"

Pettigrew lifted his wand and at its slightest twitch Carrow cut off his speech instantly.

Harry looked over to Sirius; his eyes were the only part of his body he could move. Sirius' head was lifted shakily off the ground, and the expression on his face was anguished as he looked over at Harry.

Pettigrew didn't miss the tiny exchange. "Who is he?! Who is this new child? Some by-blow from a dalliance with a Muggle? A distant cousin to make your Heir? I let you live and you were supposed to take in the Potter boy! Adopt him! Remove from him the chance to… Who is this boy to you? Is he worth enough to you to tell me now what I need to know?"

"He is… no-one you should bother with…" Sirius said shakily. Blood was streaming down the side of his pale face, and his head dropped to the ground as he fell unconscious.

"Episkey. Rennervate," Pettigrew snapped out impatiently, roughly healing the wound where Sirius' ear used to be and forcing him back to consciousness.

Sirius gasped as he was jolted awake, then moaned in pain.

"I repeat, who is the boy?"

"I… I know not! No child of mine!" Sirius struggled through the first few words; lying appeared to be giving him some effort.

"I doubt that. Well, you may deny him a third time if you wish but the boy will suffer all the more for it, and if he is no-one to you as you claim, perhaps his fate will not matter to you!"

"No!" Sirius gasped.

Pettigrew laughed, and the Death Eaters around him joined in the cackling, an obedient chorus.

"You may be resistant to Veritaserum, but I doubt the boy has your training!" Pettigrew gloated. "Fetch some more for me!"

One Death Eater bowed low, then Disapparated away with only the quietest of popping noises. Either Hogsmeade's wards – whatever they consisted of – were down, or they were no impediment to Disapparition, at least for Death Eaters.

"The locket is… long gone!" Sirius gasped out. "I told you the truth already, you just do not wish to hear it! Regulus betrayed you and destroyed it, then died a hero! Killed by your Tartarus-spawned Inferi, and good riddance to that black piece of your s–"

Sirius was perhaps babbling too much, or about to say something Pettigrew didn't want heard, for his confession was cut off by a curse from the Dark Lord that lashed his back with a streak of fire. He was then trussed up like a bug in a spider's web from neck to foot in conjured thick black ropes.

"Guard him," Pettigrew snapped out, and one of the circle of Death Eaters scurried to do his bidding.

Then Pettigrew turned his attention to Harry. Who could do nothing. The most he could do was move his eyes, so he did. Avoiding direct eye contact to reduce the risk of Legilimency was about all he could do right now.

Harry was similarly wrapped up in conjured ropes with a swift Incarcerous spell.

"Reparifors," Pettigrew incanted, and a purple light washed over Harry.

The healing counter-spell would reverse minor magical ailments, including spell-induced poison, or the paralysis of the Body-Bind Curse, but it wouldn't counter the Incarcerous. A smart choice, really. He wished the Dark Lord wasn't so smart.

Harry stumbled a bit as he was freed but was able to keep his footing, if only just, for his legs were tied very tightly together with the conjured ropes. He tried to wiggle his hand to his pocket where his Portkey awaited him but was too tightly trussed to get anywhere near it. No wonder the smart pure-bloods turned their rings into Portkeys! You could always be touching them, that way.

I'm going to get my Potter ring made into one, Harry vowed silently to himself, as Voldemort circled him like a hungry shark. And I will not wait to use it.

He winced as a stabbing pain shot suddenly through the scar on his forehead for no apparent reason, and he bowed his head. It was infuriating! Just what he needed at a time like this, a bloody migraine! As if he didn't have enough trouble already.

"So," drawled Pettigrew. "A Black. Antares Black, is that correct?"

"…Yes, my Lord," Harry said, opting for nervous servility as the most likely strategy to get him out of trouble right now.

"Good," purred Pettigrew. "Respect. What too many are missing, these days. You want to help me, do you not? For the glory of our people?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"A wise choice," Pettigrew praised, with smile.

Harry's eyes flicked over to where Sirius was stirring feebly on the ground in his bonds, then quickly back to watching Pettigrew. Just… not too directly at his face. "However, I do not think I know anything that would be of assistance to uh… your noble cause."

"Hmm. We shall see," the Dark Lord said, as a Death Eater Apparated in and bowed to him. "There you are, you took too long! Administer the Veritaserum immediately."

The masked and robed man bowed again before moving up to Harry, as Harry wondered where the heck the Aurors were and pondered whether it was worthwhile fighting being given the potion or not. It's not like he could honestly do much to stop it. Sure, he could struggle a little… then fall flat on the ground and have his mouth prised open or something.

"Drink this, Black," ordered the Death Eater. Ordered Snape; Harry recognised his smooth voice. Perhaps… perhaps he had a chance here. Snape knew this disguise of Harry's, and in theory, was a turncoat. He was definitely a spy, the only question was for who since both sides seemed sure of his loyalty.

Harry obediently opened his mouth like a baby bird, and swallowed the few drops of tasteless potion that were dripped in.

Is it water? Harry wondered. It tastes like water. But then, Veritaserum looks and tastes a lot like water too. I don't feel any different, and it should be affecting me by now.

Snape grabbed his chin roughly, staring into his eyes, or so Harry guessed. The mask concealed a lot. He didn't feel any tell-tale tickle within his mind – either Snape wasn't employing Legilimency right now or Harry's mental shields were working.

Harry faked a slightly dazed and relaxed look, and the Death Eater nodded approvingly, stepping back to stand behind Harry.

"He is ready for questioning, my Lord," Snape promised, sounding more cowed and subservient than Harry had ever heard him sound before.

"Excellent!" Pettigrew said, moving up to stand in front of Harry. He waved for Snape to take his place in the circle of admiring minions and didn't notice Snape's momentary hesitation before he moved away from Harry, which Harry thought was probably for the best.

"Now, tell me your name and your lineage," Pettigrew ordered.

"I'm called Antares Black," Harry started, with his best imitation of the absent-minded rambling tone typical of someone under the influence of Veritaserum. He tried out a half-truth to begin with, just in case, but was delighted to find himself able to evade the truth without the slightest impediment – it was water! – and carefully imitated the tendency to babble he remembered from when Lupin and Sirius had put him under the potion's influence a year ago.

"Antares Black of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Formerly Antares Martin, of no family in particular, just my mother who was a French Muggle-born but she died and then I was in an orphanage," he added, adding in some babble that he hoped would if not endear himself to Voldemort by dint of similarities, at least not make him inclined to go hunting for a mother who didn't exist.

Because he'd bloody well already killed both his parents!

"So, Sirius Black found me there, in France, I don't know how. And he says he's like a…" – cousin? – "cousin to me. Of some degree, he says. He's a bit vague about it. But at least he acknowledges me as part of the family. I think I'm a bastard; not Sirius Black's though, someone else more distant. Maybe an uncle or Squib line or a–"

"Was your father Regulus Black?" Pettigrew interrupted.

"I do not know, my Lord. I do not think so, I think he died too young to be my father. I never knew my father. Black says I'm a cousin of his of some sort, he says he doesn't care about the 'degrees'–"

"So, you do not know your father. Are you close to Sirius Black?" Pettigrew asked, cutting Harry's babble off. His smile was unnerving. It reminded Harry a bit of Lockhart, how he was trying to be charming, but he didn't have the looks or the straight, white teeth to pull it off. "Have you been inside his house?"

"No, my Lord, I do not think so, my Lord," Harry rambled, trying to hang onto the rapid but calm tones of someone under the potion's influence. It was hard trying to make up a story on the spot while lying through your teeth, and there were too many questions! "I have not been inside his house."

Harry's heart was beating too fast and he concentrated on his Occlumency to try and calm his mind and body as he spoke, to keep up his façade. "Still, he paid for me to go to Hogwarts. He doesn't seem very interested in me but sometimes I think he cares a little. I have not visited his home, he would not even tell me where it is, but I think it's in England somewhere."

"What secrets of Sirius Black's do you know?"

"He is an Animagus – a dog?"

"Everyone knows that!" Pettigrew snapped. "It came out at his trial. What other secrets do you know about him? Tell me them all!"

"Sorry, my Lord, I didn't know that. Oh! He drinks too much Firewhisky late at night and tries to hide the empty bottles. He thinks no-one knows, but it's pretty obvious when he has hangovers almost every morning."

Harry tried desperately to think of other things that were true (or close to true) and harmless that he could waffle about, since the potion should make you babble. He didn't want to get caught in a lie and give his act away. "He has lots of bad dreams. He wants you dead. He likes to call you Lord Missing Finger now, like the newspapers do, and thinks it's hilarious. He thinks Minister Fudge is a moron but I'm not actually sure that's a secret because everyone knows that Fudge is a moron but maybe it is a secret because he wouldn't say it to his face. I think Black dyes his hair; he doesn't like to think he's old and he is getting grey hairs, but so are you now I see you up close, and you're the same age so maybe that isn't so old. I heard he listens to Muggle records and sings 'I Fought the Law' when he's in the bath. Badly."

There were a couple of muffled snorts from the crowd as Harry spoke, and Pettigrew tutted disapprovingly, turning to the crowd with a glare. "The boy is useless. Worse than useless; he is an impediment to Black formally taking Potter as his Heir, as he must do, lest the boy aspire to a higher station than he is deserving of."

What higher station? Harry wondered. The man's mad. Does he think that I – me as Harry Potter – am going to run for Minister or something? Take over the Death Eaters from Lord Voldemort? As if I'd want to!

Pettigrew twirled his wand in the absent-minded pattern that Harry found a painfully familiar tell to him now; for the habit of a dead man he'd seen it far too often. Pettigrew wasn't home and Voldemort was definitely the one in charge. Or should he say Tom was the one in charge? The diary version of Voldemort. Younger, less inclined to bargain and deal, or to feel held to the truce he and Voldemort had vowed. Most worryingly, according to rumours, more inclined to kill him within seconds if he figured out that Harry wasn't some stray child of the House of Black from the wrong side of the sheets but in fact the Boy Who Lived.

"A bargaining chip, that is your only utility now, child. Wake up Black," he ordered, turning to a Death Eater. "Heal him until he is able to respond."

At his imperious wave, two masked Death Eaters scurried to do his bidding; Harry suspected Snape might be one of them.

Sirius was restored to health as swiftly as only magic could manage – potions and counter-curses applied in a flurry. His chunk of severed ear was left lying on the ground, however, and Pettigrew snapped at his minions to leave it when one tentatively picked it up. They burnt it, instead, and Harry closed his eyes. There was no chance of reattaching it now, not even with Muggle surgery. Poor Sirius!

Pettigrew was back to ranting at Sirius to talk, vowing to torture his 'little cousin' if he would not, and Sirius was laughing at him. A broken, hysterical laugh that made Harry shudder.

"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, you keep asking the same questions, but you don't even get it – I already told you the truth. I am not even that good at fighting Veritaserum! Regulus betrayed you, Tom, and your precious locket is destroyed!"

"It cannot be! It cannot have been destroyed! It is not possible! You will tell me the truth!" Pettigrew sounded hysterical in his denial.

His wand was suddenly pointed at Harry, whose attempt to dodge only resulted in a futile and jarring fall to the ground, still trussed up like a fly in a spider's web.

"Crucio!"

Pain. Blinding, searing pain. It was like needles under his skin, everywhere. Burning hot needles scorching and stabbing him from the inside, lines of fire as pure agony raced along his nerves. Harry screamed and screamed in an endless wail that tore at his throat. His muscles seized and cramped from the agonizing pain thrumming through his nerves, and he convulsed on the ground, writhing helplessly in a desperate and fruitless attempt to escape.

It was only seconds, but it felt like an eternity. He was left sobbing on the ground, his body twitching and convulsing with remembered agony. As the convulsions softened to spasms and twitches, he choked off his crying lest it draw too much attention to himself. He instead tried to pay attention again to what was going on as Sirius and Pettigrew yelled at each other. His head pounded like someone was using it as a drum.

"- I think there's loads more relics. I think Dumbledore knows of at least two more of them," Sirius taunted.

"He did?! What are they?! Where are they, you will tell me now!"

Sirius surely didn't tell Harry all the Order's gossip, but Harry had never heard of Dumbledore having found any special artefacts. He thought it was probably a bluff. Still… Sirius had been dosed on Veritaserum. Had it worn off? He'd told some lies, earlier.

The diary would be another relic, of course. Did Dumbledore really know about more special artefacts the Dark Lord had enchanted?

"I think he is planning to destroy them. Is there something you are particularly missing? Tell me which one you desire most, mayhap we can do a swap for my cousin."

"Maybe I can kill your cousin!" Pettigrew ranted.

"Some more jewellery, perhaps, to go with the locket?" Sirius fished, drawing Pettigrew's attention swiftly back to himself. Harry couldn't see, but perhaps Pettigrew had given something away in response to that question, for Sirius laughed, less maniacally this time. "There is! What is it, a ring, a pretty bracelet?"

"You will give it to me! Or I will break this boy's mind before I kill him!"

"We know Regulus destroyed your locket with Fiendfyre you know," Sirius said, quickly and loudly. "Before he died. It's why we think he couldn't fight off your Inferi, Tom, he was too busy trying to control his spell to destroy your jewellery and fight them at the same time and it was too much for him. He was only eighteen though, not much more than a boy when he died really, which is one of the many things I'll never forgive you for. Fiendfyre is not a hard spell for someone like Dumbledore. It melts metal, so anyone here who doesn't like you should note that it could certainly burn up paper without a–"

"Crucio!"

Sirius was cut off and lapsed into screams, while Harry could only listen, guiltily glad to not be the one being cursed and thankful for Sirius drawing Pettigrew's attention.

The ring of Death Eaters watched the show like impassive statues, their immobility and their smooth masks giving no hint as to what they thought of the display or what Sirius had said.

"You will tell me everything you know about the Order's plans!" Pettigrew ordered. "What else do you know?"

Sirius panted for a while, then rasped out, "I know you were my friend once, Peter. Before you betrayed us all. Can you even hear me? Can you fight him off? Redeem yourself? Lockhart could, and he was useless. Do you remember him, the pretty-boy Ravenclaw Seeker who put Sleekeasy's in his hair before every match? He still managed to fight back and –"

"And I tortured him until he begged me for death," snarled Pettigrew, with Tom still clearly seamlessly in control. "He sobbed his apologies for his insults and lies until he went mad from the agony, and we dumped the braggart as a warning to others who might dare presume to think that they were better than me!"

Harry found himself being hauled to his feet by a Death Eater, and gratefully got his balance back. Looking around, he saw the group of Death Eaters had gone up in number slightly – a few more had joined them.

"My lord, the Cŵn Annwn and their handlers have departed safely, but they say reinforcements are closing in, should we not proceed to our next target?" a Death Eater asked nervously, glancing at some small object concealed in his hand.

"We are not going to London."

"But the Dark Lord said–" a woman's voice objected.

"I care not for his plans! I am your Lord!"

Some of the Death Eaters shifted about uncertainly, their heads turning to look at each other, small movements of their feet. Snape aside, it was the first show of true dissension Harry had seen, however subtle.

"Kill the boy, and cripple Black. It is time to leave."

The female Death Eater shrieked angrily, "He is the true Dark Lord, not you, Pettigrew! And his truce with his Heir says we must not kill any magical children unless our Lord says we may, or they threaten our lives!"

His Heir? Harry thought worriedly. Who? Oh, it's me, the Heir of Slytherin. Because he says he's the Head of House. There wasn't really time to think the implications over, with his life hanging in the balance.

"You dare defy me, Bellatrix?!"

"You defy the Dark Lord, I serve him! The boy is kin, and respectful, and my House line is close to extinct! I could keep him!"

There was a disgruntled harrumph from a wizard standing near her, but everyone ignored him and he didn't say anything else, frozen the instant Pettigrew glanced at him.

"Oh Merlin, I'm being saved by Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry murmured to himself unhappily.

"No, you are not," the Death Eater holding onto his conjured ropes muttered, in a deep voice. Harry thought it sounded like Carrow, which was a disappointment. He'd been hoping it was Snape, who might possibly get him out of here.

Seconds later Lestrange was on the ground, writhing under Pettigrew's Torture Curse.

"I owe thee a life debt, wilt thou call upon me to redeem it?" Carrow whispered to Harry, while everyone was distracted by the macabre show. "I will not have Damocle's Sword hanging over me forever."

"Yes," Harry murmured back, his lips barely moving. "I call upon thee for aid."

"I care not for the idiotic truce! I care not for his plans! Those are binding for his followers, but I am not one of his lackeys! No, I am not him, I am BETTER!" Pettigrew shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth as he ranted. "He has grown weak and spineless! He was supposed to bring glory to the wizarding world, to conquer… but he grew old, and died, and he has accomplished NOTHING! It is supposed to be MY time now! I am his Heir, to stand in his place and finish our glorious work should he fall! That is my purpose!"

One of the Death Eaters quietly Stunned Sirius in the background since he was struggling to escape; a quick burst of red light dropped him to the ground. Harry sighed quietly. He'd been hoping Sirius might make it with everyone so distracted by their lord's speech, fruitless though the attempt seemed.

Whatever Carrow had in mind to help, Harry hoped he would hurry up. He guessed the man was waiting for an opportunity to help that wouldn't get him killed by Pettigrew.

"Is that so, lad?" a new voice asked, and Pettigrew wasn't the only one who whirled around to face the newcomers. "I doubt the Dark Lord would be pleased to hear your opinion. Going to turn against your Lord and join the Light, are you? Lovely idea, but somehow I doubt that will work out for you."

Harry recognised the voice – Professor Moody! Harry craned his neck to see some figures emerging from an alleyway; the cavalry was here! Professors Moody and Flitwick were in the lead along with a couple of Aurors, and a small crowd of civilians were following behind them, wands out and ready for trouble. Harry didn't know all of them (there were over a dozen), but Krum was instantly recognisable and at the front of the crowd. He also recognised Madam Puddifoot (still wearing her frilly white apron over her robes), his correspondent and fan Ovid Mortalem who looked furiously angry, and a friendly young wizard who worked as a clerk in the Hogsmeade Post Office whose hand was shaking like a leaf as he held his wand at the ready.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Pettigrew sneered, aiming his wand pointedly at Sirius' unconscious body, as if the group gathered in front of him wasn't a threat. The Death Eaters around him weren't so sanguine and looked ready to fight as soon as the first curse was thrown. "I would never fall so low. Don't move, any of you! One curse and Black is dead. The boy, too."

Carrow dug his wand into the side of Harry's neck obediently, but Harry was optimistic that he wouldn't actually kill him; words meant a lot to wizards, and Carrow had just formally sworn to help him. Fulfilment of a Life Debt demanded repayment up to the point of Carrow risking his own life to help Harry, should it be needed.

"Let the child and Black go!" Professor Flitwick ordered. His voice, usually reedy to the point of merriment, had developed a high-pitched snarl worthy of a goblin. He sounded a bit like an angry cat.

"It is so funny to see you all here, attacking the purest wizarding village our nation has," Ovid hissed angrily. He didn't sound at all amused, no matter what his words said. "Rumour has it that Dumbledore and some of his… people are off fighting badly outnumbered Death Eaters and werewolves in London. No doubt he will be finished soon, and they can Apparate back here to pick the rest of you off."

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily.

"What?!" shrieked Lestrange, pushing to her feet to shakily point her wand to point at Pettigrew rather than the assembled defenders of Hogsmeade. "No, no, I thought I was following orders, my–"

"Silence!" Ovid snapped. "We care not for what any of you pathetic fools have to say. You are outnumbered here, too. Choose your path wisely, now."

"Your options are surrender or retreat. Winning is no longer an option on the table for you," Moody said, scowling fiercely at them all, his false eye whirling to watch everyone at once. "You are outclassed, and outnumbered! Time for all good little Death Eaters to run home to mummy and hang up their masks if they do not want to die in excruciating pain."

"Ready? GO!" shouted Auror Dawlish, at the top of his lungs, clearly fed up with the chatter. He shot a barrage of blinding multi-coloured sparks at Pettigrew – it looked to Harry like a Roman Candle – and while the spell bounced off Pettigrew's hastily erected shield, the lights were clearly impacting his vision.

Flitwick and a couple of other people shot spells at Carrow, who was still holding onto Harry, forcing him to go on the defensive. Flitwick then began waving his wand in a complicated series of gestures – Harry wasn't completely sure, but it looked like a bunch of counter-curses. He guessed his professor was trying to bring down any anti-Apparition wards still in effect, while simultaneously countering some incoming spells from the Death Eaters.

The other combatants were throwing out their best spells and while the Aurors were doing fine some of the civilians were getting in each other's way a bit, messing up each others' lines of fire on the Death Eaters.

Harry looked over worriedly at Sirius, but the Death Eaters seemed to be too confused and panicky – busy dealing with shielding against incoming spells – to worry about hurting an opponent who was already unconscious. Some of them were even leaving, popping away immediately rather than staying to fight.

From behind a bush a cat suddenly darted out of cover, dashing straight towards Sirius, keeping low to the ground and out of the line of fire of spells. It was a familiar tabby cat with spectacle markings around its eyes. Harry knew that cat – it was Professor McGonagall! He wasn't the only one to recognise her well-known Animagus form, however, and two Death Eaters turned to fire on her.

"Stupefy!" called out three young voices from the window of a nearby house, and both Death Eaters went down.

The Death Eaters' startled compatriots spun to help or defend them against the surprise flanking attack but weren't looking low enough to spot McGonagall racing by.

She leapt onto Sirius' chest, and the two of them disappeared with a noisy pop of air. Harry let out a shaky relieved breath.

"It worked!" Neville called out joyously, from the house.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" Hermione called, along with another girl's voice that Harry was pretty sure was Susan Bones. He hoped she didn't get in trouble later for using a wand outside of Durmstrang's lessons; laws against werewolves were terrifyingly strict right now. Maybe that's part of why they were staying out of sight, or maybe they just had a sensible appreciation for the benefits of cover. Their latest shots didn't hit, but they were keeping the Death Eaters distracted.

Pettigrew was still ranting at his enemies, casting most of his spells wordlessly. "You betray our pure ideals! What are you doing to save our nation? Mucking about with research and politics and prophecies?! Playing with Muggles? It all failed then, and it is failing now! You all failed, so I am going to restore our glory days!"

He was one of the few on the Death Eaters' side who seemed truly eager to fight; more were seizing opportunities to Disapparate away, taking fallen comrades with them. Their numbers were dwindling fast. Someone cast the Dark Mark into the sky as they left, counting what they'd accomplished as enough of a triumph to merit it, or perhaps as a signal to others to flee.

With a barrage of spells shattering Pettigrew's shield, and a decreasing number of Death Eaters around to help him, an overpowered Cutting Curse from Ovid cut into Pettigrew's torso with a painful gash. It also severed the belt around Pettigrew's waist, and his leather reticule dropped to the ground.

"No!" screamed Pettigrew, snatching it up off the ground and blocking Ovid's wordless Summoning Charm with fluid ease, almost like he'd been expecting it.

"Thus is my debt repaid," Carrow's voice whispered.

Harry felt a faint pressure on his back like he'd been tapped with a wand, and then the bonds around him began to loosen as Carrow Disapparated away. As soon as Harry's right arm was free he dove into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the stone torus that Snape had gifted him months ago as an emergency Portkey.

An excited whoop rang out from the direction of his friends as they saw Harry's bonds disintegrate.

Though their joy turned quickly to alarm as Bones yelled, "Watch out!"

"Sanctuary!" Harry cried out. He didn't even know what threat she was trying to alert him to, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice – okay three times – and not use the Portkey that had been given to him to get him out of trouble.

The last thing he saw as he swirled away was McGonagall's cat form popping back into view and fruitlessly racing towards him.

It's okay, he thought. I'm rescuing myself.

Whew! Action scenes are tough to write. I hope I managed to evoke for you the drama and peril that painted such a vivid picture in my mind.

Caos Sorge – While I didn't actually use your idea about having Neville in the Tournament, I did feel inspired by you to remember to include some heroic moments this fic for our Boy Who Also Got To Live.

Usernamenuse – James and Sirius casting a skull-growing spell is book canon, though the name/incantation is only from the HP video games. (I mentioned this back in Abnormal Godfather – you have a good memory!) For the canon source see Ch24 "Sectumsempra" of HB&HBP where for Harry's detention he has to copy out old records of crimes and punishments, and comes across several records of "petty misdeeds" and "offenses" mentioning his dad, including, "James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey's head twice normal size. Double detention." So, it's canon that there were more victims of their 'pranks' than Snape, and they didn't only use Snape's own spell against him. Whether you view it all as harmless pranks, bullying, or self-defence is all up to interpretation.