Fire licked greedily at the air. Blood flowed down from the stairwell, pouring onto the grey carpet. At the top of the stairs, side ripped and gashed, stood a trembling figure, face contorted in such rage that none could stand his gaze. In his hands, hands that were slashed and burned from frantic digging, was a dead woman. Before the image became clear several people rushed into view, blocking his vision. As the light started fading, he caught another glimpse of the woman's face. The face burned into his mind like a dagger. Face frozen in shock and pain, limbs twisted around as if she were a puppet, Lily Potter was truly dead. The image lost focus and rapidly fell apart. At the last moment, he heard one name shouted out.

Vandermine!

"Potter! Open this door now!" The door shuddered on its frame as Uncle Vernon's meaty fist pounded on the door. Harry Potter blinked sleepily and reached for his alarm clock. Rubbing his eyes, he examined it in shock. 4:21AM. What on earth could possibly wake Uncle Vernon at this hour? What, that is, except magic?

The door shook again as Uncle Vernon applied his humongous shoulder to the door. There was a note of panic in his voice. The blows to the door came more frequently. "Potter will you hurry up. You don't have all night, you know. I'll give you to the count of three."

Oh, Harry thought, so I have to do something, do I? Harry rose luxuriously from his bed and slipped on a robe. The robe was old and worn, previously one of Dudley's. Dudley had given it to him after he had spilled ketchup and mustard all over it during one of his many burgerfests with his buddies. They had those all the time during the rugby season. Harry had asked them about the Muggle's rugby game. Dudley never gave him an answer; he just chased him off with threats and taunts. Not that it mattered. Quidditch looked far more interesting.

Uncle Vernon's voice drained into a helpless plea as time passed. Only magic messes with him this much. After approaching the door with much deliberation, he cracked the door open and smirked at Uncle Vernon. "Do you want something?"

Uncle Vernon shoved an opened letter into his hand and fled down the hall without a backwards glance. Harry watched his retreat curiously. The door slammed loudly as he dove into his room. That was most definitely un-Vernon like. Unfolding the letter carefully, he sat down on the bed. He didn't have a lamp in his room, so reached for his wand. It was gone! The letter disappeared from his mind immediately as realization of his trouble hit him. The wand had been right by his bed when he had gone to sleep. Blast that Dudley! That's what he was doing in my room.

He hastily snatched up his glasses and rushed out into the hall-way. Dudley's door slowed him for the barest moment as he charged through it, anger and fear dulling the pain in his arm. Splinters from the hinges slashed through his robe, cutting his arm. He did not care. It took an instant for him to survey the scene.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by chipped blades, broken hammers, and empty lighters was his wand. Dudley paced furiously around it, chest heaving from a recent exertion. He spun around to face Harry, as he entered. Fear crossed his face as he imagined what he was in for. Then he realized Harry was without his wand. That made him an excellent target to take his frustration out on.

"You!" both shouted at the same time. Before either realized what was happening they dove headfirst into each other, fists and legs flailing. Dudley gained the immediate advantage because of his bulk. He threw his bulky frame into Harry's charge and delivered a massive headbutt. Harry stumbled backwards and rubbed his aching head. Dudley laughed triumphantly and waddled forward. By the time he closed the distance, Harry had recovered his wits, sidestepped Dudley, and shoved him hard out the door. Dudley fell flat on his paunch with a thud. There was a sucking noise as he rolled over. His face was red and he was breathing heavily.

Harry bent over to pick up his wand. The smooth surface was not in the least bit scratched or chafed by all of Dudley's efforts. Turning around, he aimed the wand threateningly at his fat cousin. "You took my wand!" His whole body shook with anger. Dudley tried to push himself into the carpet, all color drained from his face. "You took my wand and tried to destroy it!" Words of magic began to form on his lips as he thrust the wand into Dudley's stomach.

Uncle Vernon's bedroom door burst open. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stumbled out onto the scene. Harry instantly regretted his wand's aim. They all froze for an instant before Aunt Petunia erupted in screams and tears.

"Dudders! What has he done to you?" She scrambled over and threw herself down on him, soaking him in tears and kisses. "Is my poor little Dudley alright? What did he do?""

Uncle Vernon approached him furiously, jaws working up and down as he formulated his tirade. "What is that blasted object doing out in the house? Haven't I told you to lock it up? Do you want a month in the cupboard? After all I've done for you…"

Harry started to protest feebly. He knew he had already lost. At the very best he might be able to keep his room. "Dudley took it. I was getting it back!"

An upraised hand silenced him. He flinched slightly as Uncle Vernon made as if to strike him. "Don't talk back to me with your stupid lies. I saw you pointing the wand at him. If that ever happens again…" He purposefully trailed off at the end in attempt to make it even more menacing.

The front door opened downstairs. Everyone stopped talking and stood still, listening for noise. The only noise coming from the downstairs was the creaking of the door as it swayed on its hinges. For two minutes they sat there, until the family cat slipped upstairs. Uncle Vernon exhaled forcibly, fear melting from his countenance. "Just the cat, my dear. I will go shut the door." He started towards the door, giving Harry a meaningful glare. He would finish his tirade later.

Then the lights went out. Aunt Petunia gave a muffled scream and buried her head in Uncle Vernon's arm. Dudley lay on the ground whimpering like a baby. Uncle Vernon pointed at Harry and whispered hoarsely.

"Go check it out, Potter."

Crap. Why me? Harry raised his wand shakily and shuffled forward. At the top of the stairs he paused and crouched down, ears straining to pick out unnatural sounds. His eyes scanned the area on the first floor below the stairwell. Nothing moved. None of his family dared to breath.

"Lost something?" A gruff voice asked behind him. A panicked cry escaped his lips and he jumped forward. Whirling around, he lashed out instinctively with his wand. A hand caught the wand in mid air and dragged him forward into the grip of the intruder.

The figure tightened its grip on him as Harry tried to push off. "It's not going to work, kid. Stop struggling and I will let go. I didn't come here to fight you after all."

"Oh really?" Harry struck the man in the chest and yelped as his fist encountered a metal breastplate. "Then what do you think you are doing breaking into my house like this?"

The man released Harry and sighed. Harry stumbled backwards, cradling his hand. "Didn't you get the letter that I sent you? I even took the trouble of sending it by Muggle mail so that you could get it. It should have arrived yesterday."

Harry stared at him incredulously and blinked. "Muggle mail, letter, what?" horror dawned on him as he remembered the letter that Uncle Vernon had given him. "Whoops. I haven't read it yet." He brushed past the man and ducked into his room. Grabbing the forgotten letter he returned to the hallway, where he noticed Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley frozen mid-action. "Here it is."

"That explains that." The newcomer nodded semi-appreciatively. "At least you got it. Anyway then, since you don't know my name," he stretched out his hand. "My name is Lucas Vandermine. And you are Harry Potter."

Vandermine! The same name that was in his dream. That name was somehow related to his mother's death. Harry's mind swam with questions and he grasped the hand a little too enthusiastically. "How do you do, then?"

"Fairly well. If you had read the letter things would have been much easier. Now, I need to talk to you privately." He glanced around carefully.

Harry looked around in confusion. "But... there is no one here." He pointed at his family. "Or do they count?"

Lucas gave them a menacing look. "Yes they count. They may not be able to move or respond, but they can still hear. Not that they'd want to repeat anything they would hear, though."

"Very well then, my room is right here." Harry glanced down at the note quickly as he led the way into the room.

Dear Harry,

This letter is to be kept secret from everyone, including Ron and Hermione, until I deem appropriate. Lucas Vandermine will be overseeing security at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year and, if necessary, for years to come. He is in the process of examining key characters such as yourself for the purpose of discerning what he, and his helpers, might face. Do not hold back anything that you would tell me. Forgive his questionable appearance and nature. He will particularly focus on your scar and its occurring pain.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry sized Lucas up slowly. He was indeed an imposing and intimidating character. A black dragon-scale cloak covered his body from head to toe. Underneath this cloak was an array of magical and Muggle weaponry, most of which Harry had never seen before. On his right hip, slung in a holster, were both a revolver and a wand of unusual length. Strapped to his arms and legs were a variety of blades and vials. Then his face came in view as the room lightened. Harry gasped unconsciously in awe.

Two sets of scars ran down both of his cheeks just behind his eyes. In between the white scar tissue were set two grey eyes that seemed to burn with intensity. Light brown hair hung loosely around his shoulders in a tumbled mess almost as bad as Harry's. Muscle sinew bulged out along his neck, creating a smooth curve from shoulder to jaw. He was butch.

Harry sat down absentmindedly on his bed and waved to a chair. "Here's a seat, if you want it." The grey eyes never left him as Lucas strode over and seated himself. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Lucas' eyes bored through Harry as if he were searching his skull for cracks. Harry sat quite still, his attempt to start a conversation having failed miserably.

The silence lasted for several minutes until Harry, unable to bear it, stood up irritatedly and exclaimed, "Dumbledore sent you here for a reason. Would you mind starting, or do you want to stare at me like this until dawn breaks?" The grey eyes did not even blink during his outburst. He shuddered ashamedly and looked at his feet, suddenly feeling very foolish. The eyes continued their scrutiny. They made Harry angry, knowing that behind those eyes were answers to questions that he desperately wanted.

At last the eyes turned away. Lucas leaned back in his chair and nodded to himself appreciatively. "Your mind is very complex and strong for one of your age, even with your past experiences. I have all that I need. Good day." With a dramatic sweep of his cloak he rose and left the room. The light faded as he exited.

Harry gaped at the departing man. Five minutes wasted staring at him and he 'knew all he needed.' What kind of psycho is this? Harry followed him downstairs. "Wait." Harry said as he caught up with him at the door way. "What do you mean when you say that you know all that you need. All that you did was stare at me. Who are you? What do you know about my mother?""

Lucas Vandermine smiled at him. "Sometimes knowledge is best passed silently. Not that you really need to know... I was measuring your patience and temper. You lasted longer than most others before responding." He trudged through the tall grass outside the house and mounted a black, fire-blazed motorcycle. "As to your questions about your mother..." he strapped his helmet on. "I was the first one to find your house after Voldemort came."

Harry stood rooted to the spot, gazing stupidly at the figure receding in the dawn.