Disclaimer I own nothing relating to Harry Potter.

A/N hmm... not that many reviews for that last chapter.... oh well... I'll survive. This chapter is slightly longer.

Only a portion of a song, today. Good chorus, might I add.

Enjoy.

-



"Gravedigger
when you dig my grave
could you make it shallow
so that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger"

-Dave Matthews Band

Fugitive

Harry began to lose track of time. After his near-escape, a dementor was stationed outside of his door at all times, leaving him screaming in his sleep and huddled in a protective ball during the day.

His broken arm healed, but in a very ugly position that rendered it useless; not that he really needed to use it for anything anyway, but it was slightly uncomfortable.

He vaguely noticed when a new prisoner was put in the cell across the hall from him. They had only spoken once.

"Yer tha' Potter boy, ain't yeh?"

"Not anymore."

The man kept watching Harry, not saying anything, but looking as though he were trying to read Harry's mind. Harry learned to ignore him after a while.

Voices haunted Harry day and night. Sometimes he saw things, bad things, in his cell. Sometimes, in his sleep, he would visit other places. One night he was at the graveyard. The next he was in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death Chamber, watching Sirius falling. . . .

Once in a while a guard would come into his cell, to make sure he was still alive. They would almost seem disappointed when they found a pulse.

Harry's hair grew long and hung in his face most of the time. He grew skinnier, soon the robes began to slip down his shoulder. Once or twice a guard went into his cell to force Harry to eat, but he would usually vomit it up later. Soon they stopped bothering.

A long time later, Harry wasn't sure how much later, the dementor outside his door left. In fact, all of the dementors on the row left. Some prisoners crawled to their feet and went to the doors, to see what was happening. Others just slumped over and took the opportunity to sleep peacefully. Harry just sat watching the door, mumbling nonsense to himself.

A balding man with fiery red hair appeared amidst a group of Ministry members. Harry knew who it was.

"Unlock this door," Mr. Weasley said. Immediately an Azkaban guard leaped forward and opened Harry's cell door.

Harry twisted his hands in his lap, watching the man entering his cell.

"Hello, Harry. Do you remember who I am?" Mr. Weasley asked, taking a seat on Harry's cot.

Harry just watched him, his mouth hanging open slightly. A tremor ran through his body, and he gave an involuntary shake.

"I'm Arthur Weasley, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "You went to Hogwarts with my son, Ron."

Harry drew in a long breath, and blinked.

"You don't remember, do you," Mr. Weasley said, more to himself than to Harry. "I bet you don't even remember why you're here. I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Harry."

Mr. Weasley reached out and grasped Harry's wasted shoulder. Harry immediately swung his arm through the air and knocked Mr. Weasley's arm away. Harry crawled along the wall, to sit in the opposite corner.

"Don't touch me," he said hoarsely.

He saw a hint of pity in the Weasley's eyes as he stood up to leave. He was at the door when Harry spoke again.

"Mr. Weasley, —" the man turned "— what day is it?"

Harry saw Mr. Weasley take a deep breath. "It's July 31, 1999. Happy 19th Birthday, Harry."

The door closed with a click, and the group of people continued down the hall. Harry hugged his knees to his body and leaned his head against them. After a bit, the dementors returned to their posts, and Harry didn't remember seeing Mr. Weasley, or remember hearing that it was his birthday. All he knew was that he wouldn't survive long in here.

When Harry went to sleep, he thought he heard a very high-pitched voice in his head, not screaming, or laughing, but speaking very calmly to him.

"Just sleep, Harry, when you wake up, you'll be far away from here. That's it, just relax."

-

Something was moving Harry's arm. Water was washing over his body, a nice contrast to the hot sand beneath him and the burning sun above him. When something cold and wet inserted itself into his ear, he jolted awake and sat up.

A black dog was bouncing around him, and had apparently stuck its nose in Harry's ear. He watched the dog for a bit before it hit him where he was.

He was on a long beach, sitting partly into the cold water. It was beautiful, the only way Harry could describe it. Birds flew past him overhead, and the golden sand stretched as far as the eye could see. A breeze blew past him, ruffling his hair.

He still couldn't believe where he was. The dog continued bouncing around him.

"Shoo," Harry said, waving his deformed right arm at the dog. "Get away."

The dog barked, and sat down, but didn't show any sign of leaving.

Harry got slowly to his feet, his joints cracking.

He still had his Azkaban robes on, they were soaking wet, and had large amounts of sand stuck to them. But Harry didn't care. He walked along the sand, not caring at all that the sand burned his feet. He hadn't felt warm for a year. He swept his long hair out of his eyes and peered around. He had to figure out where he was.

He walked away from the water, the dog following him up the sandy dunes, sinking into the ground. He made it to a ridge of trees. Just past them he could see a street with shops and people. It amazed him that the beach was deserted.

He crept as close to the people as he dared to go. Briefly, he heard a shout from a small child to his parent. It was Scottish, he was sure of it. He was in Scotland.

Harry was deeply disappointed that he couldn't Apparate, seeing as the Ministry kept tabs on who was Apparating and Disapparating, and as he was sure that Europe was being searched for him, he didn't think it would be a good idea. He didn't know whether he dared speak to a local, but he was pretty sure they were all Muggles; they probably wouldn't recognize him.

Just the same he crept closer to the street. There was a girl, maybe 10 years old, standing alone as her parents waited in line for an ice cream. Next to her were several bags of clothes.

"Psst," Harry hissed. "Hey, girl." The girl tensed and looked up and down the street. "Over here, behind you, in the trees." The girl turned and saw Harry. She briefly looked him up and down, and look at the dog at his side.

"Are you 'omeless?" she asked, a thick Scottish accent showing. He was thankful that she spoke English.

Harry, knowing how pathetic he must look, answered, "Yes. Listen, did your daddy buy any clothes?"

"Yes, why?"

"I could really use some clothes. I'm very cold."

The girl looked at him. "Where did you come from?"

"A long way away. I was being held prisoner by some bad guys, and if they find me they'll kill me," he lied flawlessly. It was partly true. "I just need some clothes for a disguise."

The girl considered him for a second. "Oh, all right then," she said brightly.

She dug in the bags next to her, and moved some clothes into separate bags.

"Do you want shoes too?" she asked.

"Please."

She continued to dig through the bags. Harry made sure that no one but the girl would see he was there as he watched her parents to make sure they weren't returning.

Finally she handed him a bag with clothes. "There you go!"

Harry managed a smile. "Thank you, . . ."

"Sarah," she said.

"Thank you," he repeated. He turned and left her alone, heading back towards the beach. He found a spot in the trees to change. The dog ran off, chasing a bird, and didn't come back.

The girl had given him khaki slacks, a white collar shirt, a red pull-over sweater, a pair of white socks, and a pair of brown shoes. Surprisingly, they all fit him perfectly. He also found in the bag some money, which he supposed Sarah had slipped in there. He was grateful for it.

Feeling a bit more confident, he jammed his hands in his pockets and strode out into the street. Sarah and her parents were gone.

No one looked twice at him, he blended in perfectly. He walked a ways down the street, appearing to be just a tourist. He went into a coffee shop and bought a drink, and settled down in a corner of the room.

He watched the people walking past, not really noticing any of them, when he saw something that caused him to choke on his coffee.

A man walked by, dressed as a Muggle, a camera around his neck, but showing clearly on his chest was a badge. It wasn't any normal badge. It was the badge of an Auror, from the Ministry of Magic.

Harry knew that the man would be carrying a wand, and if he wanted to survive at all, Harry needed a wand. Quietly and unnoticed, he slipped out of the shop, and followed the man.

They walked for a long time, up and down streets, Harry staying a way behind the man so that he could keep sight of him, but the man wouldn't know he was being followed.

It was when they turned onto an empty street that Harry seized the opportunity. He ran up behind the man, tackled him, and shoved him hard into the pavement. Instantly the man was unconscious, and Harry searched his pockets. He found a wand, a couple of Galleons, knuts, and sickles, and a folded paper. Harry opened the paper, and found himself staring into his own face.

"Have you seen this Wizard?" the paper read. Harry stuffed it roughly into his pocket.

He dragged the Auror off to the side of the street, and lay him amid some garbage that usefully hid him from view.

Shaking his hair out of his face, Harry grasped the wand in his right hand and stuck it out to the street.

A screech echoed down the alley and a towering, triple-decker, purple bus appeared out of no where and skidded to a halt right in front of Harry.

A man he knew instantly to be Stan Shunpike jumped off the bus. "Welcome to the Knight Bus," he said. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this afternoon."

Harry cleared his throat and attempted to lower his voice. "One to the Leaky Cauldron," he grunted.

Stan peered at him. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and allowed his hair to fall over his face.

Stan stared a second longer then stepped back onto the bus. "No luggage?" he asked Harry.

"No."

"All right, a one way trip to the Leaky Cauldron is eleven sickles."

Harry quickly took out some silver from his pocket and gave it to Stan. He boarded the bus and immediately went to the upper levels, attempting to get as far away from Stan as he could.

The bus lurched forward with a Bang! right as Harry was sitting down on a squishy armchair, and he was thrown backwards into the chair, but thankfully it stayed upright. He spent most of the bumpy ride massaging his forehead. Seeing the sun again was giving him a headache.

He looked out of the window for most of the trip, catching glimpses of street signs and benches leaping out of the way to allow the magical bus passage. As he passed houses, business buildings, and empty pastures, he couldn't help wondering where the Death Eaters were hiding.

He would like to say that everything was back to normal, but that would be a lie. He couldn't show his face, wouldn't dare use his own voice, and something was definitely missing from him. He thought of Hogwarts and the people he had loved, and those who had loved him, but he surprised himself when he found he no longer cared. Azkaban had taken from him the one thing that had given him and advantage over Lord Voldemort. The ability to love. Every once in a while, a trickle of rage would course through his body, causing him to shiver slightly, and close his eyes till it passed. Where the feeling came from, he didn't know, and frankly, he didn't want to know.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of riding, the bus stopped, and Harry, looking out the window, saw a busy London street below him. His heart seemed to leap into his throat.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Stan hollered up the stairs.

Harry stood up, his legs strangely wobbly, and climbed down to the lower level. Careful to keep his face hidden by his hair, he briefly thanked Stan and Ernie, the driver, and stepped off the bus. He heard a bang and knew that the bus was gone.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked meaningfully towards the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped inside. The pub was full, like it always was, and no one seemed to notice him enter. He walked past them, up several flights of stairs, until he reached the topmost level. There, he located the door to the room he had stayed so briefly in that night so long ago, and knocked.

There was no sound from within.

He knocked again.

This time, he heard the scattering of papers, the closing of a book, and the sound of footsteps coming towards the door.

"Who is it?" a voice called.

"It's me, Hermione," Harry said.

There was a pause, and then the door flung open. There, on the threshold, stood a girl with straitened brown hair and big brown eyes. She looked disbelievingly up at Harry.

"It's. . . . It's really you?" she asked.

"It's really me," Harry answered, smiling in relief. He pushed his hair back from his forehead to reveal the scar he had received 18 years earlier.

Her eyes watered as she stared at him. Finally, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him inside.

"You look so different," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I wasn't sure it was you for a second."

"I wasn't sure it was you," Harry replied. "Your hair is different."

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I've missed you so much. They wouldn't let me visit Azkaban anymore. I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

Harry grasped her hand with his left hand. "I'm here now."

She smiled, and looked him up and down. Her eyes fell on his right arm. "Harry. . . what happened?"

And so he fell into the story of how he found himself outside the prison, how he had tried to climb down the rocks to escape the guards, and how he had broken his arm in the fall. Hermione immediately whipped out her wand and mended his arm in an instant.

"But how did you get out?" she asked.

Harry closed his eyes and looked away, a pained expression on his face. "There's something you don't know, something you need to know. I'm. . . I'm not too sure I can stay here with you. It's too dangerous."

"Harry, what —" she started.

"Sit down, Hermione," Harry said. They walked over to the couch Harry had fallen asleep on a year ago. He took a deep quivering breath. "When I defeated Voldemort, right after the ball of light hit him, I saw something leave his body and enter mine, like a spirit or something. I think that. . . that it was Voldemort, in spirit form again. I think that when I sleep, sometimes he controls me. I'm pretty sure he controlled me the night that my nurse died. He controlled me again when I almost escaped Azkaban, and again when I did escape. I think he also got all of those other prisoners out."

"But, Harry, that doesn't make sense. If Voldemort is trying to possess you, why would he send you, his only weapon, to Azkaban?"

Harry considered this for a moment before meeting Hermione's panicked eyes. "He was trying to soften me up. The reason he couldn't control me before was because of my heart, or that's what Dumbledore said. If I was around dementors for a long time, I would forget love, and he would be able to possess me."

Hermione watched Harry. "But I still don't see how it works. Once you left Azkaban, you felt love again, right?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "I don't know, Herm. Something feels different. It's like I don't really care about things anymore. It's like I've forgotten what love feels like."

Hermione grabbed his hands. "Just give it time," she said wisely.

Harry nodded, and leaned back in the couch. "It's been a long day," he said. "But I'm not very tired."

"Up for a game of Wizards Chess?" Hermione asked playfully.

Harry's thoughts immediately fell on Ron. He wished that somehow he could see Ron again, just say hi. He wanted to regain the feeling of having him as a best friend, but Harry knew that was very unlikely.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No," Harry said flatly. "I don't. . . I don't think I like Wizards Chess very much anymore."

Hermione peered at him through her intelligent eyes, seemingly lost in thought. "You know," she said, "I like you with long hair."

Harry fingered a strand of hair falling into his face. "Really? I don't know, I feel like I should belong in a homeless shelter."

"It makes you look mysterious," Hermione said, as though this decided the matter.

"Well, I can't cut it anyway," Harry said. "It's my disguise."

Hermione watched him as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She gently pushed some of the hair out of his face. "Harry," she said, causing him to turn and look at her, "don't worry, we'll figure this out."

Harry nodded, looking away. "Dumbledore would know what to do," he said bitterly.

Hermione couldn't help but agree, but Dumbledore wasn't here anymore. They were on their own, and somehow, now that she was with Harry, she felt more vulnerable than ever. She moved closer to him.

"We'll worry about it in the morning. Just rest for now," she said, leaning her head against his chest.

Ten minutes later they were both asleep.

-

Harry woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, his breath quick, his body covered in a cold sweat. His dreams had been filled with clammy, rotted hands, rattling breath, high pitched laughter, and screams, and for a second, he had been sure he was back in Azkaban, and seeing Hermione again had just been a wonderful dream.

He took a minute to catch his breath as he looked around the apartment. Hermione was sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, a book open in her lap, her wand lighting up the page. She looked up when he began to stir, but said nothing.

Harry realized he had been covered with a thick cotton blanket, and moved it off of him as he stood up and walked over to where Hermione was. She scooted over in the chair, allowing him to sit down. He automatically put his arm around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. They both stared silently into the fireplace where the remnants of a fire were smoldering.

He was drifting back off to sleep when a noise jolted him awake again. Twisting around in his seat, he saw a beautiful snowy owl perched on the back of the couch he had just been on.

"Hedwig!" he whispered.

The owl hooted again and flew over to his arm.

Harry smiled, and brought his other hand around to pet his faithful owl. "I missed you, girl," he said, stroking her smooth feathers.

"She's been waiting here for you," Hermione said quietly. "She's hardly left the building."

Harry nodded and whispered to his owl, "You can go stretch your wings now, girl, I'm back. I promise I won't leave again."

Hedwig cooed, rubbed her head against Harry's cheek, and took off in flight, soaring out of an open window.

Harry watched her disappear into the night, her silhouette illuminated briefly by the light of the full moon.

-

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Give me suggestions on what you want to happen next in a review (that is, if you have any suggestions. . .). Okay, next chapter will be up soon.

peace

felony melanie