Little angel go away, come again some other day
The Devil has my ear today, I'll never hear a word you say
He promised that I would find a little solace and some peace of mind
Whatever just as long as I don't feel so
Desperate and ravenous
I'm so weak and powerless
Desperate and ravenous
So weak and powerless over you
Over you
Over you

- A Perfect Circle

Scar

Arthur Weasley returned from Azkaban pale and shaking. When he arrived at the Burrow, Molly fixed him a glass of rum and he settled at the kitchen table. Ginny appeared from her room and joined him, itching to ask him the question, the inevitable question, but scared of the answer. She sat in silence, pretending that nothing important had happened today.

When Ron Apparated in, all pretense of aloofness was lost as he threw his broomstick in a corner of the kitchen and threw himself into the chair across from his father.

"Did you talk to Harry?" he asked immediately, his hands flat on the table.

Arthur looked at his son. "Yes," he said quietly.

There was a pause, and then, "WELL?" Ron demanded.

Arthur put his glass on the table and picked up a napkin which he dried his mouth with. He seemed to be trying to delay his response. Finally, his hands clasped together on the table, he spoke. "I won't lie to you and say it's the same Harry that you knew."

"Well I know that," Ron said. "Harry always reacted badly to dementors. Did he say anything to you?"

Ginny looked quickly to her father. "He asked what day it was," he said, taking another sip from his glass.

Ron kept his eyes trained on his father for another few moments before looking down at the old table.

"I thought you didn't believe he was innocent," Ginny said quietly to her brother.

"I don't," Ron said defensively, "But, Gin, he was my best friend for 7 years. I still want to hear about him."

"I don't think you really believe he's guilty," Ginny said angrily. "You know Harry, you said it yourself, 7 years, Ron. And then this, and you immediately turn your back on him!"

"I thought I knew him!" Ron roared back at her. "But I obviously didn't."

There was silence except for the sounds of Mrs. Weasley preparing dinner.

"Ron, honey," she said, "take off those gloves before you eat. They're filthy."

Ron pulled the orange Chudley Cannon gloves off of his hands and slammed them on the table. They were muddy from practice earlier.

When Mrs. Weasley announced that dinner was ready, Ron excused himself, saying he wasn't hungry, and disappeared up the stairs into his room, Ginny glaring resentfully after him.

"Well, I believe Harry's innocent," she said to no one in particular. Then she got up from the table and walked out the door into the yard, where the light of the setting sun gave an eerie glow to the world.

-

It was nearly 4 in the morning when Arthur awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Slipping out of bed and pulling a cloak over his pajamas, he quietly descended the stairs until he made it to the dark kitchen. He lit his wand and located the front door.

"Who's there?" he grumbled.

"Minister, it's Harrison, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I have urgent business to report."

Arthur opened the door and admitted the pale Ministry member. "Well? What's happened?" Arthur urged.

"I got a message from Azkaban. Harry Potter escaped approximately 30 minutes ago," he said in a rush.

Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach as a numbness overcame him. Harry? Escaped? How? He found himself at a loss for words.

"Minister," Harrison continued when it came apparent Arthur wasn't going to say anything, "I recommend a search of maximum proportions. Potter is dangerous, most people have no idea what he is capable of. We need dementors combing the streets day and night. If he is found, he should be ordered the Dementors Kiss." And then, to no one in particular, "Lord, this takes me back to the days of Sirius Black's escape."

Arthur, upon hearing Sirius' name, regained the ability to speak, though this time it was through gritted teeth. "Except then we were hunting down an innocent man. We could be making the same mistake again."

"We aren't. There was no one there to frame Potter. Minister, if we don't act quickly, he will be given time to hide, and then we might never find him," Harrison urged.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Do what you must," he said finally.

-

Hermione woke early the next morning, leaving Harry asleep in the chair by the fireplace. She made herself some coffee and settled at the kitchen table with a newspaper. She unfolded the front page as she took a sip, and the next moment she choked.

Murderous Wizard Escapes Azkaban — Dementors Kiss ordered by Minister.

Below was a haunting picture of Harry, as he looked now, asleep in the lounge. The whole theme of the newspaper centered around Harry. On page two they had a story titled "Hero to Villain — The Many Sides of Harry Potter." They also had a story proclaiming that Harry had learned how to escape from Azkaban from Sirius Black. All of the stories referred to Harry as some Dark Lord who destroyed Voldemort only to make way for himself; not a single one argued his innocence. Not one raised the possibility that Harry might not be acting of his own accord.

She decided she didn't want Harry to see the paper just yet, so she put it in her room with a stack of other papers mentioning Harry's name, and returned to the kitchen with a book on Self-Transfiguration. Harry needed to change his appearance if he wanted to avoid the Ministry.

Quietly she flicked through the pages, drinking in the knowledge. She was just reading about changing your own eye color when someone knocked on the front door. She jumped, but waited, hoping that the person might go away. The knocking persisted, and a sleepy-eyed Harry stumbled into the kitchen.

"What do I do?" he whispered hurriedly.

"Come here," she whispered back, pulling him down the hall and into her bedroom. She shoved him roughly inside and closed the door.

The knocking continued, and a voice called through, "Hermione? Are you in there?"

"Coming!" she hollered back.

Her whole body in an uncanny state of numbness, she stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. Ron walked in as though he owned the place.

"Did you hear?" he asked, turning to face her as she closed the door.

"About Harry?" she questioned, trying to act innocent. "Yeah, it's all over the papers."

Ron nodded and turned away, running his hands through his hair. He sighed. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, his voice trailing off.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she stayed quiet.

"Where do you reckon he is?" Ron asked, turning back to her.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said quickly. "Probably hiding."

Ron shook his head. "I can't believe my dad would order the dementors on him."

Hermione had to agree with him on that. Seeking to steer the conversation away from Harry, she asked, "Has there been any improvement on finding the escaped Death Eaters?"

"No, it's like they just disappeared off the face of the earth. There's been no sign of them at all, no killings, no sightings, nothing. I can't see what they escaped to do, they have no power since You-Know-Who is gone."

"For goodness sakes, Ron, say the name, he's been gone for over a year."

Ron ignored her and turned away again. He stopped as he looked at the couch. "You slept on the sofa last night?" he asked, indicating the crumpled blanket Harry had been using.

"Oh, yeah, I was reading and just fell asleep," she said innocently. She knew Ron would believe her.

Ron nodded, then looked seriously at Hermione. "Hermione, Dad says that Harry wasn't himself. If he comes to find you, don't act like a hero and try to save him. He could hurt you." The eye contact Hermione held with Ron for that moment was painful. She felt like dragging him to her bedroom to reveal that Harry was there, but then, Ron looked away, and she felt as defiant as ever.

There was silence as Ron looked around the apartment from where he stood and Hermione watched him anxiously. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "Don't you have practice this morning?"

Ron jumped and looked at his watch. "You're right! See you later!" He turned to leave, but stopped. He turned back and took Hermione's hands in his. "Be careful, Herm," he said, squeezing her hands gently. With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind himself. Hermione collapsed on the sofa.

Taking a moment to breath, she then got up and went to the bedroom to fetch Harry. She knocked on the door, and when there was no response, opened it carefully.

"Harry?" she asked quietly. She walked further into the room, and saw Harry hunched over an open trunk, his back to her.

She walked over to him and kneeled next to him. He finally acknowledged her presence by looking at her, and she saw the sadness in his eyes.

"I didn't know you'd saved this stuff," he said, indicating the trunk in front of him. In it were Harry's possessions, his spell books, his Hogwarts uniforms, his Gryffindor scarf, his photo album, even his precious Firebolt. All of them miraculously as they had been when Harry had graduated from Hogwarts. He spotted his Head Boy badge pinned to the fabric inside of the lid.

Hermione nodded. "Arthur took it from the Ministry when they were done searching it for evidence. It was at the Burrow for a bit, but Molly couldn't handle seeing it. So I took it," she said, shrugging. "I never opened it."

Harry said nothing, but moved aside his Hogwarts uniforms and located a silvery blue cloak pooled at the bottom of the trunk. Gingerly, he pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak from the contents. He let it drape over his outstretched hands, trying desperately to remember the fun he had with the cloak, how he had treated it so lovingly. But now, all he felt was an emptiness inside of himself. He remembered that Dumbledore had given it to him, for Christmas. A surge of hatred seemed to course through his veins, coming to rest in his forehead.

His scar started to burn as screams rang in his ears. He let the cloak fall back into the trunk as he clasped his hands to his head.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked frantically as Harry fell backwards on the ground.

"My scar," he groaned. "My scar. . . it's burning. . . ."

Hermione was in too much shock to think of anything to do. She merely watched Harry, praying desperately that the pain didn't mean anything. She thought she saw his eyes flash menacingly, but chose to ignore it.

Thoughts and memories seemed to fill Harry's mind, but he had never experienced any of them. It was as if he were watching a television screen that kept changing channels. One moment there was a boy with black hair sitting in a dark corner of a library, books open around him. Next moment he was in the Great Hall, watching a boy receiving an award for Services to the School. The same boy was pulling on a cloak. . . Leaving the doors of Hogwarts and walking into pouring rain. . . .

Drinking Potions. . . casting spells on himself. . . changing his appearance. . . .

Entering an old house, killing his father and grandparents. . . . Dying. . . . Rising from a cauldron. . . speaking to swarms of cloaked figures. . . dueling Dumbledore. . . dying again. . . .

Pain. . . .

Death. . . Harry was dying, he knew it. His soul was being ripped from his body. He was being torn apart. He would see Sirius again, and Lupin, and Dumbledore. . . .

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain disappeared, as did the visions. Harry, still on his back on the floor, tried to regain his composure, his hands still clasped over his forehead. He felt cold, and his skin was tingling. His mind was racing with everything he had just seen.

His eyes found Hermione's, and they shared the same, terrified look as silence fell between them.

-

A/N ::evil grin::

Happy Holidays!

Shawn Pickett - Thanks a bunch for the suggestions! I will certainly consider the other ones for later in the fic. . . .